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geraltofriviacollection · 11 months

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Chapter Seven

Paring: Geralt x Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher’s world. Will she survive?

A/N: I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work without permission. Please leave comments! ❤️ “Absolutely not!” I almost shouted at Vesemir. I can see the slight glow on my skin at his suggestion.

“We have a chance to do something extraordinary. Do you know how long it has been since we had a new witcher? This could change everything with Ciri’s help.”

“How long exactly have you two been hatching up this plan? Hmm? There is something wrong with this and both of you know it. On a moral level to mutate children and not even have most survive the process is wrong. You are fucked in the head if you think I will let Ciri be a part of this.” I snarl at Vesemir. The room is getting warmer the longer this conversation goes.

“It's Ciri's choice if she wants to be a part of this.” Vesemir volleys back. I try to breathe as my vision goes red at his words. It takes a full minute before I am able to respond.

“I will be damned before I let you sacrifice more children to the cause.Tell me did you think how Geralt was going to feel at this news? I may not like it but you can bet all the rats in the keep that he’ll fucking hate it.” The tension in the room is thick as it settles in Geralt's opinion about all of this.

“Geralt will see the reason of this.” Vesemir says, but lacks a good amount of certainty.

“Fine!” I shout. “You will not do a single thing until Geralt has returned.” I tell him.

“Lass, I don’t think-”

“That was not a question, suggestion or comment. Vesemir, nothing will be done about this until he’s come home.” I grit out.

“I can make my own decisions.” I turn around to see Ciri standing in the doorway looking at us. “I don’t need your approval or Geralts to help them.” She says coming further into the room.

“Ciri, this is bigger than you-” I start but she cuts me off and turns to Vesemir.

“How can I help?” She asks, cutting me out of this completely.

“Have you ever heard of feainnewedd?” He asked her. “It’s an ancient flower that only glows in one place. Where elder blood is spilled.” He explains showing her the flower. She moves and goes to inspect the flower.

“These have been sprouting all over the training course, where I’ve bled” Shw whispers mostly to herself. “My grandmother..she hated the elves.” She says looking at all of us. I look over to Triss who is annoyingly quiet right now standing there simply reading Ciri’s reaction to this. Fucking interesting time for her mouth to be shut all of a sudden.

“Sometimes our deepest hate is for the things we can not change about ourselves.” Vesemir says. If I wasn’t so mad I might have enjoyed his imparting words of wisdom. Ciri sighs and moves to sit on the steps processing all of this. “Something bad is brewing out there. With a vial of your blood we could protect generations to come.”

“How are you so sure it will work?” She looks up at him.

“I’m not.” He plainly says.

“I’ll do it. On one condition. You have to test it on me first.” She says.

“Alright! That’s enough.I have entertained this for just about as much as my temper will allow. No one is testing anything. If we did you can be damn sure you would not be first in line for the weird juju kool aid.” I exclaim looking at Ciri.

“You aren’t my mother. I can décide my own fate.” She says not looking at me. A sharp painful flash runs through my body at her words. True her words may be but less painful they are not.

“You’re right. I’m not your mother but that does not mean that I don’t love you any less than if I was. “ I told her. “Have you thought about Geralt? Hmm? Why do you feel the need to push yourself to the edge?” I nearly shout.

“Because I am sick of being lost! Everything that I was told my whole life was a lie! And the people I love most in the world were taken from me before I could find out the truth. This might help me find a new truth.”

“Then let us help you find your way. I can’t change the past but I can help you or at the very least we can be lost together.”

“Maybe there is another way to find out where your powers came from.” I turn to see Triss standing in the doorway. Ciri’s eyes move from me to her.

“What do you mean? Like what you did with the myriapod?” Ciri asks her.

“Less scientific than what we did there. It’s called a dol dusza. The best translation of it is Valley of the Soul. It allows me to enter the deepest layer of your consciousness and allows me to uncover things that may be hidden there. Genetic memories that tell the story of who you really are. Where you come from.” Tris finishes explaining.

“Is this dangerous?” I ask Triss.

“No. It just requires that ciri and I trust each other.” I look over to Ciri and she looks at me. I nod my head in encouragement.

“All right then. I’ll do it.” Ciri tells her.

Vesemir and I cleared the table for Ciri to lay down on. Triss hops up to sit and Ciri places her head in Triss’s lap. I walk and place my hand on Ciri’s arm and she offers a small smile at me in acknowledgment. They begin with Ciri taking deep breaths and I watch as her body relaxes with every breath. Triss begins to chant in Elder the next thing I know we are all in a tavern of sorts with different people talking.

“Ciri” I called out to her. She looks around as if she hears my voice. She turns around but looks right through me. I reach out a hand but it goes right through her like a mist. “Triss!” I called out. Tris never turns.

“Can you hear that?” Ciri asks Tris looking around trying to find the source calling for her..

Neither Tris or Ciri can see me, it seems.

Ciri sees the black knight and starts to hyperventilate. Triss manages to calm her by pulling Ciri to her. Children laugh while playing a game of knuckle bones. Ciri sees her mother sitting beautifully in a green dress.

“Would you like a story?” Pavetta Ciri’s mother asks, looking over at Ciri and Triss before looking at me with a smile.

“You can see us?” Says Triss.

“What’s wrong?” Ciri asks, looking at Triss.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.” Tris says with a frightened look on her face. Memories start to speak to Ciri. Looking around a dark hall opens up in front of us. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work at all.” Tris says as I follow behind them. Low murmuring of voices ensues.

Doors open and Ciri’s parents are speaking about Ciri. Little baby Ciri

“They would kill her if they knew.” Dad

“It’s a prophecy. Maybe it’s not true.’ Pavetta says stroking a small baby Ciri as she plays on the bed

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true, it only matters if the people believe it. And they will.” Man says, looking at his wife and daughter. He comes around the bed and strokes Pavetta’ s hand. “The boat’s ready. We can leave under the cover of darkness.” Pavetta nods once and looks back down at a small Ciri.

“This is it. This is the night that my parents died.” Ciri says softly. Pavetta turns and looks straight at Ciri. Triss gasps and tries to pull Ciri away. We all leave and an ominous voice calls out asking “What are you child? ……Cirilla.” It calls to her. The voices around us continue to whisper Ciri’s name.

A bright little suddenly appears before us. I see Ciri walk towards it as if in a trance. The space begins to change as feainnewedd blooms litter the ground as we enter into a forest. The sounds of a baby's cry can be heard in the distance at the lighting strings brightening the fog around us. We walk in the direction of the cry’s and the sound of humming begins to get louder.

A woman with pair hair like Ciri’s sits at the bottom of a tree humming to her crying child. The woman begins to tell the story of an elven warrior who was made to kill the human invader. As she tells the story she winces in pain, only then do we see the blood on her hands. Triss goes to the woman to help with her wound when the woman sets her child down and grabs triss by the throat. Triss calls out for Ciri as her feet dangle off the ground. I try to pull tris from her grip but my hands slide through Triss like I’m a ghost.

“You can not help us.” The woman calls out with many voices. “Child of elder blood, Child of wrath. The time of contempt is nigh. The world will die amidst frost and reborn of the new sun.Reborn of elder blood, of the seed that has been sown. A seed that will not sprout, but will burst into flame.” Her head turns back to Triss and begins to squeeze her again. I move to Ciri and try to shake her but all that I manage is a light push before my hands go through Ciri too.

Seven figures on horses come through the sky on horses and earth worldly voices cry out around us. I look back around trying to find something to stop this. I turn back to Ciri, determined to try one more time to snap her out of it. She looks at Tris being held by the elven woman and Screams Geralt's name.

I gasp as I sit up finding myself on the floor. I see Triss fall to her knees off the bed with her hand covering her throat. Ciri reaches for her and Tris flinches and screams backing herself against the wall.

“Something is ending. It’s because of you.” She gasp. “A seed that burst into flame. It’s you. You will destroy us all. I saw it.” She cries.

“Enough!” I shout trying to stand. I look at Ciri first. She looks terrified as she runs from the room. “Ciri!” I call out, but she just keeps running. I look back at Triss and see her still there weeping.

“Triss.” I say and she flinches. “Triss, everything is okay now. You’re safe.” I try to say in a soothing tone. I managed to wrap and arm around her, helping her from the floor. She starts to mumble somewhat incoherently. Once I got her from the floor. I am able to walk her down the hallway back to her room. I get her tucked into her bed and she just lays on her side eyes staring blankly at the wall. I gently tell her I will come back to check on her but she simply looks straight through me as if I am not even there.

I take off down searching the keep to find Ciri. I hear a shout that sounds as if it came from Geralt. I jog in the direction of his voice. When I enter the room Geralt is sitting at the foot of a bed Ciri is in and I see the vial in Vesemir’s hand. I look up at Vesemir and he looks to me and the room goes still. I feel the glow almost instantly looking at that vial in his hands. Ciri stands and leaves the room. I barely feel Geralt’s hand on my arm pulling me and I resist for a moment before I let him. He turns to look at Vesemir once more as he practically shoves me out of the room and we catch up with Ciri in the hall.

“Ciri, I need you to go pack your things.” Geralt tells her. She opens her mouth to say something but one look at my face and she nods and walks back down the hall. “What happened?” Geralt asks as he gently tugs for me to follow him to the great hall.

“You mean besides my almost committing murder?” He winces slightly at my barked question. I launch into a full accounting of everything he has managed to miss in the whole 6 hours he’s been gone. By the time I’ve finished, I’ve managed to calm significantly. “The reason we all think I’m here is to protect her but I’m scared for her, Geralt. It feels like with every step I’m pulling her away from the edge in the end I’m pushing her closer to it.” I express dejectedly placing my head in my hands. Geralt pulls my hands away from my face and pulls me into his arms.

“You are helping her, even when it may not seem like it. I am more grateful for it than you know.” He tells me.

“Thank you, Geralt.” I smiled at him. I pull away from him but even after his arms leave me his touch still lingers.

“You should get some rest and pack your things.” Geralt says turning to leave.

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

“The Temple of Melitele in Ellander.” He says striding from the room. I freeze knowing that name. Knowing that this is where shit actually hits the fan.

Well fuck.

@freegardenbanananeck

#geralt of rivia #Geralt #the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt x you #Geralt and Ciri #geralt x y/n #geralt fanfic

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moorishflower · 1 year

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Hi! I absolutely loved 'Those who have yet to decide'. I've read it three times and want to read it again. My friend sent the fic to me and I was floored at the beautiful descriptions, but also establishing a new, profound love for Hob in makeup and a corset. This line will forever make me crack up because it's so accurate. Woof to Hob in a corset! I wish I could see it in live action haha. I can hear it in Boyd's voice actually. I love how you wrote this Corinthian.

“Check out these tits, my lord,” the Corinthian says; Dream did not refashion him to have any sense of propriety or good timing, and he regrets this now, immeasurably. “Woof. Bark bark, am I right?”

It was sensual and made me all tingly. I loved how Hob was waving his bi flag proudly and as a bi man myself I salute him. It was just such a brilliant fic and I'm so happy you shared it with us.

I have a read almost everything you have written and I was hoping I could make a small request. Something short and sweet. Could I ask for you to write Hob taking Dream out on a date, strolling through the city at night? Honestly I have no plot idea for you because anything you write will be amazing.

I hope you are well and happy new year to you! I wish you all the happiness and success this year ahead :) (I just saw now that my fave fic is getting a sequel. I'm jumping up and down from happiness!! I'm sat and ready for this!)

Bi Hob means a LOT to me. Bi characters in general mean a lot to me! It's so fuckin important that they're included in any discussion of queer history and queer acceptance, because they, along with like, hetersexual aromantic/heteroromantic asexual people and also hetero trans men/trans women, are very frequently excluded from under that umbrella and it's not fucking right because who you are doesn't change based on who you're dating or fucking and bisexuality isn't just a "cry for attention" or "playing it safe" and I just get very irked by the whole disk horse about it. Which is to say I am SO glad that you liked the fic. <3<3<3

The "sequel" to Those who have yet to decide is now up! It's called "Ab instrumento ad corpus" and it's uh 27k l o l.

Short and sweet short and sweet hmmmm

"Dream!" Thunk. "I know you're up! I can see your light on! Please, Dream, I just want to talk, let me explain..."

It is 11:30 in the evening, and Dream has, for the last fifteen minutes, been listening to the steady tap of stones pelting against his bedroom window. The sound is not unlike hard rain, and if it weren't for the increasingly frantic voice accompanying each volley, he might be able to turn over and accept it as yet another piece of white noise in the background of his room, slotting neatly into place beside the fan whirring by the closet and the gentle hum of his desktop, the water rushing through the pipes in the walls, the clink of ice from the kitchen as Del fetches herself her customary glass of midnight orange juice.

But the voice cannot be ignored. Easier, he thinks, to ignore the sun, to ignore gravity. To ignore the pounding of his own heart, the lurid thud against his ribcage. He manages to hold out for a further, and remarkable, thirty seconds, before there is a sound from below his window that is not a whispered call, and is not a rock pattering against the glass. It is, to his horror, something more like a sob.

He is out of bed and to the window before he has even fully processed his own intention, fingers fumbling numbly for the latch. A bevy of tiny stones litter the ledge of the roof outside, and yet more have trundled down into the gutter, which he can see if he leans outwards, which he does now.

"Hob Gadling," he says severely. Tries for 'severely.' Fears that he has fallen far short, somewhere in the territory of 'desperate.' "Cease your hysterics at once and tell me what do you want?"

The figure that is sat upon the lawn below his window, miserably hunched with his face pressed into his gangling knees, has hair like petrified wood, smooth and glossy and dark redwood brown. When the sunlight hits it perfectly it highlights coronas of sublime amber, all streaked and brilliant and falling in lose waves to cover apple-blushed cheeks and the decent beginnings of scruff along his chin. His chin has a darling cleft in it, which he had once told Dream was a source of some embarrassment for him, and which Dream had told him ought not to worry him, as people would not be looking at his chin, but at his eyes. Hob had assumed he was being quite literal -- had laughed, in the way he has when he isn't certain if laughter will be welcome, but is unable to help himself -- but what Dream had meant was that Hob's eyes were like molten gold, like the beating core of the universe, like sundogs flaring in summer, warm and liquid and arresting to heart and mind.

Hob does not look warm, nor arresting, at this moment. He looks like a seventeen year-old boy sitting in a quarter-inch of snow, slowly soaking through his denims, lifting his head to reveal red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks. Dream refuses to let the sight stir his heart to pity. He refuses.

"What do you want?" he repeats, and Hob scrambles to his feet, slipping and sliding in frost. He is holding some sort of bundle in one hand, Dream realizes -- in the dark, where it had lain beside him, it had not been obvious. Is still not obvious, but is now undeniably there.

"To apologize," Hob says, and Dream narrows his eyes.

"I am not interested. In your apologies. I do not need you, Hob. I do not need friends. I certainly do not need friends like you, and furthermore --"

"Dream will you just shut up for five seconds? For five bloody seconds while I try to explain?"

Dream shuts his mouth. Inhales, deeply, as his therapist has taught him, and counts to ten. Exhales slowly.

"I am listening," he says. Fury and desire trembling in his breast, vying for control of his heart.

Hob, also, is breathing deeply. There are high spots of color upon his cheeks, and his eyes shine with intensity, and not only wavering tears.

"I'm lonely, too," he says, and Dream holds on to the windowsill. As though by doing so he might prevent himself from flying apart. His knuckles, already pale, turn tea rose pink, and then bloodless white beneath the pressure. "If you'd have let me finish before storming off like a prick, I could've told you that I'm lonely, too. And, and the only time I'm not lonely is when I'm with you. Every room that you aren't in feels empty. The house feels empty. All I want, every minute of every sodding day, is to be right next to you, whatever you're doing, whether you're studying or reading or writing, or, or watching birds. I'd watch birds with you for hours, Dream. I'd pick that over footie, or porn, or..."

"Charming," Dream says. Feels the frost that wafts along the winter night against his neck, and feels the heat blooming under his skin all the same, warding it away. Hob pushes his hand back through his hair, messing it thoroughly, giving him a rakish and dangerous silhouette that makes Dream's heart beat uncomfortably loudly in his ears.

"I'm serious, Dream. I don't. I'm not good with words, the way you are. But I know what I feel, all right? And what I'm trying to say is that I love you. I love you, you dense prick, I'm in love with you, I'm fucking mad with it and if you want me to climb Nelson's Column and shout it from the top I'll fucking do it!"

"Please do not risk legal action for my sake," Dream says. His heart, already rabbit-fast, has elevated itself to speeds normally reserved for jets. It soars in wild loops through the spaces between his ribs. He feels as though he is flying. He feels as though he is going to start hyperventilating. Hob gazes up at him from the lawn, the snow a blanket of cream-white tulle that he scuffs with the tips of his Docs, rucking it up like a sleeper's blanket until Dream can see the still faintly-green grass beneath. The seat of his denims is soaked through, and his hair is a wild bird's nest, and his nose is red, and blotchy, and in the winter silence Dream can hear his stuffy breathing. He sounds as though he is trying to inhale jello through a straw.

"Give me. Five minutes," he says, and Hob nods, and rubs his nose against his sleeve. Disgusting. Foolish. Stupid.

Dream fetches his jacket from the back of his desk chair, slips on his Uggs without bothering with socks, and stuffs a scarf and some gloves into his pockets before he creeps downstairs. The night is blessed: Del has returned to her room, and neither his mother nor father are up. Not even Desire, who seems to sense gossip in the way that homing pigeons can orient themselves towards their nests, is awake. Dream deactivates the alarm on the door to the kitchen and steals outside, into the frigid night.

Hob is there, waiting for him. He has left a shuffling trail of disturbed snow in his wake, and is not dressed at all for the weather, with only his customary jean jacket as any protection. His breath puffs into the darkness in clouds of frost-ringed fairy floss, and the tears on his cheeks glisten like they, too, might turn to ice. When Dream nears, he thrusts out the bundle that he has been cradling. Up close, it resolves into a carefully-wrapped conical shape, swaddled in layers of silver and blue tissue paper.

"Didn't want it to get wet," Hob mutters. The red at his cheeks has spread downward, inching along his neck. Dream takes the bundle, and carefully peels its thin exoskeleton back.

"Oh," he says. Hob scuffs his boots into the snow.

"The lady at the shop thought I was mental," he mutters. "Said nobody pays attention to flower meanings anymore and it was going to be the ugliest bouquet, and I said he cares, and if I get him something as prosaic as roses he'll spit in my face."

"I would never," Dream says, momentarily distracted from the beauty of the bouquet in his hands.

"Yeah, but you'd want to."

Dream huffs, and his own breath joins Hob's, mingling clouds of crystalline vapor. He strokes his fingers through the flowers, all bundled and tight within their wrapping. "Heliotrope," he says softly, "for undying love. Forget-me-not, for faithfulness. Aster?"

"Yeah, she said it stood for patience. 'Cause I will be. I'll wait for you, as long as you need me to. If you need me to wait 'til you come back from uni, or until we're both eighteen or twenty or thirty, or..."

"Hob," he says, and Hob stops, his teeth chattering gently. At some point within the last minute their eyes have caught, and Dream cannot look away. Hob's eyes are honey, thick and sweet and gleaming with inner light, and Dream digs haphazardly into his pocket. Retrieves his scarf, and holds it out.

"You are freezing," he says, and Hob starts.

"I'm fine."

"Do not be dense. Put on the scarf."

There's a quick flash of a smile, just enough to show a hint of teeth, white and gently crooked, and Hob takes the scarf without further protest. He winds it around his neck, and buries his nose into the dense cashmere, inhaling. Dream's heart kicks like a startled mule, and the heat in his skin travels downwards. He keeps his hand extended, and Hob, his fingers buried in the scarf, looks at him quizzically.

"I have heard it is impolite to keep one's boyfriend waiting," he says, and the smile, which before had been only a hint, blooms spectacular and free across his face. "Walk with me."

"Anywhere you want," Hob says, and, fingers warmed from the huff of his own breath, tucks his hand into Dream's.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #not the highschool AU that you want but the highschool AU *I* want #which is to say teenage pining no highschool #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #my fic

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crawlspacefics · 4 months

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Tangled Web (chapter 4) - Throwback Thursday edition

Ghosts, a Sailor Venus volleyball, a round of golf, Sunday breakfast, and lots of family everywhere you turn. As a side note, I cleaned up so many typos in this chapter. It was awful, and I apologize to anyone who read it previously. 🫣

It had started out innocently enough, with a child’s simple question of who wanted to play ball. Things never stayed that simple, though, and when Minako caught the yellow and orange volleyball with the image of her superhero persona emblazoned on its side, the first spark of competitive glee had lit. If Haruka hadn’t been the one standing next to her at just that moment, they might have been able to contain the resulting blaze. As it was, the two blondes now stood on opposite sides of a makeshift volleyball net, staring each other down.

“You’re not on a racetrack this time, Tenoh,” threw out Minako in full challenge. “This is my game and my turf.”

“Feeling brave, are we?” replied Haruka, a self-confident smirk on her lips.

Minako returned the smirk with one of her own. “I’m only trying to save your reputation. After all, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your girlfriend.”

“Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you,” answered Haruka. Her smile widened in anticipation, and she called over her shoulder without breaking their eye contact, “You guys ready?”

Michiru and Setsuna, who had been dragged into the middle of it along with Rei and Usagi, answered back in the affirmative.

Minako called back to the two members of her team, and when she only got back an enthusiastic “Ready!” from Usagi, she turned her gaze to Rei.

The miko stood with one hand on her hip and an amused grin on her face. She held the ball in her other hand, having won the coin toss for the serve.

Minako raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

Rei nodded, then shifted her attitude and stance to serve. ‘Who was the weaker link?’ she contemplated. ‘One in the back, but which one?’

From the sidelines, Miki burbled happily as he bounced on Shouko’s lap. Beside them, Kara waved the shredded paper pompoms her mother had helped the girls quickly pull together. “Go, Rei!” shouted the little girl. “You can do it!”

On the other side of the net, Chibi-usa and Hotaru answered in kind, calling out their support for the Outers and waving their pompoms enthusiastically.

Her own competitive spirit building amid the cheers from their “fans,” Rei made her decision and served the ball.

For the first few minutes, the ball volleyed back and forth at a deceptively easy pace. Rei watched from her corner as Minako and Haruka kept dominance over the ball, neither putting their full ability into it. They were toying with each other, she thought, issuing a silent challenge and almost daring each other to lose patience and strike first.

Slowly, the tempo began to pick up. Minako’s moves became more focused, her agility and experience being put to good use. One corner of Rei’s mouth turned up as she observed the perfect form and tone of Minako’s body as she deflected a hard return from Haruka. The ball bounced back to Usagi, who in a less than graceful manner gave Minako the setup she wanted. Minako stretched like a lithe cat as she completed the maneuver, and Rei’s smile grew. One did not need a beach, she mused, to fully appreciate the sight of Minako playing volleyball in a bikini.

Then it touched her, skirting along the edge of her consciousness, and her smile abruptly fell. The cheers and laughter faded away until all she heard was the whisper of the air. A sharp chill passed through her being, the game and people around her disappearing into shadow until only one thing was left in her focus. The trees. The branches rustled, and she could almost see…

#sailor moon #sailor moon fanfiction #reinako #makoami #sailor mars #sailor mercury #sailor venus #sailor jupiter #sailor pluto #sailor saturn #sailor uranus #sailor neptune #crawl's fics #throwback thursday fics

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plethomacademia · 5 months

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No one asked but I want to do these two.

9. What was your overall feeling about your writing in 2023? What were you proud of? What were the highlights?

I wrote for the first time in five years and the first time outside of roleplay in over a decade. I am happy to be doing this at all.

8. What was your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote? Why do you like it?

THE ARGUMENT IN FRONT OF THE MODISTE SHOP IN DUET CHAPTER ONE IS MY FAVORITE DIALOGUE PROBABLY EVER

I love to make Maeve and Enver fight because they can just volley back and forth. Pasting with some of the longer description cut so we can just focus on the THEMNESS of it.

“I have a dress, Lord Gortash.” “Do you really need me to list the reasons why that dress is not adequate for this mission?” he says. She crosses her arms and raises her chin at him. She looks like a petulant child. “Very well.” He counts off the reasons on his fingers. “First, you’ve been seen in it several times in my opera box. Anyone who reads the gossip columns will guess in an instant.” “It’s not that unique —” “Second,” he says, ignoring her glare, “It is far too revealing. As much as I will admit enjoying the sight of your thighs, Maeve, it will stick out in these crowds. You need something that blends in.” He catches how the tips of her ears turn a bit pink at his mention of her thighs. He has seen her with her hands in a chest cavity, but she is so easily disarmed by a half-hearted flirtation. It is always a treat. “And the third?” she bites out. “I know you have one.” “The third reason is simple. It is at least fifteen years out of fashion.” “And you are so versed in women’s fashion?” “More than you. One day, I will explain to you the value in being able to read a person’s clothing, but for now, you are making us late for an appointment that I spent some effort in getting for you. So, are you going to stomp your feet about it and continue catching the attention of everyone in the square or shall we go inside?” They stand like that for a long moment, long enough that he worries that the modiste will come out and make things worse. “Fine,” she finally spits out. She walks to the shop, nearly rips the doors off its hinges, then goes inside.

#asks #writing #no one can stop me i can just answer whatever i want

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kvhasproblems · 2 years

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Part 1 Bad Nights

Daisy Johnson x reader

Rated: G

Word Count: 679

Reader’s pronouns aren’t mentioned in this lol,

(Takes place in season 3 but it doesn’t matter much)

(Spoiler-free)

Warnings: regular aos violence.

AN: So basically this fic was supposed to be longer but I couldn’t for the life of me write the second half to it so, for now, I’m posting the first half and just making this into 2 parts.

I jolted awake. For the 3rd time that night. I haven’t been able to sleep properly since the mission. It just went so wrong so fast. The young boy, the building. It sent a nasty shiver down my spine just thinking about it. I run my hands down my face in frustration. I know how to deal with stress and traumatic situations, it was part of my training at Ops Academy at Shield. I just couldn’t understand why I can’t get this stupid mission out of my head. I glanced at the clock beside me.

2:04 am

I roll my eyes and slowly make my way out of bed. I’m not going to be getting any sleep tonight I might as well grab some tea and look at that paperwork Coulson needs me to do.

I throw on my dark grey shield hoodie and make my way down the base's dimly lit halls to the common area. My feet feel heavy and my body slumped as I walk. I am beyond exhausted. I trudge my way over to the kettle and start to make my tea. My thoughts keep flashing back to the boy, and the building. I try to push them away but they just keep coming back.

I hear the slight irregularity in my soundings, there’s someone behind me. Just before the person could put their hand on my shoulder I turn grabbing their hand, I spin them and pin their hand behind their back. My mind came to a second after I reacted. I quickly let go.

“Y/N!? What the hell?” Daisy whisper shouted.

“Oh god Daisy I'm so sorry, but in all fairness, you shouldn’t have snuck up on me,” I say with a small smile.

She smirks back before her eyes seem to search mine, a small flash of concern washes over her before she quickly covers it up.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asks leading me over to the couch in the common room.

“I could ask the same about you?” I volley back.

“Touché.” She said raising her eyebrow. We had both found a spot on the couch, our knees touching in a comforting way. I felt her gaze shift over me.

“Are going to keep deflecting or are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” She said while putting her hand on my shoulder making me look at her.

“Hey, I was not deflecting,” I say in a teasingly defensive voice.

Daisy raised her eyebrow at my statement. I let out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know… I just haven’t been sleeping well lately, it’s just another bad night I guess.”

“Does it have to do with what happened during the mission a few days ago? You know that wasn’t your fault.”

“I know it’s not but… I can’t stop seeing his face. I close my eyes and he’s right there. If I had just acted faster maybe I could have saved him, and maybe there’s nothing I could have done but… I just can’t help but think there must’ve been. It’s stupid.”

“That’s not stupid and there’s nothing I can say that you don’t already know, but what I can do is be here for you and what you can do is try to get some sleep.”

I pulled Daisy into a warm hug.

“Thank you.” I gave her a warm smile before curling into her side as her arm wrapped around me comfortingly. I looked back up at her.

“Could we just sit here for a bit, I’m not ready to try and sleep yet.”

“whatever you want.”

We sit in comfortable silence, just content with each other's company and warmth. I slowly feel myself start to drift off. My eyes flutter closed as my breath falls in rhythm with Daisy’s. Just as I’m on the brink of sleep I feel a pair of warm lips touch my forehead.

“Goodnight love,” Daisy whispered so quietly I could barely hear it.

I drifted off before I could murmur a response.

#agents of shield #agents of shield fanfics #aos fanfic #daisy johnson fluff #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson #aos #daisy johnson x reader fluff

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antisocialxconstruct · 1 year

Text

some GC writing I'd been on the fence about posting because [vague static sounds] but I think it provides some important context for the other thing I want to post... tomorrow, maybe. So:

5.3k, Maksim reacts poorly to Ilya saying extremely normal things (aka Maksim Experiences The Horrors). Nothing really to warn for here... some brief extremely oblique references to why Maksim has issues with physical intimacy.

This takes place after Ilya's "conversation", and before the interrogation.

---

The first time he told Ilya where his apartment was they laughed. "So do you ever eat," they had asked, "or do all your payouts go into the rent?"

And he had simply explained, "I got lucky. They were running a deal," and left out the skull-splitting migraine he nursed for two days after manufacturing that deal in the mind of the property manager.

Ilya still wrinkled their nose at the thought of whatever upper-crust snobs he must be surrounded by, and assured him (unprompted) that he would never have to worry about unannounced visits because they wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like that. So it's a relief to see them standing very much alive in the hallway, albeit bristling and out of place, but it is equally a curiosity. At least they kept their promise that it wouldn't be unannounced. [Where are you] had been an unexpected enough text to receive at two in the afternoon that he’d followed up immediately.

>[Home]

[Boring. Door #?]

And he’d told them, and half an hour later they were on his doorstep.

He wants to question them, or at least rib them a little for debasing themself enough to set foot in Oceanview, but this is an uncomfortable intersection of two very different sides of his life and he also wants them out of view of any prying neighbors. Before he says anything he steps back and beckons them in with a tilt of his head.

Ilya doesn’t immediately volunteer an explanation either, hovering only a few paces past the door as Maksim retreats back to the couch, where his manhunter lays field stripped and half cleaned on the coffee table. He spares them another glance as he sets about wiping down the frame, saying, “there’s no one you need to impress here.”

“This is so weird,” Ilya muses, turning in place to take in his living room before finally meandering closer to his place on the couch. “It doesn’t even look like anyone lives here.”

Maksim blinks, looking up at them again with a puzzled scowl. He sits back to gesture at himself, at the gun and the kit in front of him, a wordless statement of little more than I’m literally sitting here.

Ilya snorts. “You know what I mean. It’s… I don’t know, sterile?”

“It’s clean,” Maksim volleys back. “I don’t believe you came all the way here just to judge my decor.”

“No…” Ilya’s gaze begins to wander again, and now that Maksim is watching them more closely he suspects it’s not just the unfamiliar surroundings making them tense. There’s something in the way they’re holding themself, the way their eyes dart back to him and then flick away again… a question hanging in the air between them. Eventually, somewhere in their nervous inspection of his space, they find it. “Did anything… happen last night? I had the weirdest conversation at the bar, after the run, I haven’t been able to shake it.”

Maksim cants his head, giving them an analytical once-over. By now he knows what a noteworthy ‘conversation’ at the bar entails, but he also knows the extent of Ilya’s resilience. Still there’s an impressive bruise sprawled across one side of their jaw, fresh enough to stand out dark against their tan skin and telling the story of at least one blow that would have been heavy enough to lay out someone with even marginally less chrome. He drops his attention back down to his original task, turning his attention to the barrel and spring assembly as he says, “weird enough to send you home with quite a headache, I assume.”

Ilya manages a laugh and a nonchalant roll of their shoulders in spite of their obvious discomfort. “I mean it was nothing I couldn’t handle. One suit and some muscle, way too far from their own turf.”

“How far?” Maksim prompts, a smile flitting across his own features as he fits the manhunter’s slide back together. Ilya’s tension was starting to leak into the room, he’d rather keep them on a subject they’re comfortable with.

“Man, I don’t know,” they say, exhaling a sharp puff of air. “Sounded like UCAS somewhere… east coast, maybe?”

And the smile gets wicked away as a chill pours itself down Maksim’s spine. He doesn’t look up.

It could be a coincidence.

If it was, why would Ilya come to him with it? What are they angling at?

The manhunter comes back together with the soft scrape of metal on polymer. He steals another glance at them without moving his head, and both the initial unease and the subsequent brashness are gone, replaced by a look he can’t interpret in the brief moment he has to examine it.

It can’t be a coincidence. They know what they’re doing.

“I can’t imagine what they would be looking for in California,” he remarks.

“Actually the suit was asking about you.”

Maksim grits his teeth, hoping it doesn’t show on his face the way those six words just turned his stomach. The silence settles too fast and too heavy between them, punctuated only by a hollow click as Maksim points the newly reassembled pistol at the floor and pulls the trigger. Racks the slide, does it again.

Calm, controlled. Everything operating as it should.

It was only a matter of time until they tracked him down again, he knows that. It’s a bad sign that they’re close enough on his trail to know they could get to him through Ilya… They’ve never tried anything like that before, but then he never stayed in one place long enough to have contacts before. It’s a worse sign that Ilya is here now, holding this over him, waiting for… for what? For him to negotiate? To beg? There’s no reason to panic yet, though. He can salvage this. And if he can’t… He slots the magazine back into place, sets the manhunter down deliberately on the table in front of him, and finally looks up to meet Ilya's gaze.

“What did he offer you?”

Ilya's poker face is at least as good as his, but he catches the subtle hint, the furrowing of their brow as their gaze darts to the gun and then back to him. Not quite unease… confusion? This is a gambit they’ve seen before, they should understand what he’s signaling. I’m not escalating, but I’m prepared to. Their voice sounds uncharacteristically hesitant as they ask, "does that matter?"

Maksim takes in a slow breath through his nose, exhales as he rolls his eyes. "Of course it matters," he says, with all the patience he can muster. "You don't have to be coy about this, if I can beat whatever they're offering you I'd rather-"

“Maksim.” There’s something in Ilya’s voice that stops him short, some tone he doesn’t think he’s heard before. Not from them. They’re wearing the bemusement more openly now, but underneath it, he thinks there’s something else. “Did you think I was shopping for a better offer? I’m not just gonna sell you out like that.”

That’s not what he was expecting, and for what feels even to him like an uncomfortably long moment Maksim just stares. He figured there were only two ways this conversation could go, but they’re already off-script. Something… shifts, a thin fissure opening up between the calm and control he'd weighed himself down with. Some sort of unnamed discomfort bubbles up out of it and he tries to swallow it back. “Why…?” he asks, and he hates the way he can hear his own voice waver.

Ilya frowns, furrowing their brow and cocking their head at him like he’s speaking gibberish. “Because we’re a team…? I don’t… is this a problem?”

The discomfort continues to well up into Maksim’s chest despite his efforts to bury it, congealing into a sort of dread, a certainty that something is wrong. A problem. This is a problem. “Yes,” he blurts and winces, instantly regretting the honesty as his eyes fall searchingly to the floor as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth. He feels sick, like the dread is going to spill over, viscous and far too real. Ilya’s chuckle in response is brief and uncertain, and when Maksim holds their gaze again, whatever they see in his expression evaporates that momentary attempt at mirth.

“Why? I’m… I don’t get it.”

No more than a second’s hesitation. He drops his hand back into his lap. “Because I-” but this time the answer breaks apart on Maksim’s lips in a burst of self doubt. Because I thought we both agreed that was the arrangement. Because it’s what I would do in your place. It’s this thought that ricochets back out of his subconscious, twisted into a question he doesn’t want to answer, and his next breath comes short and quick, accompanied by a sudden stab of fear.

Wouldn’t I?

It only takes that momentary uncertainty for the dam to break on the terrible reality of the situation, for all the other inevitable questions to come flooding in after it. Did the dynamic change? When? What signs did he miss? Where do they stand now? What is Ilya expecting of him? How has he failed them already? How does he get out of this?

A wave of lightheaded nausea crests over him and he leans forward, trying to ignore the sensation that he’s about to pitch himself off the couch onto the floor. The horror pooling in his chest is hardening, crystalizing, jagged against his ribs as it presses the air out of his lungs. Elbows braced on his knees and thumbs pressed to his temples, he stares hard down at the pistol in front of him. Not with any sort of intent, simply because it’s the easiest thing to focus on that isn’t Ilya. It’s the only thing in his immediate perception that seems stable. The next words he speaks come out small and strangled. “You need to… can you leave?”

He doesn't look up but he can hear Ilya take a step closer. "Look, if you just tell me what-"

"Ilya, can you just leave?" he says again, a little sharper, a little louder this time. He's well past the point of being able to construct a better counter-argument. He has to fight back the temptation to dig a telepathic hand into their brain and make them leave, whether they want to or not. If he didn’t already feel like he was going to be sick… Instead he appends the request with a single word. "Please?"

Maybe it's the fact that he’s begging that settles things. Maybe it's the way he keeps involuntarily flexing his claws, fingers laced together over his brow so he can feel the carbon fiber tips pricking against the backs of his hands. The silence stretches out into several long, uncomfortable seconds before he finally hears Ilya turn, retreat to the front door without a single word more, and step out. The door latches softly behind them and the only company Maksim has left is the sound of his own ragged breathing.

What is this…?

What this is, is bad. He’s been on the run for over two years, dodging repercussions for something he still firmly maintains he didn’t do but never managed to shake off anyway. Something that broke some part of him, permanently warped his relationship to his own body. He doesn’t even know for sure who’s coming after him, what kind of retribution they’re looking for, he only knows that they’re persistent. He can’t run any further west than San Francisco, and if they kept up with him through three different territories it won’t matter if he starts going north or south next. They’re close, practically breathing down his neck, and they’re playing by different rules now. Rules he doesn’t know and can’t defend against.

And right now he can’t worry about any of that.

Because right now the problem is Ilya.

This… this has happened before–the confidence, the certainty that he understood the parameters of a relationship and was working within them, and the gut-churning elevator drop of realizing all at once that he was wrong. When a girl in his teen social circle had declared to the rest of their friends that they were dating he’d gone along with it, did all the things he understood fell under the label of “boyfriend,” and six months later when she justified cheating on him on the basis that he didn’t take her out enough for it to be a “real” relationship, he conceded and assured her they didn’t need to be in a fake relationship either. When an artist in Rostov had become enamored with him, he’d agreed to steal away to the studio whenever he could to play the role of muse, and after a year and a half when the artist confessed he had never once felt that Maksim was truly “present” with him despite their time together, he apologized for wasting the man’s time and then stopped showing up. After the army he’d spent the better part of his travels across Europe in lockstep with a fellow hitchhiker, only for them to become irate at being rebuffed when they tried to act on the “signals'' Maksim hadn’t been aware he was sending. By then he had concluded that the only safe way to navigate any encounter was to project outward what he had always felt but internalized as an inappropriate response to new people–flat, passive disinterest. The last time a fellow runner had remarked on how much ze valued their friendship, and wondered if Maksim might ever want more out of it, he had been quick to clarify that he had never thought of them as friends.

It’s difficult to say how long he sits there, bent forward on the couch and floundering in the mire of his own thoughts, but by the time his heartbeat and breathing have leveled out and he feels like he can move without fainting, the afternoon light has fully given way to the soft rusty hues of a California evening.

He stands, unsteady at first, and shuffles away from the couch to stretch the tension out of his limbs. He needs to move, he needs to do anything else. After a bit of aimless pacing he finds himself in the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for the unopened bottle of whiskey that a neighbor had presented as a housewarming gift, which then got shuffled away into a back corner because Maksim didn’t bother explaining to her that he doesn’t drink.

Anymore. He doesn’t drink anymore. But under the circumstances…

He uncovers it eventually, pours a couple fingers into the first glass he finds, downs it, coughs as it hits the back of his throat with a vengeance. It’s a blessing that he’s in the apartment alone, grimacing through the mid-tier burn of his first drink in two years. But it blankets his nerves enough to tamp down the burst of nervous energy, and the second shot softens the focus around the brittle edges of his thoughts just enough for him to be willing to face them again. He does the third pour the courtesy of actually sipping it as he sinks back into the pits of unwelcome self-reflection.

He always had a simple solution for this, for every fool who thought they were close when he thought he was being cold, every asshole who thought they were enemies when he thought he was being civil–disengage. Whatever the dynamic was, abandon it, let it dissolve, never think about it again. He’d never invested himself in any relationship–romantic, platonic, or work-related–so much that he wasn’t willing to end it at a moment’s notice, so if the other party didn’t like it, what did he care? He’d tried that once with Ilya already, pulled back and insisted that he had no interest in being friends, and it had rolled off their back and left them entirely unfazed. But they didn’t leave. So he had assumed they had an understanding. We’re not friends. This partnership ends as soon as one of us has better prospects. He doesn’t know when Ilya started thinking of them as a “team,” if that’s all they think, if it’s his fault again, but it should be grounds for a more final liquidation of the dynamic to avoid any further misunderstandings. And yet none of that aligns with his reaction tonight. It doesn’t explain the lingering dread, dripped down out of his ribcage to sit heavy in the pit of his stomach. It doesn’t explain why the idea of letting Ilya down, the possibility that they might want something he can’t give them, makes him feel ill.

It would be easy to remove them from his life if he really wanted to. It’s a big city, they never moved in the same circles anyway, if they stopped meeting on purpose he’d probably never see them again. He has enough credibility now that he could find another team, even if that meant finding another fixer. He’s not so loyal to Violet that he would miss em. It would be quick, it would be practically effortless… and when he tries to envision it, tries to formulate the final conversation with Ilya before they part ways for good, his chest constricts like someone’s got a vice grip around his heart.

Someone…

It doesn’t quite hit him like a lightning strike, like a tidal wave, like anything especially poetic.

Moreso it comes crashing down on him like the contents of a precariously packed closet, finally succumbing to the structural instability of removing a single item from the bottom, leaving him stunned and dismayed and with a clear, perfect view of the absolute mess laid out around him.

And it is a mess.

With a groan he leans forward to rest his elbows on the counter, runs a hand over his face, hangs his head and laces his fingers over the back of his neck. Then he quietly and very somberly tells the empty glass in front of him, “жизнь ебет меня.”

Because he doesn’t want to disengage. Whatever he and Ilya actually have, he doesn’t want it to dissolve. He just wants a name for it.

It still takes two days after the revelation before Maksim finds the nerve to contact Ilya again, and even then only through text.

>[Can we meet?]

The hour between when he sends it and when they respond feels like one of the greatest agonies of his life, no matter how many times he tells himself they could simply be busy.

[Are you sure?]

>[Yes]

He hesitates, types I owe you an explanation, deletes it. Too open ended, he doesn't know if they'll show up with questions he can't answer. He tries I'll tell you as much as I can, then It's important, scraps them both. Pointlessly ominous. What is he trying to say? What does he want them to think he's trying to say? Finally he settles.

>[Caporal, lunch?]

This time the answer comes quickly.

[I can be there at 1]

El Caporal Restaurant & Bar is one of the precious few middle grounds they were able to settle on in the time they’ve been working together. Its atmosphere is pragmatic and unassuming, far less trendy or quirky than most of the establishments in the Mission, and it’s close enough to the Haight-Ashbury slums that the staff aren’t likely to bat an eye at metahumans or anyone who comes off rougher than an ordinary wageslave, convenient for both of them especially when they’re together. As an added bonus the food is even half-decent, not that Maksim can find much of an appetite beneath his tangled nerves.

He gets to the restaurant just after 12. Enough time to linger at the front and strike up a conversation with the hostess, who’s just the right mixture of “bored on a slow day” and “afraid of looking like she’s slacking” to indulge him. Once he gets her laughing along with a joke at the expense of the management–”you can’t say that,” she giggles conspiratorially–he knows they’re on the same side, and moves on to his real intent.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says, winking playfully. “Listen I probably shouldn’t keep you, and I hate to be more trouble, but could I ask one last favor?”

“Sure, what do you need hun?” her posture shifts slightly, more attentive, ready to engage the customer service protocols.

“I need your patio, actually.” He looks past her, lifting his chin to indicate the double doors at the back. “I’m waiting for a f-. A friend,” he clears his throat, pressing on before she can notice the hesitation and before he can properly wonder why the label didn’t roll off his tongue like any other lie, “it would mean the world if we could just have some privacy to catch up, if you think that’s doable.” He keeps his tone and smile bland, taking care not to weave any sort of implication into his words. Let her decide if this is some sort of back-room deal or just two friends looking for a quiet reunion. El Caporal manages to be a passable location for either one.

“Oh!” The hostess steals a glance over her shoulder, then turns back to him. “Yeah… I think we can manage that,” she says with a wink of her own. “I doubt we’re going to see much of a crowd this afternoon anyway.”

He still ends up sitting alone outside for another twenty minutes, a cigarette in one hand and the steady drum of fingertips on the glass tabletop becoming a quiet metronome behind his thoughts as he stares blankly down at the menu. Most of that time has been spent half heartedly sipping sangria and fighting his own instinct to start writing an internal script for this conversation. With his luck, it’ll veer left a few minutes in and he’ll be completely out of his depth all over again, made all the worse for the inability to let go of what he had planned. Best to speak as freely as he can handle.

Best to speak from the heart.

He grimaces, immediately disliking the mawkishness of his own thoughts, but shakes it off just as quickly when he hears the double doors open. He straightens, meeting the hostess and Ilya with the same pleasant demeanor he’d entered with. “Ah there you are,” he laughs, fixing Ilya with a pointed look when he sees the uncertainty suddenly flit across their features. “I was starting to think you were lost.”

“Well… you know how it is,” Ilya offers, doing a quick inventory of the scene and catching on fast even if the code-switching isn’t as instantaneous for them. They’re on time, but it’s obvious he’s been waiting anyway. “Traffic’s a bitch.”

“Can I get either of you anything to start out?” the hostess chirps, all professional courtesy now.

Ilya takes another second to eye Maksim’s drink, then turns to her with a light smile of their own, not quite as plastic as Maksim’s feels but a level of politeness he knows they reserve for people they don’t actually want anything to do with. “Anything you’ve got on tap with a bite would be great,” they say, then break away to take their seat as she heads back inside.

There’s a graciously short span of uncomfortable silence before she returns, sets the glass down in front of them, and then picking up on the fact that neither of them has shown much interest in the lunch menu, bustles away again with some noncommittal pleasantries.

Finally, once he's reasonably confident they won't be bothered again for a while, Maksim exhales sharply and lets the facade slip away, rubbing his eyes with his palms until it brings little bursts of color to the surface of his vision.

"Well this is... more intimate than I was expecting," Ilya comments, and when Maksim opens his eyes again he can't tell from their expression whether it was a joke, an observation, or a complaint. Either way they look at least a bit like they're suddenly doubting they were allowed to say it at all.

"I just wanted privacy," he explains, maybe a little too quickly. Too eager to justify. Then, "you... I thought you deserve to know why you were attacked."

A sharp little smile does tug at the corner of Ilya’s mouth as they raise their drink to their lips. “‘Attacked’ is giving those goons a lot more credit than they deserve.”

Maksim takes a second to study their face again. The bruise their confrontation left behind has begun to fade, purple giving way to an uneven brown of healing tissue. Several conflicting thoughts pile to the front of his mind, it’s my fault that happened to you and why didn’t you just take the deal and they’re not going to get away with that. He pushes them all away and stubs out his cigarette, then leans back to fish the pack and lighter out his pocket. He so rarely chain smokes, but it’s apparently been a week of giving in to his worst impulses.

Finally he dives in, speaking through the first mouthful of smoke. “I know people talk… there was a botched run on a CAT warehouse in New York City a couple years ago, did you hear about it?”

Ilya doesn’t respond immediately, their expression becoming slightly pinched, and when they do speak there’s a note of what Maksim would hazard to call guilt underpinning the single word. “Yeah.”

He sighs again, but regards them with newfound curiosity. “You never brought it up.”

“I didn’t see a point,” Ilya shrugs. “All I ever heard were rumors from a lot of people who weren’t there and seemed to think they knew exactly what happened.”

Maksim nods slowly, trying to fit this neatly into his impressions of Ilya, of the terms of their relationship. “Well…” he pauses to take another drag. “Ironically, I was there and I’m not entirely sure what happened,” he says this with a light, apologetic smile, hoping to convey that it’s at least partly a joke and not just a tragic confession. “But I can tell you what I remember.”

“Hey, you really… you don’t have to-” Ilya starts, but Maksim holds a hand up to stop them.

“I just think you deserve some context,” he says. Then, with a last deep breath to steel himself, he presses on. “It really should have been a milk run. There were guards at the entrance but a warehouse is a warehouse… It was a tax shelter, full of worthless art, but apparently whoever it belonged to accidentally got their hands on something real… some catholic…” he rubs his eyes, makes a vague gesture with his hand. When the word doesn’t come to him he simply presses on. “Five runners seemed like overkill to get it but Alabast was paying well enough for a five-way split to be worth it, I guess they wanted it that badly.” He pauses again and frowns down at the table, taking a moment to reorganize his thoughts, weigh out which details Ilya actually needs and which ones would be wasting their time. “Of course I didn’t know we were working for Alabast until I was in Denver,” he muses, “I don’t know why I got into such a bad habit of never asking for details.”

Realizing he’s gotten ahead of himself, he closes his eyes and gives his head a quick shake before meeting Ilya’s eyes again. “There was something else in that warehouse with us… or someone, I don’t… I never found out. But while the five of us were still trying to figure out their cataloging system, it got in-” the end of that sentence gets swallowed by a sudden shudder that runs up the length of Maksim’s spine, as if the temperature had suddenly plunged around them. He hunches forward onto the table, shoulders pulled in tight and defensive, screwing his eyes shut again as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He thought if he just said it, simple, matter of fact, that would strip away some of the power the memory still had over him. Instead it just feels like a hit-and-run.

“Maksim…” Ilya cuts in softly, but he waves their attempted reassurance away only to backtrack a moment later.

“No, you know, you’re right, this isn’t really important,” he concedes breathlessly, his gaze wandering aimlessly across the table as he wills himself to uncoil. “The point is, it went wrong, two people died, the three of us still alive had to scrub the run with nothing to show for it, and everyone blamed me. For a couple months after that I was traveling a lot for…” he glances at his hands, idly extends and retracts his claws. “Research. Visiting showrooms. Talking to surgeons. Talking to loan sharks.” He flashes Ilya another thin smile. Another joke. Sort of. “So I didn’t know how the rest of the team was dealing with the fallout, but I know when I got back into the city one of them wasn’t happy to see me and the other was telling me I needed to get back out. I thought I’d lay low in Chicago for a while until I could sort out what happened, but when I realized even that far out I was being followed, I…” he lets his head fall back slightly, rolling his eyes up toward the sky as he shakes his head again. “I panicked. And then ran a little further every time I got a sense someone was keeping track of me. I had some time in Denver after another surgery and had the sense to do some research, until that put a spotlight on me and I had to start moving again.” He sighs deeply, running a hand over his hair until it comes to rest at the back of his neck, one finger tapping idly against the tip of the reflex trigger where it peeks out from his shirt collar. “I really thought they’d give up before I hit the west coast…”

“But no such luck,” Ilya provides, maybe just to assure him that they’ve been keeping up.

“No,” Maksim confirms with a grimace.

“So Alabast…” Ilya says the name with a thoughtful intentionality, testing the sound of it, or possibly testing it against their own knowledge. “What do they even want? Why bother with you instead of just finding another team?”

Despite himself Maksim responds with a weak chuckle. “I wish I knew,” he says. “I haven’t exactly stopped to ask. I was hoping they gave you some idea.”

Ilya shakes their head, frowning. “The suit was pretty light on specifics. Conspicuously.”

“Of course.”

The conversation hangs there for a beat as Maksim grasps for a way to tie it off. A script really would have been helpful. He wasn’t going to ask for anything, he didn’t have any plans to put forward… he just needed an excuse to talk to Ilya again, pull them back in without having to address the real question simmering between them. The fact that they’ve let him talk this much is unexpected, he had been anticipating more questions, a demand to explain his behavior…

It’s Ilya who breaks the silence. “I know this wasn’t the point but, for the record I believe you.”

He blinks a couple times. The comment draws him back up out of his thoughts but leaves him wondering if he missed something. “What?”

“About the run…” Ilya continues, only to hesitate as another flash of uncertainty passes over their expression. Then with a quick inhale they add, “you don’t have to tell me exactly what happened. I believe it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh…” Maksim breathes, and internally he’s thinking you can’t keep saying things like that to me. You can’t keep acting like you get it, like none of this is a problem for you. What am I supposed to think? What he says is, “thanks.”

#shadowrun #ghost city #maksim girard #ilya kasharin #originally I'd wanted to spend more time on their early dynamic before getting this deep into like.... act 2 I guess lmao #but I do not control what the brain decides to focus on writing so 🤷‍♂️#we get the fraught and emotionally charged confessions NOW we get the character development and slow burn relationship progression LATER #rom fiction

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funeral-grayy · 2 years

Text

part one

thursday night practice ended a bit earlier than usual and atsumu was sitting on a bench in the change room, staring at his phone. the sound was muted but he was still transfixed on the way your perfectly pouty lips wrapped around the pink dildo you were sucking. it had been 4 weeks since he’d gotten off to you and now he was addicted. he could feel his cock twitch in his shorts as your tongue licked up the shaft, spit dribbling down your chin. god, how did he not notice how fucking hot you are? he never even considered looking at you in this light but now that’s all he could think of. every thursday he turned your stream on right after practice, eyes glazed over with lust, watching all the different ways you played with your body. that was the main reason he had been avoiding you in person, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to face you now. it had been just his luck that you were so busy with school and work, that you hadn’t even noticed how long it had been since you last saw him. atsumu was so distracted by the way your mouth worked over the dildo, he failed to hear suna walking up behind him.

“shut up! do not say a word to anyone else about this” atsumu snapped, shoving his phone into his pocket. he couldn’t believe he just got fucking caught, and by suna of all people. this isn’t something he’d just let go either. oh he was so fucked now. “please, just keep this to yourself”

the smirk on suna’s face told him this wasn’t something he’d forget about easily. suna was known to hold things over peoples heads, if only just to tease them. it was fairly innocent but in this case, atsumu dreaded it. ignoring his presence, atsumu stood up and started gathering his things to head home for the night. now that he had the image of you sucking dick in his head, he needed to get off to it immediately and he very well couldn’t do that here.

by the time he was home and comfortable in his room, your stream had long since ended but thankfully he had paused it on you with your lips wrapped around the tip. the way your mouth wrapped around the head of the dildo made his cock instantly hard. groaning, atsumu rubbed the palm of his hand over his clothed cock, teasing himself a bit. he wanted to make this last, because the only way he could have you was in his fantasies. there was no way you’d ever go for a guy like him, he wasn’t your type in any sense of the word. finally freeing his hardened cock out of his shorts, he let out a relieved sigh. he spit in his hand and slowly dragged it up his shaft. pre cum was gushing from the tip, he’d been so turned on from the stream earlier that it just kept coming. just as he was about to set a faster pace, his phone went off. opting to ignore it he tried to continue, until it went off several more times. frustrated, he picked up his phone glancing to see who it was.

you: tsumuuuuuuu i miss u what the heck

you: i’m on my way over with take out, be ready or else

you: tsumuuuuu reply to me

you: whatever idc im getting ur fave and u better answer the door in 15 minutes or else

“fuck!” he jumped out of bed quickly, cock still rock hard. he quickly rid the shorts around his ankles and volley ball jersey, tossing them into his hamper. he quickly rummaged around his room until he found a pair of black sweat pants and just basic white tshirt. tossing those on, he ran into the living room to cleaned up a bit, wanting the place to look half way decent for you.

what the fuck

he’d never cared about cleaning up for you, never cared about looking presentable. god, what was he thinking? he needed to make sure he was careful tonight, he had to be normal with you. he had no idea how you’d react if you ever found out that he’d seen your stream multiple times. this was going to be so fucking hard. he didn’t even know how his body woud react seeing you in person now. when he was content with the way the living room looked, he slumped down on the couch, waiting for you to barge through the door like you always did. his leg bounced while he fidgeted with his fingers, realizing how antsy he was being he leaned back and turned his head towards the door. and as if he’d summoned you, there you were, barging through his door with an arm full of take out. jumping up he rushed over to you and took the bags out of your hands and setting them down on the coffee table.

“tsumu!!” you shouted as you jumped onto his back, circling your arms around his neck. you hadn’t seen him in almost a month, which was probably the longest you’ve ever gone without him. truth be told, you had started to catch feelings for him so it was sort of a blessing in disguise. you didn't want to acknowledge your feelings, so you buried yourself in work and school. but now that you were in his presence, those feelings came back tenfold. you had to ignore them though, you weren’t his type at all, he’d only ever saw you as his dumb best friend.

“ugh! get off me you lil’ freak!!” he all but tossed you onto the couch, showing off his strength which always made you swoon. this was going to be a lot harder than you think. atsumu gazed down at you, his expression unreadable to you. his eyes did a quick sweep of your body, which you had definitely noticed. quickly fixing your ruffled clothes, you sat forward.

“here, catch” he said as he tossed his phone into your lap. “you can pick what we’re watchin’ and toss it on the chrome cast”

plopping down next to you, with a respectable distance between the two of you, he leaned his head back on the couch and turn to watch you. god, could he not stare at you like this? you could feel his eyes drilling holes into the side of your head. opting to just ignore his stares dow now, you picked up the phone from your lap and unlocked it. you could feel you’re entire body start to shake as you saw what was on his screen.

“what….i mean…no.. what the fuck…”

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #haikyu x reader #haiykuu!!#oops #i did it again hehe

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

Text

Trump was given orders by the court to stay in Florida until the arraignment until they decide what to do of the conditions of the trial. So far is violated twice and the court is aware of it and they sent notice do not do it again or you'll be apprehended and held in federal pen until the trial this coming week and he said I have to leave here so people don't kidnap me and they said we don't care about that you're told what to do and what not to do and he wrote a letter back and said we cannot behave in accordance with what you're saying due to the fact that my life is being threatened by the very enemy that has forced us to happen which enemy is that and he said the clones then they said we might have a problem with that and he said why he said where the clothes and Trump is making it up and it's true he is making it up and Mac had a vested interest in the Cuban missile crisis as well as Tommy f and they both both are going after him now and they're going after the warlock for treason against their kind and they're going after our son and daughter's clans and they want them out of how many F possession Tommy have possession and he's going to get in trouble that's our son by association and we can't afford it and we need to start moving in and this invasion plan will assist us in doing so it's bad all around these rebels turn sour towards our sun they shouldn't have their idiots and Tommy Fern very sour and homicidal and it's a jerk to them we are going to find them in every way possible and this guy's alluded my son's very young he keeps saying is relatives are dead and he is having your people slaughtered

So we're going onwards with what we're doing but you should be told Tommy f that you were in violation of every treaty that man has. They're going to hit you in unison and we are going to hit you as well alongside them at this time. You're going to be fed your own head I'm tired of hearing our stuff out there I'm tired of you ratting I'm tired of you talking about it I'm going to flush you you're going to die the hands of one of your low level peoples. And you deserve it cuz they deserve to be able to hit you not really but that's what we're going to do you must match up so good it might even cover it. I'm sick of you we see your ships approaching and we are issuing orange to you for you to halt. You are not listening Max are issuing the warning in a more Stern way they are firing across your bow if you continue to approach your ships will be destroyed. And they give a distance you have to stay away and you're almost there we are now beginning firing and mass tons of weaponry tons of different types of weaponry. Warlock chips can be seen off in the distance they don't have the range but they're firing missiles that you get there, and the fairly large and our son says thank you and they say you're welcome. And there's arming up with more missiles and they get the idea they don't have to go close and they're firing like madness and it's going on right now. There's a huge barrage coming from the fleet it's massive the ships in front are moving to the side large very large star laser tips up to 100 miles the powered up there with motion guns and I let it loose a massive volley the ships in front are firing once again the closer together and they're spreading out the ships repositioned in their firing they helped a lot Tommy f is firing like madness and it's not hitting that much his range is not that great for some reason he's powering up his large black ships and his large Stone chips we are concentrating fire on them at this very moment it is a very very heavy War massive numbers of ships are in space off Earth. Huge numbers of Black ships are emerging from all over the solar system from both sides and are engaging each other it is a war and saucers empire ships and more than we thought and stone chips from all sides Donald Trump is preparing to launch from New Zealand bja is preparing to launch from Australia and they probably will engage The empire but they wanted to hit Tommy f or at least help and they're moving out and they're going up there now they are firing heavy stuff out of their ships they're starting to watch now and they're firing at Tommy F who's quite a ways off but they are hitting and his ships are disabled and the starships are coming up probably 90% thus far and they're moving fast their position off the left leg other more lock on the right flank and they're firing tons of weaponry huge numbers of weapons are firing the planetoids are being watched thus far they are not heating up the fleet is trying to advance and trying to cover them so they can heat up and activate their weapons and it is not working their fleet is getting knocked down thus far it is 25% knocked down and it is 75% able they just lost five more percent and are down to 70% able. More shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

Hera Zues

All

Nuada Arrianna

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rose-edith · 2 years

Text

(6) Your Father Robert confronting you and Tommy in Birmingham would include:

(Crawley!Reader x Tommy Shelby. Peaky Blinders x Downton Abbey: Crossover.)

• the minute you got back to Birmingham after Mary’s wedding you jumped straight back into your life. You were relieved to get back to work, relieved to finally be able to kiss and sleep with Tommy without fear of being caught.

•you’d missed your chats with Esme, Pol and Ada! As much as catching up with your sisters had been lovely, two of the three of them didn’t live in the same world as you. So with Mary and Edith it was a bit awkward. Pol was waiting in your house for you, the kettle having not long been boiled and a stew warming on the stove.

•Tommy could see the relief wash over you, and he experienced the full force of it that first night back in your shared bed…you took charge and made the Shelby man beg for your mercy and for release, and you made sure he had it time and time and time again.

•anyway, you settled back into the routine- teaching during the day, drinks at the Garrison some nights, patching Tommy up when he got all bloodied up. You didn’t necessarily approve of Tommy’s choices sometimes, but you’d never ever want him to change. You loved him just as he was. Sure, you were worried that you might lose him young, but you’d been taken in by the Shelby’s, they’d help you through it. That’s what it was to love a man of fire like Tommy, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

•what you don’t realise though is that Robert, your Father, had hired a Private Investigator to spy on you and Tommy, even as his lawyer Murray managed to get hold of Tommy’s war records.

•so when the PI reported back to Robert that you and Tommy were living together in sin, and that Tommy appeared to be some sort of gangster he saw red!

•Robert stormed down to Birmingham and into your house without knocking. He was almost shell shocked from the things he’d seen as he took a cab from the station to your little house- hardly even a hovel in his opinion- he didn’t understand how you could want to live like this. He hadn’t listened to a single word you’d ever told him, he jumped to the assumption that Tommy was holding something over you and he was holding you captive in this situation.

•and that’s why Robert stormed into the house without knocking and found you sat on Tommy’s lap wiping blood off his face after another ‘successful’ dispatch of a rival. And that’s also why he found himself at the messy end of Pol’s gun!

•you were out of Tommy’s lap in a flash, pulling Pol back as Tommy shouted that it was your Dad! Tommy shrugged into his jacket, holding it closed to hide the blood soaked shirt beneath. Pol lowered the gun and glared at Robert.

• “I thought you lot were supposed to be civilised. Is it not polite to knock before barging in?” She hissed at Robert, entirely unimpressed. If looks could kill she’d have been struck down by the look blazing on Robert’s face.

•you didn’t get the chance to ask why he was here in your house in Birmingham, because in the next instant your Father had leapt at Tommy and was hitting him! Tommy wasn’t fighting back, not really, just trying to duck and dodge.

•no matter how much you tugged or tore at Robert’s clothes he didn’t stop. Pol ran to get Arthur, John and Finn. But you’d taken her gun from her pocket, you opened the window and shot down into the ground. Your adrenaline spiked as the loud sound echoed down the street and through the house. The men both jumped apart, checking to see that you were alright.

• “SIT DOWN NOW!” You screamed. Once they’d sat down you put the gun down on the dresser and made your way to Tommy to check he was alright. He was bleeding again and you sighed, turning angrily to your Father. You leant heavily on the table. You were breathing heavy and felt utterly, infuriatingly, blindingly angry.

•so you swore. You unleashed a verbal volley on Robert, the likes of which he’d never experience from anyone ever before! His face went ashen as you finally shot off every little bad thing you had to say. And the language…Robert never knew you could swear like that! And actually, it helped him to realise that he hadn’t been fair, he hadn’t ever gotten to know you, he’d never seriously considered what life you wanted. He’d just wanted to stamp the patterns of his life onto yours.

•but as he looked you, commanding and in control, in your own house with the man you’d chosen for yourself at his side…he could see he’d misjudged you. He could see that if he didn’t accept your life, your choices, he’d lose you. And that’s something he definitely didn’t want.

•a gentleman he may be, upper class and privileged certainly, but Robert loves all of his daughters. And he’d do anything for you all. Including accepting this bewildering life you’d chosen.

•he backed down and just watched. He watched how Tommy gazed so lovingly, so adorably at you, he saw how you ruled and owned your own home. He didn’t like it, not one bit, but it didn’t matter anymore. You’d grown up.

•feeing much better for having screamed your throat hoarse, releasing every licked you thought and feeling you’d ever had, you put the kettle on. Some things would never change- as your Granny said many times, sweet tea was just the thing for shock. So that’s what you set about making.

•it was comical when Pol and the boys tumbled through the door ready to break up a fight! So they were amazed to find you glaring at both men with your arms folded across your chest! You were certainly scary when you were angry. But you were a good hostess too- tea was soon served to everyone.

•now that things had calmed down you introduced your Father to your soon to be family…you can imagine the surprise on Arthur, John and Finn’s faces when they discover that you’re actually Lady Y/N Crawley, daughter of an Earl. Pol just grins at them, having known pretty much all along.

•it’s late by now, so Robert stays in the spare bedroom of your little home. He has to bite his tongue when he hears Tommy climb into bed with you in the other room. But you’re considerate enough to simply sleep, you know your Father would be unhappy enough with the fact you’re sharing a bed. Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

•when Robert left the following day things were awkward and raw, but he had apologised to you and Tommy, he’d also left some money with you to get Pol some flowers. Your Father was a gentleman first and foremost, and he’d behaved badly in front of a woman to whom you’d soon be related(ish), so he asked you to make amends by buying her some flowers, so you did. And surprisingly she found the gesture very sweet.

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders x downton abbey #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders #downton abbey headcanons #downton abbey imagine #downton abbey x reader #Downton abbey #tommy shelby headcanon #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby

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cowboy-turtle · 2 years

Text

Let Go

Part 10 of the La Parca series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Words: 6.2k

Tags: Smut: unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f receiving), praise kink (kind of a given for me i guess? lol); unhealthy coping mechanisms, angst, cliffhanger ending

A/N: Oh man am I so excited to share a new update with y'all! LP is dialing back to once-a-month updates now, but I hope y'all enjoy this part regardless. Without trying to spoil too much, we are catching up to some plot points in Narcos this story is also going to cover, and Javier isn't known to be the best at coping with bad news...

Previous Part | Masterlist

November almost slips away before you notice, just like the seconds you’re able to spend with Javier. After your return from Bogotá your time together whittles down to stolen moments, the nights he’s able to sneak away to you ending with him slipping into your apartment well past bedtime, waking you up with lazy kisses and wandering hands until you melt beneath him.

He must know how much you miss seeing his smile greet you in the morning, the glint of his eye playful in the early light. They’ve been traded in for a few words exchanged over a shared cigarette now, as he struggles to stay awake for another minute with you.

He wants to make these moments last before the door has to shut behind him, leaving so early he beats the first peak of the dawning sun. Only the ghost of him remains, the smell of him lingering on the pillow, the condensation from his quick shower slowly dissolving from the mirror. You estimate that most nights he averages three hours of sleep, not counting the turns of the clock he tries to spend with you.

You think you’re still dreaming, then, when you find him one morning, leaning against the kitchen counter finishing the last of his coffee. He’s already ready for the day, buttoned shirt tucked into dark jeans as he turns to pour a mug for you, pulling you closer when you draw near to accept it.

“I have an extra hour,” he says in the open space of your first sip, your hum of appreciation creasing his eyes. “I thought I could drive you in today.”

Your eyes pop open excitedly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, as long as you get ready,” he grimaces goodnaturedly, “morning breath.”

“You love it,” you volley back, bumping his shoulder on your way to the bathroom.

You try to remember the last time it was like this, walking to his Jeep parked down the block, his hand warming the small of your back as you cross the street. It must have been weeks ago, the day after you returned from your trip.

The thrill of your helicopter ride with him the night before had still been thrumming through your veins, and you'd almost been late meeting him downstairs after spending too much time in front of the mirror. You were too busy tracing your skin, admiring the softly blooming marks his hands had left on your hips, the imprints of his passion across your collarbone.

You called them your favorite souvenirs from Bogotá when you mentioned them to Javi in the car with a laugh. You lurched in your seat then, when he took a sudden left turn right before the campus gates. The darkening privacy of a back alley engulfed you just as much as the hunger in his eyes did as he cut the engine.

“Show me then,” he ordered greedily. “I want to see.”

A shiver races up from between your legs at the memory, noticed in the peripheral of Javier’s aviators.

“What is it?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Nothing.”

The arch of his brow tells you that of course he doesn’t believe it, but you deflect.

“Can we visit the bakery?”

His shoulders dip with a sigh as he gives a curt shake of his head. “I don’t think we have the time.”

It seems like you never do nowadays. You glance over at him, and know that it’s enough that he’s here with you now. The steady assurance of his hand gripping the steering wheel, the familiar route he’s carved to your destination apparent in the easygoing nature of his drive.

But you also can’t ignore how exhausted he is underneath it all. The toil of his work deepens the dark under his eyes, his long eyelashes kissing the crescent pillows of fatigue with each haggard blink doing little to make up for his lack of sleep. Whenever you asked if there was anything you could do, whispered in those brief moments in the dead of night, he only answers with another brush of his mouth on you, a crook of his fingers that makes you tremble as he requests that you make that pretty sound again for me, baby.

“Maybe I’ll stop by on my way home,” you compromise, watching the bustling sidewalks of the city waking up outside your passenger window.

“Yeah? Will you save some for me?”

“Mm,” you shrug, “no promises.”

He shoots you a look, but any venom behind it is offset by the thin press of his mouth fighting a smile. He knows you’d save an entire dozen if he asked.

You pass the rest of the ride in easy silence, until he hums to himself as he pulls up to your stop.

“I should teach you how to drive this one day.”

“Yeah?” You scrunch your nose at him, “but then I don’t get to hit on my handsome driver.”

He chuckles deeply, shaking his head, and you want to bottle up the sound and carry its smoky warmth in your chest. He silences any more snark from your mouth by pressing his lips to yours, your peal of laughter muffled on his tongue prodding at you in a tease.

You have the luxury of time for a second, your eyes dancing across his face to admire the smile in his voice, the promise to see you later whispered on your lips. The morning sunlight catching on the short curls of his dark hair, glinting in the amber lenses of his glasses. It was simple, this warmth, this belonging.

And you had a funny feeling.

It was never going to be like this again.

The sudden clarity of your fleeting happiness hits you like a bullet straight through the back. You can’t trust the odd urgency cloying in your throat to ask him to stop, to wait in this moment before it’s gone. A calm contentment eases across his features that had been missing for too long, and you would do anything for it to stay there longer. You want time to stand still, to sit here in the car with him and never leave. But each second marches on, and he reminds you gently that he has places to be when another minute passes.

So you let him go. You have to, with the hard pavement hitting your feet reminding you that you couldn’t float through life in an easy car ride. His hand out the window raises in farewell, the sound of his goodbye carries to you on a light breeze until his tail lights turn the corner and disappear.

It only takes an hour before you wish you ran after those tail lights.

The bursar’s office had requested a meeting with you about your upcoming fellowship, to discuss the costs of the flights and the tuition and the student visa you assumed would be covered by the university.

“What do you mean it’s not all covered?”

You stare at the paper the financial administrator handed you when you first sat down, the numbers and their commas swimming in your vision.

She sighs, punching the end of her pencil on the pads of a clunky calculator until it spits out more results on a roll of paper. “The grant can only cover so much for you and the other students going, and unfortunately,” she shakes her head with a click of her tongue, “we didn’t receive as much aid from our American sponsor as we anticipated.”

You huff, annoyed. You’d been reduced to a sob story in front of the ambassador, and this is what they had to show for it?

“So how much do I have to cover?”

The ancient printer in the corner wheezes to life, coughing out another piece of paper.

“As I’m sure you know, the office has been using the fund your family left behind for you to cover the costs of your attendance.” She hands you the paper then with a grimace. “It’s going to run out at the end of the spring semester.”

You balk at the final number in red at the bottom, trying to school your expression when you glance back up. “There’s nothing left in the account?”

“Well, it wasn’t that big to begin with.” She looks away from her computer screen and frowns at the distraught expression she’s met with. “Look, I know money talk is uncomfortable. Are you going to be able to cover these costs?”

You swallow, staring back down at that final number.

“Because if you need to drop out of the position, the committee will need ample time to find the next candidate.”

“No!” You look up at her then. “No, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Good.” She nods, signaling the end of your conversation as you dart for the door.

The numbers loom over your head like a raincloud, the anxiety of what to do pattering down on your shoulders. You sold off everything you could last year, just to get rid of the reminders, so what else could there be? You could ask for a loan from someone, but you had to be positive it would be the right person. You didn’t want to face unnerving consequences if you couldn’t pay them back. But how would you be able to return their money eventually? And if the account was running out soon, how would you keep up with rent payments? Groceries?

You can’t bring yourself to stop by the bakery, afraid the number on the cash register would only deepen your despair more. Hopefully the girls won’t notice if you don’t order anything at drinks tonight. You need a clear head to figure things out.

You’re picking at the peeling paint of the fenced gate waiting for Vanessa to emerge from the end of her shift, foot tapping with each passing minute when a hand grips your elbow. It’s a harsh squeeze that yanks you back against a firm chest, an exhaling breath too close for comfort crawling up the skin of your neck.

“Candy,” they taunt. “Long time no see. How much for an hour now, eh?”

“My shift just ended,” you lie, recognizing the voice enough to know better. “I’m only waiting for Freckles.”

“Oh, you wanna spend your time with other people then, don’t you? We’re not good enough for you anymore?”

You don’t answer, eyes glued to the open door as if your vigilance would speed up Vanessa’s arrival.

“No? Then how about we take this back to my place? You still offering that?” His fingers dig into your skin, the jarring pain ringing panic up your chest. “Is that what you’re offering to—“

“Quica!” Vanessa shouts from the doorway, walking quickly down the steps towards you. “Quit bothering her. Our hour wasn’t good enough?”

She ignores your pleading look for help with a wink and a giggle at your captor, which loosens his grip enough for you to slip away.

“Of course not,” he soothes her by smoothing hair away from her face, then nods his head towards you. “We just don’t want her to forget about her favorite customers.” He looks at you then, a harder gaze. “Isn’t that right?”

“Well, the next time you miss her,” Vanessa steps into his line of view, steering his attention away with the gentle guidance of her hand on his cheek, “you come and see me, okay? I can make you forget about anyone.”

He smiles at that and she places a quick kiss to his cheek, stepping away when he reaches for more.

“Visit me tomorrow, yeah?” Vanessa asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder to send him one last flirtatious look. She sways her hips to catch his focus away from the arm she slings around your shoulders to start guiding you down the street.

“You’re bad for my wallet, Freckles!” He calls after her and she sends a bubbling giggle in response, waving him away until you turn the corner.

“Do you think he knows?” you ask when you’re safely away from earshot.

Vanessa’s eyes dart to you, all playfulness gone and replaced with an unsettling unease. “I don’t think so.”

You give her a look and she returns it right back. “Trust me,” she continues, “I think you’d know if he knew.” A shudder runs through her as she frowns at the sidewalk. “He’d make sure you knew.”

Did they really think you were still working? Did that mean they were still keeping an eye on you, seeing where you went? Who you were meeting with? Perhaps it was time to stop visiting Freckles at your old workplace, just to disappear from their eyes for a bit.

“Ladies!” Carmen calls out once she spots you, breaking through the shared gloom that followed you and Vanessa into the bar. “What are we drinking tonight?”

“Whatever you’re having,” Vanessa sighs, “and make it strong.”

You shake your head, slipping into the booth opposite her. “Nothing for me.”

The girls exchange a glance before Carmen leans towards you, head in hands and eyes wide. “So when’s the due date?”

“What?” you ask as they both break out into laughter at the look on your face. “I’m not pregnant,” you grumble, “I just don’t want a drink.”

Carmen waves off your response to let you know she was only joking, but Vanessa wiggles her eyebrows. “Well, you wouldn’t be the only one knocked up right now.”

It’s your turn to stare at Vanessa with Carmen.

“Van,” Carmen pushes incredulously. “Do you have something to tell us?”

“Ugh, not me!” she scoffs like it’s obvious. “Carmelita’s pregnant but…” she lowers her voice, “she just found out, not even the baby daddy knows. So don’t tell her I said anything.”

“Actually,” Carmen leans forward, clutching the table’s edge with her own offering, “did you hear about the baby daddy?” The table launches into the juicy gossip of the week, something you enjoy over your glass of tepid water.

“They’ve been so on edge lately,” Carmen sighs, talking about her latest customers, “they won’t even talk about it. But I think there’s someone new in town or something. Someone they’re scared of.”

Oh. You sit up straighter. “It might be Colonel Carrillo,” you look between the two of them. “They already know he’s back?”

Carmen shrugs into another sip of her drink, but Vanessa squints at you. “For someone who doesn’t want to get too involved, you sure know a lot about their business.”

You cast her a playful squint back. “Maybe it’s just the company I keep.”

Her hand comes down to squeeze your wrist with a gasp. “Wait, have you met him then? Is he just as handsome as he is in the papers?” She shimmies her shoulders, eyes alight with interest. “Such a broad man.”

Carmen snorts, rolling her eyes. “He’s bad for business and you still want him. Is there anyone who isn’t your type?”

Vanessa argues back, but your mind is already traveling elsewhere. If the narcos were aware of Carrillo’s return, you needed to warn Javier as soon as possible.

It doesn’t look like you’ll get the chance tonight, though, once you return back to your empty apartment. You never know when to expect him next, the rhyme or reason behind his unpredictable schedule a complicated code you weren’t privy to crack. He’s barely in the office either, whenever you try calling him there. So you can only opt for an extra hour of waiting up, in the slight chance you might catch him before he passes out without waking you.

That never happens, and you’ve learned by now that no amount of delaying your sleep brings him here any faster. A quick interlude in the bathroom, and then you’re crawling into the expanse of a lonely mattress for the night.

The bed dips on his side sometime past two, and you’re somewhere between a dream and the present, waiting for the reassuring weight of him to press down more. But the shifts of his legs and then his head resting down do not follow, and you stir further awake when you hear his ragged breath. You can barely make out the dark form of his back, curved down to where he’s resting his head on his hands, elbows planted on knees.

“Javi?” The sleep in your voice almost steals the word but his profile appears over his shoulder nonetheless, the curve of his nose, the glint of his eye addressing you.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

There’s something off about his voice, vacant and toneless, and the way he turns away again when you sit up.

“What happened?” you ask but he only shakes his head, the scratch of his hands rubbing across his face the lone sound he gives.

“Javi…” you try again, a hand hesitating on his shoulder presses further when he doesn’t draw away. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just…” he draws a deep breath, the hand connecting you rising and falling with his shoulders. “I don’t know. Just be with me. Is that okay?”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you. “Okay.”

He stands back up then, your hand dropping down to his absence as he kicks off his shoes. You find it odd that he hadn’t left his shoes by the door like he normally does, and puzzles you further by not undressing. He only reaches into his pockets and the back of his belt, depositing a badge and a handgun unceremoniously onto the nightstand. The sight of it runs a course of cold dread through you for a second.

He’s never brought his gun into the bedroom before, always careful to put it where you didn’t see. It’s almost like he hadn’t been planning on staying, if you hadn’t woken up.

He sinks back into the mattress, into the cradle of your arms as you draw him closer. You work the top button of his shirt, but a gentle hand guides you away. You look up at him.

“Just,” he shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Just this.”

His body moulds into yours, head on your shoulder and face craned into your neck to hide away from you. His arms wrap around like he wants to draw you closer into the miniscule space between your intertwined bodies, and you reciprocate with as much intensity. You can’t remember if you’ve ever had a night with him that didn’t end in tangled sheets and panting breaths, but tonight is different. He’s being careful, guarded, something seemingly ready to crack right beneath his closed-off surface. All you can do is hold him, combing his hair through your fingers until you feel his grip slacken and his breath even out, not even making it under the covers yet. He mumbles something softly against your skin and you still your hand.

“What was that?”

He nuzzles closer into you. Then, on an exhale, “I’m sorry.”

You stare down at the slight peak of forehead he offers. “What for?”

But he doesn’t answer, whatever reason abandoned at the doorstep of sleep overtaking him. You press your lips to that tiny sliver of forehead, whispering to his dreams, “you have nothing to be sorry for.” And then sleep comes to greet you too.

He meets you there, in your dreams. The setting is unfamiliar, but you’d know that smile anywhere. It curves in the cheek that’s nestled in your hand, an unspoken translation carried in your touch. The floor you’re lying on is harder than your bed and the room is built of exposed wood, dappling sunlight dancing through the breeze of an open window to create intrinsic designs on the boards of a low ceiling. It feels like home here, one you’ve built together.

Javier murmurs something indiscernible, the thumb sweeping your jaw traveling to trace your lower lip, then moving down the column of your throat. A soft sigh escapes, shifting closer to him but he stops at your sternum, drawing his hand away to reach for your hip instead. He glides his hand down tenderly, anticipation heating your skin as he eases your legs open. You shift to assist him, but the world goes off-kilter, fading at the edges with every movement you try to help with.

You find yourself moving in bed when you draw back into reality, a frustrated sigh seeping past your lips. You blink open to find Javier’s hand steady where it had been just moments before in your mind, thumb rubbing along your inner thigh in a soft grip. He’d been deep in thought observing this action as a spectator, the faraway look in his eyes startling when you stir. He sighs, eyes clamping shut as he ducks down before shifting away.

A sound of disapproval rattles past your lips, hooking your knee around his leg to draw his body back in until you gasp. He’s hard in his jeans, the bulge pressed against the curve of your belly twitching when you shift your hips closer to his. He groans, lurching up before you can get any closer to him, and resumes his harried posture at the edge of the bed.

You can’t tell for sure, but you think he was going for his shoes when you sit up and reach out to stop him. You shuffle behind him and pull him into a backwards hug, hands squeezing stiff shoulders as his rigid back meets your chest. You slot your chin on the shelf of his broad shoulder, craning your neck for a glimpse of his face hiding under his hands.

“Javi,” you coax gently, “please, tell me what’s going on.”

But he doesn’t answer, breathing hard like he’s run away from whatever problem he’s hiding from. You squeeze his arm, hesitating to ask again.

“What…what do you really need?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden until your fingers graze across his wrist in a silent request for access. His eyes emerge, staring forward resolutely until they finally dip down to address you.

The pleading look in his eyes stops you. It’s one you’ve seen hundreds of times before in another lifetime, in the men who came to see you to escape whatever was haunting them. He needed to get out the frustration, the guilt, the pain, whatever it was this time that was making him look to you so desperately now. And if he wasn’t able to talk about it, you knew what worked for him instead.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, watching the question of your motive flicker across his face. You bend towards him, brushing your lips to his ear as he shudders beneath you. Your next words come out as a breathless plea.

“Use me.”

You move again, watching as a different kind of hunger consumes his dark eyes. You wait for him to decide, almost too afraid to move any closer to him. In the ricochet of his rough breaths fanning across your cheek you give him a tiny, encouraging nod, forehead bumping against his.

He reaches for you then, hand forming around your jaw to keep you stationed under his observing gaze as he straightens up. A peek of his tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip before he rushes in to close the small space, ducking down to kiss you. His breath snags in his throat at the brief suggestion of your tongue greeting his, his fingers pressing firmer along your cheek to bring you in closer. He tilts your jaw just so to open your mouth and deepen the kiss, a low hum resounding from his throat at the small whimper he breathes in from you. He controls the ebb and flow of your passion, angling your chin up to expose your neck to his scraping teeth, sucking a mark at the base that leaves you squirming in his grip.

A quiet cry of his name brings him back up, the black of his blown-out pupils threatening to devour you. There’s a harshness around the edges that your hand comes up to smooth out, wanting to reciprocate his touch, his attention, and reflect it back to him. You barely skim his cheekbone before he pulls away, standing up so suddenly you startle. He looms over you, hands reaching for the front of his belt to the sound of sliding leather.

He stares down at you, nodding once with a hardened, unfamiliar look.

“Take off your clothes.”

Your heart jumpstarts at the murmured command, rushing to follow it with the quick discard of your pajamas. You shimmy back onto the mattress when he beats you to the end goal, voicing his impatience of you still wearing panties when he sinks his knees on either side of you and pushes you to lie down. He resumes his assault on your neck, the silky suction of his mouth making your hips roll up in response. Your legs want to spread, but they’re caught between the snare of his sturdy thighs, locking you in place under his single-minded destruction.

You push your hips up higher, the front of your clothed cunt rubbing against his erection and he grunts, moving down your body to administer harsh love bites across your breasts. He tugs and sucks at your nipples hard enough for a whine to whistle past your lips, the remnants of his attention glistening along the hardened peaks when he licks down to your navel.

The room spins for a moment, and you’re on your stomach before you realize he’s flipped you over, guiding your hips up until your knees are bent to give him room to slide your underwear off. It’s tossed to the side in favor of his hands roaming up your exposed thighs, cupping the flesh of your ass to spread your cheeks apart. He kneads you in his grip, a sinful groan coming from somewhere up behind you making you burn under his focused watch of your clenching pussy.

His tongue slides through your folds before you can expect it, making you jolt at the sudden wet pressure prodding at your entrance. He growls, hand smacking across the flesh it was holding in an order to keep still. A stuttered moan leaks out of you when he doubles his efforts on the other side, two harsh slaps cracking through the heavy air before he’s kneading away the pain.

He brings his mouth down to your bundle of nerves, tongue flicking across it while his nose prods at your hole, inhaling deeply enough to make you shudder beneath him. You can feel yourself coating the bridge of his nose, slippery and growing wetter with each pass of his mouth.

The first coils of pleasure begin to tighten deep in your belly, but when you push your hips back against his face he draws away to your pathetic whine. He hoists you up until your hands and knees support your weight, wiping his face and spitting into his hand from his position behind you. The lewd sound of his slick palm pumping his cock makes you tighten in anticipation, forcing yourself to relax when he presses forward to guide the swollen head between your lips.

You moan in unison as he enters you steadily, taking you from behind and stretching you open until his fingers leave the base to wrap around your hips. He stays like that for a second, turbulent breath stuttering at the way your pussy flutters around the tight fill of him. His hips retreat and push forward in a shallow thrust but there’s no energy behind it, his thighs straining against yours as he groans. You peek over your shoulder to his gritted face set in a stiff expression, trying his best to keep his composure until his eyes meet yours. He shivers, eyebrows falling.

“Cariño,” he warns, “I can’t…I can’t be gentle…”

“Javi,” you urge, canting your hips back until he shudders and clamps his eyes shut, squeezing his grip so tightly you freeze in place. “You can let go.” You swallow the last of your hesitations, giving yourself completely over to him. “I’ve got you.”

When his gaze greets you again, brokenness overflowing from the depths of his tragic eyes, you watch as it hardens into something new, a mask that overtakes his features. It’s not Javier who is looking back at you now. It’s Agent Peña.

The next drive of his cock forward leaves you breathless, punching out a gasp for air as he does it again, harder, and again, building up a momentum. Your head rolls forward, dipping beneath the peaks of your shoulder blades as you try to match his quickening pace with each push of your body back. He growls, taking over your movement with the grip of his hands on you, slamming you back to meet each heavy thrust.

You cry out his name but he’s like a man possessed, fucking you at a frenzied rate and all you can do is let him take what he needs from your body. It’s almost animalistic the way he growls and grunts behind you, the hard pummel of his hips snapping to the giving flesh of your ass echoing the sounds of his assertion over you. You knew when he grew aggressive in bed it was to forget, but you’ve never seen him taken over by it like he is now.

The force of his cock punching into you pushes you closer to the edge, the end of the mattress threatening to reach you as the bed rocks and creaks in protest. He presses you down until your moans are muffled into the sheets, his body heavy over yours as he mounds his chest to your back, knees still tucked under to keep your lower half raised to him. The new angle pushes him in deep, filling you so completely that no amount of sheets bunching and slipping through the grip of your fingers could give you any semblance of control.

You surrender to him, sobs and cries of pleasure swallowed into the mattress. His teeth cinch around the curve of your shoulder, breath hot against your trembling body. There isn’t an inch of you exposed that isn’t pressed tightly to his searing skin. He’s commanding every thrust, every breath that knocks out of your lungs, but just underneath you could tell something was broken. Something pained colored the edge of his voice that his grunts of praise, yes—fuck—that’s a good girl, did little to mask.

The dizzying pressure of him splitting you open pulls and stretches the tight band coiling in your core, threatening to snap with every punishing pound. You thought he’d seen, touched, devoured every part of you but here he was finding more room to escape into, more of you to consume in this act of claiming, forging himself into the very heart that’s drumming a crescendo for him.

Discontent rushes out with his breath, as if he’s reached the very depth and somehow still found it not enough. His fingers find their way around the front of your throat, gripping you just enough to hoist you back up with him. Your body bows under his will as he fucks you harder, chest pressed to your spine and hips hammering the back of your thighs more frantically. His other hand grabs at your breast clumsily, groping the amount he can find in the rough callous of his palm. You hold onto this hand for leverage, the size of his fingers dwarfing yours when they curl together.

His breath starts to get more labored, groans edging out with every grunted pant. You crane your chin, catching his hardened face as he darts his eyes away from yours. He’s all wound up, set jaw and pinched brow and you reach for him, fingers fumbling to make contact with his cheek. He almost rears away from your touch, nostrils flaring, but he has nowhere to go, connected to you so closely inside and out.

“I’ve got you,” you gasp out in a reminder, his eyes flickering back to yours. “Let go.”

Your permission is all it takes for the last of his resolve to shatter, his face falling open as his pace changes into a determined release. You whisper him through it, murmuring encouragements of how much you want to feel him, see him, all of him, please, please, please. Whatever walls he built tonight are crumbling as he squeezes you harder into him, desperate to keep you in his hold. Looking at him come undone like this was like watching a train wreck, hurtling towards mutual destruction and all you can do is hold on for the ride.

He stiffens with a quick gasp and then he’s tumbling down, pulsing inside of you with a quiet groan he releases from a mouth pressed tightly to your neck. Your hand finds the mess of sweating curls at the back of his head, keeping him there for a moment as he comes back down, hips still performing a slowing phantom imitation until he softens.

You hold each other there, joined together before he slowly slips out of you with a tight breath, cradling your body with hands roaming your figure. He kisses your shoulder, a heavy press of his mouth that rocks you forward slightly until he eases you in a downward turn, setting you down for your head to meet the pillows. He frames you from above, shielding you from the changing light that’s beginning to spill past your curtains. A faraway look still clouding his eyes searches for something between each slowing breath, pupils darting around until they deepen as they return back to you in the present.

“Where did you go?” you ask him tentatively, hand reaching for his cheek. He leans away before your fingers can reach him, ducking his face down instead. His mouth busies itself against your skin instead of with words.

“Javi—"

He looks up at the mention of his name. “You didn’t get to—"

You shake your head and bring him up towards you. “Javi, tell me what’s going on.”

You watch his face change in the fleeting dark shadows of your room, the beginnings of a new day just outside reminding you that you would never stop time, that whatever decisions you both were about to make could not be taken back.

He doesn’t answer right away, sitting up and reaching in search of his jacket. He affixes his traditional postcoital cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling up with each pass to his lips. You scooch to press your ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat relax back into its steady rhythm beneath you, until what’s left of his favorite vice is crushed in the ashtray past your shoulder. His freed hand comes to rest on the crown of your head gently.

“You told me to use you,” he murmurs, eyes forward in contemplation. “Is that…is that what you used to say…to…?”

“No.” You shift to look up at him, evening your line of vision by propping an elbow up with a shake of your head. “And I wouldn’t let them leave marks.”

His gaze flickers down to the blossoming bruise on your neck, his teeth marks still fading beneath his shaky exhale. He frowns and ducks down, kissing the mark tenderly and you take this chance to cradle his head this time, moving your bodies until you’re the one holding him. He relaxes into you and you’re both quiet for a moment, breathing, giving him the space to talk if he wanted to while your fingers map new paths through his hair.

You don’t think he will after a long pause, the soft call of a premature morning bird outside filling his silence. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe it’s not bothering him anymore.

“Carrillo killed a kid.”

You tense, your fingers stopping their circles on his scalp.

“On accident?”

He scrubs a hand across his face and his silence is enough of an answer.

“How old were they?”

“Cariño—”

“Javier.”

He sighs. “I don’t know, twelve? Thirteen?” Your heart pangs at the thought. That’d been the last birthday your brother had celebrated. You wonder if the kid’s family knew yet, or if they were worried sick like yours had been for an entire week.

“Sometimes you’re in this for so long,” Javier’s broken voice brings you back to him, his face pressing into your throat more to absorb his words, “you begin to wonder if you were ever even the good guy.”

“Hey,” you chastise him gently, “of course you’re the good guy.”

He doesn’t offer a response, and so you hope you can convince him in the reassuring squeeze you give his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. You eventually slip back into an uneasy slumber like this, but no more dreams come to visit you that night.

When you wake in the late morning he’s long gone, any trace of his presence the night before vanished along with him. You could sense him drawing away, letting his work plague him until it’d consume him whole. You didn’t know if he’d be able to stop it in time or if he’d just let it happen. The only thing you were certain of was that you wanted your Javier back.

But just how far were you willing to go to get him?

The shrill ring of your landline draws you away from an answer when you go to pick up the phone.

Vanessa’s panicked voice rushes out so fast, it takes your request for her to repeat for the words to fall.

“We can’t find David,” she sobs. “Have you seen him?”

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#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi peña #narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #la parca series

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Sealing the Deal part 1

Summary: Always, always be nice to sea creatures but never ever accept their pelt.

A/n: A fic I’ve been meaning to write since forever. My contribution to mermay.

warning: Disgusting fluff and bad decisions

Main Masterlist

part 2

You look like you're gonna die from boredom in your little fishing boat.

Dick rolls over to where Jason was sprawled and used his momentum to push the larger seal into the water. Jason gives an undignified squawk of outrage. Dick just preens and looks smug.

You cup your hand over your mouth as you begin to laugh.

Jason glares even harder at Dick. Dick... couldn't care even less if he tried. All he can focus on is the wrinkle in the corners of your eyes. They'd been gone for so long these past few months. It felt like the first ray of sun after a long storm.

Dick claps his fins in excitement even as Jason snuffs and rolls his eyes. You clap in return but accidentally drop your fishing pole into the sea. Reaching for it, you fall into the water. Dick feels a little bad for laughing but you manage to get yourself back up into the boat safely. You sigh in defeat as your fishing pole drifts away. Dick notices for the first time that your face has grown gaunt from the last few weeks. Are you eating enough? Are you even taking care of yourself? Dick swims over to your boat as it rocks back and forth on the waves. He hops in easily and plops onto your stomach. You laugh and pet his head. It was a weak laugh so he croons at you in question.

“Sorry pup, I don’t have any food for you today. I mean I don’t even have any for me.” Despite the sweet timbre of your voice, Dick can still taste the bitter hopelessness in the statement.

He nuzzles his face into your chest. He can feel just how thin you’ve gotten. He has to do something about this.

To say Dick had been afraid of humans would be a monumental understatement. It had been around 200 years since humans had left the island and the first thing they did when they came back was hunt down selkies. Dick's parents had been two of the unlucky few who'd been hunted down.

So when Dick found himself stranded onshore because of a fin tangled in a fishing line, he thought he was a goner. And when he saw you approaching; well, he still thought he was fucked but he thought you'd at least be nicer than the adults.

Maybe if he acts cute enough you'll spare him.

Dick whimpered and he gave you the big innocent look.

You shushed him harshly. Dick flinched then you flinched and muttered apologies.

You approached him slowly. You looked around before crouching and fiddling with the line Dick had managed to get himself caught in. Carefully, you began to disentangle him. It hurt, especially when you took the hook out, but once he was free. He clapped and trilled before you shushed him again.

Dick thought that it was all over and he could just roll back into the sea until you scoop him up and swaddle him in your shirt.

After 10 minutes of your father screaming at you, he agreed to treat Dick who knew better than to snap at him. Your father was kind with gentle hands. He worked on Dick while you fed him fish. It wasn't the best fish but Dick can't complain.

After an hour or so, Dick started to wriggle and you pull him closer to your chest.

"Dad, can we keep him for a few days? He might still be sick." You plead with big eyes.

Your father glared at you then sighed. "No more than two. His wounds just need to close up, understand?"

You squealed a little. Hugging Dick tighter, you thanked your father before scampering off to find you a basin to put Dick in. You, thankfully, had the good sense to fill it with lukewarm water.

Dick lived like a king in those two days. You fed him a lot of fish much to your dad's exasperation. You kept him warm. You even read to him and sang songs to him.

Dick wanted to stay but he missed Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and maybe that new kid Jason.

On the fourth day (one of the wounds was deeper than expected), Dick was released back into the sea but he never did manage to stay away after that

Dick sets the odd little trinket down in front of Jason's sleeping form. It was something you'd caught in your net days before along with the meager amount of fish you'd managed to net. You'd busied yourself with it for days before throwing it out. Dick wasn't sure what it was; all he knew was that it was something Jason would like.

He waits semi patiently for Jason to notice it, nudging it forward a little until it touches Jason's snout and the larger seal is forced to pay attention to Dick.

"I know when I'm being bribed, Dickface." Jason says, glaring.

Dick volleys it with a wide-eyed hopeful look. He nudges the little trinket forward again. This time, instead of ignoring him, Jason rises to his full height, teeth bared. This... does not faze Dick.

"C'mon Jaaaaaaay," Dick says as if the prolonging of syllables would whittle down Jason's irritation. Jason suspects if he were less inclined to tell Dick to fuck off, it would have worked. Probably. But as it stands, Dick is responsible for ruining a very good, very rare nap for Jason and so he's on the shit list and has lost any favor privileges until further notice.

"I said no. Go away or ask Bruce."

"But Jaaaaaaay, it's just a teensy tiny favor. It won't even take an hour. Not with your skill at least."

"That kind of flattery may work on Harper and it may even work on West but I'm not an idiot about to get involved with whatever shenanigans you have planned with the human."

Dick lets out a long-suffering sigh. Jason isn't stupid enough to think that Dick has actually given up. No, the stubborn little fuck is worse than a barnacle. "You've left me no choice-"

"I have given you plenty of choices. Most of them involve minding your own goddamn business." Jason says with a little snuff.

"-I'm calling it in."

Jason narrows his eyes at Dick.

"Don't you dare. That was 5 years ago."

Dick smiles, evilly. "Unless you want the rest of the family to know about-"

"Fine! What do you want?"

Dick looks smug. Jason wants to bite his face off.

"I need you to help me catch fish."

Jason looks at him, incredulous. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"Not recently. Look, I just need you to help me catch fish for the human." Dick explains like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Contrary to what Dick seems to think, Jason really isn't concerned with the one human on the island. Most of the selkies on the island have barely even interacted with you outside of staring at you.

"You're insane."

"I think we reserve that term for Bruce."

Jason raises his head from the ground. "You're not wrong."

You think you hear the light pitter-patter of raindrops. You sigh. You would be lying if you say you aren't the least bit thankful for the excuse to stay indoors today. You... don't exactly like foraging for food. You had avoided it for as long as you had food in the lighthouse. You thought it would at least last you 'til the ships came in but whatever is going on in the mainland has kept the ships from your shores. You don't mind. You never did find the sailors all that pleasant on the rare occasions that you did have to interact with them.

You like your island the way it is but... you're not exactly the most skilled at hunting... or fishing. You have no idea how your father did it. You chucked it up to the miracles of loaves and fishes. You miss him.

You curl around your pillow in a vain attempt to chase the wakefulness away but the sun in your eyes was too bright. You flutter your eyes open. The sun had the audacity to be there. Still the splushing sound continued.

You strain your ears to listen, trying to make heads or tails of it. It was a squishy sound, the sound of putty hitting stone over and over again. You scramble to the front door. In hindsight, you probably should have grabbed a weapon before running towards the strange sound.

Opening the door, you're greeted with the sight of a familiar seal caught red-handed with a fish in his mouth.

You stare at each other for a long moment before your eyes wander down to a pile of fish. A large amount of fish. Laughter rolls from your lips, musical and manic as you bury your face in your hands.

You think the seal furrows his brow at you, dropping the fish in its mouth before plopping towards you. Plop. Plop. Plop. He looks at you with big dark eyes. Your mouth twitches between curling down into a frown and a smile that spread across your face. On one hand, you are confused. On the other hand, you were gonna be able eat some meat.

A concerned croon comes from the pup and your face decides that it would rather smile at the moment. You throw your arms around him, not at all caring about the seawater getting on your nightclothes.

"Thank you." You whisper and the seal answers with a happy trill.

Dick is over the moon.

He can't even help how loud his trills get. It's ok you don't seem to mind either. He's just happy that you get to eat now.... but you don't.

Dick's a little frustrated when you don't immediately start digging in. Instead, you go back inside your home, swear, shout in delight then come back out with a basin and a jar of white powder. You then run around to fill the basin with seawater then add what Dick finds out is salt into the seawater.

Dick is... concerned.

You go back inside the house. When you come out again, you have a knife in your hand. Dick waddles back a bit. He knows you won't hurt him but it's a habit. You develop these kinds of habits around Bruce.

You settle yourself onto the ground cross-legged and grab a fish. Dick looks on with mild curiosity. You begin to dismember the fish by cutting off it's head, cutting it up in the middle then removing the bones and stomach. That kind of makes sense, Dick thinks. The bones are kind of annoying. Dick nods his head agreeably until you toss the fish into the basin.

Dick looks on in utter confusion as you repeat the process with most of the fish he's brought you.

You turn to him looking equally befuddled before your eyes soften. You look sheepish. "Sorry pup, I can't eat all of this today so I'm salting them so I can eat them the next few..." You count the fish in the basin. "... weeks."

Dick tilts his head but doesn't say anything. You really should just eat more. Dick can get you more if you need it. You just need to ask but you seem content with what you're doing.

Dick is about to rest his head on your lap when you shoot up and scuttle back inside. You return with a line and a smile. Dick watches you string the fish up like laundry. He could probably help you but he has no clue if he should. Just eat the fish damn it.

Finally after what felt like forever, you start preparing the fish and actually eat. You offer Dick some and Dick has to admit cooking the fish does taste odd but not unpleasant. It's totally different from eating it raw (the better way) but it's not horrible. Or maybe it just tastes good because you've got the biggest grin on your face while eating.

Maybe.

Probably, Dick thinks as he munches on his fish, pressed to your side.

___

You sing at the top of your voice. It's a cheerful song but Dick can't quite make out the words. He knows it's human but he's not quite familiar with it. The tune is nice though. Dick rests his head on your lap closing his eyes.

He croons happily when you being to pet him.

You stop midway through the song dissolving into a fit, of what Dick can only describe as, giggles snorts. It was a despicably adorable sound that was engineered to make Dick feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

He looks up at you with big curious black eyes. He's not complaining but he hasn't heard you laugh this much before and he may or may not want to know how to make you laugh like this again.

When you don't answer his questioning gaze, Dick nudges against your chest. Your shoulders are still shaking but you manage to stop laughing for a moment.

"Sorry pup," you say wiping a tear from your eye, "I must look crazy to you. "

A little but not as bad as Bruce, Dick thinks. Bruce thinks you humans still don't know there are selkies on the island. Dick snorts at the idea. Everyone knows that all you humans know about selkies. That's why those men keep coming here trying to trap them.

You squish his face affectionately with your hands. "My dad taught me that song and I just realized..." Your mouth turns into a curved line of held back laughter. "...It's a sea shanty about missing being between a woman's legs." The last few words come out more as giggles than proper syllables but Dick can't enjoy that because he can feel his face warm up from the thought. He hides his face in his flippers.

You squeal, absolutely delighted with his mortification. Smiling down at him, you say: "Yanno pup, sometimes I think you understand me."

Thought process-wise, no.

Dick snuggles up to you again, blowing air out of his nose to voice his ascent. You can't just say things like that but again, you just simply seem amused by his suffering when you bend down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

Dick looks up when you pull away. No! Give him more!

Dick stretches up to return the favor, having to partially climb on your lap but only managing to boop your nose with his snout. You nuzzle your nose against his and Dick makes the happiest noise in the back of his throat.

Sometimes after wandering around you had a habit of falling asleep on the shore which Dick thought was fine until he found out that you couldn't swim. Dick being the only with brains in this duo always nudges you awake when the tide starts getting too close. Dick doubts the lapping water will wake you up before sweeping you away. After all, you managed to sleep through Tim, Kon, and Bart's rock piling contest on top of you. Dick shooed them away but even after cleaning up, you didn't wake up.

Dick sees the sailors on the shore and nudges you. You... don't even blink. You hum, content to bask in the sun as you wrap your arms around Dick. Dick huffs. He likes this but he really would prefer it if you move. Dick considers slipping from your grip and grabbing a fish to slap you with like last time.

Dick cranes his head to look at the ship again. It was far too close now, too close for you to get away without being seen by the sailors.

Dick turns you back over to your back and proceeds to body slam you with all his blubber. He winces when you make a choked noise. Dick can give you apology fish later.

"Pup, what the fuck?"

You see the ship. Your eyes widen then flicker to his injured fin. Dick had injured it when he’d been swimming by the docks and got caught in one of the old traps. You’ve done your best to help it heal but you only know so much. You’re still reading up on herbs in case it happens again.

You try in vain to push him off but he's a big loveable sack of blubber and he refuses to move. “C’mon pup, you need to move. They’ll try to catch you if they see you.” You grunt but the sack of blubber refuses to move.

You and Dick stay still as the ship draws near, neither of your chests rises or fall as the ship rocks back and forth.

The ship passes and you let your head fall back with a sigh.

Dick nuzzles his snout against your face, his whiskers tickling your face. You giggle and try to push him off. It’s useless so you let him stay there.

You both decide to take a nap on the shore with Dick huffing in your face once in a while as he snores.

You curl up on the floor in front of the fire, watching the embers flicker, flash, and fade. It's the best thing you can do to calm your fraying nerves. The storm rages outside violently as if it was trying to tear the lighthouse down brick by brick. The whole building shakes with another boom of thunder. You close your eyes and burrow under the thick blanket.

In the back of your mind, your father is chuckling. The absence of a hand on your head is disconcerting. You remind yourself that it won't come, that you'll have to learn to weather the storm alone. You sigh then tighten the blanket around you.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

You blink. The fire was dying. When had you fallen asleep?

Tok, tok, tok.

Blinking, you rub the sleep from your eyes, but the haze doesn’t lift, only growing as you watch the firelight.

Tok tok tok.

You shoot up and barrel towards the door with the frantic knocking growing louder and louder as your feet pound against the stone floor.

You run into the door in your haste. The loud thud of your body against the door causes the frantic knocks to turn into muffled shouting.

Prying yourself from the door, you open it and you don't know what you expected but this wasn't it.

Standing in front of you was a man soaked like a wet rat. You blink in confusion before pulling him inside. You run to grab him a blanket. Wait. You should probably get him a towel. No, wait. You should have gotten his name first. Fuck.

You shuffle back into the room with a towel, spare clothes, and an extra blanket. You.. what can generously be called a heart attack.

For the first time, in the soft glow of the fire, you can fully admire your guest. Not see, admire because there was a lot to admire.

The light of the fire flicking over the planes of his chest, with a light dusting of chest hair, the amber glow highlighting all the muscles of his body, framing the ripples of his toned figure. Swallowing any good sense you have, you watch the rainwater turn golden as it drips down his perfectly bronzed skin. The water cuts through valleys of muscle that could have only been handcrafted by gods. Your eyes follow the flow until... Oh.

You flush furiously, your face glowing brighter than the fire. He's- He's- Oh my god, he's naked.

You reign your eyes in. Ok, you let it linger down there a bit. Not long enough for your guest to notice. You concentrate on his face which wasn't hard to do. The man pushes his raven hair out of his face letting you fully appreciate his face. In keeping with his body, his fine boned face looked like Pygmalion himself spent hours shaping it, not satisfied until he's made the perfect face. It's handsome in an adorable way. Not intimidating. It's the kind of face you'd like to pepper with kisses. You try not to focus on his lips in case of any sinful thoughts. You just met the man. The only thing you will note is that yes, his lips do look absolutely kissable and it aggravates you.

The most striking feature however are his deep blue eyes. The kind of deep that you feel like you could drown in. The kind of depth that looked too pretty to agonize over the fact that your lungs are burning. You stare, trying to carve a perfect replica of those eyes into your mind. Those eyes... that are currently staring at you... as he steps closer... at an alarming speed.

You hold the stack of fabric in front of you like a shield. Your guest stops, looking at the stack. His face goes from concern to confusion to blinding enthusiasm. He was probably freezing.

A smile spreads on his face, the cutest dimples you've ever seen forming on his cheeks, as he accepts the stack. He thanks you and your heart leaps from your chest. Whatever chill you were experiencing from the storm was completely gone. You turn away from him, rubbing the back of your neck and mumbling a halfway point between 'no problem' and 'you're welcome'. You hope it came out as 'no welcome' instead of 'your problem'.

The man snorts and you are pretty sure which one came out. To save yourself the embarrassment, you walk to the kitchen and start preparing tea. The man thankfully occupies himself by looking at the assortment of knick-knacks you've hoarded gathered over the years. It gives you ample time to breathe.

"Do you like sugar in your tea?"

The man nods enthusiastically. You can't help but smile a little.

You sit next to him in front of the fireplace as you hand him his mug. He leans his head against your shoulder. You can feel his body radiating a comforting heat.

You two sit in silence, sipping tea and watching the fire flicker. You wanna scold him for slurping his tea. You're not exactly his mother. You don't even know his name.

You turn to him, face scrunched and about to ask him for his name when he surges forward. His lips brush against your lips as he nudges his nose against yours. You fall backward in shock and the stranger falls on top of you, his eyes still glowing bright and cool against the amber light.

There's a thrill working up your spine or is it fear? You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your arms over your face.

"Please don't hurt me." You plead barely above a whisper.

You feel the body above you lower itself on top of you. He chuckles and shakes his head. "(Y/n), you're being silly."

You open your eyes. The man is laying his body on top of you keeping you pinned down and he's... pouting at you?

"I- I don't know who you are. You can take what you want but please don't hurt me."

The pout deepens into a frown.

"(Y/n), I'm not gonna hurt you. Don't you recognize me?"

You blink. You would definitely remember someone this eye-catching. "You always sing that sea shanty to me. The one about the sailor who misses his wife's..." The stranger flushes and makes a hand gesture. Your face scrunches again. The only person you've sung that to aside from your dad is...

"Pup?!"

His frown morphs back into a pout. "I'm not even that little."

You squish his face with your hands before you let your mind wander. You think back to the scars crisscrossing his limbs and chest. "How is this possible?"

He laughs, prying your hands from his face. "I'm a selkie," He says as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. "My name is also Dick, not pup."

You stare up at him wide-eyed and stupefied. Dick snuggles against you like he always does. Somehow snuggling you in this form is better. He can hold you closer like this. You run your hand through his hair, fingers lacing through the tangles in his hair. He lets out an excited trill.

Dick might just be in heaven right now.

"I dunno how but you're somehow even prettier when I look at you in this form," Dick breathes contently. "I'm so lucky to have such a pretty wife."

You stiffen. Dick looks up at you and the confusion in your face wrenches a knife in his heart. He swallows. "That is what you meant with this, right?" Dick asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Your mouth turns into various shapes trying to piece together a coherent response. It settles on the simplest one. "No."

Dick looks stricken like you'd taken a club to his head.

You reel back. "I just- I- I thought you were cold and you-"

Dick's heartaches. It's a dull ache. He thought this kind of thing would be sharp like having a hook pierce your heart.

His insides twist as he peels of you.

Your stomach sinks as you feel the cold fill your body once more. You don’t want him to go. The thought of being alone right now makes your stomach curdle. Your hands grip his shirt without meaning to. The look on his face hurts but the idea of him leaving felt unbearable. You know it's selfish but here you are begging him not to leave.

"Dick, I'm sorry... I didn't know... I-"

Thunder booms. You squeak and bury your face in his chest. You can't stand storms.

Dick smiles down at you softly. It's still pained but it's bearable.

He lays on his side and pulls you closer. He slots your face into his neck. You're still shivering even when he uses his body to shield you from the rest of the world.

You whisper another apology.

Dick shushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The sunlight floods into the room like it does every morning but the room is still cold. Your mind works to understand what's wrong with this picture. Your hand pads beside you. The space next to you is empty save for the blanket left behind.

You sniffle, gripping the sheet in your hand. You messed up, you think, pulling it to your face. For the first time in months, the tears come easily. You lay there all day because the tears won't stop.

"If you sigh one more time, I am going to rip your throat out." Jason growls not bothering to open his eyes. Why would he? Dick has been flat and mopey for the past two weeks and Jason is really starting to miss his hyperactivity.

Dick lets out another mopey sigh. Jason. Is. Going. To. Scream.

"Can't you be depressing in Roy's direction? Or Bruce's?"

Dick sighs even louder at the mention of Bruce and Jason, for once, is considering murder or at least maiming.

"She doesn't love me back."Dick sniffles and Jason really should have known this had something to do with you.

He turns to Dick. "I'm going to regret asking but how do you know that?" The sooner he sorts Dick out, the sooner he gets to sleep. "Did she tell you to go away and never come back?"

"Well no-"

It's Jason's turn to sigh. "You fucking moron, What did she even say?"

"She said she didn't know." Dick lowers his head to the sand and Jason wants to slap him with his tail.

Jason is now fully awake and very ready to throttle Dick. Or he's just cranky. "Are you telling me Bruce was right?! This day just keeps getting worse."

Something seems to click in Dick's brain. "Oh, crap Bruce is right." He mutters stupidly.

Jason will take whatever consolation he can get out of this. "She probably thought you were just some random pervert flashing her then." Jason snickers. It's petty and childish but so is interrupting a well-deserved nap.

"What?"

Jason lets out an exasperated huff through his snout. He twists his body to look at Dick with minimal effort to lift his head. "Let's see, you turned up naked at her door and then you called her your wife and nearly kissed her in what? The space of 15 minutes?"

"I got confused." Dick sputters.

"Geez, I thought West was bad but you're just a disaster," Jason chuckles, "Oh! And you made the brilliant decision to leave without explanation," Jason is having far too much fun rubbing salt in the wound. "She probably feels terrible”.

"Are you guilt-tripping me?"

"Is it working?"

"What-" Dick growls. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

"Hmmmmm, have you tried talking? Yanno the thing Bruce never does. But seriously, I can’t believe you call her your wife and then abandon her." Jason shakes his head. "And you have the audacity to call yourself the smart one."

Dick strips out of his skin and begins running towards the lighthouse... naked.

Jason debates on letting him.... he probably shouldn't.

"Dickface!" Jason calls out.

Dick doesn't stop, face crumpled in determination and his little Richard swinging wildly as he walks.

Jason is gonna die of second-hand embarrassment.

"DICKFACE!"

"What?!" Dick asks turning around his hands on his hips. Like usual, his hip tilts to the side and his foot taps as he waits expectantly for Jason to gather a mildly coherent response.

"Your little Richard..." Jason says pointing with his fin.

Dick looks down and the look of mortification on his face is satisfactory. ".... Right. Shit."

"Just steal some from her laundry."

"But she'll be pissed."

"Ok, so you would rather flash her then?"

Dick sighs and this time Jason doesn't have the urge to throttle him only because Dick is already beating his own ego into a pulp. "I hate it when you make sense."

Jason raises a brow, setting his head back down to the warm sand. "I always make sense."

Dick just cackles in response as he heads to the lighthouse.

Dick shifts his weight on the balls of his feet. He feels sick like he'd eaten one of those pickled fish you made him one time. Maybe this was a bad idea. Why did he even listen to Jason? He flips onto his hands and begins to pace. His stomach feels like it's being tossed violently by ocean currents. It feels like a shapeless lump sitting in the pit of his abdomen. Maybe you're out or maybe you never wanna see him again.

Your face had been so blown wide with shock when he had called you wife that it looked almost foreign like the suggestion had been so audacious that your face had to reconstruct itself to accommodate the shock.

Dick puts a hand to his face trying to stem the flow of thought. He was such an idiot. Why did he assume you would love him like that and why did he just leave you? Dick closes his eyes and breathes. He'll knock just once more then leave if you don't answer.

Tok. Tok. Tok.

The knocks register just above a whisper. He thinks you don't hear it.

He lets out a breath and walks away. This was stupid. He should never have come back.

Jason was right. Fuck. Dick buries his face as he walks away.

Distantly, Dick hears the squeak of rusty hinges but it's lost in the tempest of thoughts plaguing his mind, in all the little hurts from that night.

"Pup?" The sound of your voice is followed by the pounding of your feet against stand. Dick's careening to the ground before he knows it as your body collides with his.

"Pup," you sniffle into his shirt, "it is you."

Dick twist in your grip so he's facing you. Your face is buried in his shirt. He strokes your hair, wrapping an arm around you, holding you tight. "Of course, it’s me. Who else would bug you at this hour?"

Dick feels his shirt grow warm. You mumble an apology.

You look up to face Dick with half your face still buried in his shirt. You've clearly been crying based on how red and puffy your eyes are. Dick's stomach churns at the dark circles under your eyes. He feels guilt stab him in the gut. All of that combined with your generally disheveled appearance. Dick can just tell that you haven't slept well the last few days.

"Let's go inside and talk." You say, peeling yourself off of him.

Dick shakes his head, not loosening his grip on your midsection. "Let's walk around you look like you need some sun."

You flushed and put a hand to your cheek. "Do I look that bad?" You ask absently, a shy smile creeping into your features.

Dick smiles at you and pushes your hair out of your face. "Never but the weather is sunny for once and we both need some air."

"So you really didn't know that the island was filled with selkies?" Dick asks, adjusting the infernal scarf you had forced him into. He insisted that he didn't need it. He could just cuddle up to you for warmth but you were equally stubborn about him wearing a coat and the wool monstrosity strangling him.

Your face scrunches up in confusion." I- I don't even know what that is."

Dick stops.

You slow down upon realizing he wasn't by your side anymore. "You... don't know what a selkie is?" He asks, his face the definition of dumbstruck.

You shrink into your coat." My dad wasn't interested in things like that," you shrug, "I dunno much about..." Your hand twists in a circle, reaching for the right words.

Dick tilts his head. That made sense. "You thought we were all just seals?"

You nod slowly, looking like you wanna shrivel up.

Dick starts laughing and you look like you're a second away from throwing yourself into the water.

"I'm sorry," he says, flailing. He's screwing this up again. He breathes to collect himself. "I just thought it's funny that we all thought my dad was wrong about you guys not knowing."

You rub the back of your neck. "Most of us mainlanders don't really believe in magic, yanno? It's just such a foreign concept. Kind of hard to wrap my head around it."

"I get that." The smile on his face makes your gut twist. You fiddle with your hands.

"So what are selkies?"

Dick tilts his head, not exactly sure of how to word it because how do you explain something that's been obvious to you since you can remember to someone who just found out about it a few weeks ago?

"We're fae, I guess-" Your face twists in confusion.

Dick needs to backtrack. "We're fae..." This is hard. "We have this human form and we have our seal forms. We switch between them using our pelt."

Your brow knits in confusion. "Which one is your true form then?"

Dick wraps his arm around your waist and holds you closer as you walk along the cliff tops. He hums as he thinks. "Both?"

You look up at him with a weary smile. “That makes sense in a way.” You hum. Swallowing thickly, you fiddle with your hands. "So what was with the... um..." You clear your throat. "What was with the wife thing?"

Dick’s mouth dries. “Well... when we want to ask someone to be our mate... we- we kind of give them our pelt and I thought it translated to human clothes…” He stammers out dumbly.

“Oh...oh!” Your eyes widen into a look of horror. You open and close your mouth trying to form words. “Dick, I didn’t realize , that must have - I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Please don’t apologize,” Dick says and presses his lips to the top of your head. His lips are warm and comforting. “I’ve spent so long in love with you my brain just didn’t...” Dick’s mouth twists. “It just didn’t do what it was supposed to.”

You would definitely laugh at that last part but you’re still seeing stars from the startling confession he just hit you with. You snuggle tighter into his embrace as you look over the sea. You don’t know how to respond. You really don’t and it frustrates you. It was all just a lot to take in all at once like you’d been tossed into the sea and you’re flailing and grasping at water.

But if nothing else, you’re at least glad that Dick is still talking to you.

“If you don't mind…” Dick says carefully, the look in his eyes determined. “Would it be alright if I try and pursue you properly?” Dick braces for a no. He’s not dumb enough to be hopeful twice but he needs to ask.

Inevitably, you freeze. You pull his arm closer to your chest. Swallowing, you ask: “you mean like a human courtship?”

He nods closing his eyes. “Yes, I want to court you.” He coughs clearing his throat.

You’re silent for what felt like the longest 30 seconds of Dick’s life. Dick cracks one eye to see you fiddling with your hair. “Uh Dick, there’s this one problem that might make that difficult…” Dick raises a brow. It wasn’t an outright rejection but it wasn’t an answer.

“I don't know how that works either.” You laugh nervously, burying your face in his arm.

“Good - then we don’t know if I’m doing it badly.” Dick beams with a blinding smile.

You twist to look at him, the corners of your mouth twitching. “That sounds like cheating.”

Dick snorts, “would you rather I court you the selkie way?”

“I mean it depends. What's the selkie way?”

“Fish.”

Dick startles when you let out a loud bark of laughter. “Fish? You’ve already done that so many times.” You giggle. Dick tries to wrangle his mind away from the fact that he can feel your lips through the thin fabric of the sweater.

“I thought it worked.” Dick sighs. He really did, but alas, miscommunication is a cruel mistress.

You lower your gaze trying to concentrate on the fraying needlework of his sweater. “Maybe it has.” You mumble low enough for a human not to hear. How unfortunate it is then that you’re dealing with a selkie.

Dick is beaming when you look up again. He nuzzles his face against yours. Dick is once again insanely, stupidly, incredibly happy.

__________________________________________________________________________

Because neither of you knew what you were doing, Dick's attempts to court you ranged from ridiculous (a literal mountain of fish that you ended up drying, giving away to the other seals, and selling to passing ships.) to ridiculously sweet (finding you handful of pearls). Dick nudged a little shell overflowing with pearls and looked up at you with liquid eyes. He could have gotten you pebbles and it would have been endearing.

It wasn't always gifts though.

Sometimes Dick would just sit quietly with you on the beach, snuggling against your leg as you scratched his stomach. You love the ways his squish vibrated as he purred.

When summer passed and it became unbearable to watch the stars outside, Dick sometimes spent nights in your lighthouse, wrapped up in your sheets or wrapped around you. It was nice having him around the house even if he was kind of a slob. You love him but he is a mess.

You made the mistake of introducing him to tea cakes and got him addicted to November Cakes specifically. As it turns out, your cute pest has a sweet tooth and will nuzzle you into submission just for another bite.

If you ever doubted that Dick was evil before, you now have proof.

During the winter, Dick insisted on staying in the lighthouse to keep you warm. You wanted to point out that you had a fireplace for a reason but it was so hard to turn down hugs from him.

And because you hadn't had the heart to clean out your father's room yet and Dick clearly preferred it, you let Dick sleep next to you on your cot. You felt a bit bad but Dick was just so happy with the arrangement that you didn't want to make him go away. Besides, it was nice to wake up to his sleeping face in the morning, all sleep rumpled and drooling.

__________________________________________________________________________

"Hey Jay, do you have a book on selkies?" Dick asks, caterpillaring on the rock Jason is sunbathing on.

Jason takes the opportunity to roll down the rock and knock Dick into the sea before saying: "No." It shall be put on record that there are no drama queens in the Wayne family.

Dick shakes off the seawater, big puppy eyes staring at Jason.

Jason glares at him. He can't even let Jason have a second of smugness. "Ask Selina."

No one really knows where Selina came from or why she stayed (well, they had their suspicions), but if you need something you can't find easily, your best bet was to ask her and hope she doesn't ask you to do anything ridiculously hard.

Dick hasn't had first hand experience but from what Bruce tells him, they're mostly silly things like recite poems or do a flip. He could do both those things. Well, depending on the poem. He gets tongue twisted sometimes. Hmmm, maybe he should ask if he can avoid tongue twisters so he won't bite his tongue.

Sloughing off his coat, Dick walks towards the glowing cauldron.

"Still no clothes pup? You're going to give a poor girl a heart attack." Selina tsked, reappearing from one of the other cave entrances with a handful of things Dick can't recognize.

"Oh... I- I'm still not used to it." He says sheepishly.

Selina chuckles, dumping the handful of what Dick can assume is plant debris into the cauldron while before dusting her hands off.

Dick stares at the thick vat. A bubble rises and bursts emitting what sounded like a human voice. "What is that? Should I be worried?"

"Oh no, no, this? This is just a little soup for colds."

"It screamed."

"All soups scream."

"I- anyway, I came here to ask if you have a book on selkies."

Selina tilts her head to the side. "I believe I do-"

"Great!"

"Buuuut..."

Of course, the price.

"I brought pearls and some seashells." He says hopefully.

The angle of her head does not change. Though from the gleam in her eyes, she's clearly interested.

"Tell me why you need the book."

Dick's thoughts halt. Should he tell Selina about you? His eyes dart to the boiling cauldron. "... Why do you need to know?"

Selina flourishes her hand. The book appears out of thin air."Do you want the book or not, pup?"

Dick's nerves pinch. Why does everyone call him that? "I need it to teach someone Selkie customs." He manages.

"Oh! The little lighthouse keeper!"

"You know her?"

Selina shrugs. "Do you really think I wouldn't know something going on about the islands nearby?" She pinches his cheek. "Oh little pup, I know about your little crush. You spend more time on land than you do in the sea these days. Dami's been all huffy about it."

He has.

"I've told you my reason." Dick says holding his hand out.

"Hnnnn, you have I suppose." Selina sighs.

Dick takes the book, putting it into a waterproof pouch before gingerly putting his pelt back on. He happily caterpillars out of the cave with the pouch in his mouth. He really hopes you'll like this.

You really should just fix up another cot for Dick at this point and maybe buy him a set of clothes when you go to town.

"It's too cold to sleep outside." Dick whines, flattening himself against you on the bed.

You lift your book to look at him. Dick just gives you that wide-eyed look when he wants something. You roll your eyes, letting him snuggle up to you. "Dick, it is obviously summer and you're like 40% blubber." You snort.

Dick pouts. "You're still gonna let me sleep here."

You scrunch your face up and sigh. "I can't exactly let you brace the summer cold, can I?" You say, running a hand through his hair.

"Eeeeeexactly." Dick says happily as snuggles into you tightly. He nuzzles his face into your neck wrapping his arms around your waist. You hum helplessly, curling into his embrace.

"See." Dick trills with a happy grin.

"Are you going to be smug about it all night?" You huff, throwing a blanket over the two of you.

"No," he says, "you assume I can't keep being smug 'til sunrise."

"Dork," you snicker, setting the book down. It was a book on selkie traditions that Dick had gotten you a few days ago. You devoured it the same night but you're reading it again and subtly testing things while Dick was invading your house. You hum, running your hand through his hair, fingernails lightly scraping against his scalp. Dick purrs against your chest. "There was a one eyed seal on the beach the other day. He was a grumpy fellow but kind of cute. Seals really are a sleepy lot. The big lug started snoozing on my lap after like 5 minutes."

Dick tense under your touch. He looks up at you seriously.

"That was a selkie." Dick deadpans.

You stop your rambling. "What?!"

"That grumpy one-eyed seal was a selkie." He repeats carefully.

Your breath stutters. "Are all of the seals on this island selkies? ALL OF THEM?" Dick is pretty sure your eyes are mounting an escape.

"All of them, darling." Dick nods.

"Oh." You are so screwed. "Do you guys all talk to each other?!" You shouldn't have told that seal about your little crush. You want the mattress to swallow you up.

"Yes? Should I be concerned?" Dick asks, lifting his head.

"No! No reason!" You squeal, shaking your head.

Dick pouts at you with suspicion. It occurs to you with some amusement that Dick is actually glaring. You wisely decide to sidestep the conversation.

"You guys love taking naps on people, huh?" You say, absently twining your fingers into Dick's hair. He settles his head against your chest. "That's just cus we like you." He hums.

A snort rips out of you. "You're just biased."

Dick looks up at you seriously again. "We selkies like pretty things like any fae." Dick says, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. He's being petty but Dick has always been protective of you and he isn't about to stop now. Besides... he doesn't want anyone stealing you away.

You frown at him. "Dick, there are far prettier things on this island and sweet talking won’t magically make November cakes appear." You huff, kissing the top of his head before picking up the book and using it to hide the smile shaping your lips.

You feel Dick pick himself up off of you. You peek over your book to watch Dick. He scoots closer to your face until the only thing separating you is the far too thin book in your hands.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"No." You say. You don't mean it but it's the easiest thing to conjure up when Dick is this close. Your lips prickle from imagining Dick's lips against yours.

You weren't paying attention. Dick has apparently been going on a two-minute diatribe on how pretty you are and in that two minutes, Dick has managed to scoot even closer. He gently takes the book out of your hands to make sure you're paying attention. He fails to take into account the fact that his face is in fact distracting. Your eyes zero in on his very plush and very kissable lips. If you just lean forward a fraction, you could...

Your lips feel warm and soft against Dick's, the rest of his diatribe dying in the back of his throat as his eyes flutter shut. His mind might just be melting out of his ears because the only thing he can think about is how soft you are and how perfectly your lips fit against his.

"I'm sorry." You whisper shyly. You should be sorry, Dick thinks. Who told you to pull away?

You touch your fingers to your lips. Fuck, what did you just do?

"You can do it again." Please, he almost adds.

You lick your lips. Dick perks up and leans closer. His heart is going to leap out of his chest. You lean closer. Dick can feel his heart pounding against his rib cage.

You kiss Dick on the nose and pull away, hiding your lips behind your hand as you snicker. Dick scrunches his nose and blows air out of it.

"You know perfectly well what I meant." He huffs.

You lean back into your pillow, grinning at him. "I have absolutely no clue what you're on about." You say slowly, smug.

"Let me remind you then,"A grin takes over his face. Dick leans in, pressing his lips against yours. You exchange breaths as you drink in the feeling of each other's lips. Dick caresses your sides. He feels you shiver and he smiles into your lips. "That ring any bells?"

"Not really..." You say, flickering your eyes to him. "But if you try again... it might."

"Oh sweetheart, I can keep reminding you all night." Dick chuckles, winking.

Covering your face, you attempt to hide your embarrassment. You hate how easily he flusters you. "You can't just say stuff like that." You whimper.

"Why not? I'm supposed to be courting you and that includes buttering you up," Dick says, nuzzling your cheek. You're just too cute. Dick gently pries your hands away from your face. "Don't hide your face from me, Honey."

"Oh god, you're making me regret letting you court me."

"Never."

______________________________________________________________________

Dick's eyes are struggling to remain open as he watches the fire. He burrows further into the thick comforter you'd given him. It's not quite as warm as his pelt but the fabric is puffy and it has a sweet smell that makes his head swim.

Dick angles his head slightly to watch you. You've been toiling for hours and refuse to tell Dick what it is. Your back is still hunched over with your foot bouncing on the floor. Dick lets his eyes flutter shut, listening to the sound of your shuffling tools.

You glance down at the adorable mess dozing off on your sofa. You gently move his hair out of his face. He swats at you sleepily, face scrunched even as he sleeps. You sincerely wish you had Damian's talent for art or that you had one of those cameras. You really wish you could keep a picture of Dick's sleepy face. It's the cutest thing in the world.

"Hey Dickie," you whisper.

"Hmmmmm?" He groans.

"Could you hand me your pelt?"

"Sure," he moans, blindly padding around for it. You snort as he nearly falls off the sofa. After groping nearly every surface, he finally finds the pelt. "here you-"

The fur brushes your fingertips before Dick stops. Dick shoots up, nearly clipping your nose with his forehead. He's looking at you fully awake, drool still hanging off the corner of his lips."Are you sure?!"

"Hand it over coward." You smile gently at him. You try your best to fight off the excitement bubbling in your veins.

Dick is off the couch, his own excitement barely contained as his whole body vibrates with happiness. He sits up. You hold out your hand but instead of handing you his pelt, Dick drapes it over you like a wedding veil. It's thick and warm to the touch. You let your hands brush over the silken fur. You can feel magic thrumming from it. It feels like a minute current of electricity but it doesn't flow linearly. It ebbs and flows as it pleases, pulsing beneath your fingers. You burrow yourself in it.

Something warm spills in Dick's chest as he sees you wrapped up in his pelt. Dick kisses your nose. "You have now been wifed."

You twitch your nose. "You missed."

"Nope. Don't think so. Buuuuut if you show me where you want me to kiss you..."

You roll your eyes and surge forward, pressing your lips to his. Dick smiles into it, pulling you close and savoring the sensation of your lips melding together. He makes a happy trilling noise while you laugh against his lips.

"That clear enough, Dickie?" You ask, pressing your forehead against his.

"Yeah, I think I got it, wifey."

__________________________________________________________

THANKS FOR READING

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish , @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be @jadedhillon

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x you #dick grayson #dorks #seals #selkie x reader #selkie au

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manias-wordcount · 3 years

Text

Everything You Wanted (Zuko x Servant! Reader) PART FIVE

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗴𝗼 𝗶 𝘁𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝘆𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗮 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁, 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗼𝗼𝗽𝘀

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗿𝗼𝘆𝗮𝗹𝘁𝘆/𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽, 𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗦 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝟮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁 (𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝟯 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗲 𝟱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵/𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱)

𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿 || 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲 || 𝘀𝗶𝘅 || 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 || 𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝗲𝗻 || 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

To say the game was close would be wishful thinking. To say the playing fields were fair would be a bold-faced lie.

Prince Zuko, Princess Azula, Miss Mai, and Miss Ty Lee dominated the other team. There was just no hope for those poor four strangers. It was just one power-play after another as they took turns spiking onto the other team's blind spots and weak points. You watched each new volley with hands clasped together in anticipation. You cheered when you could- mostly for Miss Ty Lee and Prince Zuko- but it was amazing to watch them all work together like that. And scary.

Really, really scary.

You went to join the four victors as they stood around on the court, listening to Princess Azula speak about world domination in an intense voice (something Miss Ty Lee informed you that happened a lot). As you approached, you gave them all a soft smile and gave a quick bow to silently acknowledge their superior playstyle. You didn’t dare try to disrupt Princess Azula while she was speaking.

Miss Mai immediately scoffed before rolling her eyes at you and turning her head in a different direction. Miss Ty Lee returned your smile with another one of her closed-eyed, adorably enthusiastic grins. Prince Zuko was another story. The look on his face wasn’t particularly harsh as he stared into your eyes, but it was as unreadable as ever. Still, you couldn’t help but want to shrink under his gaze as his golden eyes traveled down your body and lingered on your body in a way that made you feel weak in the knees. Especially as his gaze trailed lower, and lower, and lower, and-

“We’re having a party tonight,” The voice of a boy you’ve never heard before breaks you out of your daze. “You should come by.”

You notice he’s a little on the taller side and a little handsome, with tanned skin and most of his hair in a little bun. He stands off to the side with a friend- a guy a little bit shorter and with paler skin and messier hair- but his attention is mostly on Miss Ty Lee.

“Sure,” She responds easily. “I love parties.”

“Your friends can come too.” The second boy speaks up, and this time you watch bashfully as his eyes fall on Miss Mai before traveling over to you. You didn’t like the way he looked at you. You didn’t like it all.

“Uh, What about me and my brother?” Princess Azula takes the moment to step up and cross her arms. “Aren’t you going to invite us?”

The two strangers exchange looks with each other and Princess Azula is immediately able to pick them apart.

“You don’t know who we are, do you?”

“Don’t you know who we are?” The taller boy shoots back arrogantly, and you have to bite back all your training as a servant to yell at them for their insolence. “We’re Chan and Ruon-Jian.”

“Yeah,” Ruon-Jian adds helpfully.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Prince Zuko stomping towards them and you find yourself wanting to bow onto the ground and make the two boys apologize on their behalf for speaking out of turn to the royal family. But before he can get too close, Princess Azula holds out a hand to stop her seething brother’s movement. He isn’t too close, but Chan and Ruon-Jian receive the message loud and clear.

“But fine. You’re invited.” Chan relents after a while, before eying the two siblings with a semi-annoyed look. “Just so you know though, some of the most important teenagers in the Fire Nation are gonna be at this party so…try and act normal.”

You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or scream at their ignorance at this point. Probably a little mix of both by now.

“We’ll do our best.” Princess Azula answers darkly, taking them up on Chan’s words as if they were a challenge.

Your only hope is that this party doesn’t end up in flames- just like the very same flames you can see burning in Princess Azula’s eyes.

The sun was just beginning to set as the five of you arrived at Chan’s House.

This was your first time at a party. Well, a real party. Not one of those get-togethers with others who you work with, sharing scraps of what the royal family didn’t want and speaking quietly in fear of being heard and being put back to work. Being a servant didn’t allow you to get out, so needless to say, you felt out of place in your short, blood-red dress that exposed way too much cleavage for you not to say anything to Miss Ty Lee as she forced you into the dress.

Too late to turn back now, you thought to yourself as you rocked on your feet nervously, waiting for someone to open the door Princess Azula just knocked on. You kept your head down, eyes trained to the floor in fear of all the things that could possibly go wrong tonight. Starting with the fact that Prince Zuko hadn’t looked at you once since you’ve traded your swimsuit for this “party entire.”

Not even once.

“Um...” You lift your head up to see Chan peek through a barely open door with a confused expression. “...You’re a little early. No one’s here yet.”

“I heard you telling someone from Dusk till Dawn.” Princess Azula answers simply. “It’s dusk, so we’re here.”

Chan pulls a face at her words, “But that’s just an expression.”

“We are the perfect party guest.” Princess Azula states proudly as she ignores him. “We arrive right on time because we are very punctual.”

She accents her words with a stiff chopping motion into her hand. The action leaves you, the rest of your group, and Chan a little confused. Ultimately, Chan just shrugs before opening the door further and walking away as he beckons a hand over his shoulder. And with that, your group silently follows behind him and walks further into the house.

“Alright listen, my dad’s an admiral.” Chan forewarns before turning back to shoot a glare at Princess Azula and the rest of your group. Perhaps the five of you really do seem like trouble? Well, four of you. You’re not exactly a threat to anyone or anything. “He has no idea I’m having this party. So don’t mess anything up.”

Azula begins to deliver a resort back, but you find yourself lost in thought as you take in the decor of the house. It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen before. The living space you’re standing in is beautiful. It has a cozy look with all the warm wood tones and splashes of gold, red, and orange everywhere. It was nowhere near as ornate as the Fire Nation palace. The palace had far too many open yet nearly empty rooms to compare to the two. In fact, your Prince’s bedroom must be larger than this whole living space!

But it also wouldn’t be right to compare the house to the servant’s dens back home. Where everything was cramped and old and fraying at the edges. Where rooms were shared and privacy was a luxury and luxuries were just unheard of. You swore the cost of one of the beautiful paintings in this room would be enough to buy a new bed for you, your family, and then some. If only, if only.

“Hey, first ones here, huh?” The sound of someone’s voice draws you from your musings, and you’re met with the sight of Ruon Jian, leaning against a wooden table with a mirror attached as he flips his hair. To your surprise, you find that he’s staring directly at you. With a nervous bite of your lip, you try to flash him a polite smile, but it's interrupted when a figure blocks him from your vision and forces you to keep walking.

“Tch. He thinks he’s so great.” The way Prince Zuko scoffs right next to your ear is enough to send you shivering. From this angle, you’re only able to see the sharp and inexplicably handsome curves of his side profile as he seems to keep his golden eyes on Ruon Jian. It’s not fair how good he looks in that deep red ensemble of his. Oh, and the way it exposes quite a generous amount of his sculpted chest. Your mouth grows dry as you’re finally given the chance to stare at him up close for the first time in what feels like forever when Prince Zuko suddenly turns his attention back to you. “Well, what do you think of him?”

His eyes narrow in a way you can only assume to be the result of growing anger, but the mere notion of what he’s implying has your head spinning.

“He means nothing to me. And he never will.” You state quietly, matching his gaze with an intensity of your own. “He is not my Prince.”

You’re so lucky how your well your truth pacifies him. Within moments, his eyes begin to soften. And then they begin to wander- and wander they do. With a start, you realize it's the first time he’s looked at you since you’ve changed. Your heart began to beat rapidly within your chest as golden orbs trailed down your face and stopped at your neck for a just moment too long. But it’s enough to make you realize that what he’s looking at must not be the golden choker Miss Ty Lee insisted you wear tonight. No, what he’s looking at falls just a little below your pretty little necklace. Without a word, you find yourself tilting your head up, exposing just a tad more of yourself to his watchful eyes as your mouth parts into a silent gasp.

And suddenly, he’s leaning towards you. Closer, and closer and closer and you can suddenly feel the heat radiating off of his body. You’ve missed this. You really, truly missed this. When he first told you he was going to Ember Island, you were worried about being left behind at the palace. You’ve grown accustomed to your time serving him, and him alone, and you weren’t too keen on sharing him. The thought of him being so far away and on an island where there were bound to be many girls vying for his attention, you felt an overwhelming amount of helplessness. Then he looked at you stupid when you told him to have a safe trip.

“Your orders were to never leave my side.” He told you, a bruising grip on your chin as he forced you to look at him. Not that you minded, of course. “Don’t tell me you plan to disobey me already?”

And suddenly, you were here. On Ember Island. With him. But under the watchful eyes of the three most important teenage girls in all of the Fire Nation (Miss Ty Lee, Miss Mai, and Princess Azula, of course), you’ve barely had time to do what you’re supposed to do. To do your job- serve Prince Zuko. Especially now that you’re now the object of Miss Ty Lee’s interest, being the shy and unsure thing that you were, you can only admire him from afar. But now that he’s close to you again, it’s like you can finally breathe. Now that you’re finally sharing those little moments that seem to push the boundary of what’s acceptable as servant and master, you’re starting to feel dizzy. But none of that matters except for the fact that your Prince is growing closer, and closer, and he’s so close you swear it burns and-

He freezes. Eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched, and still staring at you, he freezes. And you can’t help but still too. Somewhere off in the distance, Miss Mai shouts for him to come to her. In the heat of the moment, you can’t help but forget that he and Miss Mai are supposed to be a thing. But the look in his eyes always makes your wishful little mind think that he wants something that isn’t her. Something a little more, “you” shaped.

At least, you could only hope.

Still, he backs off and flicks his eyes over to where the two of you heard her voice coming from. He cranes his neck for a little bit, and you can tell he finally spots her because he turns his head back to you one more time and starts to stalk off towards her silently. Before he’s gone from your view, he gives you one more hard look, taking particular interest in the way your chest heaves up and down with every deep breath you take. And just like that, he’s gone. The spell is broken. And you come down with the sudden realization that you weren’t in the Prince’s private bed chamber.

Luckily enough, Ty Lee and Princess Azula are nowhere around you. And it looks like Chan didn’t spot a thing as well. But before you can you breathe a sigh of relief, you remember someone else was just within eyeshot of your whole...erm, encounter.

Ruon-Jian.

One look over to the mirror, and you can still see that he’s perched against that same table. But his eyes are glued to your body, taking you in as if he was a starved man. And from the way he licks his lips, you can only tell this is the beginning of a very, very long night.

#zuko #prince zuko #zuko fanfic #zuko x reader #zuko avatar #zuko atla #avatar x reader #avatar fanfic #avatar fanfiction #atla x reader #x reader #xreader #fanfic #fanfiction

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saurexhas · 3 years

Text

Love is Blind - Part 1

So I’ve been hanging out with @studionovella and the team for @nightmare-castle, and the sheer talent in their discord server is so amazing. It led me to be inspired, and while I’m typically more of a Sanscest writer, I figured that it’d be fun to try something new considering the source of my inspiration! So have some Nightmare x MC (Nightmare x Reader).

Be warned, this story handles blindness and... probably some other sensitive topics considering it’s me. So just watch the tags for any relevant triggers!

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

You didn’t think that it was possible, but somehow you had fallen for Nightmare. On the surface he was cold, cruel, and calculating, using everyone he could to advance his goals. But if you could tolerate the coldness, get past his clinical treatment of those he believed were beneath him, then there was so much more to him. Nightmare was a scholar, a brilliant mind with a vision for a world all his own. He appreciated the arts, often enjoying his downtime with a good book and a calming cup of tea. And believe it or not, there was a small part of him that genuinely cared for the skeletons under his charge. You’ve seen that side of him more than most, managing to open even his eye to what was hidden beneath the centuries of anger and hatred.

Even if negativity was still a large part of who he was, you found yourself able to accept that darkness, because it only made the small lights within him shine brighter. Just like the stars the two of you were gazing at. Though as your gaze shifted to the skeleton currently dominating your thoughts, you found that piercing cyan eye of his locked onto you instead of the sky. If there was ever any doubt in your mind that your feelings were reciprocated, one look at his gaze would sweep it all away. There was a tenderness to him, reserved only for you as he would say. It was only in these moments where the two of you were alone that he would let his imposing demeanor slide.

Getting moments to yourselves was easier said than done though. Despite the sheer size of the castle, the others always seemed to be around. They knew how Nightmare favoured you, how he treated you special and wasn’t as harsh. You were pretty sure that they’d managed to piece everything together on their own, even if none of them ever said anything for fear of angering their king. That said, some of them, namely Killer, seemed to delight in getting in the way of your fleeting moments alone. And there was always no shortage of work to be done, not when your partner was as ambitious as he was. Nightmare aimed to create an empire, and you were doing what you could to further his goals. Even if all that work and Killer’s interference left you and Nightmare fleeing to other worlds in order to have some semblance of a relationship.

Outertale was a favourite destination of yours, the beauty of the cosmos always taking your breath away. It always seemed so far removed from the chaos of the multiverse, or the chaos of the castle.The peace and quiet out here made it perfect for when both you and your partner just needed a break. You could stand out here for hours, watching the subtle shifts in the sky or mapping constellations.

But for now, you were seemingly locked in a staring contest with the lord of darkness, neither willing to look away or break the silence that had fallen. Unsure of what to do, you simply reached out with your finger and booped the tip of his nose. The look of utter surprise on his face left you giggling, only for his own rich laughter to mingle with yours.

“You dare to lay a hand on the God of Negativity, hmm?” He teased, pulling you close with his tentacles before wrapping his arms around your waist. “You are either very brave or very foolish… maybe a bit of both. How shall I deal with your crime, my little moon?”

You couldn’t help but swoon a bit at the pet name he called you, grinning up at him like a fool as you took advantage of the close proximity to snuggle close. “I could swear my love to you, would that appease the great Nightmare?”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled, the distance closing between the two of you even further as he ducked his head down to be level with your own. Nightmare opened his mouth, perhaps to say something else or to move in for the kiss you were anticipating. Before either option could happen though, the dark skeleton froze for a split second. There wasn’t even time to ask what was wrong before you found yourself hefted into his arms, the two of you dodging a volley of bright blue arrows that had speared where you’d been moments ago.

Your heart hammered in your throat, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you tried to get a grip on what was happening. Nightmare still had you cradled to his chest, dodging arrows and… was that paint? Following the paint’s trajectory, you could see your partner’s enemies had managed to crash your little date.

The Star Sanses stood on the other end of the floating chunk of rock you were on, the portal they’d used to arrive closing behind them. Blue was just coming through the portal, his gaster blaster hammer in his grip. Dream had another arrow ready to fire, though he hesitated upon seeing you staring back at him. Ink on the other hand wasted no time in splattering more of his paints everywhere, a tentacle raising to block you from the oncoming attack. The paint hissed and fizzled on contact, a growl leaving Nightmare as he jumped to another nearby rock to escape the barrage.

“Night, are you okay?!” You look up to see him trying to hide his pain, showing you that those paints are far more than something to be smeared on a piece of paper. While you’d heard stories from the others about the chaotic creator, you’d never met him in person or seen him fight. Seeing that paint flying towards you was way scarier than the guys’ stories had led you to believe.

“I’ll be fine,” Nightmare insisted as he set you down, even if you knew that attack hurt. “Look, you need to remain here where you’ll be safe. I don’t care what kind of training you’ve been partaking in with the others; I refuse to let you endanger yourself by fighting them. Ink especially is dangerous, keep away from him at all costs. If you cannot dodge his attacks, make sure to shield your face. His paint can burn like acid if he wishes, and while liquid negativity protects my body, you have no such defenses. Give me your word that you will remain safe while I deal with these pests.”

As much as you wanted to argue that you could help, even you couldn’t muster the confidence to speak against him with such a stern glare directed at you. It was clear that Nightmare wouldn’t take no for an answer on this one, so you had no choice but to nod your head meekly. “I-I’ll stay here,” you promised, glancing up to see him seemingly satisfied. Without another word, he rushed off, preventing Blue from getting any closer with his large hammer.

Watching Nightmare take on all three of the Star Sanses by himself was both awe-inspiring and terrifying, much like the first times you’d joined sparring sessions with the guys. But there wasn’t the assurance in the back of your mind that nobody would be out to kill you. While it might not be the goals of all of the Stars, there was very much mortal danger in this fight for both you and the one you loved. Staying on the sidelines like this was painful, leaving you feeling useless as Nightmare struggled to hold off the onslaught.

Were they not essentially your enemies, you’d be impressed by the coordination and teamwork the Stars possessed. All three of them were capable of both melee and ranged attacks, and wordlessly organized themselves so that one of their own was never in danger of being hit by their own attacks. Dream’s precision with his arrows allowed him to stay primarily a ranged fighter, while Blue’s blasters and Ink’s attacks were a bit too widespread to risk while one of them fought in close combat. Nightmare was the only one without a specific ranged attack, which probably explained why the others rarely got close to attack. Your lover’s tentacles gave him reach though, and the ability to hit multiple targets at once, so he was somehow able to hold his own against all three.

The battle looked to be a stalemate… until one of the Stars suddenly switched tactics. While Blue rushed in with a hammer and bones at his side, Ink actually turned his back on the fight. He seemed a little lost, like he was trying to remember something, only for his eyes to light up as he locked gazes with you. Instant panic seized you as the one skeleton that Nightmare warned you about came straight for you, manic glee plastered over his face as he quickly crossed the distance between the two of you. A glance back at the battle proved that Nightmare had seen what was going on, but Blue was keeping him from coming to your aid. So it was up to you to think fast and avoid the creator, hope bubbling in you that this might actually make things easier. If you could keep Ink busy by dodging his attacks, then Nightmare might be able to take on the remaining two with better success before coming after Ink.

With this admittedly crazy plan in your head, you began a game of cat and mouse with Ink, jumping from one place to the next. If you didn’t have a splash-happy maniac chasing you, it would’ve been cool to enjoy the low gravity of Outertale. For now though, it was all that was allowing you to escape most of the attacks directed at you. You were far from unscathed though, small splashes of paint eating away at your arms and legs. It burned, but was nothing you couldn’t deal with as you continued to dodge and weave the bulk of the attacks. So long as none of it touched your face, you would be fine.

Glancing back at the main battle going on, your hopes of Nightmare doing better against two targets instead of three were steadily being crushed. He seemed distracted, constantly looking up to watch you kite Ink around the area. Instead of focusing on the two he had to deal with, he was so worried about you and Ink that he was now losing. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was facing off against Ink and Blue, because there was little the two could do beyond superficial damage. Dream on the other hand was still very much a threat, his arrows of pure positivity being about the only thing that could seriously hurt. And you could see several piercing the ground, coated in the black negativity that Nightmare relied on for protection. It was a surefire way to see when he’d been hit, and the staggering amount of these soiled arrows made it clear that your partner wasn’t holding his own anymore. Guilt welled up in you, because you were the reason he was now losing this fight. While there wasn’t much you could honestly do to shake Ink from your trail, reason did little to quell the negativity rising inside you. All you could hope for was that your own despair could give Nightmare just a bit more power, enough to keep himself safe at least.

As time dragged on, both you and Nightmare were running out of stamina. Your legs cried for rest as you continued to run away from the creator, while your lover’s movements were growing noticeably sluggish. More arrows seemed to connect than not at this point, and he had barely any time to recover from one attack before dealing with another. The two of you were badly losing, and it was quite clear now why Nightmare rarely let anyone from the castle venture out on their own.

The Stars seemed to sense this sudden weakness in their target, Dream finally stopping his barrage to call out to the one going after you. “Ink! Stop playing around, I need your help!” Help? What help could Ink possibly be? Even his corrosive paints couldn’t breach the surface of Nightmare’s negativity, the only thing that could was Dream’s… oh… oh no.

As the realization hit you, Ink finally gave up his pursuit. “Woo! Looks like my plan actually worked… at least I think this was my plan. Whatever, let’s do this!” Laughing at some untold joke, Ink hopped away from you to return to the large rock that most of the battle had been on. At the same moment though, you felt your legs moving as the horrific reality of their plan hit you. Ink purposefully went after you to distract Nightmare, allowing the others to weaken him enough so that their special attack would hit. The creator might not be able to damage the surface, but if Dream’s arrow ripped through first, then there’d be a narrow window where Nightmare’s greatest defense would be gone. In a single spot he’d be vulnerable, which is why they needed to slow him down enough to ensure their hit would work.

You weren’t going to let that happen. Promise be damned, your soul was screaming at you to protect the one you loved, and you were going to heed its call. The ache in your legs went completely ignored, adrenaline pushing you forward with more speed than you thought you could muster. You needed to be faster though; Ink was already there, and Blue had set about corralling Nightmare to keep him still.

Only a few floating chunks of rock were between you and your beloved now, but you still weren’t fast enough. Panic rose once again as you watched Dream draw back his bowstring, the arrow glimmering faintly in the surrounding darkness. Ink stood ready beside him, the paint coating his brush a dangerous shade of red. That same paint had left such horrible burns along your limbs, and you could only imagine the damage it might do to the weakened god of negativity. With Blue running interference and drawing Nightmare’s attention, it was only a matter of time now.

As your feet touched down on the large space rock, several feet from everyone else, you knew that you were out of time. Nightmare was too absorbed in his fight to hear your warning calls, and it would only alert the two and likely cause them to reset before trying again. This attack would only work once though, because once Nightmare knew of their plan, he wouldn’t let it work a second time. That meant that you had one chance to stop them, especially when you saw that Dream was aiming towards his twin’s soul.

Courage and determination welled within your soul, driving you forward despite the risk you were running straight into. Any number of things could go seriously wrong, but… you couldn’t risk them killing him. Nightmare was the bane of the multiverse to many, but he was everything to you. Gritting your teeth, you timed your steps so that you’d only enter Dream’s field of vision after he fired, preventing them from stopping you and trying again. The second he saw you, the god of positivity’s expression changed from one of grim determination to one of shock and horror, his hand reaching out as if he could stop his attack or stop you. His hesitance once again wasn’t present in Ink, the creator wasting no time in flinging the red paint directly after the arrow.

With mere seconds to spare, your outstretched hands made contact with the cool goop that covered Nightmare’s body. All of your momentum and might went into a push, knocking the deity away from the incoming attack. Your lover turned back to look at you the second you made contact, his eye conveying the same shock and horror as Dream’s had when he saw you. All you could do was smile, knowing that you’d managed to save him no matter what danger you’d put yourself in. Nightmare reached out for you just as the arrow whizzed past, its trajectory leaving it slicing past your eyes. Pain bloomed as the minor cuts scratched the outsides of your eyes, but it was nothing compared to what came next. You’d been so concerned about the arrow that you temporarily forgot about Ink. His attack followed as per the Stars’ plan, splattering over the both of you with its acidic effect. The scratches to your eyes had left you temporarily blind, so you weren’t able to see that red paint as it splashed all over your face. The last thing you saw was instead Nightmare, reaching out to you as if to save you from this pain.

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