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luna-writes-stuff · 2 years ago

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All Of My Love, Thorin Oakenshield

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Fanfic, gn! reader

Fluff, reunion fic

Word count: 2912

Tw: everyone lives because you can’t fuck corpses (necrophelia still isn’t okay, guys). Despite this comment, this fic is all fluff no smut so… Mentions/descriptions of injuries. Bathing but no insinuation. Established relationship. There is no Tauriel/Kili here so cry about it.

Summary: When the company finally reclaims Erebor, you set out on the travel to the kingdom to meet with your husband again. However, upon a arrival, you notice that a lot more is on his mind than he tends to let on. You try to comfort him the best you can.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light? To chase a feather in the wind.”

One thing that was worse than leaving for a suicide mission, was not going on one, then watching the one you love most take the quest. It was his given right, of course. There wouldn’t be any other who could possibly set out. But when he told you to stay, you could have sworn your stomach had begun to carry a new feeling of heavy.

There were arguments - fights over his decision, but not once did he change his mind. Not even when you tried to follow them. It was his sister who would spot you and drag your reluctant form back to camp.

When you married him, you had made a vow to never leave one another, so this had left a painful taste for you. You understood him, and you knew why he had to go. But you didn’t understand why he had wanted you to stay. Love be damned - he had promised.

The letter couldn’t come soon enough. The longer the months grew, the more anxious you became, even to the point you struggled to fall asleep. When the first letter from Erebor came, you were one of the first party members to set out for the travel. It would take days until you finally reached the mountain.

“Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight. There moves a thread that has no end.”

Having taken over for Thorin whilst he had been gone, had gained you an insane amount of respect from the other dwarves, so the travel had been relatively easy for you. But the moment you stood mere miles from the mountain, you had to halt for a moment, and let everything properly sink in.

The letter announcing Erebor had been reclaimed had come from him; you knew he was alive. But his sentences were brief and straight to the point. And you weren’t used to that kind of writing from him. It had worried you. Sure, he might have been fine, but what of the others? You truly had no way of telling.

“Shall we continue, my lady?” One of your companions asked, ripping you from your thoughts. You spared him a curt nod, and with that, the group continued walking again. Your anxieties would have to wait.

“For many hours and days that pass ever soon. The tides have caused the flame to dim.”

The travel through Dale had been heartwrenching. Mankind had still been rebuilding the city, but the state of the buildings and streets had been pathetic beyond words. You couldn’t imagine having been here whilst the dwarves were reclaiming the mountain. Shallow stares and brief nods were thrown your way as you climbed towards the entrance of Erebor.

When you reached the huge entrance, the air got stuck in your throat. From behind you, you heard some companions sob with glee - some even falling to the floor. You had reached the mountain proclaimed to have been impossible to enter. And the mere sight of it had shaken you to your core.

A figure neared you from a distance, and you had to squint to be able to tell the distinct features. A gasp of surprise left you as you took off running, nearing the figure quicker than he could reach you.

“Dwalin!” You exclaimed happily, pulling him into an embrace as you reached him - one he quickly returned. “Lass, we’ve been waiting for you!” He laughed heartily. It briefly made you forget the turmoil in your body earlier.

“Get in! It’s freezing out here.” He spoke as he parted from you, then gesturing for your company to follow him. After years of mourning and months of longing, you were finally back home.

“At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom. Is this to end or just begin?”

A room had been appointed to you quickly, giving you your time to bathe and get dressed. As you stepped foot into the tub, you quickly noticed your reddened skin, likely from the freezing cold outside. You involuntarily shivered at it, the water feeling almost boiling. You tried to resist the feeling, clutching the edges of the tub tightly. Leaning your head down, you gave your body time to adjust to the heat, clenching your eyes shut at the burning sensation.

“Do not break the tub, please.” An all-too-familiar baritone once rang through the room, immediately causing your head to snap up. You must have been too caught up in the sudden temperature shift to have noticed him entering your chamber.

“Thorin,” You sighed relieved, getting out of the bath as quickly as you could, hissing at the biting cold now gnawing on your skin. You fell into Thorin’s embrace as he wrapped his arms around you, clutching you tightly. He fumbled for the edges of his coat, before covering you in them as well, now holding you against his shirt.

“You had me worried ill,” you mumbled, your head buried in the crook of his neck as you relished under his warm touch. “Ghivashel, I wanted nothing more than to write you every day.” He returned, his voice now equally hushed as his hands seemed to grip you even tighter.

“All of my love, all of my love All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love All of my love to you.”

You might have stood there for minutes, but when you parted, it was still too soon for you. You noticed the faint distress on his face, though it wasn’t enough to immediately alert you. You didn’t know what he had been through, and you wouldn’t ask him just yet. For now, you were simply glad to be reunited with him.

“Get back into your bath,” Thorin spoke, observing your shivering figure. You dismissed him, reaching for the towel. “It can wait.”

However, before you could wrap the fabric around you, his hand halted you. Gently holding your upper arm, he turned you to face him. You didn’t feel ashamed under his gaze. If anything, you felt confident under it. “I’d rather not have you sick,” He mumbled. “You only just got here.”

That made you smile slightly, laying the towel back on its earlier place. You reached your hand up, your fingers lingering on his marital braid, toying with the bead slightly. It had clearly been polished.

“Will you join me?”

“The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again. One voice is clear above the din.”

And that is where you had found yourself right now, in the arms of the dwarf you had fallen for so many years ago, as naked as the day you were born. The water was a warm blanket around you, and his arms were a welcomed addition. You were gently scrubbing the dirt from your arms when your eyes fell upon his leg. Unable to surprise the hiss escaping your mouth, you turned to look at him.

“How did that happen?” You questioned worriedly, before your eyes fell back on his mangled leg. Bruises and cuts littered it, but most apparent of all was the huge cut on his foot. You resisted the urge to lean down and touch it.

“Azog,” He answered through a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. “Azog?” You repeated, looking at him incredulously. “I thought he had died.” “As did I,” He confessed. “But he is truly defeated this time. I made sure of it.”

You didn’t ask him about it. It seemed to not be something he wanted to talk about. Instead, you grabbed one of his arms, wrapping yours around it as you leaned back against his chest. Thorin seemed to relax under the notion, his head coming to rest atop yours. It had given you the perfect opportunity to obverse further extent of his injuries.

“Proud Arianne one word, my will to sustain. For me, the cloth once more to spin, oh.”

“How is the rest?” You wondered after a while, the question almost hesitant on your lips. “Alive,” He answered, the rumble of his voice reverberating through his chest. “Not in great shape.”

Though they were at least alive, it had been what you feared. It must have been the reason he had been so curt over his letter. His mind was easily preoccupied, and the thoughts of his companions in agony would be enough to leave him distracted.

“Your nephews?” You risked, a lump forming in your chest. He was silent for a while, before finally answering: “Fili is on bed rest. Should be back up in a matter of days. Kili doesn’t really talk. Rarely left his brother’s side.”

You hummed in understanding, rubbing soothing patterns over Thorin’s arm. “Reminds me of someone who wouldn’t leave his sister’s side after she fell out of that tree.”

Thankfully, that managed to get something similar to a chuckle out of his throat.

“All of my love, all of my love, All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love, yes, All of my love to you.”

“They’ll live,” He continued. “I think Kili is more heartbroken than physically injured.” “Naturally,” You tried to understand. “He and his brother are close.” “It’s not that.” Thorin sighed, as if the topic hadn’t been one he would love to discuss.

He placed a kiss on the top of your head before continuing: “He has it out for an elf-maiden.” You let out a quiet ‘ah’ of understanding. “Don’t think the feeling is mutual.” You were silent at that, shaking your head in sadness. “Poor lad.”

“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “I might have let him run off with her if she had returned his efforts.” “Wow,” You added, slightly stunned. “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

Another chuckle came from him as he kissed your shoulders, his head now resting beside yours. “He had an awakening. Years too late.” “Yes, well,” You sighed. “The elves are douchebags.” A third chuckle came from him upon your words, his hair falling over your shoulders, the cold metal of the beads creating goosebumps over your skin. It had been a while since you had been so close to him, and the feeling of it had been better than you had originally remembered.

“Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time. His is the force that lies within.”

Silence struck the pair of you, both of you lost in your thoughts. There were so many things you still wanted to ask him, but you’d wait for debriefing tomorrow. Meanwhile, Thorin had too many things he wanted to tell you. He wanted to tell you about his new friend, about the battle with Azog, the fight against Azog, the reclaiming of Erebor… But there was one thought he couldn’t manage to shake. It was almost as if it was begging to come out.

“I lost my mind, amrâlime,” His voice suddenly cut through the room. “I think you would have left me if you had seen me.” His tone had a much more sombre sound to it than it had held earlier. You could hear him swallow before he continued: “I would have.”

You wanted to turn around in his arms, facing him completely, but his arms wouldn’t let you. He probably didn’t want to let you take a proper look at his face - a notion you hated, but you respected it for now. Instead, you looked at him over your shoulder, your face etched in concern. “Thorin, what happened?”

Another silence split the room, causing your heart rate to pick up slightly. You knew what had happened to his grandfather, and how frightened he had been that it would happen to him too. You remember having to reassure him for weeks before he left that he was stronger than his grandfather. Deep down, you hoped he had just lashed out at the elves and that that had been it.

But fate wouldn’t have it.

“Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find. He is a feather in the wind, oh.”

“The gold. It got hold of me.” He admitted, his voice almost inaudible had you not been sitting this close to him. His breath was hot on your neck, making you aware of what exactly your proximity was. It wasn’t as if the warm skin on skin contact couldn’t tell that. “I almost killed my company,” He went on, “I let everyone outside Erebor suffer. They were begging for shelter and I let them freeze to death.”

And just like that, you were at loss for words. His greatest fear happened to him. That would explain his letter, and his adamence in revealing anything. If it had shaken you just half as much as it shook you, you couldn’t blame him for any of his actions. You swallowed thickly, doing your best to soothe him: “Did you avenge them?” “I should have let them in.” He ignored.

You sighed at him, understanding his conflict. “Yes,” You admitted. “But did you avenge them?”

He seemed to think that over, seemingly unsure of what to answer. “I fought for all of them.” He ultimately muttered, simultaneously dropping a huge weight from your shoulders.

“Good.” You whispered.

“All of my love, all of my love, All of my love to you. All of my love, all of my love to you now.”

He didn’t respond to that. You didn’t blame him. You felt for the conflict in his head - it was happening in yours as well. Be that as it may, it was up to you now to soothe him. To comfort him in any way you could. And since he wouldn’t allow you to turn around, words would have to work.

“A good king makes wrong decisions, but he always tries to make up for them.” You advised, toying with the ring on his finger. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed to him. It slowly brought him back from his thoughts, but he wasn’t out of the woods just yet: “Wrong decisions don’t include letting the helpless die when I could have easily prevented that.”

You resisted the urge to utter another sigh. Of course this lay heavy on his mind, but what was done was done. He of all people should know this: “You and I have both seen what madness gold brings with it. I think it is a miracle it no longer affects you. Perhaps for the best.”

With those words, he let out a low hum, a first sign of agreement. He knew you were right. But he had promised to never fall under that forsaken dragon spell, and it had taken hold on him as easily as it was to count to three. The idea that it could still happen again frightened him.

“All of my love, all of my love All of my love, love, sometimes, sometimes. Sometimes, sometimes, oh love.”

“I cannot enter the treasure room.” He confessed, the truth sounding even harder when it was spoken aloud. “You don’t have to.” You comforted. “I’d rather you keep from gold than risk losing your mind again. I’d much rather have you like this.”

At last, he allowed you to turn in his arms, his grip loosening slightly. You took the opportunity immediately, putting your legs on either side of his body as you sat in front of him. Now you could see his broken expression.

“Would you have a broken king?”

You gave him a sympathetic smile, grabbing both his hands as you squeezed them in reassurance: “I would have a broken man.”

“It’s all my love All of my love, all of my love, to you now.”

“What happened was unfortunate, I understand.” You emphasised. "But we cannot turn back time.”

One of your hands trailed up to reach his cheek, rubbing it gently, relishing under the touch of his stubble. “Don’t dwell on what could have been. Your company has lived, that is enough. The people have Dale. You did it, Thorin.” He nodded at your words, closing his eyes in silent bliss, leaning into your touch.

“Thank you.” He hummed, before his hands found your back, pulling you against his chest, your skin flush to his. You could feel the burdens lifting from his body in one long sigh, his arms coming to a gentle rest around your figure, his head thrown back in relaxation. Then, he spoke up again: “I haven’t returned to the throne room since the battle.” “I could walk with you.” You offered.

You felt his head shift slightly to look back down at you. “I want you to walk with me everywhere.” You smiled against his chest, kissing it softly. “I can do that.” A hum of content rumbled through him, his voice now a much looser tone. “I am glad you are in my arms again. I’ve missed you.” “The feeling is mutual.” You assured, a fond smile crossing your features.

“Good,” He mumbled. “I love you, amrâlime.” The words shot new butterflies through your stomach, something he always managed to do, regardless how long the two of you had been together. You chuckled at the sound, making yourself comfortable against him.

“I love you.”

“All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to, to you, you, you. I get a little bit lonely.”

#November writings 2023 #the hobbit #th #Tolkien #lotr #thorin #thorin oakenshield #richard armitage #thorin x reader #thorin Oakenshield x reader

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spotsandsocks · 2 years ago

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Fuck it Friday

Here we go- a bit of self promo putting a touch of F in your Friday with one of my E fics that I was quite pleased with. 😏

Tagged by @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @heartshapedvows @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @loserdiaz with wonderful snippets

Coming Home 8.5K first kiss to first time (sequel to I Missed You 11k an angsty little number where Buck leaves for several months until Eddie finds him and finally tells him how he feels but can be read alone) A bit from each chapter to tempt you in

Chapt 1 😚

“Buck we can’t.” Eddie doesn’t sound completely convinced.

“Why?” he tries not to whine

“Because if you kiss me I’m not going wanna stop and we’re at work.”

“I’m not, not back yet.” Eddie considers this a persuasive argument.

“One kiss Eds, please”

Eddie groans, moves infinitesimally closer then pulls back again, head thunking against the wall. His pupils are blown he’s panting and they haven’t done anything.

“We’re waiting.” he says but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers slowly over Buck’s parted lips. Buck closes his eyes and chases after them, catches Eddie’s hand by the wrist, if that’s all he gets he’ll take it. He pulls his hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, drags his lips up to a finger and slides the tip into his mouth.

Chapt 2 ☺️

Chris is already sat on the bed, he pats the spot next to him and Eddie eyes narrow suspiciously, half amused, half concerned.

“Everything ok?”

“Just sit down Dad”

“We need to talk.”

Eddie frowns, well that is a worry, few conversations that start with that end well. “We do?”

“Yes” Chris sounds serious. “It’s about Buck.”

Eddie sits down a little harder than he intended, oh God what if Chris has worked it out and disapproves, he never thought of that. Chris loves Buck so much he never thought he’d be unhappy if they got together. He keeps the nervousness out of his voice when he asks the tentatively, “What about Buck?”

“I don’t want him to go away again.” Some of his anxiety fades, that’s somewhat reassuring at least.

“Neither do I” Eddie reassures him quickly “but I don’t think he will bud.”

“He was sad before but he’s not anymore.” Eddie can’t work out what Chris is trying to say to him.

“No, I think he’s happy to be back.”

“With us?”

“Yes.”

Then Chris gets to his point.

“With you?” Chris fixes him with a look far more penetrating than a preteen should be capable of.

“Um” Eddie’s horrified to feel his cheeks start to go red.

Chris nods thoughtfully, taking his father’s embarrassment in his stride “That’s what I thought.” Then he follows up with a crushing statement, “Dad, why are grown ups so silly That makes him laugh and he bumps shoulders with his son, “no idea.”

Chris has another question, “Denny asked if I can go to his for a sleepover tonight. Can I?”

“That’s a bit short notice Chris” Eddie’s reluctant to agree and anyway he’s already asked Carla to babysit tonight while he’s out with Buck.

“Denny said it was his mom’s idea so it’s fine.”

“Was it now?” he mutters and thinks about his meddling friends fondly.

Chapt 3 😏

Buck pulls away to breathe deeply, mutters his name in a reverent tone with his eyes closed. Eddie’s dizzy, he doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed quite like that, like he was the oxygen necessary for Buck to breathe.

He thinks its finished but then his lips are taken again, harder, faster and he’s being moved backwards until he hits the door of the fridge with a thump. Eddie meets the fire from Buck eagerly, hands coming up and burying themselves in his curls. He tugs slightly and Buck groans, kisses him harder, presses then closer together. He can feel the aching hardness between his legs matched by Buck, pressed up close like this there is just enough friction to tease but not satisfy.

The kisses were a lot but then Buck shifts to his neck kissing downwards, when he bites lightly into the muscle Eddie cries out and his knees actually do stop working he slides a little down the refrigerator door. Buck stops to laugh his breath tickles and Eddie’s squirms. Buck bites again making him gasp once more.

“Like that huh?”

“Take a guess.”

“Nuh huh we said we’d talk,” he’s peppering more kisses along his skin “you gotta tell me these things Eds, I gotta know what feels good”

“You, you feel good” he’s arching back against the door, pressing himself harder against Buck, giving him more access to his neck. Buck hums a pleased little noise. When Eddie looks at him he’s blushing.

“Yeah?”

Eddie pushes his hip forward again to prove it and Buck takes a stuttering breath at the pressure against his cock, eyelids fluttering shut.

Eddie licks his lips “Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?”

@monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @hippolotamus @buddierights @stagefoureddiediaz @thekristen999 @like-the-rest-of-la @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @spaceprincessem @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck hope I didn’t forget anyone

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fox #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic

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munofmanyminds · 3 months ago

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He moved beneath her, the growing bulge like an invitation to keep going, to roll her hips a little harder, to feel him. Even if it wasn't enough - not by a long shot - it felt so fucking good to be this close to him. To lose herself in him; in physical contact she wanted - from a man who set her blood on fire and made her head spin so hard she thought she might pass out if he stopped touching her right now. And she wasn't anywhere close to ready for him to pull away from her when he did, causing a pitiful little whine as she once more chased after him. It was no use though, and she stilled instinctively when his hands settled on her hips, looking at him through a heavy veil of dark lashes, breaths heavy and a little uneven. Blowing out a breathless little laugh at his words, she leaned in and ran the tip of her nose up the line of his jaw in a sweet little caress, breathing him in. "I've missed you so much," she confessed, lips against the turn of his jaw, because it was all she could think to say. All that came to mind after everything.

Val didn't protest when he shifted her off his lap though; just followed his lead, willingly adjusting, only letting out a reluctant little hum of protest when he straightened enough to pull himself entirely out of her grip. But she laid down, and she looked up at him, a heated flush in her cheeks. Arms went above her head, hips lifting to help him bare her lower body. A line of goose bumps followed in his wake, teeth dragging over her bottom lip at the sight of him watching her. Her heartbeat seemed to pick up, fluttering wildly against her ribcage as her legs automatically parted for him. She loved the way he looked at her, like she was something to be devoured whole. It felt like she could cum from that alone. But then he leaned in, and Val squirmed increasingly impatiently beneath him with every kiss, one hand lowering to bury the tips of her fingers in his hair.

Her thighs twitched and she sucked in a sharp breath when his mouth finally reached its destination, a gust of air against her heated cunt like a jolt to her system. "O-oh god," she breathed a moment later as his tongue slid over her, and she closed her eyes, tugging gently on his hair on instinct, desperately needing something to hold onto. She shivered against him, hips lifting to meet his tongue as his finger teased her, breathing already laboured as a new surge of arousal rushed to meet his touch.

"Cal... please," she begged on a whimper, unable to bear the thought of anymore teasing - and then he sank two wonderful fingers inside her, giving her exactly what she needed from him. Val's own fingers tightened in his hair as a moan ripped itself from her throat, silky walls clenching around the length of them. The back of her head dug into the shallow softness of the camping pads beneath her as her hips rolled, lips parted to allow ragged breaths and shameless little moans to escape unhindered as his mouth and fingers worked in tandem to undo every sliver of self-control she might at one point have possessed.

Her blessing - that was all he’d wanted, all he’d needed, and good lord was he grateful for it. ‘Cause as soon as Val was all in, Caleb threw himself after her. He’d missed her. Everything else aside, he’d honest to god missed the way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she moved against him. He considered himself a cliche, the country boy living in the bible belt who didn’t know what he believed in. Just cast him in a lifetime movie. But still - he didn’t know what he believed in. Even at nearly thirty one, which to him felt ancient, he hadn’t figured it out. But there was the slight possibility (it was an idea he would toy with later when he had enough blood in his brain to think) that he thought she might have been made for him.

Yeah, he might have kept it moving while she was gone, had gone about his way to slip back into old habits with friends, but he hadn’t felt anything since her. That was probably terrible. He’d add it to the ‘Therapy List’ in his journal. Even if it was terrible, it was the truth. And that was overwhelming, if you thought about it; a full body rush, dizzying. He grunted softly into her mouth as she moved against him. Beneath the worn denim of his favorite jeans, Caleb’s cock stiffened, and he groaned, rolling his thick, throbbing length against her. He felt like a virgin again, with how quickly he felt himself tightening, that spring getting ready to release. And he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t cum in his pants in under three minutes. (He could. He was about to). They both needed better than that.

So it was with the utmost reluctance that he peeled himself back, panting, his hands moving to still against her hips. “You’re the most stunning and hottest woman I’ve ever seen.” He’d told her this before, he’d tell her this again. “And I’m uh… trying not to lose it too soon.” He let out a soft laugh, flustered and embarrassed by his lack of control. He was trying to rein it in. Moving Val off of his lap, he nudged her to lay back against the blanket, and moved to undo her pants, tugging them down along with her panties.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Murmured more to himself than to her, at the sight of her glistening cunt. Leaning in, he placed a kiss against her tummy, and then another a bit lower, and another, and another as he parted her legs. It was a little cramped, but he didn’t care, he’d become a fucking contortionist on the spot if he needed to. Blowing softly against her clit, then finally he swiped his tongue against that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He took his time, didn’t rush, just focused on her as he wrapped his lips around her clit and suckled gently, sliding a single finger against her, teasing her, growing harder at the feeling of her arousal. Finally, he slipped two fingers inside her, groaning against her as her walls squeezed them.

#:valeria #:valeria:caleb #nottheemuse #he's killing her already tbh

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indouloureux · 3 years ago

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debauched angels (and brazen escapades)

not my gif!

summary: spider-man and black cat have been playing cat and mouse for sixteen weeks; beneath his scathing annoyance and desire to end her vengeful exploits, he feels a reluctant fascination for her.

until you came around with your enigmatic dulcet masquerade, leaving him piqued in his curiosity for you all while he struggles with ambivalence.

word count: 10, 776

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, enemies to lovers, awful writing (?) bc english isn't my first language. also maybe horrible story telling of greek mythology bc i've yet to study it properly. (there aren't much triggering content in the first part)

a/n: i've released two parts of this mini-series on AO3 (@/indouloureux) so if you want to read part two immediately go check my AO3 account! 'my reverie's affinity remains to be you' got alot of notes so fast and i'm really happy that it did and thank you all so much for the feedback you gave me, it made me smile alot 💕

i decided to post this early because, well, for you guys and why not.

as of now, this mini-series will have three parts.

(i accidentally deleted my prompt notes that helps me write my ideas and i deadass cried before posting this.)

MASTERLIST ; SERIES MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

summertime, and the livin’s easy,

bradley’s on the microphone with Ras MG

Are angels always this hellacious?

Her doe eyes are innocent; inquisitive, like an angel, intrepid like its delicate wings – it’s what they look like when she’s lax; lost in tranquility. When she rests her tactile hands and lay on her back, sighing ecstasy in her pax Romana

But when she’s vindictive, her eyes are anything but guiltless. They sear with the appetite for malevolence, pupils intense in its anathema for equilibrium, and her wings inflate, burning in its fire for detriments, turning stygian with scarlet hues of her ichor.

It’s how he sees her – an omnipotent Devil disguised as a helpless angel.

But in veracity, her crusades are as cunning as a cat, a tribute to her villain name; tail long and sly with its motions, claws as alacritous as her intellect, body quick with precarious escapades as her hinds deliver swiftness and misery. And her eyes, while its diamond pupils glimmer underneath the flagrant moon, had dominated intimidation, along with its thirst for money and manipulation.

If they looked anywhere but her eyes, she’s deemed not an obstreperous angel, but as the devil’s ravishing curse.

The impression was given with an accuracy – truly glorious, albeit the beauty hardly seen in the dark where she’s made for, so much as her movements. And with the darkness, Spider-Man finds it challenging to chase her; though he relies so much on his senses, they don’t exactly help him seeing in the dark.

She’s in front of him, feet brisk and intact from adrenaline. Her hair sways at each fast step, and as she pivots to a shady corner, Spider-Man yelps, senses varying from her suddenness.

“Alright, Cat!” he shouts, voice echoing through the alleyway. Water’s dripping from poles, the ground musky and wet from the previous rain, and Spider-Man’s uncomfortable with the smell and the sight. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

There’s shuffling above him, soft pattering against the walls. And she’s giggling – the fucking cat’s giggling like a mischievous saint taunting him. “Nah, I’d rather stay here,” she says. “I like seeing you below me.”

He looks up, but the only thing he sees is the buildings and the moon. “You like being on top, huh? Being in power? Knowing you’re a step ahead of me?”

“Actually, I’m three steps ahead of you,” she corrects him. He knows she’s in front of him, sticking to the walls with her sharp nail dragging along the bricks, looking at him with a tilted head and sly smile, “and I like the chase. The challenge.”

“Oh?”

“Spider-Man fails to save the city again after letting Black Cat strut from the bank,” she repeats Jameson’s previous report from two weeks ago, where he’d arrived late due to her aimless distraction. He winces at the faux pas.

“You know I was only late because you stuck seven cats on a tree, right?” Spider-Man kicks his feet, hands on his hips. “Ironically, they were all black.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still your fault,” she reasons. “You couldn’t get the cats down in time. And if you think about it, they actually could’ve gotten down themselves. They’re cats.”

“They were trying to claw me, Cat,” he snaps. “And I had an angry old lady throw bread at me while I was trying to get them down. And yes I knew they could have gotten themselves down!”

“Yet you were still late,” she tuts. “Don’t blame the cats, Spiderling. They didn’t know.”

Spider-Man stares directly at the swarthy alleyway, brume rippling against the walls. But he swears if he looks closer, he could see her eyes through her mask; playful whilst fraudulent. “And whom should I blame?”

“Yourself,” she replies. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, boy.”

“I’ve got you to blame, you minx,” he mutters. “You’re the one robbing banks and stealing paintings. And I’m the one who cleans up your mess.”

“Jameson says otherwise,” he hears her soft feet walk towards him, footsteps’ volume increasing. “You know, if you just work with me, you won’t be the only one seen as a bad guy.”

He stays silent, knowing any of his answers could be turned into persuasion to join her. Black Cat finally ascends from the mist, feet undaunted at each step, hand playing with a convoluted crowbar, silver hair gleaming.

all the people in the dance will agree,

that we’re well qualified to represent the L.B.C.

Her hair is what disparities from her ensemble. While she’s served in an all-black leather costume that sculpts her treasured physique, her silver hair denotes the light to her darkness, ameliorating the menacing approach that she mauls; though it doesn’t vary from her persona, still – she remains a congenial serpentine.

Her smile’s devilish, intimidating Spider-Man. His knees debilitate at her valiant smirk, eyes eyeing him up and down as if evaluating him. And it makes him self-conscious. But who wouldn’t be under her sight?

The glass of her mask did nothing to cover her true volitions. Knowing none of them were altruistic, her Machiavellian mind presents itself in front of him, waiting for its riddles to be solved; puzzles to be completed, intentions to be understood.

“What?” she purrs. “Cat got your tongue?”

Spider-Man snickers, poking his cheek with his tongue. “What’d you plan on doing with that crowbar? Open safes? Break into people’s houses? Knock me out with it?” he taunts.

Black Cat rolls her eyes, its vivacious hues swimming in her orbs. “You underestimate my power, Spider. We all know how I open my safes,” she opens her palm, claws emerging from the tips of her fingertips. “Maybe I could use this to open your heart, too.”

“Physically, or emotionally?” His voice drips sarcasm.

She pouts, slamming the crowbar against her leather palm. “Open your heart to me, come on. I know you have a soft spot underneath all that stone.”

“Cat…”

“Spider.” She purrs, her nail dragging along his covered collarbone to the space that connects his shoulder to his neck.

He sighs. “Give me the ring.”

Black Cat gasps. “Are you calling off our engagement?” she places a hand to her heart. “Were those sixteen weeks meaningless?”

“Give it to me.” Voice stern, but she remains unthreatened.

“You mean this one?” She pulls out a ring from behind, its band hanging dangerously between her claws, air swinging it back and forth as the jewel shines and reflects from the moon while it carefully rests on the crest. “I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

Its emerald gem radiates almost blindingly, hues of golden amalgamated beneath its delicate jewel as it stands gallantly; size colossal opposed to its dainty silver band.

Spider-Man reaches out to claim it from her hand, but she moves backwards. “Cat.” He reiterates. “Give it to me.”

“If you want it,” she twirls it around her sharp nail until it settles inside her index finger. “Come and get it.”

And then she sets off, sprinting against walls until she reaches the roof. Spider-Man groans in frustration before flinging himself upward.

Her feet are fast, jumping off obstacles as if they’re nothing. Black Cat slips inside narrow structures before slipping out gracefully to jump onto rooftops with ease.

Though it seems rather futile to chase her around knowing she’ll escape, either way, there’s no harm in trying as Spider-Man fastidiously crawls on walls and slings himself, hands so close yet so far away from her.

Her crowbar hits a pipe, steam breaking off the hole. He inhales the polluted smoke, coughing violently.

“Come on now, Spider. Don’t let go of me that easily!” she taunts him. It spurs him on more, growling wistfully.

“Don’t tempt me, Cat.” Spider-Man growls. He doesn’t really plan on letting her go that easily. Not ever. Not until he’s got what he wanted from her.

Black Cat disappears from his eyesight, surroundings nebulous from the shrewd night. Spider-Man stops in his tracks, spinning around frantically, searching for her.

“You know, you’re the rarest black cat of them all – sporadic, and tail-less.” He calls out, eyes squinting. His senses cicatrize, now knowing what’s imminent. However, her answer was unforeseen.

“Oh, Spider, I do have a tail,” she calls out. “Look around you, they’re everywhere; following me around like a lost kitten. Want to know who they are?” he can’t see her, but he imagines her swaying her hips, circling her wrist with the crowbar in hand as she leans in, lips daring and teasing.

“They’re men, Spider,” she purrs, “and you’re one of them.”

Then there’s a noise behind him.

Black Cat appears in his vision, crowbar in air. It swings in his direction, hitting the side of his face as he tumbles to the ground. With his eyesight blurred with tears, he sees her skin-tight suit run away from him.

Her feet kick off the rooftop doors, flinging herself up in the air. And she twirls around, waving her crowbar. And at some point the ring ends up on her middle finger, flipping him off before she falls down the building, disappearing off the ledge.

Spider-Man sprints off the ground and towards her, but by the time he peeks off the ledge, she’s no longer seen.

The Devil disappears once more, a moratorium on her nightly ruses. Thereafter, a stringent dichotomy between her scent and essence lingers for him to find, and though he’s reluctant for the atrocious adventure, he craves to seek the angel inside the wicked cat, invigorating his long-awaited peace.

He feels defeated, letting her slip from his grasp once more. But he doesn’t give up – not ever – and he’ll keep hunting her down, taming her like the wildcat she is.

And though it’s hellacious, he’s willing to do it.

me, me and Louie, we gonna run to the party

and dance to the rhythm, it gets harder

Alabaster. Mineral silky under the touch, the graven image sculpted from a sculptor of versatility that amplifies the allure to which enthralling even to the elusive. And its Adonis remedies the sleepless night; delineates the beauty of the unappealing world. Each curve is tauntingly delinquent to the fools but existentially unique to the appreciative.

He lowers the camera from his hands slowly, eyes darting to the plaque beneath.

Penthus - the personification of grief.

Peter’s head ducks slightly to get a better view of the golden placard, seeing his slightly distorted reflection as he reads the carved words:

When Zeus began handing out domains to the diverse gods, Penthus was not there. As such, Penthus acquired the one part no one wanted: grief and sorrow. It is believed that he enjoys persecuting the same individuals; he condones those who mourn for the deceased.

Quickly, he lifts the viewfinder eye-level, hands oh-so-carefully grasping the camera lens as his finger fiddles for the shutter to capture the statue in front of him as if it’ll disappear within a second.

Thereafter, he manages to take an acceptable picture, enough to make his project presentable to appease his essay that he knows won’t be satisfying for his professor. At least there’s a good picture.

“Dude,” a voice startles him. “Found my guy for my research. His name is Patroclus. I read on his plaque that he’s like Achilles’ best friend. And it kind of reminded me of you and me.”

“Aren’t they like…lovers?” Ned’s face falls into a perplexed frown, eyebrows furrowing. “I mean, I read it somewhere. I think MJ was reading a book about Achilles last week,” Peter adds.

Ned shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “I don’t care if they’re gay or not. I just need to get out of here and finish my research so I can meet Betty by the coffee shop next to the campus.”

“What is it with you and Betty?” Peter slings his bag over his shoulder, still carefully holding the camera in his hand. “I thought that was just a one-time thing after Prague.”

Beside him, MJ stumbles in, a book in hand with her ID hanging above her chest. And she butts in, “They started studying together last week because they both had statistics,” she snorts.

His eyes widened. “What?! That’s why you kept on canceling on me? Because you had a study date with Betty? I mean, I normally would be fine with this, but Ned literally told me he had pizza class last Wednesday just so he could skip movie night. I was starting to get upset and suspicious.”

“Oh no. Did you miss your anniversary, Ned?” though her voice clearly dripped derision, neither appeared to notice, too inattentive for each of their feelings.

“I-I didn’t!” Ned stammers in his words. “I was there for our anniversary. And I made it up to you last Saturday when we watched Return of the Jedi! I’m sorry, Peter but,” he sighs, eyes looking for the blonde hair he’s been touching for a week, “Betty and I just have this undeniable bond that needs to be tied!”

“What about our bond?” he whines. “We’ve tied that knot since freshman year. You dated her when we were seniors. I was first!”

They hinge to an intersection, above the doorway were inscribed in Greek characters “Gods & Goddesses” decrypted by a manuscript in their hands. Ned’s subsequent words were unintentionally tuned out as he stared at the 8 feet tall sculptures.

It’s mythology in front of him – characters are fictitious, but right in front of him, with the punctiliously sculpted Gods, they appear to be nearly real; as if their stories were all true, and they did exist. And if he hadn’t known about Thor, the God of Thunder, he actually would thoroughly believe that all these things were a myth.

Reveled by the panorama, his jaw relaxes at the pigment of pearls filling his vision, and vistas of incredulous aptitude render him wordless. His fingers fiddled with his lens, eyes too engaged in respecting the scenery beyond him that raptures his chest.

He’s too enthralled to even notice MJ and Ned have bickered their way onto the other side of the room.

Their physiques are almost unrealistic (even though they are). Jaws are prominent beneath the radiant light; eyes, albeit white, are filled with white mercurial life.

But despite it all, the woman beside him is the most exquisite are of all;

me and my girl

we got this relationship

“Beautiful, huh?”

Peter snaps his head abruptly, hearing a slight crack in his neck.

You look at him, invigorating hair flipping away from your shoulder. And your smile makes his curious eyes falter as it descends into a meticulous observation of your face.

He doesn’t need to look hard into it – you’re beautiful.

Peter doesn’t know which part attracts him more – if it was the ivory colored shirt tied around your waist to reveal the black tank-top with thin straps that accentuates your muscular arms and tortuous waist, or how your pointed nails traced the folds of your white tennis skirt, or how beneath those innocent eyes of yours lies a ubiquitous secret that he’s yet to discover.

Maybe it was the contrasted solitary stripe of drab white sticking out of your hair.

He wonders why an ethereal woman like you isn't standing beside those metaphysical sculptures next to those pretty and probably dangerous things; why you aren’t being praised, glorified, applauded, for your utopian beauty.

Because clearly, you looked too exemplary to be authentic to him. In fact, he thinks he shouldn’t even be standing beside you right now, breathing your air.

“Yeah,” he nods, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart away from him, and while he tries to do the same, he fails nonetheless. “It’s really pretty…”

“Can’t help but agree,” you shrug, looking back to smile at him. “How’d you think they made these things?”

Peter shrugs. “I think they’re 3D printed.” What? 3D printed? How dumb can you sound?

“Really?”

“Or like a really, really talented guy sculpted these things and like, gave it to the museum,” he adds. “Like Leonardo DiCaprio.” Oh, this dumb.

You blink. “You mean Leonardo da Vinci?”

“Yes,” he nods. What are you doing? You’re embarrassing yourself.

“I didn’t know he sculpted,”

“Well that’s because he doesn’t have many sculptures,” he explains. “Not like Rodin or Bernini,”

“Or Michelangelo,” you add, raising your eyebrows.

“The turtle or…” You should never talk to a woman ever again.

Your eyebrows furrow, lips tucking inside your mouth as you force out a smile of patience, questioning his knowledge, or lack thereof. “Nah, I’m kidding,” he laughs quietly. “Just trying to make you laugh,”

Peter thinks your laugh that followed his was prettier than the sculptures surrounding you, the noise almost angelic. You point at him, nail sharp and pointed. “Here on a school trip?”

Confused, he looks down to his chest, seeing his ID beneath his hanging camera before he nods again, more vigorous than the other. “Yeah. For- for MIT. A project…for a subject,” he blinks rapidly. “Like…a photography project, y’know.”

You hum in response. “Same,” you reply, fiddling with the covered ID in your hand. Your nail traces the sides, and he wonders if it’s really your nail, or if it was one of those glued ones he’s seen MJ wear once.

“Where do you study?”

“Um,” you look down at your card. “I-”

A shoulder bumps Peter’s, causing him to nudge you with his elbow. He mutters a quick apology before looking back at you. “Sorry. Some guy just-”

“Hey what happened to your face?”

He forgets the question he awaits an answer to, his hand coming up to grasp his left cheek. “What?”

“There’s a bruise on your jaw,” your hand comes up to grasp his tainted skin slightly, nail tracing the yellow and purple hues. “Did the guy bump you too hard?”

“No, no!” Peter chuckles awkwardly, shaking his head. He frowns at the now absence of your hand. “I just had an accident while shaving.”

“Shouldn’t it have scratched you?”

“So Greek Mythology huh?” he avoids the question, looking away from you. “What’s your class making you do?”

Peter softens the slightest when he sees your skepticism wither, letting your eyes rest on the sculpture further the both of you. Athena’s lofty figure stares into an empty space of nothing, a large aegis carved with such attributes that it fascinates him more than the helmet that boldly stood out from her head.

“They’re making us research the Gods and Goddesses that remind us of ourselves,” you answer simply. “Half of the class left an hour ago. But I’m doing my research properly.”

His bottom lip juts out, scratching the itching spot on the back of his ear. “How so?”

“Because the information they let out isn’t the whole truth,” you reiterate. “You see this?” you point to the plaque beneath Athena, “she’s described as the goddess of wisdom and war, depicted as a stately woman armed with an aegis and a spear. Blah blah blah,” disregarding the other information, your fingernail quickly traces the words beneath until it reaches a certain paragraph.

“Medusa was the once beautiful, avowed priestess to Athena who was immersed in an affair with Poseidon and would have two children together, but not before Athena uncovered the forbidden romance. Athena then punished her for disobeying her vow of celibacy by cursing Medusa with a head full of snakes and a gaze that turns men to stone.” You read out loud, guiding Peter along.

“What’s wrong with this?” he questioned. He likes how the tip of your nails traced the letters on the plaque. “I mean, is it wrong information?”

“The things about Athena are correct information,” you correct him, “as for the thing with Medusa – she didn’t have an affair with Poseidon in the first place,”

“Really?”

Though the topic didn’t pique him, seeing as he was more interested in science and technology rather than history, he listens to you. Peter’s eyes widen in curiosity, looking between Athena’s statute and the golden plaque with a pout on his lips.

Somehow, when you say it, it’s more interesting.

“Yes,” you nod. “Medusa and Poseidon didn’t fall in love or something. He violated her.”

“Violated?” he repeats. “You mean…”

A simple nod sufficed his curiosity, and his mouth parts into an ‘O’, nodding slowly with his arms crossed before he lets his mouth pout. “That’s…that’s bad. Why’d Athena punish her then instead of Poseidon?” he asks.

“No one knows why,” you shrug. “Gotta be honest with you: I’ve been browsing Quora for the past hour for the truth. So I can’t really give you a stable answer.” You admit with a tight, shy smile. “But I did like this theory though,”

Having to only know you barely even thirty minutes ago, it conflicts astounds him how you could make him interested in such a topic that he hadn’t even bothered caring about in the first place.

Because now Peter’s looking at his phone, visiting Quora’s website as you turn your back to him.

“Is it because Poseidon’s a God and only Zeus can punish Gods?” he asks whilst skimming a theory. “Shouldn’t she have told Zeus instead…?”

“Nope,” you gently clasp your phone on your palm, the screen illuminating your face the slightest. “I prefer this one. Where they said Athena might have done it to punish Poseidon, so his partner will now be like this hideous gorgon. She did this because, y’know, they don’t really get along. So she did it to humiliate him.”

“What about this one?” Peter shoves his phone beside yours. “Athena might have done it to punish mortals. Because Gods find great pleasure in punishing mortals.”

“Could be,” you shrug. “None of those isn’t confirmed, anyway. And the whole thing feels kind of a ‘he said, she said’ situation.”

Peter purses his lips. “Kind of. Yeah.” He touches his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, eyebrows furrowed. “So…Do you have like…a favorite God or Goddess?”

What a stupid question.

His doubt renders itself useless a second later.

Earnestly, you glimpse at him with an eager smirk. As you gently place your phone back into your pocket, you motion for him to follow you between the extensive statues and into the back of the gallery where people are reduced and dispersed.

It was dim, seeing as the skylight didn’t reach the back that much and lit up only the well-known Gods.

You end up halting in front of an unfamiliar Goddess, its intricate elements unable to relish due to the absence of proper lighting. The sculpture appears hazy, as if it were only a delineation, having to be incompetent of witnessing its momentous features from the darkness.

However, you look at it as if it is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen; Peter finds familiarity in your look.

“That’s Atë,” you tell him, not sparing a glance at the staring boy. “She’s the Goddess of mischief, delusion, ruin, and blind folly.” Finally, you look at him, a glint of deliriousness in your glossy pupils. “She’s placed in the back because people barely knew her and her story. So no one’s able to truly appreciate her.”

Peter only nods, letting you value the Goddess in silence.

Its beauty is analogous to yours – ethereal from its harmonious alabaster hair, waist curved like the waves on the ocean, dress almost looks like a thin veil obscuring her marble body.

He thinks you belong beside her to be worshiped as mentioned earlier, seeing as both your beauty seemed underrated.

“It has been told that she led men down to the path of ruin. And that she also led both Gods and men to ludicrous and heedless actions and suffering. Fuck, she was even able to fool Zeus at the birth of Heracles,”

You spoke about her casually, as if it were just gossip that he finds incredulous and you normal – although the impressed scoff by the end says otherwise, you spoke as if it was a regular thing for you to hear (women in retribution, per se).

“There aren’t many stories about her,” you continue, “so no one’s really sure why she had fooled Zeus in the first place. Which is why people think she’s the bad guy who got herself banished from the abodes of the Gods.”

Peter lets out a short laugh, crossing his arms and placing his weight on his right leg. “Let me guess – not the entire truth, either?”

“Uhuh,” you shake your head, smiling at him.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Unexpectedly, you shrug with a slight shake of your head. “I don’t think so,”

His excited smile falls slightly in disappointment. “Why not?”

“Because,” you glimpse at the watch on your wrist. Peter copies you – 2:59 pm. “I want to tell you what happens when I find out the truth.”

He frowns. “So you’re telling me that the information they gave out isn’t the entire truth, but you don’t know what really happened either?” you nod. “How are you so sure?”

“Because a woman can’t just be this callous for no reason,” you answer. “It’s not just sudden misandry – it is always about vengeance; it’s always about proving herself the strongest, that she can do it, too.”

Bemusement swirls in his head, but still eager to know more nonetheless. He silently reaches out to you in his head. “When can I see you again?”

Inarticulate enough to keep him on the edge of his seat, you shrug, a playful smile was drawn on your face. “Whenever fate wants us to.” You tell him. “You’ll see me around. I’ll be everywhere…”

“Peter,” he fills for you, getting the feeling you’re about to ask for his name.

“(y/n),” you offer your name. “I’ll be everywhere, Peter,” you finish. “You’ll see me. You just need to pay close attention.”

“Peter?”

MJ’s voice (embarrassingly) echoes around the silent gallery. He turns, looking for the familiar tall brunette slipping past the statues. When he sees no one, he turns back to you.

But you were gone.

Disappointment rims his chest once more, failing to even ask your number before you left. He checks his watch, the number 3:00 being read disdainfully.

But when something blinds his eye beside the sculpture of Atë, he looks away from his watch for his eyes to land on a small piece of glass on the ground.

Peter carefully approaches before crouching, picking up the tiny piece of glass on the ground.

Or was it glass?

Its color was either white or a very faint shade of green when light is shone onto it; it isn’t sharp but neither is it soft, and he wonders where it came from when he hadn’t seen this earlier.

Maybe it came from you.

“Peter,” Ned’s voice interrupts him. “There you are. Where’ve you been?”

He clutches the small piece of glass on his palm, stinging his skin slightly. “I was wandering around.”

“We’ve been looking for you for the past twenty minutes,” MJ huffs. “Come on. Let’s go. I want to read my book already and you imbeciles keep on wandering off.”

“What was that book you bought again?” Ned asks, linking arms with Peter.

Peter smiles. And while gently grasping the stone you (might have) left, he leans closer to Ned.

“The Song of Achilles,” MJ answers. “Let’s go.”

i love her so bad, but she treats me like shit

on lockdown, like a penitentiary

He searches desperately for you.

It’s been exactly 84 hours since he’s met you, and he finds it appalling how a person’s got him so hung up even after being with you for only thirty minutes three days ago.

He deludes himself into thinking you’ve been together for more than thirty minutes, so he doesn’t feel so foolish looking for someone he barely knows that decided to go mysterious on him.

But he also pretends that he doesn’t like how you based your next meeting on fate – he’s not that of a hopeless romantic.

Right?

Ned doesn’t believe him. Not after earlier this morning.

“So let me get this straight: you met a girl the other day, who told you about this underrated goddess, and when you ask her if you’ll see each other again, she goes all ‘Serendipity’ on you and disappears?”

Peter nodded. Innocent. “Yes.”

“And you’re in love with her?” he’d told him.

“…no.”

“You sound unsure.”

“Because I’m pretty sure I’ll fall in love with her,” he defended himself, standing up from the chair to pick up a mug from the cupboard. Its color was green, the lips slightly chipped, and it had a cartoonish black cat right in the middle. “You know how I am with girls, Ned.”

“Yeah. Go Ross Geller on her – fall in love, propose like two weeks-”

“Six weeks,” he corrected him, reaching for the chamomile teabag.

“- and then get divorced right after your wedding. Or, I dunno, say the wrong name at the wedding,” Ned shrugged. “Whose name will you say anyway? Liz? Cindy Moon? MJ?” he snapped his fingers. “What about that really hot girl, Felicia Hardy?”

Peter frowned at him, giving him another teabag. “Why would I say MJ’s name?”

Vehemently, Ned sighed. “Because you guys dated? And stayed best friends?”

“Yes. And I’m over her. MJ’s queer. She likes girls," he says simply. “I have to respect that by moving on. So now I’m over her.”

“Right. Like I didn’t just catch you crying over her two weeks ago when she brought her girlfriend along.” He snickers. “Ned! Why is her girlfriend hotter than all the girls I pine over?! She’s so pretty, Ned! I miss her!”

“Ned,” Peter whined, pouring hot water on his mug. Though he felt thoroughly offended over Ned’s imitation, it doesn’t last a second. “Can we move past MJ and onto (y/n)?”

His eyebrows furrowed, slipping off the counter. “Who?”

“The girl I met at the museum!” Peter exclaimed, exasperated. “Serendipity girl! The Emily to my Ross. Or the Rachel to my Ross!” he walks towards him, placing his hands on Ned’s shoulders. “The Leia to my Han…”

“Peter, you met her yesterday!” he scolded. “There’s like a 50/50% chance you won’t see her again. And I’m pretty sure you’re over her by next week,” Ned scoffs, removing the bag from his mug. “If you’re not over her by then, you’ll be the reason you’re dying alone.”

He took a careful sip of his tea, wincing when the hot liquid scalded his tongue. “Ned – ah! Pass me the sugar, please.”

Ned grabbed the packet of sugar beside him. His face contorted in disgust when Peter opens the packet, and dips the tip of his tongue inside. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Refreshing my tongue!” he answered, slightly incoherent.

“The fuck?”

“What I’m saying is – she said we’ll meet again when fate wants us to,” he continued, licking his lips to remove the excess sugar, tongue now mended. “And you know how bitchy fate is to me. So I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

He poured the remaining sugar on his tea as Ned grimaced, hiding his frown behind the mug. “Nothing good happens when you take matters into your own hands, Peter.”

“Hey?”

“I mean, remember when you put Toomes in jail? That was good, but you lost Liz. Remember when you gave EDITH to Mysterio? I mean sure, everything went well but you got hit by a train and basically ruined a lot of property because of it.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Thanks for smothering my failures on my face, Ned. What a great best friend you are.”

Ned tutted. “That better not be sarcasm because that’s what’s actually a best friend’s supposed to do.” He took a loud sip, humming in appreciation. “Peter, maybe we just let fate do its job this time.”

And maybe he should.

Peter’s an indecisive person – he knows it himself but he denies it still, even to his aunt who he knows is always right.

His phone rings.

Speak of the Devil.

“Hey aunt May!” Peter smiles, carefully tilting his head sideways to place the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What’s up?”

"Are you swinging?" May's phone was ancient, despite the fact that her salary allowed her to purchase a new one. And, based on the static and choppy nature of her voice, Peter’s certain she's on a business trip where there's little to no service. However, the question was loud enough for him to hear.

Peter’s face flushes beneath his mask. “N-no.”

“I can hear you panting,” she says.

“That’s because I’m in the gym.” Peter lies. “In the treadmill. Running. Jogging.”

“You and I know you never worked out even after you got those muscles.” She tuts. Though he can’t see her, he knows she’d rolled her eyes. “And I hear cars.”

“I’m on the treadmill out the balcony.”

“Peter,”

“Alright, I’m swinging,” he finally admits with a small huff, landing carefully on a rooftop before slinging himself to another building. “I’m out on patrol.”

It was a half lie. “But its Saturday,” May expresses softly. “I thought you only do patrols every weekdays after class.”

Peter grunts softly when his feet clumsily land on the pavement, stumbling over each other. His glove hand reaches for the phone on his shoulder. “Well, I didn’t have anything much to do, anyway.”

“Go to a party!” May suggests, a faint clicking in the background. “Get drunk, throw paper towels on other frat houses, get a girl, have a one night-stand, have sex!”

He frowns. “Should you be telling me this? I thought you were supposed to tell me not to do all those things?”

“Don’t tell me how to parent,” she scoffs. “No offense, Peter, but you’re too high strung. It’s like you’re afraid of being reckless.”

He sits on the edge of a building, feet dangling while he watches the cars pass by. “I am afraid of being reckless. Remember when you first got me drunk? I started telling my guests I was Spider-Man and you had to stop me from showing them my suit.”

May chuckles. “Well I doubt you’ll be doing it again,” she reassures. “You should let loose. You’re in college, for Pete’s sake-” Peter snickers. “-and one day, after you graduate, you’ll regret not going to a party. Not even once.”

“I went to a party.”

“And you left five minutes later. You know, I’m pretty sure you’re still a virgin.”

“May!” Peter gasps, horrified. “I’m not! Why would you say that?!”

“I have not seen a used condom in your trash can. Not even once.” She answers. “Peter, you haven’t dated anyone in two years. I’m worried about you. You’re all alone.”

“I have you,” Peter sighs. “I have Ned. And MJ. May, you’re – you are supposed to keep me on my feet. Make sure I stay responsible."

“I am doing that. I’ve been doing that since you were a kid. I’ve been keeping you literally on your feet since I found out you were Spider-Man,” she huffs. “You know I care about you, Peter. It’s just – just because you have a big responsibility doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to enjoy yourself.”

Peter sighs. His hand reaches to tuck his mask beneath his nose, pouting slightly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he senses a smile in her words. “Now, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he says. “I aced a test last Monday. Upgraded my webs so I made them stickier. Oh, and Happy took me to lunch the other day.”

“Really?” May blurts, as if surprised. “What’d he say? He doesn’t really like hanging out with you that much.”

Peter frowns. “No he doesn’t! He likes hanging out with me. We made pizzas when I graduated from high school and he seemed genuinely happy about it,” He scoffs. “Anyway. He just felt like taking me out to lunch. Said something about how he should get used to it by now…”

His eyes squint at the walking figure.

He notices the familiar coruscating hair swooshing beneath him with each stride they make. Because he had to see that shade of hair everywhere he went, he didn't think it was unusual; yet, based on his previous meticulous inspection of you, he recalls a stripe of dull white on the back of your neck that stuck out of your hair.

Peter could only see the top of your hair and that white streak poking out; the tip of your brown boots that splashed the small puddles from the recent rain. But he knows it’s you.

Is this what happens when you let fate do its job?

“Peter?”

He yelps, almost dropping his phone off the ledge. May’s distant voice speaks out on the speakers, only to be cut off by him. “Sorry aunt May. Something urgent came up. I’ll come home next week for the whole weekend. See you! Love you.”

The sound of his phone clicking shut cuts off her response, shoving his phone back in his suit (he’d also installed really tight pockets.) before jumping down.

Peter forgets he’s clad in his tight suit, crossing the street without sparing a glance at the rushing cars, not even when they start honking at him for his reckless jaywalking.

Just before you turn the corner into an alleyway, his hand reaches out for you.

And,

“It’s not…you…” he softly expresses when the person turns around. It’s not you - the streak of white he saw was the temple of the person’s sunglass, and they only had the same hair color as yours.

“Holy shit…” they mutter. “You’re Spider-Man.”

“No, I’m not,” he awkwardly chuckles. “I’m only a crazy fan in costume. Gotta prepare for Halloween right? There’s nothing wrong with being eight months early.”

It's a tense confrontation that lasts only three minutes. And, once again, in the crevice of that awkwardness was a paroxysm of disappointment. The reason behind his anticipation for you is unbeknownst — he has no idea why he's so enamored with you, a person he hardly knows. Idiosyncrasy is all he can think about.

He just can't seem to get you out of his mind. It's your guise that has him enthralled by the lingering sensation of apprehensive surmise on the back of his skull, which causes the hairs on his body to spring up at each thought.

(y/n).

A simple but pretty name for such an enigmatic woman.

Your scintillating hair, slim fingers with whetted nails, fibrous arms large enough for him to still wrap his arms around you, beauteous eyes filled with unexplained curiosity, and a mouth so sardonic and sly that it makes him weak in the knees.

Is that why he’s so hung up on you?

All while he’s deniably hung up on someone else, too?

A black cat passing by startles him, its body slipping itself between his legs, tail grazing on his covered knee before walking away.

“Where are you?” he mutters to himself, foot tapping impatiently.

Where are you mystery girl?

His senses unexpectedly halt him as he prepares to walk away, giving up for the day.

Peter spins around to see a series of hazy, invisible arrows pointing in a direction only he can see. He feels a shiver run down his spine, and with his senses heightened, he can sense...

Black Cat.

“Fucking minx,” he mutters to himself. “Can’t give me a damn break.”

she spreads her lovin’ all over

and when she gets home, there’s none left for me

Oddly, it was quiet.

With a clear view of the gallery below him, Spider-Man settles gently beside the skylight. It was three minutes until closing time, so the few visitors who remained began making their way to the exit.

His vigilant eyes were on the lookout for any indicators of suspicion in each person who approached the doors. To Peter's chagrin, though, he finds himself searching for Black Cat’s elegant swagger and sly manners, to which the guests devoid.

Sitting crossed-legged, he places his chin on his palm, his other hand toying with the spandex of his suit.

The gallery is comparatively small, featuring artworks from an artisan who’d organized this event, their intuitive mind and composition adorning the walls. It was a mix of photography and paintings, vicinities separated by colors of black-and-white or pastels, etcetera.

There’s a painting of Atë beneath a spotlight, the Goddess you’ve mentioned when you first met him. He’s still unable to see her true beauty given the fact that the painting was meters away from him. But it reminds him of you, nonetheless.

Peter mulls about how he might possibly present one of his works in his own gallery, having the dexterity to pleasingly sketch a scene from his physical vicinity in his leisure times. But his reluctance draws him down the stage, defying his want of showing off his work in fear of censure and embarrassment.

In the cleft of all that self-doubt he hasn’t noticed the lights turn off and the door faintly slam itself shut, followed by a quiet lock of the key.

He sighs at the false alarm.

But his senses demand him to pay attention, directing him to take a seat and keenly inspect the gallery from above.

He recognizes the familiar leather silhouette emerging from one of the paintings as if on time; her mouseyer torques fragmented by her vivid silver tresses.

I fucking knew it.

His fingertips cling to the skylight's glass as he cautiously opens it, allowing him to slide inside and crawl on the ceiling, providing him a decent angle of her relocating towards the rear end of the gallery.

He notices the faint reflection of her crowbar, which appears to be nearly blunt due to how frequently she used it to strike him. Peter believed the crowbar was her weapon of choice for its versatility (opening safes, hitting him in the face, and whatnot), but the longer he saw her, the further he realized that the only reason she brought a crowbar with her was to deflect him from her honed nails.

So it always startled him when she clawed him rather than just knocking him out.

(The first time May saw the scratches, she smiled in joy when she thought Peter owned a cat.)

He'd also be lying if he said he wasn't astonished by her ability to get inside things and carve such a very precise circle with her nails.

His eyes never depart from her silhouette whilst he discreetly crawls on the ceiling. She's strutting as though she's on a runway perfecting her catwalk, flaunting her elegance like every model does with that stoic affirmation on their countenance.

Her crowbar drags itself on the ground, a silent scrape against the marble floors. Until the scraping halts, a deafening silence filling the room on her aftermath.

Black Cat stops underneath the spotlight, the center of his attention; the main attraction. She’s standing still, observing the painting beyond her with an expression he can’t see but desperately wishes he could.

She snuck all the way in to stare at a painting?

“I know you’re there, Spider,” she calls out, voice taunting yet somehow it was also monotone. “We all know how you have FOMOW so obviously you’re here. Except you’re like, a narc.”

Beneath his mask, Peter rolls his eyes, unsticking himself to the ceiling until he lands on the floor unbruised, on his feet.

“Ha ha,” he says sarcastically, walking towards her.

Finally, he gets a better view of what she’s looking at:

It’s a tremendous painting of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. Peter’s heard mentions of this painting during his art classes back in high school, and often from his fellow classmates who’d had futilely attempted to recreate the painting.

He had never seen the artwork prior, but it renders him awestruck. It's the way every stroke of the brush unites the pigment flawlessly - allowing each clarity to be so vérité that it astonishes him - it's something he knows he'd never be capable of accomplishing, even if he wanted; unable to recreate the very same sentiment Lucifer conveys in this painting.

Unable to recreate the same anger, grief, vengeance.

“The Fallen Angel,” she says out loud.

“I know what it is,” he says softly. Though it was meant to be a snarky reply, his voice disobeys. “Is this the real one?”

She sighs deeply, almost exaggerated. “One and only.”

“How’d it get here?”

“The person who organized this event rented it, or I think she might have bought it,” Black Cat answers, hands behind her back.

“How’d you know all of this?”

“Because I know the person who organized this event,” she quips, finally looking at him.

It's not the first time he's seen her, and though his vehement and loathing for her is almost too inexplicable, her beauty is simply undeniable underneath her cruel masquerade. It causes him to hold his breath; causes him to lose a train of thought just to regain it a fraction of a second later.

Except this time there’s this new glint in her eyes.

Amalgamated with that mischief and paltry thievery was a miniscule gloss of endearment and unusual warmth.

It's almost as if she'd met someone and is now thinking about them. He’s seen that look with Ned whenever they studied together, so he knows the look of stoic longing when he sees one.

“Do you now?” he replies. “Does she know that you’re a thief who wears a cat costume without the tail and the ears?”

“Better than wearing a spandex without a cup over his crotch. Oh, shit, you don’t actually need one.”

“I’ll have you know that I have a very large penis,” he faces her, eyes seething in annoyance and he wishes she could see them so hopefully she’d be at least intimidated even just a sliver. “If my ex-girlfriends were here right now, they’d probably moan just at the sight of me.”

Black Cat snorts, lips splitting itself into an incredulous laugh that ends her guffawing as if he said the funniest joke in the world. “Did I murder your ego?”

“I’ll murder you, you fucking rat.”

She gasps. “I wonder what the people would say when they hear you say that.”

“You know, I’m surprised you waited for me before you stole this painting,” Peter crosses his arms. “Tired of playing cat and mouse, Cat?”

“Oh, I’m not stealing the painting.” She rolls her eyes. “Do I look like I can carry a painting that large? If I had a car, I would.” She drags her nail across his arm, circling him. He feels entrapped in her gaze, shrinking at her touch. “I steal only small things, Spider.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Small things have bigger value. Does that sound familiar?”

“What?”

“Do your girlfriends not say that when you have sex?”

Peter growls, irritated. “Big things have value, too.” He seethes. “Why don’t you go rob a jewelry store then, you annoying minx.”

“I don’t do those things because I want to, Spider.”

When her hand finally settles on his shoulder, his reflexes respond more quickly than he can think, usurping her leathery palm and whirling around to fiercely clasp her hand in his. The gesture was too intense to be regarded as some kind of a caring gesture. And he doesn't let go, instead peering down behind his mask at her glass-covered eyes.

She’s so close to him, chest touching each other so as to feel each other’s synchronized breathing. However, this doesn’t distract him nor divert his attention to their closed hands. Peter continues to stare through her eyes in search for any sign of treachery or an imminent asinine hoax.

But maybe it was essentially a bullshit excuse to dwell into her eyes for just a little longer than he usually did – to relish them for a little longer than he intended to.

“You do this because you have to?” he whispers, a caustic snarky tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard this speech a lot more times than you’ve rehearsed this in the back of your rascal mind.”

“I didn’t just become this callous for no reason, Spider,” she spits. “I knew your senses would bring you here for any sign of trouble. I wouldn’t have caused any if I knew you’d be coming; I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t need you.”

Trouble or not, I would have come if it was you.

The girl was trouble. But the problem was, trouble never had such an enticing smile and exhilarating insouciant eyes harboring those heinous crimes; troublenever drew him in, in fact, it affronted him. But Trouble never looked so goddamn tantalizing.

I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t need you.

What could she have possibly done that she needed him, of all people?

oh, take this veil from off my eyes

my burning sun, will someday, rise

“I have something you want,” she spoke so softly that it almost fooled him to think that they’re not in a middle of what he knows is a looming altercation.

“A peaceful life?” he asserts. “Because if you could give me that, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of our lives.”

He begins to feel something puncture his palm after his snide remark, penetrating into his epidermis until it reaches his flesh. He yells in pain, dropping Black Cat’s hand as he feels the blood permeate through his suit.

Peter hisses, looking up at her.

There's now a ring dangling from the periphery of her blood-stained nail, its band menacingly undulating. The emerald still breathtaking as to this day, just like her.

As he feels the skin on his palm slowly mend itself, Peter carefully clenches his hand before glaring at her through his short eyelashes, chest heaving heavily in pure annoyance.

There she is – his angel; his flagitious angel standing upon him. Her hoary wings unfurled throughout the room to greet him with a wave. But the blood on her hand taints the sanctity of her mien, so when he looks back at her, darkness swiftly creeps throughout her luxurious wings, burning her primaries with her scathing mania for adulation.

And her eyes turn dark with hunger – for the chase, for the tension to snap, for his attention.

Peter’s snapped back into reality and the wings disappear, but she remains to be the sardonic fallen angel she is.

Blood is dripping on the marble floor. “Did you call me here to give me that ring?”

Black Cat shrugs, toying with the expensive ring. “Maybe. Maybe not.” She tilts her head sideway, tongue darting out to lick her lips. “I won’t tell you why. Not here, at least.”

When her eyes ever-so-quickly glance up at the CCTV, Peter freezes slightly. She picks up the crowbar from the ground, approaching him.

“That’s some neat trick, that sense of yours,” she whispers with narrowing eyes. The back of her forefinger desecrating the clean cut of Peter’s cheekbone. He lets her, enjoying the burning sensation of her touch.

When her hand reaches for the ends of his mask, his unbruised hand reaches out to clasp at her wrist, hauling it away. “Give me the ring, angel.”

Her pupils dilate slightly as she looks at him. It softens a tenth of a second later, when the bewilderment of his newfound nickname melds with it. Peter smirks when he realizes he’d caught her off-guard.

Angel. Because you’re my hellacious angel.

“What? Cat caught your tongue?” he satirizes, not letting go of her wrist. “You’re not the only flirt here, Cat. You going to give me the ring?”

Like a switch, she’s back to being cocky. “But where’s the fun in that?” she pouts. “If I give it to you, this little thing will end just as quickly as it started.”

He wishes she could see how he had rolled his eyes. “Please. We both know you’d have your claws on a new jewelry the next day.”

Nothing comes out of her mouth. Her cocky smile withers slightly, but her menacing stare remains. Peter's cynicism withers as well, instead more mystified by her lack of response.

Spider-Man catches the crowbar hurdling towards his face, not keeping his eyes off her. But she does, wringing herself out of his grasp to haul the crowbar back to her person.

She steps back with daring eyes and a playful smirk, gyrating her wrist to tinker with the crowbar. Her crisp, delicate nails gleam beneath the night sky, almost as though they've been coated in varnish to make them staggeringly bright.

“You want the ring, baby boy?” she sneers. “Play with me a little and maybe you might get it.”

If someone were to witness their bout, they'd assume Spider-Man's imprudent onslaught was perhaps too unfair on his adversary; they'd be worried that his towering stance would have frightened her and led her to lose immediately.

They’d be misunderstanding the situation because here she is, traipsing to him with no remorse whatsoever. Mien ebullient on the vastness of her desire to affright him; too rambunctious it almost makes her stupor.

It’s as if her eyes were The Gates of Hell, as Peter could see her irises burn with imprudence through dark eyes. And if he looked closely he swore her pupils had gone thin as a tendril, though keeping its diamond shape.

She’s aroused – aroused on grandeur.

Her crowbar collides with his arm. The impact barely hurts him – having to feel much more painful things land on his arm. Black Cat’s vacant hand attempts to claw at his stomach, but he’s quick to his feet to dodge it and knock the crowbar off her hands.

“Let’s play fair then, shall we?” he says deeply, clasping the crowbar from the ground before bending it in the middle.

Her mouth parts slightly – though unsure if it was because of the bent crowbar toppling to the ground, or how his muscles flexed beneath his suit.

“Alright,” she nods, smirking. “Suddenly treating me as an equal, huh? Finally occurred to you that women can fight just as good as men?”

When he says nothing, she runs towards him, claws enticing for a harsh bite of his scarred skin. Black Cat raises her fist, almost hitting his left cheek if it weren’t for his hand acting so quickly and turning her around.

Peter pulls her back to his chest. Learning from his mistake, his hand only holds the back of hers, the other slowly creeping on dip between the side of her ribcage and waist.

“Oh, I knew women can fight just as good as men do,” he whispers on her ear as she struggles to wry herself out of his tight grasp. Sharply, his hand reaches up to wrap itself around her neck, fingers gently pressing down so as to not choke her. “I just think it wasn’t fair for you to bring your crowbar around with your pretty nails, angel.”

There it was again. Angel.

Playing along, she feigns herself, pretending to melt into his grasp. “Well then you can’t use those annoying webs of yours.”

Her hand comes up to claw on his left webshooter, prying the material off his wrist. The action causes her to rip the spandex that covers his wrist to his whole hand.

Flexing his hand, Peter cranes his neck until he hears a small crack before she chases Black Cat, who began sprinting away.

She carelessly claws herself up until she reaches the same skylight he got into. Flinging himself to the roof, his feet clumsily land on the pavement before running again.

With the perfect view of your back, his delusions lead him to wonder aloud whether her hair had a sensibility of its own, lashing gracefully and curling in delight, like a cat's tail.

The chase feels familiar; a sense of déjà vu running through, he realizes he’s in the same situation he was a few nights ago when he tried to chase her down to claim the ring from her shrewd paws.

Except this time, just before she could jump off the roof, his right webshooter aims itself for her back, tugging her to his direction.

Peter sees her again, her hands stuck between their chest, his arm around her waist.

The sun had barely started to set. He can ascertain her features from the sunlight rather than the shadows, owing to the mellow glare of the sun's warmth..

He'd never realized angels had such sharp cheekbones – such defined attributes, as if she were a perfectly sculpted goddess in a museum. He had no idea how plump her lips were, nearly demanding for a kiss; never realized that her eyes were drowning in abundant moroseness.

But in that sea of sadness, there was a boat — it was her, paddling and pushing to keep herself alive. Because the sea was getting higher and higher, and with that tough determination to prove herself, she keeps on rowing and rowing and rowing.

The ring in her palm is long forgotten as he continues to stare at her beneath the soft light of the setting sun.

“I don't do these things because I want to, but because I have to,” she repeats, almost desperately. “I have a gun to the back of my head, Spider. There’s a man behind it ready to pull the trigger.”

There’s a tear threatening to spill on the fissure of her eyes, drowning itself in her internal pity and fear that masks itself as a stoic woman that has a job to do.

He softens. “Are they going to kill you if you don’t give them the ring?” he asks carefully. “Because if so, you can have it.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not it,” she replies, looking down to the ground. His hand carefully clasp itself on her joint hands. “I lured you away from the gallery because they could see you and I had – I had to let them think that you got away.”

Peter’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What?”

“Just analyze the clue,” she whispers. “Just figure it out. You’ll be able to see me again.”

“When can I see you again?”

Her expression said it all. It's all too familiar: the trepidation, the assumption, the desire for divulgence.

It reminds him of you, back before you left him. And for a split second, it felt like he was staring right into your eyes.

You.

Before he knows it, Peter lets you her go.

As she disappears, his mind wonders back to the painting behind him. What once was a clean yet devotional masterpiece was now tainted with her revenge. The longer he stared, the more he pondered whether she, like Lucifer, had been exiled and left isolated to languish in self-pity before she's seething with indignation, a hunger for buoyant self-worth and insurmountable power.

The next day, Peter returns to the gallery.

Artworks from the night before still remain in its place, as if no ruckus had occurred. The door was unlocked, allowing him to helplessly enter the gallery unforeseen.

As he saunters his way to the back, he sees that all too familiar hair swaying gracefully.

“(y/n),”

You turn around, taking his breath away.

You look just as beautiful as the day I met you.

Those few days he spent seeking for you ended just as suddenly as you vanished on him. And he hadn't expected to see you so soon after losing her. Again.

Sleepless nights devoted to saying sweet nothings to himself; full of charlatan vows that he'd seen you again. Perhaps this is what happens when you let fate continue its unabated job.

But...why isn't he as elated as he presumed to be upon your accession?

You’re here, in front of him, like he hastily wished every single night until now.

“Peter?” you call out incredulously. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

I chased a cat inside the gallery who tried to ruin the painting you were looking at and I’m trying to look for any signs of damage before people blame me again. “My – A friend of mine went here yesterday and they said I should come and visit.”

You nod, your hands sheepishly ribbing your cuticles. Your nails were no longer Stilettos (he'd never admit to anybody that he'd done extensive nail study). Instead, they were unpolished, exposing the chipped distal margins and gritty body. “That’s great,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “My – this is my art show.”

Peter gasps silently, his hands clenched to prevent himself from telling you about the previous night's events — that he'd been there, generating the commotion. “Really?”

Smart. Knows her mythology. Hella pretty and hella artistic. Can she get any hotter?

If he had known you longer, the painting of Atë underneath the bright spotlight that looked exactly like the one in the museum might have shown an essence of you to him.

It was like your own way of presenting the neglected goddess in the limelight, which not only you, but those who attended, could respect.

You should be in there, he wanted to tell you. Letting people admire your grace and indisputable elegance next to those pretty things.

Did you just call her a 'thing'?

What?! No! I was...complimenting her...

Objectifying a woman is not ‘complimenting' her. Aunt may taught you better than that!

What was I supposed to call her?

I dunno. Flower? Because when you see her your heart blooms like a flower?

“Yes!” you say excitedly. “It gave me the opportunity to show people what I created, y’know. A close friend of mine owned the studio and he, uh, let me borrow it for the day.”

“That’s cool,” he smiles. “Why are you staring at the painting?”

“My dad rented it for the day,” you say as nonchalant as you could, as if money were no problem. “And, uh, I think something’s wrong with it, and like I saw some grime on the floort” You scrunch your nose up. “Other than the fact that it’s tilted. But no one was here last night…”

Peter is smitten with the crinkles on your nose, and his adoration swiftly elevates him off the ground. But his perceptions quickly draw him back to the ground that had been spoiled by his blood the night prior, reminding him of his atrocities and his sudden ambivalence.

“What?” he chuckles wryly, watching you halt in your words.

“There’s a piece of paper,” you whisper, pointing at the corner of the painting. “You see that?”

Not once had he seen Black Cat slip in a piece of paper behind the painting. But right now, from your disclosure, he wonders if maybe he’d taken his eyes off her even just for a split second enough for her to slip it in.

Before he could reach out to claim it himself, you saunter your way toward the painting, plucking the piece of paper from behind.

Peter stands beside you, peering over your shoulder.

Written gracefully in perfect loops of cursive, was what could possibly be Black Cat’s handwriting on the torn piece of burnt parchment. Your hand carefully holds the delicate paper on the supple skin of your palm, holding it on the space between the two of you.

The eyes is no amity; unship the molarity, enured the evil.

“Just analyze the clue,”

Peter turns to face you, the same shock etched on his face. “Look. I don’t know if you know this, but Black Cat stormed in here last night.”

You almost drop the paper in your hand, looking up at him with an almost distraught look on your face. “What?”

He nods, vigorously, speaking before he could realize what he was saying. “Yeah. People saw Spider-Man and Black Cat come out from the skylight and they said they were like – chasing each other around.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he reiterates. “I think maybe this is a clue. For where we can catch her. Or like some clue she left for Spider-Man.”

“Don’t you think we should just call Spider-Man when we see him and tell him he’s got a clue to solve?”

“Trust me, we’d be doing him a favor. The guy may be strong and hot but he’s definitely lacking some-” his finger taps his temple thrice, exaggerating a shrug, “-up here.”

You pout. “That’s kind of true. I saw him swing straight into a wall.” His face flushes red in embarrassment. “Then maybe we should analyze the clue.” You say. “Just figure it out.”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

PART ONE; PART TWO; PART THREE

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acourtofsnakes · 4 years ago

Text

Tracinya - Rogue, Chapter 23 | The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: Nothing will stop you from rescuing Din. Anyone who stands in your way is merely an obstacle to be removed. But will you be merciful... or listen to that dark call?

Warnings: Injury detail, blood, guns(of the space variety), knives, fighting, swearing, death, watch me make things up about the Force again.

Word Count: 13k+ (I got carried away?)

AN: Well. This ended up a lot longer than I expected it to be. I got rather carried away it seems ((oh well)) Also, I have checked this ((twice)) but its over 13k words and there is going to be something I missed.

Introduction

Rogue| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f) Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @kenoobiwan @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew @queenofthefaceless @rosiefridayrogersunday @greeneyedblondie44 @itsnottilly @welcometothepedroverse @xgoldenjenny @mamacitapascal @heyitsjaybird @amyk-37 @greatcircle79

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal

Mando’a Translation: Tracinya - Flame

There was no part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain.

His right leg was broken, possibly in two places, and his left ankle was fractured.

He had taken the fall on his right side, meaning the impact had dislocated his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, resulted in searing agony whenever he moved his head.

Not only that, but every breath felt like glass and fire, a pain he was familiar enough with to know he also had at least three broken ribs.

Of course, there were bruises – his entire body was probably littered with purple and black smudges – and cuts.

Din didn’t remember hitting the floor. Only remembered saying goodbye and then… nothing. He supposed he should be grateful, because from the state his body was in, the feeling of impact would have been horrendous, his body crushed under the very armour that was made to keep him safe.

He’d been convinced that was it, the lights were turned off and the Maker would come to greet him.

And yet, after an indeterminable amount of darkness… there was suddenly light.

Harsh, blinding light and hands moving over his body, checking for injury and –

They were going to remove his armour.

The thought and realisation sent shockwaves of terror through him, and despite the agony that had threatened to suck him under, survival instinct kicked in and he lashed out. Taking down anyone who came near him, the medics, the guards, Troopers – anyone who threatened to touch his armour. He was like a caged animal, defending his last dying breath even as his head spun and his knees gave way.

He fought for consciousness, long enough to see a pair of immaculate boots walk in, the edge of a long, ebony cloak embroidered with gold.

Through the roaring in his head, he heard a silken voice ordering everyone to stand down, that if anyone removed the amour, they would be removed of their head.

And then he had been sucked back into a fitful abyss

Din wasn’t sure how long ago that had been.

The room – cell – they had put him in contained no windows, no clocks, nothing to give him indication to what time it was. Only a few artificial lights placed on each wall – which he was grateful for, because the dim lighting was a minimal balm to his pulsating head.

Only a thin cot for him to sleep on, pushed into the corner of the room and a tiny area in the corner where he could relieve himself. The ceiling rose far above him, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a very small, very dark pit.

There was no regular pattern to when they pushed a tray of food and water through a tiny hatch in the door either, so he couldn’t even use that.

Not that he could have concentrated anyway, with the agony waging war on his body.

He’d had countless injuries before and danced the line of death so many times he was surprised he kept getting away with it.

And yet this… this was bad.

His vision kept fading in and out, blurriness making his sight hazy before it cleared again, but not without leaving fuzzy auras that floated in his peripheral.

Concussion too then… a bad one.

He just prayed there was no permanent damage.

He could still talk, though his voice was hoarse and ragged when he whispered to himself the names of his loved ones – he could still remember them, thankfully.

The ability to move remained intact – though heavily compromised. He could only manage tiny movements, embarrassingly slow as he tried not to move his neck or shoulder… or head… or back.

An escape probably wasn’t going to be possible for a while.

Din sighed, laying in an awkward position on his cot, one that gave the least pain.

Again, his thoughts returned to his haven.

You.

You were going to kill him when he got out.

Either for being a hypocrite, or for the worry he was causing you.

The worry, no… the heart-wrenching terror he had heard in your voice mere moments before he fell. That cruel fear of the consequences as you laid into him, tried to keep that anger contained but he knew you too well. Knew that this would be tearing you to pieces.

He had felt the exact same way when you were taken – when she died.

You were a rather dysfunctional pair, weren’t you.

That thought had him chuckling – and then groaning as the small movement sent shockwaves from his broken ribs.

Maker, he was battered.

He didn’t even know how it had all gone so wrong.

One minute he was flitting through the sky, dodging blaster fire and the next there was a loud pop and smoke began billowing from his back, from the jet pack.

A very carefully aimed shot, with precision and intent – not to blow him up by shooting at the fuel lines… but perfectly lined up to knock out the thrusters and sent him tumbling to Earth.

There was only one person he knew that could make a shot like that.

Someone he should have foreseen, if he was honest with himself.

Looking back, the townspeople letting slip the information about the base… that had clearly been a trap.

A false trail to lead them right to the doorstep of the very people trying to chase them down.

Din hadn’t just led himself to his death… but his friends too. He had no idea where they were, if they’d escaped – if they were even alive.

He was disgusted with himself, the way he had so easily and thoughtlessly allowed his friends to be brought to such danger. He should have just gone in alone but… he hadn’t been thinking straight.

When he’d heard that there was a whole base dedicated to finding his sweetheart… a whole legion of Stormtroopers trained, and no doubt given weapons specifically made to defend and attack Force users, he’d lost it.

How could he walk away knowing all of that? Knowing they were going to come after you?

He couldn’t. He didn’t.

And now look where he was.

Movement outside his door suddenly broke him from his reverie, a shadow moving past the gap in the food hatch.

Something beeped outside the cell, multiple locks sliding and scraping through the door and then it was pushed open.

Din blinked against the sudden harsh light flooding his cell, his helmet damaged so his visor didn’t adjust to the brightness the way it should have done.

As his eyes cleared, he saw a figure lean and tall, wearing a long cloak – with golden embroidery.

Oh, joy.

Anger sizzled through his reluctant body as Haran prowled into his cell, filling the small room with that unearthly presence. The shadows of the room seemed to cling to him, perhaps recognising that their master had arrived.

Din grunted, ignoring the screaming agony that flooded his senses as he dragged his body to sit up, leaning heavily against where the two walls joined near his bed. If this was his end, he didn’t want to be laying down.

If it was a friendly little chat… well, he could at least give himself a better position to punch the bastard in that overly pretty face.

Haran stopped in the centre of the room, lifting gloved hands to his hood and he pushed it back.

He looked the same as always.

Sharp cheekbones accentuated his face, which was neither old nor young – timeless, for no one knew how long this man had truly been alive.

Amber eyes that dominated his appearance, simmering like molten gold and only highlighting the fact that he wasn’t quite human.

The twin scars across his mouth and eye did nothing to mar the beauty of him – and Din supposed that was all part of the act. A beautiful face, a silken voice and a laugh that could bring entire villages to their knees to worship this fallen dark prince.

Before he slaughtered them all.

Din hated him.

Those golden eyes simmered with amusement as he beheld Din, as if knowing the thoughts going through the Mandalorian’s head… which he probably did.

He cocked his head, a smile lifting his full lips, “Well, fancy seeing you so soon, Lori.”

Din growled, his hands tightening into fists and he wished his blazing glaze would melt through his beskar helmet and sear straight into those lion’s eyes.

That damn lovers laugh rippled through the tiny room, setting Din’s teeth on edge, “Oh, Mando, no need to be so defensive. You had to know what would happen when you decided to infiltrate a base dedicated to hunting your little Jedi.”

“You won’t find her.” Din spat the words, wishing his body wasn’t so battered, wishing his had his strength so he could tear this creature apart.

Haran’s smile widened, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, his scar tugging ever so slightly at the corner of his mouth – a predators grin, “That’s not entirely true, considering I found her so easily last time. But I won’t need to find her.” He examined his cloak, brushing a speck of invisible dust from it.

Dread coiled in Din’s gut, “She doesn’t know where I am. She won’t be able to find me, so you can’t lure her here like a piece of bait. She’s smarter than that.” With every word, he had the sinking feeling that he was saying exactly what the King of Shadows and Death expected him to.

“You see, I would believe you, if not for one tiny little detail.” Now Haran inspected his gloves, tugging the buckles that tightened them around his wrists, a picture of cool, arrogant confidence.

It was an effort for Din to keep his voice steady, “And what is that?”

Please no, please…

Haran looked up at him again, a dark curl falling over his forehead, “I hacked into your comms system, right as you hit the deck. You really should get some better tech, Mando.” He clasped his hands behind his back, “I sent a distress signal to your pretty Jedi, telling her your exact coordinates and even how to get in.”

Din simply made a noise of horror, knowing that nothing in the world would stop you from finding him. You were stubborn, headstrong and determined… all combined with a fierce desire to save the ones you loved.

He just prayed Ahsoka would make you see sense. You would be smart about this… right?

Haran shrugged lightly, “I don’t think even Tano will be able to hold her back.”

Sick bastard, reading his thoughts.

“I guess we’ll see who’s right soon enough, won’t we?” With that, he turned, walking back to the door, where he knocked twice.

The beep and locks sounded again, and Haran looked over his shoulder at Din, who was still struck dumb with dread, “Why, I bet she’s already on her way right now.” He laughed low, and then he was gone with a sweep of his cloak.

~~~

You were beside yourself with panic and terror in the first few hours after the call cut off.

Your scream had woken Ahsoka and the kids, who made it to your tree in time to see you half fall from the branches, stumbling around looking for something, anything to help.

You could barely hear Ahsoka calling your name, until she grabbed you, forcing you to look at her and calm down. You’d told her what happened, before yanking out her grasp and running to the camp.

Nothing was computing in your brain, nothing except a primal instinct to go and save Din right now.

Again, you hadn’t heard her calling your name, mumbling over and over that you needed to go, you needed to get out of here, Din needed you.

Except there was just one problem…

“Slow down. How are we going to get off of the planet? We don’t have a ship…” Ahsoka spoke calmly, but firmly. She was watching you tear through the camp, emotions a wreck and noting you were moments away from a panic attack.

You had turned to her, clutching your belongings in your arms, your breathing coming in sharp pants, “Then - then we’ll just… Um...” Casting your eyes about helplessly, you had felt your throat close up, your heart race and your palms start sweating.

A sob had been about to break from your lips but then – you both heard it.

The tell-tale sound of a twig breaking, of hushed voices.

The pair of you whipped your heads in unison, toward the sound and your panic attack vanished, being replaced with the cool ice of battle. The things in your arms had been placed on the floor and then Ahsoka’s voice had been in your head, “You go left, I’ll go right. We’ll meet in the middle.”

You nodded, reaching for your blade but then Ahsoka had held out a hand to stop you, instead… holding out one of her sabers.

Oh.

Yes, you’d trained with it but… now she was letting you use it for real, in actual combat?

Lifting your eyes to hers, she had seen what you were thinking and simply smiled encouragingly.

That said enough, so you curled your fingers around it and then the pair of you had separated, footsteps lighter than air as you both forged a protective Force field around the kids.

Moving through the trees, marking the intruders... it had all soothed you, soothed the ache and terror in your chest for the time being.

Your power let you know they were close, and you hovered in the darkness for a moment, watching the two cloaked figures and sensing Ahsoka opposite you. Something flowed through the air, like a confirmation and you activated the lightsaber, springing from your hiding space with a burst of glowing late.

“Wait!!! Wait, it’s us!!!” The two cloaked figures turned around, dropping their hoods so their faces would be revealed in the glow from both your sabers.

Cara, and another man you didn’t recognise – bald, with a numerous harness and straps that no doubt held weapons under his cloak.

You made a nose, lowering the saber, “Cara?! I thought… I thought you were with Lori – what are you doing here?” Despite the situation, the anonymous nickname for him came out instantly – protecting his identify even here.

Cara looked from you to Tano, who was still standing in a somewhat defensive position with her saber held out. “We were… We’d split up to take down more of the Troopers. Mando took to the sky to draw fire so we could sweep through them. When we saw him get taken down, we had a choice. Either get captured ourselves, or go and get help.”

You blinked, a frown forming on your face, “Hang on, let me get this right.” Something stirred in your chest, something smouldering, “You saw Din get taken down, saw him fall from the sky, into the clutches of Stormtroopers who are no doubt reporting to Moff Gideon… and you ran away?” The last two words come out in an incredulous tone, your face showing confusion as you looked between Cara and the other man.

He raised his hands, shaking his head, “Hey, I wouldn’t go as far as to call it running away. We didn’t know he’d contacted you; we didn’t know how anyone would find us. If we got captured too, there was no way we could get out. Only Boba and Fennec knew where we were, they wouldn’t have been enough.”

Ahsoka raised her eyebrows, stepping closer – never lowering her lightsaber, “So, he’s there alone? Or wherever else they’ve taken him?”

The man blinked as he looked at her, “Do you mind lowering that thing, lady? I don’t see how we’re the enemies here.”

You snarled at him, mimicking Ahsoka in the closer advance, “I’m not calling you enemies, I’m stunned that you just abandoned him there!!”

Cara held out a hand, trying to diffuse the situation, “Mayfeld, shut up.” She looked at you, “Look, Mando isn’t incapable of taking care of himself. He’s been in situations like this before, he’ll be fine.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, your head spinning, “He’ll be fine?! He could be anywhere, Cara! Who knows where they’ve dragged him, what they’re doing to him! I’m not doubting for a second that he’s been captured before – but not by an army of Troopers, alone, after falling hundreds of feet from the fucking sky! How about I push you out of the open air in a metal tomb and you tell me if you’re up to fighting your way out of an Imperial army.”

Mayfeld squared up to you, tensions running high, “You know, you might want to be a little more understanding. I’m sure if the situation was reversed, Mando would have - ”

Suddenly, you had pulled free your knife and it was held to his throat, “If you dare say he would have done the same, I’ll cut your throat.” You didn’t care that these were Din’s friends. Didn’t care that they were obviously here to help.

You were furious, feeling helpless and well… you had never been the greatest at controlling your temper.

Ahsoka disabled her lightsaber, running forward and gently pushing you all apart. You felt a phantom brush over your skin and realised she had weaved threads of the Force between everyone, “Hey, hey, let’s all just take a moment to breathe, okay? We’re all worried and wound up… Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything.”

Mayfeld muttered something you didn’t hear, though you did hear the thump as Cara elbowed him in the ribs. “Enough.”

You powered down the saber and dropped your head into your hands.

The world had flipped on its head, completely and utterly shifted and turned into something unrecognisable. Maybe this wasn’t really happening, maybe you were having some kind of fever dream.

You sighed long and deep, rubbing at your eyes before looking at Mayfeld and Cara, “I’m sorry, for what I said. You did the right thing… We wouldn’t know anything if you hadn’t come back.” You shifted your gaze solely to Mayfeld now, “And I’m sorry for holding a knife to your throat.”

To your surprise, he just chuckled, shaking his head, “Don’t worry. I’ve had worse from your Mandalorian, this was nothing.” He held out a hand, “Migs Mayfeld.”

You found yourself smiling back, sliding your hand into his and shaking it as you told him your name.

Cara looked around, “As much as I’m glad we’re not threatening to kill each other anymore, does anyone want to tell me how we’re going to find Mando?”

As if by coincidence, the comms device on your wrist started to emit a high-pitched beep.

All four of you jumped, then looked at the device which had begun to flash red.

You held it up between you all, and the screen lit up, displaying a string of co-ordinates with that same persistent beep.

It dawned on you instantly, “It’s a distress signal. Lori sent us the co-ordinates of where he is.”

Cara was eyeing it thoughtfully, “Do we want to ask why that suddenly came up, just as I asked where he was? And what if he isn’t there by the time we get there?”

You were already moving back toward the camp to gather your things, “I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s a trap, or if he’s a whole parsec over. It’s the best thing we have, so we’re using it. Get your things.”

That had been a couple of nights ago. You were now travelling on Boba Fett’s ship, a tight squeeze but you didn’t care. Nothing else mattered apart from finding Din.

Boba Fett was an interesting man. He was a clone of the infamous Jango Fett, the Mandalorian of whom you’d grown up hearing about. His armour was older, less sleek than Din’s but still as ruggedly beautiful and had belonged to Jango himself. He was shadowed by another woman, Fennec Shand – an assassin of whom you’d also heard of on your ‘travels’.

He was a straightforward, direct man, greeting you and praising you on the stories he had heard – then asking how everything was going to go ahead. Straight to business.

Two hours later, a plan had already been created.

The distress signal coordinates you had given Boba would take you to the general area you needed to be. Then, once you located the Cruiser, Boba would get you as close as he could, slipping into a disused landing bay.

He would remain with the ship and kids, waiting to get out – and to lead a distraction if it came to it.

The rest of you would infiltrate the Cruiser, splitting up to cover more ground and find Din – Cara and Fennec in one pair, you, Mayfeld and Ahsoka in the other.

You sat a little way away from the others – as far as you could in the ship, letting the sound of their planning wash over you. They were determined the best way to get in and out without being seen, whether it was best to go in all guns blazing – literally – or try and be as discreet as possible with minimal causalities.

You were glad you had excused yourself… because that dark assassin within you was stirring, sensing the oncoming fight – readying a thirst for blood.

Sure, some of the Troopers may have had no choice… but they certainly hadn’t done anything to change their fate. They still chosen to continue following Gideon and Haran – for you knew now it was him that shot down Din, but you had kept that nugget of information to yourself, only telling Ahsoka.

The others didn’t need the added stress of knowing a terrifying legend had truly come to life.

If they wanted to try and preserve life – fine. You certainly didn’t have to agree with them. You didn’t answer rot anyone but yourself.

And you supposed that mindset should worry you, making you concerned that you were slipping back to that cold killer but… you didn’t care. If you had to become her to save Din and get everyone out safely… so be it. You would deal with the consequences later.

Ahsoka crossed your field of vision, and then came to sit down opposite you, her back against the wall and her legs stretched out next to yours. She said nothing, merely watching you with an unreadable expression for a few moments.

You sighed, “If you’ve come to tell me not to go where my thoughts are leading me-“

She shook her head, cutting you off gently, “I’m not going to tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. I’m just going to ask you… Are you prepared for the consequences of what you do, either way? If you choose to go down the path of tearing down anyone in your way… How will you feel afterward?”

How would you feel afterward?

“I don’t know how I would feel… I know what it’s like to be pushed into a life but… There’s always a choice at some point. However small…” You looked up at her, truly valuing her opinions and advice – she was already a trusted friend, one you could speak your mind to.

Of course, you had Din. But to have something sperate from him… it felt good. Healthy. You both had your separate friendships away from each other… for moments like this perhaps.

“I can’t think of anything but saving him. And it’s easy to sit here and ask myself what I’ll do, before we’re even there… but when I’m in there, when I’m walking through that Cruiser to find him...” You shrugged slightly, “I don’t know what I’ll do. And I might not have the time to make that decision when I’m there.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, listening to what you have to say, “Then whatever happens… We’ll deal with it afterward. Whatever you choose to do... I believe you are strong enough to take it. And if not… then we’ll deal with that too.”

Gratitude warmed the cold feeling in your chest, spreading through you and you looked at her with new appreciation, “Thank you…” Those two words were heartfelt, all the emotion and thankfulness pumped into there. “For this, helping me… and for everything you’ve done.”

She inclined her head slightly, bumping her foot against your thigh, “You needn’t thank me… It’s been an honour, to help you and train you. After everything that’s happened in my life, the mistrust I had for those I once believed in… I never thought I could get over that hole. But you’ve shown me that it’s not all the way I believed. Things are changing… I’m learning that now. So… thank you.”

You were about to answer, but Boba’s deep, gravelly voice came from the cockpit, “Time to gear up guys. We’re about to hit the same co-ordinates from the distress signal.”

~~~~

“Sir?”

Moff Gideon walked over to the young man who had just called for him, seating in front of a holo-screen like the others dotted about the room, “Yes? What is it?”

The man brought up a radar screen, a pulsing red dot just coming into the edge of it, “They’re getting closer. They followed the Hunter’s trap.”

Gideon smiled slowly, watching that little red dot slowly creep closer to the centre of the radar, toward his Cruiser, “Excellent. Tell the troops to be ready. Just because we want them here, doesn’t mean we’ll make this easy for them.”

~~~

Boba Fett’s ship glided through the atmosphere, all of you peering out of the windows for any sign, any hint as to where Din might be.

You’d been in the general location for about twenty-five minutes, travelling right to the edge of each grid square on Fett’s radar.

“I think… we might have missed him.” Cara spoke the words that you had all been reluctant to acknowledge, her voice quiet.

You shook your head fiercely, moving to the other side of the ship, “No. You’re wrong. He’s here. I know he is. I just… know.”

Grogu cooed from behind you, his ears floppy like they had been since you lost contact with Din.

You turned to look at him, heart breaking at the utter sadness in his glossy eyes, “Oh, Gu… I know.” You scooped him up, cradling the little body to your chest and you pressed a kiss between his ears, “We’ll find him… I promise you; we’ll find him.” You pressed your face to his little head, whispering, “Even if we have to do it on our own.”

His little arms reached up to your shoulders, and you took a few moments just to hug him, giving him comfort but also receiving it in return.

You felt his hands tugging at your collar and wondered if he was trying to reach for your hair… but then he grasped something and pulled – your necklace.

The mythosaur necklace that Din had given you.

You looked down at him, watching as he cradled the symbol in his tiny little hands, gurgling at it but for once, you weren’t sure what he was saying. It itched at you, like you could almost understand him.

It turns out, Ahsoka did. She gasped a little, looking at Grogu suddenly and blinking in surprise, “Oh, you’re right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that…” She looked at you with wide eyes, “You can find him.”

You blinked at her, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean?” You felt Grogu’s eyes on you too, and he tugged gently at the mythosaur charm, “The necklace?”

Ahsoka nodded, “Kind of… You have such a strong connection with him, such intense care for each other that if you use your power… you might be able to sense him, where he is.” She walked closer, “It’s hard to explain… it’s an old Jedi trick. They used to use it to track others or find people in hiding. It’s difficult to do, and not all Jedi could do it but… You know him. Better than any of us.” She took Grogu from you gently, “Close your eyes and focus your mind the way we practiced.”

You nodded, not questioning it. There was no time.

You shut your eyes, following the breathing exercises she had taught you and dropping everything away from your mind. The ship, the murmuring of the others – the panic.

All of it fell away until you felt the power flowing through your blood, felt it brush up against every living thing in your vicinity.

Ahsoka’s voice slipped through your mind, “Now, think of him. The memories, the way he makes you feel, the happiness you feel with him. Think about what makes him your Mandalorian.”

Your power flowed through you, out of you, wrapping around the ship and you were already deep in your mind by the time it started shifting the direction you were facing.

What makes him your Mandalorian…

You let that question move through you, thinking of his touch, his voice… the way he softened the harsh edges of your mind and eased your chest.

The way you had truly come alive after meeting him, how you saw the galaxy as you had before – something beautiful and wild and begging to be explored.

You breathed in and out slowly, musing on the way you felt you had also brought light to Din’s life. Not just from the way he told you... but the way he seemed to have mellowed even more since first knowing you.

He laughed more, let himself go a little… His moments of uptight, rigid restraint had melted into something far softer and… goofier.

Ahsoka’s gentle praise whispered through the thoughts and memories, encouraging you. For however long, you didn’t know.

And then you felt it.

Your power brushed over something… someone.

Din.

His essence, his soul, burning like a bright star in your longest night. A sense of comfort, fierce loyalty and determination, all encased in a glittering shell of honour.

Your eyes snapped up, the ship slowing to a stop and then – there it was.

Moff Gideon’s cruiser.

And speeding toward you… about thirty Stormtroopers, ready to attack.

Mayfeld grinned from behind you as Duru leapt from the control panel, “Time to make an entrance.”

~~~

When Din got out of here, he was going to tear Haran into little pieces.

Well.

He would help you tear him into little pieces.

You had probably more rights than anyone to do so, but he had some things that the cocky shit needed to pay for.

Hey, maybe you could tag team.

Din kept thinking of creative ways to take Haran apart, to see if he was as strong inside as the power he oozed on the outside. It would be a fascinating project.

Maybe when you cut him open, he would be a hollow shell, or maybe there would be some kind of malevolent demon inside him.

He supposed these thoughts were rather twisted and dark, and that Haran had undoubtedly been through some awful things in his life… but so had you, and you were worlds apart from each other.

Besides, it was all he could do. Think of Haran’s death and try to avoid thinking of the alternative thing that was screaming at him like a siren.

That you may very well be on your way to rescuing him.

Din could tell himself for hours that you wouldn’t heed it, that you’d know it was a trap but… it just wasn’t you.

You were one of the smartest people he knew, but if anyone you loved was in danger, caution tended to get thrown out the window.

Sometimes, you were both more alike than you realised.

Din sighed, curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them again. A few hours ago – or maybe days? – he’d lost feeling in his arm. He couldn’t pop the dislocated shoulder back into place without removing his armour, so it was stuck there, swollen and pressing against the beskar. It had started with pins and needles, and then a cold feeling like ice in his veins.

It made him feel unsteady, lopsided – though that may have been the broken right leg and twisted left ankle.

Not only that, but every movement of his head made his stomach roil dangerously, and his breathing seemed to be coming laboured… more like sharp pants rather than deep breaths.

You were never going to let him live this down.

He huffed again, but the faintest smile rose to his lips as he imagined you both somewhere safe.

You’d wait long enough for Din to be suitably healed before tearing into him… and no doubt it would creep up for months afterwards. He could almost hear the cocky tone as you bickered about something and you’d whip that out, “Oh, well, I suppose I could always go an attack an Imp base and get shot of the sky. Stars above, can you imagine doing that? What fun.”

The thought made him chuckle, just a bit even though it irritated his ribs again.

Of course, that soft sound seemed like a siren call and seconds later, the door to his cell swung open and the King of Shadows and Death appeared – more like King of Arrogance and a limited wardrobe.

Didn’t he have anything else to wear besides that cloak?

Or was Din just jealous? His own cape was a bit tattered, and he’d always envied the way you wore your own hooded cloak, blending into the darkness and sweeping around corners like some kind of phantom.

Maker, his concussion must be getting worse.

Pushing that thought from his spiralling mind, Din tilted his head back to look up at Haran, “Are you lonely? Is that why you keep coming to see me?” He tilted his head, ignoring the feeling like boulders crashing against the inside of his skull and the bits of light dancing across his vision, “Or are you looking for a bit of nightly entertainment? Because I have to say, I’m hardly in the shape to do so.”

His tongue felt so heavy his mouth.

Haran rolled those unsettling eyes as the door closed behind him and he walked over, leaning against the wall opposite, “Yes, Mando. My days are just so meaningless without your shiny head to light the way.” He put a gloved hand to his chest, gasping, “Why, if we weren’t on an Imperial Cruiser, I might just drop to one knee and beg for your hand in marriage, right now.”

Prick.

Din turned his head away, breathing shallow as his stomach flipped again, “What do you want? If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a rather busy man.”

Haran chose to ignore him, snapping his fingers together and pulling a face like he just remembered something, “Oh, wait. I can’t marry you, can I?” He looked up at Mando, golden eyes burning through the side of his helmet, “Because you already have plans to do that to someone else, don’t you?

Din willed himself not to rise to the challenge, not to take the bait. He instead tried counting his breaths, focusing on anything but Haran’s silken words.

They flowed like water around the small cell, almost irresistible, “Does she know? Does your little princess know that you’ve been carrying that ring around for months now?” He crossed one ankle over the other, “I have to admit, it is a stunner. How much did you have to save for a rock like that?”

Anger hissed through him, but Din closed his eyes.

Many jobs. He had saved the credits from… more jobs than he could remember.

He would bring home most of the credits but would siphon off just a little from the top to add it to the tiny stash he had going. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get a ring with a huge stone like others he’d seen but… he had a feeling that you would love it regardless – at least he hoped. The ring had sat nestled in an inner pocket of his tight underlayer of clothing for a while now, and he could still feel it’s hard press into his skin. Thankfully it hadn’t been crushed in the fall.

It was new to him. Not just the fact he had reached this point in his life, but the fact he was looking for an engagement ring.

Mandalorian’s traditionally gave weapons instead but… you weren’t a Mandalorian. And the pair of you… this was different. And he wanted to do it right.

You had taken on board so much of his traditions and rules… he wanted to do this for you. Do something in a way that you would be familiar with.

Of course, there was one other major thing that was different –

“Have you even revealed your face? How do you know she’ll want to marry you? I mean, she loves you now but… What if you take off your helmet and she can’t stand you?” Haran examined his gloves, his words low and almost childlike but that was the point.

Din gritted his teeth, keeping his body loose – as much as it could be with the pain – “Seriously, are you here for a reason?”

Boom!

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the entire ship.

It echoed down the hall, but Din could calculate it was far away, deep in the belly of the cruiser so most likely a cargo hold.

Red lights began flashing outside of his cell, the sound of many thumping footsteps racing past.

No… no-

Haran’s eyes unfocused and a cold, dark power brushed against Din. Even through the armour, he could feel it. The way it leeched the warmth from him, swallowed what little light was in the room. It had a pull to it, like the silken caress of his voice given life.

Din shuddered, but Haran hadn’t noticed, instead feeling for something… someone…

His pupils dilated, black swallowing the gold and then he grinned, a cruel, delighted grin and his eyes came back into focus. He stood up, laughing, “Oh, Mando. I’m afraid your luck has run out. Your precious princess has just made her entrance.”

Bile rose up in Din’s throat and he shook his head, “No, you’re lying.”

Din knew he wasn’t. Knew it because he felt you. Every cell in his body was crying out to leave the room, to be reunited with you. Hell, he could almost smell your achingly familiar scent.

Haran advanced on him, crouching down and he took off his gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands – absolutely mauled with twisted, marbled scars.

Din couldn’t stop staring at them, at the evidence of some awful injury – fire, by the looks of it, “What are you doing?” He couldn’t move away, the pain too great and the room spinning. Horror flooded his senses – horror and relief.

He felt sick at the relief, because the last thing he wanted was you near any of these people, but at the same time… you were coming to rescue him.

He wasn’t going to die in here –

That power brushed against him again, slipping through the cracks in his armour and seeking out the injuries as Haran said softly, “The game is beginning.”

~~~

So, your idea to enter the ship discreetly… maybe hadn’t gone entirely to plan.

In all honesty though, it wasn’t your fault that you’d been attacked.

And it wasn’t your fault that the only evasive maneuverer that they wouldn’t be expecting was to lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship and then…. Crash into the cargo hold.

Okay, so Boba had been going for a gentle landing, but the situation had required some fast thinking and strategy and so… there you were.

Maybe it hadn’t been what you’d decided upon but… you had to admit, the explosion provided excellent cover for your teams to slip in.

Amongst the chaos, you weaved around the edges of the cargo ship and you were through into a service passageway, watching Cara and Fennec disappear down a hallway opposite.

The cruiser was like a maze.

You had no idea how long you had been navigating the halls, but you knew it was long enough.

Already, you had encountered a few Troopers, but they were silenced before they could raise the alarm – and stuffed into nearby rooms so they would be delayed when they awoke.

Mayfeld kept pace easily with you and Ahsoka, as you sent out waves of power to sweep the area, “They most likely have him in the cells. But if they know we’re coming… They would have moved him.

Somewhere more central, where we have no choice but to be in the open and vulnerable to attack. So, we should head toward the front of the ship, maybe.” He kept his voice hushed and his blaster aimed.

Ahsoka peered over her shoulder at him, raising her eyebrows, “Tell me again where you came from?” She had her other saber in her hand, held in her trademark grip as she moved like a shadow.

Mayfeld chuckled low, “Impressed?”

Seriously?

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, looking ahead again, “Please, don’t flatter yourself.” She shook her head, pausing and raising a hand for you all to stop too.

You pushed your power around the corner as well, combining with hers and you felt it.

A cluster of Stormtroopers gathered near a service room. They were standing between you and the next hallway and would need to be removed.

Focusing, you did a rough tally, “Nine of them. All armed.” You worked it through in your mind. You could take them – but there was still enough time for them to raise the alarm. Especially if they were near service rooms, they’d be able to signal to others and you would soon be ambushed.

Even without power, Mayfeld appeared to have done the same, “We need to draw them away, get them somewhere quiet.” He looked back the way you came, then to the right where there was a dead end.

Ahsoka sighed, shaking her head, “How? Any noise will alert the others. We need to - ” She broke off, having just seen what you were doing. “Where are you going?”

You had moved away from the safety of the wall, drawing the hood of your cloak up over your face. “You and Mayfeld get ahead, see if you can find a map or something in one of those rooms.”

Something dark thrummed in your blood, your palms itching with an intense need to… to make someone hurt.

Mayfeld rose an eyebrow, facing you as he kept his back against the wall, “Are you crazy? They want you as much as you want Mando! You can’t just walk out there like a party gift.”

A party gift that’ll explode in their faces.

Stars above, the very thought almost made you laugh with an unnaturally shadowed delight.

You indeed chuckled, rolling your eyes, “Exactly. What Stormtrooper grunt would pass up the opportunity to deliver Moff Gideon the very thing he’s doing all of this for? They’ll take me straight to him or throw me somewhere to wait. Either way, it gets them away from you.”

Ahsoka was watching you, her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She didn’t agree with this anymore than Mayfield, but she too knew there was no other way. “Okay.” She ignored Mayfeld’s noise of protest, “Be careful. Try not to draw too much attention if you can help it. We’ll find anything we can and if you’re not back out here, then circle back to find you.” She was still watching you with that strange look – like she could sense something off.

You gave her a playful salute before pulling out another knife from your boot, rolling your shoulders and strutting around the corner.

Instantly, the group of Troopers turned around, guns raising as they beheld your cloaked appearance, and the shining lightsaber in your hand, “Hey! Stand down!”

You dropped the hood, grinning wickedly as you purred, “Hello, boys.”

You moved like a flame, tearing through the group of Stormtroopers and spreading your embers of death, ready to turn into a blaze.

The whir of the lightsaber was the conductor of your dance, providing a beat as your separated limb from limb. The deadly energy whipped through the air, severing one of the Troopers hands from his wrist and he went down screaming, clutching at the stub at the end of his arm which was smouldering. You didn’t hesitate, whirling and flinging a sharp, deadly knife from your hand.

There was a muffled, wet noise impact as it lodged itself in his throat, buried in the gap between the chest plates and helmet.

You didn’t know if Ahsoka and Mayfield were close, if they’d found a map – you didn’t care.

These men, these followers were standing between you and Din. Maybe they had been forced into it, but as you had said before. They made the choice to stay.

A yell sounded from behind you and a sharp blow to the middle of your back had you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs.

You sucked in a sharp breath but before you could turn, the back of a blaster smashed your skull and you tumbled to the floor, fighting through the wave of nausea and the stars in your vision. The lightsaber was flung from your grip, skittering across the floor.

A somewhat altered voice hissed against your ears, a knee pressing to your spine, “You think you can waltz in here and take us all down? I don’t care what the boss says.” The muzzle of his blaster now jammed against the back of your skull, forcing your forehead to press against the icy, metallic floor and you bit your lip with the impact, “You are vermin. A monster. People like you shouldn’t exist.”

The dark creature within you snarled, and you spread your fingers of your free hand, the other caught up underneath you, “Didn’t your boss tell you?”

You heard him cock his head, “Tell me, what?” He dug his blaster in harder, right against the base of your skull.

A wicked grin spread your lips, causing them to split further but quite frankly, you didn’t care. The pain only aided in the focus, the hot blood nothing as it ran down your chin, “Watch the hands.” You lifted it from the floor, wrapping the Force around his throat and you gave him only a second to realise what was happening, before curling your hand into a fist and crushing his windpipe.

He choked, hands flying up to his throat but then he was instantly gone, slumping forward over you in a heavy tangle of limbs.

You groaned, shifting his body off of you, “Get off of me.” You muttered it uselessly, scrambling up and you scooped up the lightsaber, before turning to survey the hallway.

Footsteps resounded from both ends of the hallway, and you lowered into a battle stance, adrenaline still humming through your veins and numbing everything else, everything but the fight and the goal – Din. Along with the cool ice of battle… something heavy and alluring whispered to you, as black as night and hungry for more death.

White armour burst into your left peripheral and you whirled toward it, flinging a hand forward and then back.

The Stormtrooper was dragged off his feet, again trapped with the invisible pressure around his throat as he ground to a halt, legs swinging forward with the remaining force of him flying at you.

He snarled, scrambling at his throat, “You can’t do this. You won’t beat him, no matter what you believe.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your head fall back with a groan, “When they make you, do they implant some kind of need for all the dramatic bullshit? Honestly, whoever the first one of you was, he must have been an incredible bore.”

The Trooper thrashed about uselessly, his weapon falling to the floor and you sensed the glare through the black visor, “At least we have hearts. And maybe we’re all the same, but we’re more human than you are.”

Monster.

Ah, back to this, yet again.

Always back to this.

Your smile was angelic, your appearance anything but.

Long cloak hanging from your shoulders, battle suit fitted and black as coal. Your boots were stained red, the blood looking like ink on the dark leather.

As for your face, you sported a wicked bruise to your cheekbone, a long cut across your forehead and with the blood dripping down your chin, the wild fury in your eyes… You probably looked every bit the monster they said you were.

And you couldn’t care.

“You think I haven’t heard this one before? How I have no humanity, no soul… I’m an abomination that shouldn’t deserve to live, blah blah blah.” You shook your head, something deadly and shadowed twisting through your blood, humming in dark delight at what you were doing, the devastation you were feeding it.

There was a name for it.

You knew what it was, the siren call to step over the line that you were only too pleased to answer.

You’d deal with that later.

The Stormtrooper choked as you tightened the hold on him, obviously about to speak but then his head jerked, focusing over your shoulder.

The other footsteps – a pair. One heavy, one light and nimble.

Mayfeld, and Ahsoka.

You didn’t bother turning around as you heard them skid to a stop, Mayfeld sucking in a breath at the sight around you.

The fallen bodies of the Troopers, broken about and still smouldering, the blood coating the walls and the floor, the edge of your cloak trailing in it. The stench of death and the smell of molten plastic.

Mayfeld whistled low, “Fucking hell…”

You ignored them, focused on your prey, tightening that leash bit by bit.

It was like the very air around you was alive, more frantic than normal. Your power flared, tasting the death in the atmosphere, slipping through the ship like a poison and marking where each target was. Every single obstacle between you and your love.

You could feel their living souls, see them in your mind like glowing stars in the sky. You knew that if you went for them, you could close your eyes and still take them down as quickly and skilfully as if your eyes were open.

Is this how Haran was so good at killing? So skilled at finding people?

Without the distraction of sight and sound, you needn’t worry about the expressions on people’s faces, the noises they made as they died.

With your eyes shut, using this glittering map in your mind… they were merely lights to snuff out.

“If you follow this path… No one will be able to help you. You will have to make the choice whether to stay on it, or to fight your way out.” Ahsoka’s voice was a soft breeze in the night of your mind, softly lit in the same white as her sabers, of which one you held in your hand.

A symbol of strength… which you had used to destroy lives.

Your eyes opened slowly, gazing up at the Stormtrooper ahead of you.

A choice.

Seconds ticked by, seconds you knew were slipping away on the clock of Din’s life as you made up your mind.

The Trooper fell to the bloody floor and your voice was demanding, no room for argument, “Take us to your little master. I except he’ll be waiting.”

~~~

Booted footsteps rang out on the cold metal hallways.

The King of Shadows and Death could move like a whisper on the wind, as if the air itself parted around him and kept him silent.

But this time, he wanted to be heard.

He wanted the Mandalorian to know that his hope had been in vain.

He merely looked at the guards standing either side of the door and they nodded, one scanning the chip that would trigger the heavy locks in the door.

It swung open and Haran crossed the threshold, gazing down at the broken Mandalorian, slumped on his cot. He grinned, cocking his head, “Time’s up, Mando. Your saviour has come to rescue you from the enemy walls. Looks like you don’t know her as well as you thought.”

The Mandalorian growled, dried blood like rust on his beskar, “If you think you’ll walk out of this unharmed, you obviously don’t know her like you think you do.”

The last time Haran came to see him, he had healed his injuries just enough that Mando wasn’t permanently dancing the line between being awake and being unconscious. He did nothing to remove the pain, or the severity of them, but he had prevented infection. He’d also healed his legs to the point where he could walk – barely.

What good was a knight who fell before the Queen could finish the game?

Haran walked over to him, hauling him to his feet. The Mandalorian was the same height as him, so he gauged he was looking right into Mando’s eyes when he whispered, “I think I know her a lot better than you think. I can tell you that she would not have come here peacefully. And she would not have let go the people that stood in her path.”

Mando shook his head, trying to pull away from him but he was unsteady on his feet, the blood rushing from his head, “No. You’re wrong. She won’t listen to that call, to the... Dark Side or whatever it is. She’s walked that line before, and she’ll make the right decision again.”

Haran chuckled low, half dragging the beskar-clad knight out of the door, “Oh, I don’t doubt that she’ll make the right decision. But whether or not it’s right depends on which side you’re standing on.”

The Mandalorian groaned, hating that he couldn’t pull away from Haran, hated the weakness of his body, the unsteady, lurching footsteps of his still fractured legs and the armour that weighed down on his broken bones. “Why are you doing this? Why are you so obsessed with corrupting her? You’ve been living your sick little life for… however long it is now. Surely there’s some other person to terrorize?”

Haran scoffed, rolling his amber eyes, “You really need to get it through that thick skull of yours – I’m not corrupting her. I’m merely bringing back someone she’s tried to bury.” He looked over at Mando, raising his eyebrows, “Has she told you? About the time she had no code of honour, of mercy?”

The man beside him snarled, his leg giving way for a moment as agony rippled up his hip, his bones screaming, “What the fuck are you talking about now?”

It was easy to hold him up, despite the weight of his beskar and they walked down the imposing hallways, three Stormtroopers flanking them – whether it was to stop Mando trying something, or stop Haran having his fun, he didn’t know. Or care.

“There was a time, little hunter, where your precious princess slaughtered anyone who dared stand in her way. She was broken, hungry for vengeance and only to eager to have her fill.”

Mando was quiet for a moment, the heavy scuff-drag of his boots the only sound to be heard – one he probably hated as he moved nearly as silently as Haran did.

Something like triumph flickered over Haran’s face at his silence, “You truly didn’t know? Oh dear… There’s a lot she hasn’t told you, Lori. Things I’ve seen in her head that I doubt even she remembers she did.” He guided them around toward the corner, to where it would all come to a head.

And to where his power was tugging him, whispering to him of the state the next hallway had been left in.

The Mandalorian pushed away from him, summoning some kind of inner reserve of strength. He stopped, the guards pausing behind him and shifting their weapons as a warning. He looked at Haran, the harsh lighting bouncing off his beskar, revealing nothing of the man beneath and Haran wondered if he had revealed his face yet.

“You seem to think telling me these things will bother me or make me look at her differently. Whatever she’s done, whatever terrible things she’s committed… it doesn’t change the fact that I love her.” He stepped forward, ignoring the guards as they moved too, “I’ll tell you something, Shadow man. There is a light that burns within her, a fire that could rival the very stars up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, “And no ounce of darkness, be it her own past or your own twisted powers, will ever snuff it out.”

He moved that finger to jab Haran’s chest. “You tried to dump her at the bottom of a lake, and she came out burning brighter than before. So carry on, tell me all these horror stories to try and scare me away.” He shrugged, the rough baritone of his voice steady, ringing with loyalty and truth – and threat, “All you’re doing is making me love her even more.”

Golden eyes flicked between the visor, assessing. Plotting.

Then Haran smiled, a sinister, deadly smile as he inclined his head, “I don’t doubt for a second everything you said is true.” He brought his hands together behind his back, resuming the walk and he used his power to push the Mandalorian along. “I believe that you’re willing to throw down the gauntlet to protect her honour every single time someone threatens it. But I wonder… All you’ve heard is stories.”

He walked around the corner and stopped yet again, his dark power dragging Mando to his side. “What will you do when faced with the truth first-hand?”

The hallway was carnage.

A bloody battlefield.

Multiple bodies littered the stark floors, bright red blood sprayed all along the walls – even the ceiling. The once white armour of the Troopers was stained with the stuff, their bodies bent at unnatural angles, as if a strong power had taken hold of their limbs and yanked them in all the wrong directions until bones shattered and muscles tore.

The Mandalorian looked upon the scene, the blood coating the tips of his boots.

A dismembered hand lay just a few feet away and the severed wrist, the tendons hanging out of it... all singed. As if cleaved from the body by something white-hot and burning.

A lightsaber.

Which would explain why the hard shell-like armour of the fallen Troopers were marked with black holes and marks, the stench of melting plastic mingling with the reek of burnt bodies and blood.

This was the work of someone with deadly skill, usually so precise… pushed to the edge, to this.

Oh, it wasn’t mindless, not by any means.

It was clearly thought out… maybe even savoured.

Haran breathed in the smell like he was standing in a field of flowers, “Well. I have to say, I’m impressed. This looks like something I’d leave behind.” He walked through the mess of shredded bodies, a phantom wind lifting the edge of his cloak so it didn’t drag in the blood, “These poor soldiers never had the chance.” He crouched down, pushing the helmet of one Trooper – resulting in the head rolling a few inches away from his body.

He looked at the Mandalorian, raising an eyebrow as the fluorescent lighting brought out his scars, “Still singing her praises?”

The Mandalorian was silent, hands clenched at his sides but then he moved, not away from the scene, but toward it.

Through it.

Through the blood and flesh until he was standing right in front of Haran, feet splashing to a stop in the scarlet river, “Always.”

~~~

Moff Gideon was waiting for you as you were escorted into a large, open chamber.

He stood there, hands clasped behind his back, with a young girl at his side – presumably his second in command. There was a sick expression of glee on his face, dark eyes glittering with what he presumed was triumph.

Next to him, stood Haran, clad in black as always, with that embroidered cloak holding –

Din.

Oh, the sight of your Mandalorian threatened to bring you to your knees as you were stopped a few metres away.

You couldn’t see his body – obviously – but you knew simply from the way he held himself, that he was terrible injured.

He seemed to be bearing his weight to one side, slumped over even as he stood, and you could hear is laboured breathing from here.

Oh Din, what happened to you…

You had to admit, a small part of you wondered if there would be anything left of him when you arrived. Not from the possibility of torture, but simply from that terrible fall.

The thought of tumbling all that way down to the ground, encased in a rock-solid metal shell… You couldn’t even fathom it.

And yet, there Din was, still alive after something that should have killed him.

Clearly, the Maker had plans for him.

Gideon cleared his throat, watching the Trooper grunt retreat to the edge of the room, “Well, well. After all my time spent hunting you… Here you are.” He cocked his head, “I thought you’d be taller.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing, “Oh stars above, please tell me this isn’t another villain speech. I hate those.”

Haran’s lips twitched perhaps remembering this exact same conversation from his bunker.

You flickered your eyes to him, before looking back at Moff Gideon, who was looking at you with… a rather bored expression already.

“I was told you were insolent and arrogant, and I can see my sources were correct. They were also correct about how to summon you here.”

He looked over at Haran, “Though it took many years for someone’s ideas to actually bear fruit. Well done.”

Haran bristled slightly, as if taking praise from a mere human man irritated him.

You supposed it did.

Gideon was nothing compared to Haran, power or not.

“Well, I would hate to disappoint you, of course.” You shot him a sweet smile, venom in your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind, do you think you could tell me what it is you want before I take my Mandalorian here and leave this dump.” You held up your comms watch, “I have a party in Coruscant I’m due to be at and it won’t look very good if I’m late.”

You thought you may have heard muffled chuckles from the line of Stormtroopers assembled behind him, but you paid it no heed.

Gideon bared his teeth at you, eyes blazing, and he brought a hand in front of him to point at Din, “Do you not realise, we have your precious bounty hunter captive? Do you not realise who is holding him?”

You looked over at Haran, shrugging lightly, “A guy who has interesting taste in fashion?”

Did Gideon not know about the bunker or the lake? Had Haran neglected to tell him you’d met before?

Haran revealed nothing in his expression, but there was something in his eyes… something ancient… some of betrayal? Of lies?

Moff Gideon snarled at you, “Insolent creature. You are here because we allowed you to be. In fact, the only reason that happened, is because of the failures of the people I sent after you. Had they done their job, you would have been broken long ago. That disgusting affliction of yours burnt out of you.”

Heat licked down your spine, and the atmosphere in the room shifted as the three Force wielders within it straightened at is words, the ugly discrimination in his words.

Dangerous game to play, Gideon.

You kept your breathing even, feeling the shadows prowl beneath your skin, teeth and claws still dripping with blood from the hallways, wanting more, “Have you ever wondered why you’re stuck here, chasing down women and babies?” You took a step forward, anger and pride for yourself, for Ahsoka, every Force Sensitive person both dead and alive making your voice carry strong over the empty air – even pride for Haran, in some way.

Gideon rose an eyebrow, “Do tell.”

“You’re stuck in the past. You believe that people like us,” You motioned to yourself, “You believe we are abominations. Freaks of nature. The Force is nature. It’s the very thing that binds us all together. There is no fear in it, no monstrosity. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you people to understand.”

The Officer sighed, shaking his head and moving a step closer as well, “Oh, I understand that. I wasn’t referring to the others in this room. I was referring to you. You, my dear, have been sick and twisted from the very moment you were born.”

Din pulled against Haran’s grip, growling in anger, “I’d advise you to stop speaking.”

Haran yanked him hard, “Stay quiet.” He spat the words at Din, but you didn’t fail to notice the murderous look he shot Gideon over Din’s head, his golden eyes livid.

A shaking had taken over your hands, so you clenched them tighter around your weapons, years of abuse playing in your mind.

But you pushed back against it, for you were stronger now. Stronger because of it, not in spite of it.

Gideon continued, looking upon you in disgust but there was a sick fascination here too, “You have been marked for death long before you showed your powers. You think it was coincidence that the hunter was stalking you in your miserable little village? She was there on orders.” He looked over you, “A child responsible for the deaths of her parents. You might as well have pushed the blade in your mothers flesh yourself.”

A roaring took over your head, filling your ears with the sounds of screaming, the stench of blood and the way the light sapped from your life as your parents died.

But… the world was different now.

It was bright again.

Because of Din, your friends… That’s why you were here.

You glared at Gideon, wanting so desperately to tear out his throat with your power, your hands, or even your teeth – but now wasn’t the time. You shook your head, “You don’t win this time, Gideon. I’m afraid your sad little life will be ruled by chasing me for just a little longer.” With that, you flung your hands wide, making your power explode through the room with a battering impact.

You felt another wave at the same time as yours, fuelling it – Ahsoka’s.

You only just managed to keep it free from Din, though Haran had thrown up a hand milliseconds before you, as if sensing what you were going to do – and evidently creating a shield.

Gideon and the Troopers weren’t quite so lucky.

The Force flung him through the air, causing his head to smash harshly against a metal beam and he crumpled to the ground, limp.

Haran spun to look at him, and it occurred to you – he should have protected him too. He was working for Gideon. Or… at least pretending to be.

Who was really calling the shots here?

No time for that now.

You used Haran’s distraction to throw yourself at him, activating the lightsaber and unleashing yourself on him with a strangled cry of rage.

He startled, just a few seconds too late and he pushed Din at you in an attempt to slow you down.

Perfect.

Just as you planned.

You were never really going to engage in battle with him, had never intended to attack him.

But you knew he would use Din as a shield, thinking you were too blidned in your rage – but you proved him wrong.

Din careened into you, stumbling against your body and you both nearly tumbled to the floor, but then Cara was there, helping you support his body as he wrapped an arm around you, “You came…” His voice was hoarse, weak with pain and exhaustion.

The relief and love in his voice nearly brought you to the ground, “Of course I came for you, Din. I will always come for you.” You gave him a watery smile, walking toward the others, keeping one eye behind you as Haran watched.

Why wasn’t he moving… Why wasn’t he attacking?

“I saw what you did.” Haran’s silken voice called out from behind you, making you pause in your retreat. “I know you feel it. The call to the Dark Side. And I know that you answered it.”

That would be why.

You slowed to a stop, forcing Din and Cara to slow too. “How do you know I answered it?” You looked straight ahead, still not turning around.

Haran sounded as though he took a step forward, “I felt it. I felt it when you allowed the Dark to show you how to get here. You saw the lives as glowing lights, a map to saving your Mandalorian. And the mess you left in that hallway…” He trailed off meaningfully, “You needn’t fear it, darling. It’s not evil. It’s merely… a different perspective.” His voice had melted into the same one that had coaxed you into swallowing the poison, into stepping off the edge.

Here you were, yet again. Only you weren’t standing on the precipice of a raging torrent… You were standing on the edge of the Dark Side.

And his words had instantly awoken it, set it pining for a life to be unleashed, untamed.

Slowly, you turned around, cringing when Din’s broken feet tumbled over each other too, so you slowly let go “A different perspective…?” You cocked your head, voice starting to sound unsure as his seductive baritone filtered through your mind, weaving around it.

He smiled, that gorgeous, disarming smile that instantly made you lock focus on him, “Yes. Others may tell you that the dark side is evil… But it isn’t. It’s simply using that power in a different way. Using it to get the things that you deserve.”

You swallowed, feet hanging over that metaphorical edge, “You – You promise? I can’t go back to that place. I can’t be a… monster again.” Your voice trembled over the word; eyes locked on his amber ones.

Din shook his head fiercely from your left, fighting against Cara’s hold as she pulled him away, but he was too weak, “No. Sweetheart, no. Stop listening to him, please… He’s lying to you. You don’t need this. You don’t need that darkness, princess. You’re so good, so strong… please don’t do this.”

And then you made a decision.

You ignored Din.

And walked toward Haran.

Stepping off of that edge.

Haran extended a gloved hand to you, “That’s it, darling. That’s it… Coming here doesn’t make you a monster, it just means you are claiming your birth right. This is where you belong.”

As you reached his presence, a feeling wrapped over you, muffling Din’s voice, the sounds of the others around you. You slid your hand through his, gasping a little as you felt your shadowy beast respond to his own, felt them twine around each other, greet each other.

“I don’t…” Uncertainty still clouded your expression, and you lingered a little, worrying you were making a fatal mistake.

He saw this, gently drawing you closer and into the circle of his arms, “No one will die. Your Mandalorian, your friends… We will help them leave safely and then… Then we can begin.” He guided your head to his neck.

Din’s voice, though muffled, was desperate, clawing at you, “No! Cyar'ika, you can’t. Please, I’m begging you. You don’t need to go to him, you don’t need to do this. I love you. I love you for who you are, for every single thing. I’m not afraid of you, of any single part of you.” He sobbed.

Din sobbed, reaching for you, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

You were glad your head was pressed to Haran’s neck, because the backs of your eyes burned, shame and guilt threatening to choke you.

You had to do this.

You had to do it now before you shattered completely.

You were quiet, and then just… went pliant in his arms. You raised your own to his back, winding around his lean frame and lifted your face from Haran’s neck, nuzzling your nose along his neck, “I believe you.”

“NO!!” Din fell to his knees beside Cara, shaking his head in disbelief. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this. Please-” The way his voice broke tore through your heart, and you nearly backed out right then and there.

But you didn’t because Din… He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why you had to do this…

Haran’s arms tightened around you, one coming up to cradle the back of your head, “Good girl. I always knew you would see the light.” A deliberate, ironic choice of words form the King of Shadows and Death.

Din’s sobs speared though you, each devasted noise threatening the tears building in your own throat.

Raising on tiptoe slightly, you ran a hand down his back, the other splaying wide, ready.

You brushed your lips along the smooth line of his skin, breathing in the smell of wind and midnight, “There’s just… There’s one little thing…”

Haran nodded, his cheek resting against your hair, “Anything. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

His words muffled the soft sound of an object flying into your hand as you let out a breath against the shell of his ear, whispering, “I will never be your Queen.”

The sound of a lightsaber activating, not through air… but through flesh.

Haran’s choke of surprise – and agony.

You held his sagging body to yours, snarling, “That’s for the lake, you twisted asshole.” You stepped back, letting him fall to his knees, yanking free the lightsaber and savouring the gritted howl of agony as you tore back through more flesh and tendon.

Those amber eyes of his blazed like molten gold, deadly and furious, “You don’t know the mistake you’re making. You’re throwing away your life with these fools.”

You bared your teeth at him, raising the saber threateningly to his throat, letting it make the faintest contact, “Come after me again, and I will end you. I don’t care if you’re hundreds of yours old, or the King of Death or whatever else you call yourself. I’m not afraid of you. And I will destroy you before you can do the same to anyone else.”

With that, you quickly turned, bolting toward your family and friends, “Now!!”

Ahsoka flung her hands wide at the same time as you, creating a wide bubble of Force energy that blew through the space.

Every Stormtrooper in the area was knocked flat on their back, instantly out like lights as you threw your arm around Din’s shoulders, trying to get him up as he stared at you.

“What… I don’t…” His voice was bewildered, dazed with pain and he was heavy in your arms.

You whimpered just slightly, desperation and anxiety creeping forward, the edge of battle slowly fading, “I’ll explain everything later, we have to go now, Lori. Please.”

Mayfeld was suddenly there, supporting his other side and then you were all running for the cargo hold, leaving the destruction behind you.

Even as you ran, Cara and Fennec scouting ahead, Ahsoka behind you aiding with the energy bubble and Mayfeld helping you carry Din… You couldn’t quite figure out how you had pulled this off.

You’d done it.

~~~

Haran watched her leave, supporting the Mandalorian and hurrying away with her friends, her power combined with Tano’s to create an impenetrable shield around them all.

Well… He would have gotten through with half a thought – perhaps a whole one – but any of the other fools in this place wouldn’t stand a chance.

Many footsteps rushed into the room and then he felt hands on him, pushing away his own, trying to get to his wound.

He looked down, saw a medic with their pack open by his side, flitting and fiddling.

“Leave it.” His silken voice was hard ice, enough of a bite there to inform the medic what would happen if they didn’t leave.

Despite the medics healing instincts, they knew the tone well, and moments later the kit was packed up and Haran was already turning away from the retreating figure.

Strong.

She had grown stronger far quicker than even he had expected. He knew it was within her, but he had thought the trauma ran deeper, its claws embedded into her very soul and creating a barrier every time she would try to tap into the power.

Tano must have taught her how to master her fear, or how to get past it.

Useful, it saved him a job… but also irritating. If she was already harnessing that trauma, it would mean he could no longer use that aspect.

Haran walked the path she had taken, out to the cargo load, the harsh wind roaring across the space as the tech’s struggled to gain control of the ship again, to remove whatever bug the girl and her friends had slipped in.

No matter. It didn’t upturn his plans… just meant he had to work with a new angle.

And fortunately, he had one, courtesy of the would-be Queen herself.

Haran had come across the bodies in the hallway on his way in here, saw the way they were dumped on the ground with their limbs at unnatural angles, their armour shattered from the inside out.

And if the still smoking scorch marks all over their bodies weren’t indication enough, a sweep of his power had revealed massive internal devastation.

Haran stood with a gloved hand pressed to the bleeding wound as he watched the steadily shrinking shape of a ship. A mere thought had the hole stitching back together as he extended his fingers out slowly.

No one on the clean side of the Force would wreak havoc like that of the hallway, regardless of their love having been kidnapped and beaten.

And that meant simply one thing. And one thing only.

She was being called to the Dark Side.

And she’d heeded that call.

Maybe only temporary, but the Dark Side was like Haran himself. Once you let it in, once you got that first taste… it never truly left. She could deny it all she wanted, trick him with it, think it was merely a reaction from the stress of saving the Mandalorian, but it had already rooted within her.

He could feel it.

Haran tipped his head back and laughed, his ebony curls dancing across his forehead as the wind tugged and pushed at his tall, lean frame. A lone pillar of darkness, hovering at the edge of the world.

Previous| Next

#well this was a journey #the mandalorian x reader #edited because I realised I spelt Mayfeld wrong #the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #the mandalorian #rogue #pedro pascal

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soyforramen · 4 years ago

Note

If I'm not too late, for the writing prompts: 9 and/or 47, dealer's choice

· “Just tell why you did it!” “Because I’m in love with you, okay!”

· You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you

Angst below, in an AU timeline...ish

It felt like a fire had lit up her lungs, the smoke crawling up her throat and choking her until her breath rasped out into the cold night air. Behind her, Jughead stumbled, his breathing coming like tidal waves. Betty spared a quick glance at him as she yanked at his arm and pointed to the ridge beyond.

“Just over there,” she lied.

It was becoming easier and easier to lie to him.

On their way up the ridge her feet slipped in the muddy wet leaves. Her knees hit the ground and her teeth rattled hard enough to see stars. Jughead slipped an arm around her waist and dragged her up the rest of the hill, his breath erratic.

It was another ten minutes until they finally reached Archie’s car, the only one in the Sweetwater parking lot. Not many people went hiking at 4 a.m., let alone to go chase down a kidnapped ex.

Thunder rolled above them, the vibrations lingering deep in her bones, and they leaned around the car. Jughead’s hand were on his knees, his breath gasping and desperate. His wiped at the water trickling down his face and coughed hard. Betty kneeled on the ground, hands grasping at the loose asphalt as she forced herself to focus on counting rather than what she’d encountered tonight.

“What the hell was that for?” Jughead wheezed.

Betty shook her head, still unable to talk through her sore throat. She let out a slow breath – 1, 2, 3, 4 – and breathed in again.

“Why’d you try and save me?” he yelled over the thunder. A crack of lightening illuminated them and she was startled by the intensity in his eyes.

“Did you want me to leave you back in there?” she shot back. Stars colored her eyes as she tried to stand, and she listed to one side, grasping for the car to keep her balance.

Jughead snarled and paced towards the far end of the parking lot, ignoring the pouring rain around them. From his limp, Betty assumed he had a Charlie Horse. Betty wanted to chide him about not taking care of his body, about his inability to treat it as something better than a dumpster for all his repressed feelings. It wasn’t her place, though. Not anymore.

Besides, it seemed cruel to point out, especially after he’d been on the verge of being tortured –

“I don’t need your help,” he said when he returned, his words still punctured by small gasps. “I had everything covered.”

She snorted and stood up to face him. A chill ran through her as the wind picked up, but she diverted the movement into massaging at her damaged wrist. Jughead, still as perceptive as ever, didn’t miss her wince. He reached towards her, his eyes fixed on her wrist. Realizing what he was about to do, he stopped short and bent over to retie his shoe.

Even from this angle Betty could see how thin he was.

“I’m sure you did,” she said. Even as the adrenaline seeped out of her body she still couldn’t keep the acid from her voice. “That great, big escape plan of yours was going swell, though I’m curious as to what you were planning after you got chained up in the basement and held to the wall with duct tape. Or did I miss something when I broke in?”

Half her words were covered up by an angry burst of thunder. Perhaps it was for the best; they’d both been through a lot. Or, perhaps it would have been better to put it all out there, fight out their anger until there was nothing left remaining.

Jughead’s lip curled, and Betty knew he’d caught enough.

Betty narrowed her eyes. Despite everything, she still didn’t know whether to trust him. There had been too much time between them, too much space and anger and - Not to mention his aliens and her serial killer.

“You can’t drive stick with a broken wrist.”

“It’s not broken,” she said petulantly, her lip pursed like Juniper’s when she didn’t get the last cookie.

Knowing that he was right, she dug into her coat pocket, angry with Jughead and herself. Another gust of wind blew through their wet cloths, and they huddled into the cab of the truck. As the engine turned over, Jughead scrubbed at the window with his damp shirtsleeves, trying to break through the fog that had followed them. The water streaked across, unable to change, and he gave up on the idea. With a grunt, he shifted into drive and turned towards town.

“Stupid,” he muttered, and Betty side-eyed him.

Her first instinct was that he was talking about her, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping. After everything she’d done tonight, and he still couldn’t think anyone could care for him. Betty stared out of the window, her fingers pushing and prodding against the delicate skin on her wrist, revealing in the sharp jolts of pain and irritation. Eventually the pain cleared through her fog of anger and she realized he was likely talking to himself.

“Just –“

Jughead stopped, cursing under his breath. They came to a blind curve, halfway under water, and he shifted to first gear. As they crept along Betty’s eyes began to shut. She could feel her muscles relaxing as the adrenaline wore off, and the only thing that kept her awake was the potholes in the road. In the flashes of lightening above them, she could see Jughead’s jaw clenching as he worked to keep something in check.

Fine, she thought idly as darkness consumed her. Let him be mad. It wouldn’t be the first time he didn’t want to be near her.

She was startled awake when the engine stopped. In front of them was the Andrews’ home, normally bright and cheery, but in this light it was eerily still in the pouring rain.

“He’s not home tonight,” Jughead said flatly. “You can stay in his room. Unless you want to go home.”

Betty shook her head, trying not to let her fear overtake her. The house was empty and would be for the next week. They still hadn’t heard anything about Polly, and Alice had taken the twins upstate to try and get their mind off of it. After tonight (any night, every night, ever since – she cut off that particular voice, struggling to keep that terrible week out of her head), the last thing she wanted to do was to be alone.

The thought sent a shudder through her and she wrapped her arms around herself to try and keep the chill from sprinting down her back.

Jughead nodded, still staring straight ahead. He’d pulled the keys from the ignition and was now jangling them in his hand. He opened the car door and stepped out into the rain, not seeming to care whether Betty followed him or not. She scrambled out of the car, towards the front door and slipped in after him.

She held her breath, waiting in the long stretch of dark, for the lights to turn on. When they did, it was nothing more than Archie’s living room, still messy and smelling slightly of old clothing and pizza.

Jughead stalked towards the kitchen, his face set in an emotion she couldn’t discern anymore. A gut feeling told her it was because she was a stranger here, one who was encroaching not only on his ‘investigation’ but also on his personal space.

“I’ll make coffee,” Jughead said gruffly. “Take a shower or you’ll catch a cold.”

The way he’d said it, matter-of-factly and without any emotion behind it, contrasted so sharply with the fact that he’d remembered. He remembered, and wanted to let her know he’d remembered that she was prone to get colds when it rained. These little things twisted the knife deeper into her back and she tried not to think about her last foray into this home.

“Thanks,” Betty said softly.

She barely glanced at the mirror when she stepped into the bathroom. A thick cover of mud coated her lower half, while leaves had taken up residence in her hair. Her wrist, still throbbing and sore, was a swollen bright red. As bad as she might have looked, Betty revealed in the metaphorical duality of it all. Long ago, she might have said she was a good person, untouched by the corruption of life. Now, though, she felt as dirty and broken as she looked.

Pity about the boots though. Real suede apparently didn’t mix well with the more wild side of life. Betty didn’t dare think about what it would cost to buy Veronica a new pair.

The pipes groaned as the water warmed up. Peeling off her clothes was a chore, the damp, clinging clothes didn’t want to cooperate. The wet slap of them on the floor was a loud echo as she stepped into the shower.

The warm water was practically sinful after tonight. She let it cascade down her skin and shut her eyes to the world around her. Every inch of her body felt sore and bruised. She dreaded even thinking about how she’d feel tomorrow.

A draft of cold air sent goosebumps along her skin and Betty stilled. She trusted Jughead, of course, and yet…

The door shut again, and she peered around the curtain to find a set of clothing on the counter. Her heart stopped when she recognized a grey S from so long ago. Reluctant to let it out of her sight, Betty pulled the shower curtain to. He’d always had a bad habit of forming sentimental attachments to things, to items that had no right to such kindness.

But to have kept that shirt all these years? To have kept her shirt? Surely not. Surely her eyes, tired and sore from lack of sleep, had deceived her.

The ghost of her guilt churned again, deeper this time. A sharp pain went through her stomach – of guilt? regret? hope?

Betty picked up the bar of soap in her uninjured hand and scrubbed at her skin, hot tears running cold against her cheeks. Careless. She was always so careless with everything worth while. Archie’s hands ghosted across her skin, his lips, his whispers they both knew were lies. She was only looking for an escape, not another well to get trapped in. This time, though, she couldn’t think of a single way to escape.

A sob broke from her lips, and then another, and another. She shoved her fist against her mouth and curled up at the bottom of the tub. It was all she could do to keep from breaking up. A part of her, the one that saw reason, was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier tonight when she’d seen Jughead half-conscious with a red welt on his forehead. His head lolled absently against a support beam. His hands tightly bound with duct tape. Tight enough they were turning purple. Those stupid glasses lay at his feet only to reflect the beam of her flashlight onto the chains that bound him.

Images, real and imagined, flashed before her eyes. The well. TBK laughing above her. Polly, bound and gagged in the back of a cab. The twins, facedown in Sweetwater. Squeeky Fromme’s dead eyes staring up at the night sky, milky and flat. Jughead’s hands –

Betty shook her head, trying to shake the images away. No, that hadn’t happened, she chanted internally. It’s not real.

Not this time.

Long after the water had run cold, Betty finally came back to herself. Her movements were slow and forced; her head felt uselessly full of cotton. With a groan, she stood up and gasped as pins and needles threw her back to the ground. Unable to do anything, Betty turned off the water, gritting her teeth as she waited for the feeling to come back into her legs.

Into her life, even.

Now, with only the steady drip of a leaky faucet to keep her company, Betty heard just how quiet it was in the house. The wind blew outside, stronger than ever, but it seemed as if the house itself had gone into hibernation. Jughead had likely gone to bed, she realized. Or maybe he’d been smart enough to know he should see a doctor after all.

Perhaps that would be best. Then they could both pretend tonight had never happened and go back to the chilly detente they’d found themselves living in.

With an anticipatory wince, Betty hauled herself up and out of the tub. As she reached for the towel, she realized that the shirt loudly proclaimed ‘El Royale Gym’ in bright red letters. She scowled at the dancing rooster, ordering it to be something other than it was. Clearly, though, she’d been wrong.

Roughly, she pulled the shirt over her head, her damp hair catching at the collar, and stepped into the gym shorts. Why she put herself through this, why she tortured herself with something so impossible –

“Coffee’s on the counter,” Jughead said when she stepped out. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never leaving the screen.

At least some things never changed, she supposed. Even that, though, rang hollow after what they’d been through tonight.

Betty wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for something to occupy herself with. She sipped at it a moment, giving him the chance to say something. Do something. When he didn’t, she didn’t know whether she felt relief, or disappointment.

It wasn’t until she reached the stairs that he finally spoke.

“Just tell me why you did it,” he said.

She hesitated, knowing that this was her own personal Maginot line. Crossing this would mean the end of one life, and the beginning of another strange reality, one where she would have no control.

“Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you call Sheriff Keller, or Archie, or –“

“Because I’m still in love with you,” Betty said. Her voice was no more than a soft sigh, but it was enough to bring about a sudden calmness.

The calm before the storm, she thought morbidly. Whatever would happen now, whatever was said…

She waited, counting to a hundred. When he didn’t say anything, she set the coffee down on a side table and went to Archie’s room, shutting the door softly behind her.

(Part 2 here)

#bughead fanfic #prompt #riverdale #but instead of saying art i'm saying angst (with the long a like ahngst)#pretend i'm posing like that art dude from the iron giant

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girlllthatsgrim · 4 years ago

Text

NSFW ALPHABET (Harry Potter Version)

Severus Snape

A= Aftercare

I can see Severus clean up the room with magic while you bath and soak in bath salts; he doesn’t seem like the guy to make his lady do any type of work after sex. He wants you to feel even more relaxed after making love together.

B= Body Part

Severus doesn’t seem like the type of guy to care too much about his physically appearance so I don’t think he would have a body part that he’s personally proud of. As for a favorite body part on a woman, I think he would favor the eyes because eyes are windows to the soul.

C= Cum

He would religiously use a condom and even if he did ejaculate inside you, Severus would always ask you if you were on birth control. To be very honest, I don’t think he wanted children at all so, that’s another reason why he would use condoms.

D= Dirty Secret

Severus is a big time introvert so, I think he would have a ton of secrets. Even after the two of your start dating, he would be very reluctant to divulge these secrets. One secret that he would keep from you is that he is a masochist - he gets aroused from receiving pain. Now you know why he completely loses it when you scratch up his back or dig your nails into his cheeks as you kiss him roughly.

E= Experience

A stark contrast to the likes of James or Sirius, Severus would probably be more interested in the latest Dark Arts book than chasing after skirts every day. So, I don’t think Severus would have much experience if any.

F= Favorite Position

After the two of you have sex for the first time, I think Severus would favor the lap dance position where you sit on him; I think he would like this position because it allows for face-to-face intimacy so he can maintain eye contact.

G= Goofy

We all know Severus to be a no-nonsense person as a middle age man and I think that wouldn’t change as a young adult either; even as a teenage he was very mature for his age. In the bedroom, he would be especially serious. I think he sees sex for what it is: an adult act and not recreation for kids. So, don’t expect jokes throughout the whole romp.

H= Hair

Before he met you, his hair was quite greasy since he didn’t care much to wash it as frequently as he should. Now, Severus has seen the error in his ways and washes his hair, which unleashed the latent beauty of his thick, jet black hair. As for his pubic hair, I think he would shave it, but not routinely; there will be times where you two will have sex and the forest has gone untrimmed. If he doesn’t even keep up with his shaving, I doubt he will care much if his lady shaved either.

I= intimacy

Out of all the Harry Potter guys I’ve analyzed so far, I think Snape would be the most romantic in bed. Under the facade of coolness is someone who is capable of loving a woman unconditionally. It might be hard to imagine, but he would be one of those guys in their twilight years that is still married to the same woman and says ‘I love you’ every night before they sleep. In bed, eye contact is an absolute must; since that is the most attractive attribute on a woman, I don’t think he would ever look away from you.

J= Jack off

I don’t think Severus masturbated that much even before he met you. It’s not that he he doesn’t like girls either. He has an unbelievably high level of self-control for a young person his age, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it at times. When he started dating you, he didn’t masturbate at all because he has you. It does not make much sense for him to masturbate when he has a lovely girlfriend whom he loves with every fiber in his being.

K= Kink

As mentioned before, Severus is a masochist. When he gets around to actually telling you this dirty secret, he has a major kink for scratching up his butt. There are times when he’ll make you drag your nails across it because it arouses him even more.

L= Location

Snape is not the adventurous type; he sticks to what he knows and very rarely ventures into the unknown (only if it has to do with potions or DADA). You two are either doing the deed in his bed or yours. You might be able to coax him to do it in the shower together since he would do anything for you, but it will take time.

M= Motivation

Why do I feel like Severus would have a thing with girls who wear glasses? Maybe it’s because he himself is quite studious, but I think seeing you wear your glasses would turn him on.

N= No

I think he would detest Anal sex; in his mind, people defecate from there for a reason and his penis doesn’t belong there. Don’t try to fight him on this one because it will be a losing battle every time.

O= Oral

Despite him being an even switch, I think Severus would really enjoy doing oral on you once he got the hang of it and learned what you liked. Again expect lots of eye contact.

P= Pace

I think Severus’ pace would generally be slow and sensual; he might go faster by watching your eyes and you scratching him, but I believe even then he would hold himself back from increasing speed because he doesn’t want to hurt you. At all.

Q= Quickie

If he’s not very adventurous, I can’t see Severus doing a quickie - even if he was desperate. That self-control would pour out the fire just long enough until the evening.

R= Risk

Similar to quickies, Severus isn’t very adventurous and I don’t think he’s keen on taking risks -especially when they involve you and your body. He’s more likely to take risks inventing a new potion than try a new sex position that might kill you. If you asked him to, then maybe he would comply, but he isn’t going to go out of his way to have sex in the Ravenclaw common room when everyone is watching a quidditch game.

S= Stamina

I’d say Severus’ stamina is pretty average; he could go on for about 4 or 5 rounds. Nothing too crazy.

T= Toy

Severus wouldn’t be into toys at all. If you already owned one, he wouldn’t mind it, however he wouldn’t be forthcoming about using it during sex. His penis is all that matters.

U= Unfair

Severus is quite sarcastic, but this is rarely seen by most people. I don’t think he would tease that much during sex unless something happened that was unforgettable like you farting or something. That’s when the sarcasm and teasing would come out in droves.

V= Volume

Save heavy breathing and couple of groans, Severus is pretty quite himself during the act unlike Sirius and James.

W= Wildcard

Severus is unique in his own way and let’s very few people into his world. Although he isn’t quite adventurous, that doesn’t mean he is not creative and the highly creative guys are the ones you should watch out for. I think Severus would find ways to change up the way you make love within the sphere of reason. Not many people can do this which is why, you as his girlfriend, should be very proud to know him.

X= X-ray

Flaccid: 5

Erect: 7 1/2

Y= Yearning

I think Severus’ sex drive would be low for a man his age and the reason being is because of his self-control as well as his priorities; there is a time and place for everything. The two of you wouldn’t have sex every day, but when you do, the experience was always memorable as Severus would always remind you that he loves you very much.

Z= ZZZ

I think the two of you would fall asleep around the same time. So, if you fell asleep first, he’s not too far behind you and vice versa.

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banditthewriter · 5 years ago

Text

Chains of Fate - Geralt of Rivia

Summary: When trying to defeat a monster, Geralt gets linked to the reader by a physical chain wrapped around their wrists. It’s going to be an adventure to find someone that can undo the curse and release them both. But when it comes time to break the curse, will they want to be free of each other?

I’ve included Yennefer as a character in this but there’s no Yennefer hate at all!

Warnings: Violence? But I mean, it’s The Witcher, what did you expect?

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The cave was nestled into the side of the mountain, surrounded by boulders and trees that masked the opening unless you knew it was there. The man slipped through the opening with a practiced ease and went over to an altar he had built years before. The silken cloth that draped onto the floor didn’t show a bit of wear even though it had been there since the day he found the cave.

Magic had a way of preserving what was there.

He placed his palms onto the floor and bent down until his forehead was pressed to the dirty floor of the cave. He whispered a few words in Elder and then sat up, his eyes wide as he stared at the altar before him. Magic had built in the cave for the last few years and it was finally ready. He spoke the words he had practiced every day since he had realized what he was capable of.

A golden, shimmering chain appeared in his hands. He continued the words, speaking the magic into the air and into the chain he had weaved. Every ounce of his magic poured into the chain. It left him weak and feeble, but if he was successful, it would be worth it.

The last word in the air, the man looked at the chain which was now whole before him. Twenty eight links made up the length of the chain. He hefted the thing in his hands and admired the weight of it.

It was perfect. Now he just needed to find the person who could handle the chain. And he already had a person in mind.

He just needed to get down from the mountain first.

------

Geralt stared across the half collapsed building and swore again. Blood had dripped into his eyes but he refused to give up. The monster was one floor up and he would cut it down if it killed him.

It had terrorized this land long enough.

A scream echoed from the next floor and it lit a fire under Geralt’s ass. He hadn’t been aware that there was anyone else in the building, but apparently there was. It put a new urgency on his plan to kill the monster. He hefted both of his blades, one steel and one silver, and ran towards the stone steps that led to the second floor.

The stairway opened up into a large room that spanned the length of the building. Or at least the part that was still standing. The monster had found a corner to retreat to, but there seemed to be a huddled mass there as well. The mass still moved, so Geralt decided they must still be alive, whoever they were. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries or to check if the person had been hurt. That could be handled after the monster was killed.

He moved with the creature, back and forth until he was able to get his sword into the heart of it. As the thing screamed, Geralt saw something dart around behind him. He swung around and raised his silver sword so that it was pointed at the throat of the thing that approached him.

Not a thing. It was a woman. She wore a dress that was dirty and torn at the hem, her eyes filled with terror, but it wasn’t directed at him. She watched the creature writhe on the ground before it finally stilled.

And before their eyes, the creature turned into the form of a man. Naked as a newborn, the man laid with his unseeing eyes open and Geralt’s steel sword through his chest.

Dead.

------

You wanted to scream again, but you felt as if your throat was raw. On the floor was Abalon, the man who had imprisoned you. He was dead, or very nearly so. His creature had crashed upstairs in such a rush that you had screamed out in terror, always unsure what would happen if the creature could not be contained.

But you needn’t worry this night. Behind him had been someone else. You barely recognized the emblem that hung from a chain around his neck, but it was familiar enough for you to believe he was a Witcher. It explained the swords, explained why he had chased the creature into the abandoned fort building.

Only monster hunters ever dared to come after the creature. And only a master monster hunter of Witcher kind would have been able to kill the creature.

Abalon. It wasn’t just the creature that was dead, but Abalon. You had been tied to the man for too long but sometimes you forgot that he was a man. Most of your days were spent with the creature.

“Are you hurt?”

The tone, impatient and low, told you that the question had been asked before. You had been unable to tear your stare away from the body on the floor but with the voice cutting through the silence, you forced yourself to look away. It made your eyes land on the man in front of you.

A Witcher. You’d never met one. As far as you were aware, most of them were gone. This one didn’t seem old, although the color of his hair might tell another story. An impatient look in his yellow eyes matched his tone.

“No,” you finally forced out once you realized he was still waiting for an answer from you.

You weren’t hurt. The creature scared you, often came close, but you were protected.

That thought made you gasp. You looked down at your hand and found that the cuff of the chain was still there. You followed the length of chain, counting each of the twenty eight links, but it wasn’t tied to the sword that had been struck into the stone floor. You lifted the chain in amazement.

“I’m free?”

Could it be? You were finally free, finally…

The Witcher reached out, obviously unsure why you were chained to nothing. The moment his fingers came in contact with the chain, you felt it tug you forward. The force of the magic sent you almost barreling into the man, the chain clattering to the ground.

“What the fuck?”

You thought his incredulity came from the sudden force of you bumping into him. When you turned to apologize, you caught sight of the real cause.

The other end of the chain which had been attached to a sword for as long as you had been imprisoned was now attached to the Witcher’s wrist. It had an identical cuff to the one you wore, only larger to encompass the larger wrist.

“No,” you breathed as you tried to step away. The chain only let you get a few feet before it was pulled taut. “No, please no, not again.”

You turned to the body of Abalon, obviously dead with as much blood had drained onto the stone beneath him. You nearly dragged the Witcher behind you as you marched to the body. There you kicked at his body with all of the fury that had built in your chest over the last year.

“Release me you monster, release me. Let me go!”

Contrary to your words, arms wrapped around you and pulled you away from the body. You were set down on the ground and spun around until you met the eyes of the man who had almost saved you.

“Explain this. Now.”

The gruff voice sent a thread of fear through you. When he released you, you stepped back as far as the chain would allow.

It wasn’t enough room if anyone asked you.

“Abalon is—was a mage. He’d been cursed to spend most of his life as the creature that you slayed, wreaking havoc and terror on any person or creature that he came across. He found a way to bewitch a special chain that tied him to a human which in turn is all that kept him human when he was in the creature’s form.”

You pointed to the sword that had been your tether for a year.

“That was his sword. The chain tied me to the sword in an effort to tie our lives together. It must not have worked because he is dead but I am not.”

You wanted to laugh. He had failed in so many ways and now he wasn’t even here for you to rub it in. He had died and taken away that little joy you could have had. Instead you were faced with the fact that the chain which had kept you there now tied you to the Witcher.

“When I touched it, it latched to me,” he said as he lifted his wrist.

You watched him inspect the chains, most likely looking for a weakness. It was futile, but you didn’t bother telling him. But when you saw him heft the silver sword he had pointed at you, you shook your head.

“It won’t break the chain,” you said as you held out a hand to stop him. “It would most likely break the sword before it would break the chain.”

He wasn’t the first person to find you. Every time someone found you and tried to save you, either the creature or Abalon in his human form would appear and kill them. Then they would pull out the sword and move you to a new location.

“I refuse to believe that this cannot be undone,” he said as he dropped the chain. “A mage created this chain, then a mage can undo it. And I happen to know a very powerful magic user who can help.”

“Where are they?”

He seemed to do a mental calculation in his head.

“At least three weeks by horseback. We’ll have to move fast.”

That drew you up short. When you didn’t move to follow him, you were dragged a few feet. He noticed your reluctance and turned to face you.

“Unless you have a better idea?”

You didn’t. And you didn’t have anyone here. You weren’t even sure where here was. But the thought of disappearing into the great wide continent with a man—a Witcher—that you didn’t know was more daunting than being kidnapped by a cursed mage.

“My name is Geralt of Rivia,” he offered in a voice that was softer than you could have imagined from a voice so gravely. “You’ll be safe with me. I just want to free us both of this chain.”

Freedom. It had been a long time since you had allowed yourself to dream of freedom. Perhaps the Witcher could help. If anyone could, it would be him, would it not?

“I am Y/N.”

He repeated your name and then bowed his head to you.

“We should go. I left my horse at the tavern and I need to make sure no one has stolen her.”

He stepped on the chest of Abalon and pulled his second sword free. When he turned to put them away, it caused the chain to yank you to the side.

“That will take some time to get used to,” he said apologetically.

He wasn’t the only one that felt that way. You gathered up the small belongings you had. The longer you stared at the sword, the more it felt like it was staring back at you. Geralt put his hand on the hilt and looked at you.

“Do you want to take it with you?”

“No,” you replied in a soft voice, “no, it should stay with him. It was the belonging that tied me to him. I do not want any connection to him or this place.”

He gave an understanding nod and then gestured for you to head to the stairs first.

It would be hard to adjust for you. You’d gone from being alone unless the creature was with you and now you were tethered to a man.

Fate sure had a strange plan for you.

------

The mare’s name was Roach. You had questioned the odd choice, but he hadn’t given any reply. In fact you learned that he didn’t speak much, even when spoken to. You did catch him talking to the horse a few times, but he very rarely spoke to you unless it was absolutely necessary.

Two days after you had left the village Abalon had brought you to, you found yourself praying to be released from the chain sooner than later. If you had to ride for three weeks with a man who thought a grunt was the height of conversation, you would go insane.

The third night of camping under the stars, you decided to take a page from his book.

“Hello darling Roach,” you said as you rubbed her nose and then her neck. “My father owned a few horses but I was never allowed near them. Horses were for men to deal with and the house was for a woman. The one time he caught me at the stable, he took a switch to me for disobedience. Of course I just made sure not to get caught after that.”

“What are you doing?”

You looked over your shoulder to where Geralt was preparing a trap to catch dinner. Your arm was stretched behind you to give him room to do what he needed, but it meant you were twisted uncomfortably to accommodate him. As always.

“You have shown no interest in speaking to me so I am making do. Since I have been locked away and unable to speak to anyone, I suppose you could say I need a little social interaction. And you’re about as social as a rock stuck in the river.”

The man stared at you for a long moment before he gave a nod.

“I’m not used to traveling with someone.”

You sighed and moved away from Roach. It was only a few feet to where he sat so you lowered yourself onto a stump near him.

“I know that this is an inconvenience for you Geralt, but I can promise it isn’t a field of lilies for me. I have been held prisoner at the whim of a madman who shared his personality with a creature that struck fear in the hearts of knights and villagers alike. I’m just asking for a little conversation. So that I’m not stuck with my thoughts forever more.”

Something of your spiel must have gotten through to him because he gave another nod, this one more purposeful.

“I shall make an effort. Since you have suffered enough. I cannot promise to be the best conversationalist.”

You smiled but hid it by turning your face into your shoulder away from him.

“I would not count you amongst the bards and storytellers.”

He groaned as he finished up the trap.

“Don’t mention bards. There’s one I am currently avoiding and I believe he might appear as if called if you speak of them.”

This time you didn’t hide your smile, but only because he had to lead you away so that he could place the trap.

------

A noise startled you awake, but you couldn’t place the source. After a moment in which you tried to fall back to sleep, you heard it again.

Howling.

“Wolves,” Geralt said from beside you where he had set up for the night. “They are moving closer.”

He crouched up and moved to the fire which he immediately doused. Then he went over to Roach, his arm stretched out towards you so that you weren’t pulled behind him.

At least he remembered the chain this time.

“If they attack, I will have to fight them off,” he said as he drew his sword. Then he drew his second one and held it out to you. “Can you wield this?”

“I’m just as likely to stab you as I am to stab a wolf,” you protested even as you took it from him.

He gave you a look and then tilted his head.

“Try not to stab me if possible.”

He guided you back over to your original position after he led Roach closer to the two of you as well. You told yourself that you would be safe as long as you stuck close to Roach. He hadn’t let anything happen to her during their travels together.

“Fuck,” he whispered a while later. “They are headed this way.”

You hadn’t heard any more howls, but a Witcher’s sight and hearing was more advanced than a human’s. He shifted his weight and swung his sword.

He was going to have to literally fight with one arm behind his back. Fear and anticipation clawed their way up your spine as you waited with bated breath.

The first wolf lunged into the clearing and went straight for Geralt. He swung his sword and caught it in the face. You turned your head so as not to see the creature die.

Next it was two wolves. One launched closer to you and Roach while the other went for Geralt. You raised your sword but felt yourself tugged closer to Geralt as he swung out at his wolf.

There was no way to defend from both sides. If you didn’t act, Roach would be attacked. You raised the sword above your head and tossed it with a yell.

The sword embedded itself into the wolf and it fell motionless on the floor of the forest. You turned away just in time to see Geralt’s surprised face, his wolf dead as well.

“I might have acted before I thought it through,” you said belatedly.

“It worked,” he said with a shrug. He edged you closer to Roach, his sword still up. “The others have run off at least. Maybe your war cry scared them off.”

You huffed out a laugh, but it was humorless. No, you were too busy trying to still your shaking hands.

“Come here.”

Geralt led you back to the tree that he had been leaned against before. He propped you up against it before he reached over to the pack where he kept a flask. He passed it to you with a pointed look when you tried to turn it down.

“It’s adrenaline. It’ll pass and you’ll have a hell of a crash.”

Wasn’t that something to look forward to. You rubbed your hands on the skirt of your dress, your eyes unable to leave the wolf that you had killed.

“Those unaccustomed to danger and violence often have a hard time–”

“Need I remind you that I was the prisoner of a murderous creature? I’ve seen enough violence and death, been in danger often enough. This is just the first time it has been at my own hands.”

There was a long beat of silence. Of course the Witcher wouldn’t understand what you were feeling. It was his job to kill, what he was trained for. You on the other hand? You had been raised to take care of a farm and a household. You’d killed mice or pests that would come into the house or be in the garden, but never something like this.

“You protected yourself. That is not something to feel shame for.”

His hand came out and covered yours. You stared at the bruised knuckles of his large hands. He was trying to comfort you and while your mind still reeled, you decided to let him.

“Technically I think I was protecting Roach,” you said with a grin as you looked over at the horse who snorted in thanks.

“Then you have my gratitude. I wouldn’t want to have to find a new Roach during this adventure of ours.”

That made you turn around in surprise.

“A new Roach?”

He shrugged as he moved to lean against the tree with you. There was barely a foot of space between the two of you and his hand still covered yours on your lap.

“I name all of my horses Roach.”

You were very glad you hadn’t known that before the wolves had attacked.

------

The room was tiny, but it was a bed rather than a bedroll on the forest floor. You had sighed happily when you’d seen the room, but then the reminder of the chain on your wrist came as he moved to put his pack down and your arm was tugged.

You would both have to sleep on the bed. Together. You hadn’t slept in the bed with a man before. The suitors you’d had before you were kidnapped had all been kind but chivalrous. And terrified of your father.

Geralt paused in the room and looked at you. You thought perhaps he had just realized the same thing you had, but it appeared that he had already taken that into consideration. He just hadn’t considered your reaction.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he said with a tilt to his head as if he was trying to figure out how to work it. “I’ll just have my arm on the bed.”

He had already given you his bedroll during the trek. You didn’t want to make him suffer more.

“No, we can share the bed. I just… was wondering how we will have any privacy to… bathe.”

It was a lie, but as you said it, that worry became more pressing than the bed. You had a layer of dirt and grime so thick on your skin that you were probably unrecognizable even to your own eyes. Geralt didn’t look much better.

“I can hang the blanket. It won’t be much, but it’ll provide some privacy.”

It would have to do.

After he found a way to hang the blanket from the ceiling, he helped you fill the basin with the hot water. Then he stepped on the other side of the blanket to give you your privacy.

You had a lot of practice changing with the chain so you could slide the sleeve of your dress through the cuff. As you took off the rest of your outfit, you wondered if Geralt would have a hard time undressing.

That was a dangerous path for your thoughts. You could admit that your travel companion was a handsome man. More than that, he was… appealing. The strength in him was evident not just in his muscles but in the way he spoke and carried himself. He was certain and sure of himself. He was worldly and experienced.

You had lived on the farm most of your life. When Abalon had come to you, you’d almost been inclined to take his offer of running away with him. He was a mysterious man, old enough to be your father but not hideous. Instead you picked the farm and the life you had once regretted.

He took you that night. You weren’t sure how he did it, but he stole you away in the middle of the night. After a life on the farm, you spent a year chained and in squalor.

Now you were in a wash basin in a seedy inn with a Witcher on the other side of your chain. A very manly Witcher with eyes that were intense and yet kind, a mouth that could smile and snarl. He was the duality of man, sword in hand to defend and attack at the same time.

You felt safe with him.

After your bath, you quickly dried off. Then you grabbed your clothes and changed into the cleaner of your dresses. It fit you better than the first dress had. You hated that you wondered what Geralt would think of you in it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Would he find you appealing? Would he be taken by the way the color complimented your skin and hair? Or the way the blouse was a little lower than the other had been? Would he long to touch you and feel your skin?

You felt foolish just for thinking it.

Dry and clothed, you stepped around the blanket. Geralt cleared his throat and looked away from his sword which had been in his lap. He gave you a nod and then set about preparing his bath. After your water was gotten rid of and new hot water replaced it, it was your turn to sit and wait while he bathed.

You listened to him struggle, the chain tugging on your hand as he fought with his armor. You winced at a particularly hard tug before you cleared your throat.

“Can I help?”

There was silence before he begrudgingly pulled back the blanket. You gave him a soft smile before you went to work on the armor. It took some maneuvering with chain, but you finally got it off by untying one of the supports. Without thinking, you went to work on removing his shirt as well.

He had frozen at first and then helped you remove the article of clothing. Once more you were able to get it off through the cuff, barely since his wrist was larger, but the cuff had magically fit his wrist the same as it had fit yours. Once the shirt was off, you turned to say something but your voice caught in your throat.

There was a lot of chest on display in front of you. A wide chest covered in hair and scars. Your eyes traveled downwards to trace the line of hair and—

“I’ll just…” He pulled the blanket back between the two of you and you slumped into the chair.

You’d just ogled the poor man. And if you had any pretense about his feelings towards you, that cleared it up. He hadn’t seemed interested in the least. You were just an inconvenience, something tied to him that he wanted rid of.

You were a wart to be lanced off at the earliest convenience.

As he rose from the basin, you realized that you could almost clearly make out his form through the blanket. The candles and fire on the other side made a silhouette. It gave you more than enough of a view of his body that you immediately felt heat fill your cheeks and your stomach. You turned your head but that gave you a view of the bed that the two of you would share shortly. Instead you turned to stare at the floor.

Had he been able to see you through the blanket? But of course even if he had been able to, he wouldn’t have wanted to look. His reaction when you had been looking at him told you that well enough.

He got out of the water and dried off with a towel. You raised your arm to give him some more slack on the chain as he got dressed. You knew when he got to his shirt once more because he fumbled with it a bit.

“You have to feed it slowly through the cuff,” you explained.

“I tried,” he gritted back.

After the respectful rejection from before, you didn’t want to offer your help, but the other option was that he just didn’t wear a shirt for the next week and a half. While the thought wasn’t too distasteful to imagine, you knew that it wasn’t possible.

“Here, let me,” you said as you stood up.

The blanket pulled back and a shirt was handed over. You focused on what you were doing instead of the slightly damp chest in front of you. You wouldn’t mortify him or humiliate yourself further by staring again. You finished the task and stepped back so that he could pull the shirt on the rest of the way. He left it untucked. Then he set about emptying the tub once more.

Afterwards all that was left was to go to sleep. You went about getting the bed ready in an effort to ignore the tension in the room. Once there was nothing left to do besides get in bed, you blew out the candle on your side and curled up as best you could.

Geralt got into his side after blowing out his own candle. He settled in on his side facing you but made sure there was enough room between the two of you so that you weren’t touching.

Your eyes were closed so you barely lifted them. It meant that you could peer through your eyelashes at the man in the bed with you.

His free arm was tucked under his head. His other arm was on his side, the chain stretched between the two of you. His eyes were closed, his mouth lax. His hair was wet and hung over his forehead.

You longed to reach out and push the hair off of his forehead, but you kept your hands to yourself. You knew that his yellow eyes would pierce into your soul if his eyes opened and you were too tired to hide all of your secrets.

Instead you closed your eyes fully and let yourself fall asleep.

------

“Not much further,” Geralt promised as he helped you onto Roach in front of him. “Another few days.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything. As you drew closer to your destination, you found yourself dreading what help his mage friend could provide. If they could sever the chain that tied you to Geralt, then you would likely never see the Witcher again.

He had mentioned that he would help you get home, but after that? He would disappear. You would be a strange hazy time in his long memory, but for you he would be a massive hole you would never be able to fill.

Sometime between him pointing his sword to your throat and waking up with him a mere few inches from your face in the bed of that inn, you had fallen in love. It was a strange feeling, but you knew that that’s what it was. A love that would never be replaced, never be forgotten.

You were already coming up with excuses to give to your parents on why you would never marry. Not one of them included the fact that no one would be able to compete with the Witcher who had stolen your heart.

Damn the chain on your wrist. You had hated it with a passion in your year with Abalon, but this was somehow worse. You’d take a million years with that creature if it meant your heart wouldn’t be broken.

“Get down!”

You were pulled off of Roach and slammed into the ground, rocks and twigs pressed into your back with Geralt above you. There was a loud scream nearby and the whizzing of arrows overhead.

“Bandits!”

Roach had run ahead, to safety hopefully, but Geralt had had the mind to grab a sword before he pulled you from the horse. You stood with him and kept close, as he had told you to do if something like this happened. He kept you at his back as the bandits came crashing out of the trees.

His sword clashed with theirs and you danced to stay behind him but out of reach of the other weapons. If the bandits were surprised to see a Witcher with a woman chained to him, they didn’t show it. Instead they hacked as if they were desperate to kill him. Which was probably because he had already slaughtered two of their men.

You stepped over a severed arm in your struggle to stay behind him. The thought to bend down and pick up the sword came to you, but you didn’t get the chance to try it. There was a sudden piercing pain in your shoulder that shocked a yell from you.

Geralt spun and saw what had caused the yell before you did. There was a short arrow sticking out from your shoulder. When you looked back up, you caught the surprised look of the man with the crossbow as his head flew from his shoulders.

Two more bandits were cut down in the blink of an eye. Then hands were on your face and probing gently at your shoulder.

“Can you hear me?”

“I was shot in the shoulder, not the ear,” you said back with a wince as he tugged on the bolt.

“I’ll have to cut it out.”

You felt a little dizzy at the thought. He put two fingers to his lips and whistled loud before he started to guide you in the direction Roach had run off.

“Don’t we need to, I don’t know, pilfer their bodies?”

He gave you a look before he turned to face where Roach had appeared in the trees.

“Let’s get that out of your shoulder before we rob the dead.”

------

You held Geralt’s flask cradled in your arm like a baby. He had cut the bolt from your arm and wrapped it. Then he had handed you his flask to help with the pain. The potion he had given you to aid in the healing had tasted burnt, but you had to admit that your arm didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

Or maybe that was the flask.

You were in front of him on the horse once more. His arms around you for support, you felt like you could drift off to sleep. The rocking of the horse’s movements were more relaxing than you could remember them being. And the heat of him behind you made you even more sleepy.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said as the horse stopped near a large mound of earth that sprung up from the ground like it was made for people to sleep next to.

Maybe it was.

He got off of Roach first. You watched as he tied off the reins to a tree before he reached up and grabbed your hips. He tugged you over and you swung your leg over to help him. With your injured arm and his flask, you couldn’t brace yourself on his shoulders the way you usually did. It meant that he had full control of you. He set you down on your feet, but not before you basically slid down the front of his body.

Chest to chest, you peered up at him from under your lashes. The alcohol and adrenaline from the fight fought in your mind to distract you, but you refused to look away from his eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light of the forest.

With the courage of the drink, you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed your mouth to his. It was a quick, chaste press of lips. You meant it to be a thank you for saving you, but you knew that there was another reason for you to do it.

You wanted to feel it for just one moment. To feel his lips against yours and to pretend that he meant for it to happen.

You pulled back and gave him a shaky grin. Suddenly more sober than you had been, you turned away from him and started to walk as far away as the chain would allow you. You didn’t even get that far before you were spun back around to him.

His mouth came down on yours a lot less gently. Before you could react, he pulled back and stared at you in surprise. As if he wasn’t the one that had kissed you that time.

“That was… an accident,” you stated more than asked, giving him a way out.

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“A bad idea,” you said with a nod of your head as if that settled that.

“Yes,” he agreed again.

Your chest felt like it couldn’t expand enough for your lungs. Your breath raced in you as you stared up at him.

“Do you… regret it?”

You waited for him to say yes for the third time.

“No,” he said simply before he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in for another kiss.

This one was more than the others had been. This time both of you moved together, his lips moving against yours deliciously. When his tongue slid against yours, you couldn’t help but moan.

You believed wholeheartedly that he would have laid you down in the dirt and had you right then and there if you hadn’t gasped in pain when you tried to raise your arm. Instead he pulled away and immediately went about checking the wound on your shoulder.

“I’ll get a fire started,” he said as he stepped back from you.

His eyes stayed on your face until you nodded. He couldn’t go far but it put a few feet of space between the two of you.

Not for the first time, you wished the chain was longer. This time it was for a different reason. You needed space to clear your head. He had said he didn’t regret that kiss, had initiated another one, but could that mean more? Or was it simply that the two of you had traveled together for almost three weeks and he wanted that release?

You closed your eyes for a long moment, but you couldn’t dwell in your thoughts. Geralt was nearby, but he acted as if the kiss hadn’t happened. You took a page from his book once more and followed suit.

At least you would have that memory to get you through life when he was gone from you forever.

------

The village reminded you of the one Geralt had found you in. There wasn’t a collapsed fort, but there were a lot of buildings that were vacant. He directed Roach through the streets until he came across a building that looked like it was for an apothecary.

“Here we are,” he said as he got off the horse.

Like the dozens of times before, he helped you off Roach with his hands on your hips. And like every time since the kiss, you found yourself unable to breathe as your eyes caught his. He gave a quick nod and then ushered you around Roach who he tied to a post before he led you into the storefront.

It was empty of patrons at least. You followed him towards the back where you could smell burning herbs and incense. He pulled back a beaded curtain and was about to usher you in when he froze.

“Yen,” he breathed out quietly.

You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what that meant. Whoever this Yen was, he hadn’t expected her to be here. And there was something between the two of them.

Two women came into view and you realized why he had never been interested in you. Whichever one was Yen, it didn’t matter. They were both beauties. One had black hair and the most vivid purple eyes. The other had curly brown hair and a smile that put you at ease even though your heart was thundering in your chest.

“What brings Geralt of Rivia to my corner of the world?” The one with the smile seemed to ignore the tension in the room as she looked at Geralt and then to you. “And why do you have this poor girl chained to your wrist?”

He cleared his throat and stepped into the room. You wished to stay on the other side of the beaded curtain, but you followed him into the room. It was obvious now that Yen was the black haired beauty who was staring at Geralt as if she hadn’t seen him in years. And Geralt was having trouble not looking at her.

“A curse. The chain was cursed and held her prisoner by a mage. When I tried to remove it, it transferred to me. We need help removing the curse so that we can be free.”

Free of each other. It’s what you wanted as well, especially right then. You could hear your heart breaking into a million pieces the longer you stood in the presence of the lovers.

“Let me see,” Yen said as she stepped up with the other woman at her side.

They both reached out for the chain at the same time. The other woman was closer to you so she gave you another smile before she inspected the chain. Your eyes strayed over to where Yen was inspecting the chain close to Geralt’s wrist, but she didn’t touch him.

“I’m Triss Marigold, by the way,” the woman said as she continued to get a feel for the curse on the chain. “Geralt has been remiss in introducing us.”

You cleared your throat as you looked down at the chain yourself.

“Y/N Y/L/N from Lanton. I was held prisoner for a year by a mage of the name Abalon as he was possessed by a fearsome creature and needed a human to help him return to his human side. I believe the spell did not work the way he intended.”

He had continued to turn into the creature and you hadn’t died when he had.

“It’s complicated spellwork,” Yen said as she felt over the chain links and then inspected the cuff around Geralt’s wrist. “I’m Yennefer of Vengerberg. Triss and I are both skilled with magic, but it might take a while for us to figure out how to break this curse.”

So you would be forced to deal with Geralt and Yen in the same room for longer. You gave a tight smile and then looked away once more. Your eyes met Triss’s and you could only hope that she didn’t see the pain and longing in your eyes.

“Let’s get these two something to eat before we start to try to unravel the spellwork. They both look exhausted. You can tell us more of your adventure as we eat.”

You would rather not, but you refused to be so rude as to say that. Instead you let them guide you and Geralt into a room that looked like some cross between a workplace and a kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you were only there for a year,” Geralt said lowly as the two women spoke in hushed whispers about the chain.

You were surprised by that. Surely you had mentioned it? But perhaps you had not.

“He kidnapped me from my family’s farm a little over a year before you arrived. I suppose it’s possible I did not mention it.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but Triss interrupted to put food down in front of you both.

“We have a plan to undo the curse. We’ll get some food in you both and then we’ll start.”

She busied herself in the other half of the room, gathering herbs and vials of things you couldn’t begin to name. While she did that, you caught sight of Yen sitting down beside Geralt. Their words were whispered between the two of them and you did your best to distance yourself so as to give them privacy.

When Triss put a drink down in front of you, you caught the sympathetic look on her face. She had noticed your broken heart but was at least kind enough not to mention it in front of them.

You could be thankful for that at least.

------

Twenty eight links separated you and Geralt. Triss and Yen moved around the two of you, incense burning in the corners of the room as they muttered words in Elder that you didn’t understand. Both of them had energy burning around them as they made opposing circles, intersecting in front and behind you and Geralt.

For his part, Geralt looked uneasy with the magic being performed. He also did not like having them at his back, but it couldn’t be helped.

The chain felt heavy between the two of you, but it might have just been your imagination. The longer you stood there though, the heavier it felt. You shifted your weight to accommodate, but it felt like it would drag you through the floor.

“I feel it too,” he mumbled as you gripped your wrist with your free hand to try to hold it up. “The magic is making the chains too heavy. I don’t think it’s working.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but you couldn’t stand any longer. You tumbled onto your knees and let your arm rest on the floor, the weight finally released. Geralt knelt down beside you, his own arm limp at his side.

“Stop,” he shouted over the din in the room, like rushing air around you both, “it’s not working. Something is wrong!”

“The links are bound to you both,” Triss shouted back as she moved her hands, magic pouring over her and into the air.

Bound to you? It made no sense. You looked down at the chains and then over at Geralt. He was staring at you as well. Wind was whipping around the two of you so quickly that his hair was flying in front of his face. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t have the words. Instead you reached out with your unchained hand, palm up.

His unchained hand wrapped around yours. The moment the contact was made, a bright light burst from between the two of you. Once the light receded, you noticed that the wind had stopped as well.

Your other arm felt lighter. You looked down and noticed that there wasn’t a chain around your wrist anymore. It had been there for over a year, but it was gone. You were free.

Finally free.

“It worked,” you breathed as you looked up and met Geralt’s eyes.

He looked at you in surprise. He mouthed something but you didn’t catch it before you were being pulled up off the floor. Triss looked exhausted but also happy as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I’m so glad that it worked,” she said as she held you.

You looked over her shoulder and saw that Yen held a hand out to Geralt to help him up. She said something to him which earned a nod, a very serious look on his face. When he turned to look at you, you made sure that you were focused on Triss and not the two of them.

“We should celebrate. Drinks at the tavern?”

It was agreed on by everyone. Tiredly you followed them out of the store and down the street to a tavern. Drinks were purchased for the four of you. Geralt seemed to stay close to you, out of habit from the chain you figured. Him and Yen were talking about someone named Jaskier and a misadventure they had shared. Triss laughed as she listened, although it was also obvious that she had heard the story before.

After a little while of happy conversation, you excused yourself for a moment. Outside you quickly made your way up the street and back to the apothecary store. Out front you rubbed Roach’s nose as you grabbed the few belongings Geralt had tied to the saddle.

Then you set off to find someone that was heading out of town. You struck gold with a man who was delivering vegetables out of the village.

“I need to get to Lanton. I don’t expect you to take me that far, I’ll take a ride as far as you’ll take me.”

He looked you over, but it wasn’t in a lascivious way. Instead it felt more like a grandfatherly concern.

“I can’t take you to Lanton, but I can take you to Vonson’s Landing. Should be someone who can get you home from there,” he said expectantly.

Vonson’s Landing wasn’t far from your home at all. If it was morning when you got there, you might could even walk home.

“I don’t have anything to pay you with,” you explained as he held his hand out to you.

“I don’t want your money child, give me your hand,” he said with a laugh.

You offered him your hand and let him pull you onto the wagon. He smiled and patted your leg as you got comfortable on the bench beside him.

“Here we go,” he said as he cracked the reins to get the horses to move.

You looked over your shoulder to say goodbye to Roach, but you caught a flash of white hair. He wasn’t looking at you so you let yourself have one last look. His hair still looked a little windswept, but it worked for him. You weren’t sure there was a look that was bad on him.

As the wagon started to pull around the bend where your view would be obscured, you could have sworn that he turned and looked right at you.

And then you were gone.

------

There was a scar on your wrist. You’d noticed it halfway to Vonson’s Landing, a strip of skin that was a different shade and texture that circled your entire wrist. It must have been from the cuff. You’d worn it for over a year so it made sense that it left a mark.

When you made it to Lanton, you were surprised to see that it hadn’t changed one bit. Your family’s farm was on the outskirts, so you didn’t have to go far before you were on familiar land. And as you approached the house, you felt a familiar curl of anxiety in your chest.

It had been a year. Did your parents look for you or did they assume you had run away? Were you missed? Would they be happy to see you?

The door opened and your mother came out to beat a rug. She stopped as she spotted someone in the yard. And then, as she recognized you, she dropped the rug and came running. Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped you up in her arms, thanking the sky above that you had come home to her.

Even your father was happy to see you when he came up from the farm. He had fallen to his knees and wrapped his arms around you and your mother, held you both close.

You were home. And your life wouldn’t be the same, but it would be yours. Things with Abalon were in the past. Things with Geralt were in the past.

You were free.

------

“You rode for three weeks chained to a… a Witcher?”

Your mother sounded like you had just told her you had become an elephant tamer in the year you were gone. Your parents had taken the story of your imprisonment as well as they could, but it seemed they were far less accepting of your time with Geralt.

The humor wasn’t lost on you.

“He was a good man,” you promised as you went to work on the vegetables on the table. “He protected me. He… he was chivalrous and gentle. I don’t understand why so many people are wary of Witchers, but he was more kind than most people are.”

You tried not to think about the kiss that never should have happened. You tried not to think about the silhouette of his nude body coming out of the bath.

You tried not to think about that last glimpse of him as you left.

“Then I will be grateful to him for taking care of my girl,” she said as she covered your hand. “As long as you are safe and happy, that is all that matters to me.”

You were safe. Your father had reinforced the windows even though you explained that Abalon was dead.

Happy was another thing entirely. You were glad to be home, to not be chained to that sword anymore. But every time you thought about that chain, you thought about Geralt. The small smile when you said something amusing. The way he was always so careful with you. His hands on your face when you were hit with the crossbow bolt. How gentle he was when he had to cut it from your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You heard your father’s voice from outside. The first call was inquisitive, the second demanding. You and your mother headed out into the yard.

A horse and rider were coming up the way. At first you weren’t sure why your father had called for you, but then you recognized the rider.

You should have recognized him immediately, but you had convinced yourself that it wasn’t possible. There was no way that it was Geralt of Rivia riding up the same path you had walked every day of your life.

That white hair could belong to… well, not anyone, but other people. But there was no mistaking his build. And no mistaking Roach.

“Oh,” you breathed, your hand coming to wrap around your wrist as you looked away from Geralt and at your concerned parents. “Perhaps he just wanted to make sure I made it home safely?”

Your parents stayed flocked to you as Geralt finally approached close enough to dismount. He gave Roach a friendly pat before he turned to face the three of you. He didn’t wear his armor or his swords, but they were visible on the horse.

And there was no mistaking the strength and capability in that man. Even without his Witcher emblem hung around his neck, you felt like anyone would know there was more to him.

“Geralt,” you greeted, unsure what else to do.

“Y/N.”

Had he always said your name like that? In a husky voice that sounded more like a sigh than anything else. You cleared your throat and looked over at your parents. If they noticed anything was amiss, they didn’t show it.

“Mother, father, this is Geralt. Geralt, these are my parents, Va–”

“I’m not here for them. I came here for you.”

You swallowed the rest of your introductions. You watched your father move to stand beside you, his way of protecting you. But your mother simply raised a hand to cover her mouth as she watched it all unfold.

“To see if I made it home safely?”

It was a last ditch effort, the only other reason you could think that he would have come all this way. And it had only been a few days so he must have headed this way not long after you had left.

Why had he come?

He took a step forward and looked between your parents. When they didn’t move, he looked at you. Slowly he raised the hand that had been chained to you, palm up. He didn’t beckon you forward, didn’t reach out to grab you. He simply held his hand palm up and waited.

Without hesitation, you stepped around your father and went to stand in front of Geralt. Your hand moved to press gently against his. There was no burst of light as there had been the last time you touched him, but it felt the same. The breath was knocked from your lungs and you felt like the scenery was brighter.

“The links were bound to us,” he said in a low voice that echoed into your chest. “I was meant to follow that monster to you, to touch the chain and be bound to you. It was written into the fates and we stepped into the parts we were meant to play.”

You looked down at your clasped hands. The ring around your wrist matched perfectly with the ring that was around Geralt’s. He had only been in the cuff for a few weeks. It wasn’t possible that the scar had come from being there over time.

“I never put much faith in destiny or fate, but there are some things you cannot deny. I cannot deny that I felt drawn to you the moment I saw you in that room. I cannot deny that I felt protective of you. I cannot deny that I wanted you that night I saw you undress for a bath. I cannot deny that I was scared when you were hurt. I cannot deny that I wanted to kiss you, wanted more. And I cannot deny that it felt like my soul had been ripped from me when I saw you on that wagon leaving me.”

The million pieces that your heart had shattered into had come back together so brilliantly that you were sure all of the continent could see how radiant it was. Your hand in Geralt’s, you felt like everything had fallen into place in a way you never expected. You never expected to fall in love with a Witcher. You never expected him to fall for you as well.

“Geralt,” you whispered as you stepped closer to him, tears in your eyes as you beamed up at him, “the only destiny I believe in is the one that brought me to you.”

His smile was there and gone in a second. No, not gone, just pressed against your lips so that you couldn’t see it anymore. He tasted like golden sunshine and you just wanted to drink him in. You wanted to climb into his arms and never leave, if it was possible.

A throat cleared behind you and both of you separated and turned to face your parents. Your mother was smiling behind her hand and your father looked reluctantly pleased.

“I suppose we can count ourselves fortunate to have a Witcher in the family,” your father said with a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe the words coming from his lips.

Geralt stiffened at your side. You were worried until you met his eyes and saw nothing but happiness there. Happiness and love.

You pressed another kiss to his lips and then leaned your forehead against his cheek.

“You’re bound to me. And I to you,” you whispered as you held on to him tighter.

“Always,” he replied as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

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#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #geralt fanfic #geralt #my writing

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naerwenia · 4 years ago

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No Kisses on the Mouth (part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Grand Moff Tarkin/Reader

Summary: After two weeks since your last meeting, Tarkin has you under him again. Pleasure and pain mix together, as punishment feels like a kiss that never was, and pleasure ends in pain.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, bdsm, dom!Tarkin, sub!reader, afab!reader, spanking with a riding crop, self-insert, PWP

A/N: I just may write third part, because I didn’t resolve the Krennic point, as I didn’t include the accidental voyeurisms I was thinking when I started this. Otherwise, yay, smut, finally! Hope you like it, even though the ending is quite sudden, I have to practice that. First part here

“Twenty!” you shouted, channeling the need to scream into one word, then biting down and grabbing the sheets tighter, face down to the bed, eyes almost closed, only slightly open to see the figure of the man behind you. His demeanor was calm, collected, and only with a hint of sadism. There was no way for him to admit it, but the reactions he got out of you were the reason he was doing this, more so than the anger and jealousy that burned inside him when he heard the rumours. There was a way to avoid hearing them, but the mention of your name made him listen and people around him were none the wiser. No matter how misplaced his affection for you was, at least in his rational opinion, it was there, gnawing inside him, and spanking you might have been the only way to come to terms with these feelings. Each snap of the crop made you scream, moan, sob, and he enjoyed those noises, seeing you in pain, and being the one making you shiver and whine under his thumb. The marks he left, the burning of your skin. He felt it. He saw the marks, and reached out to touch your bare skin, just barely gracing you with a touch, giving you a moment of relief. Your skin felt like a burning fire to him, a candle too close to a curtain, ready to burn it to ash and the whole house with it.

It was too much and Tarkin lashed out.

“Twenty one!” you screamed, a bit confused by the continuation of the punishment, but this wasn’t the first time and it was better to just bear with it. The two weeks after the last meeting had been weird, and you were sure you wouldn’t have noticed it if Tarkin hadn’t mentioned Director Krennic and his involvement. Slowly he had begun to not outright humiliate or dismiss your work, but stay quiet, sometimes giving out an approving hum. It felt like you were invisible, and that was good enough.

Slap! And you were back to reality, back to your body, in the moment where you were on your knees on a bed, counting each strike on your skin. Quickly instinct fulfilled the task at hand, making you scream “Twenty two!”, just a second before another slap came down. “Twenty three!” you answered the slap. Your eyes had closed, but not from pain anymore. It was the softness of his hand compared to the crop that felt like a kiss. This was punishment, you had to remind yourself, but it felt too good. You wanted to writhe, squirm, push yourself against him, but all you were allowed to do was moan, and moan you did. You could hear Tarkin take a step back and raise the riding crop. You cringed, ready to feel the pain, but instead of striking it down, he gently placed it’s tip on your skin, then dragged it down your right leg, then back up the inside of the thigh. For a moment he stopped with the crop almost grazing your pussy, the wetness almost touching the crop. This was the distance he wanted to keep yet couldn’t, as he tapped the lips gently with the riding crop, then moved it down your leg, spreading the wetness up and down both legs and thighs. You shuddered, waiting for the punishment to continue, moaning as the tension in the moment was like ice encasing you, and only Tarkin was able to break it, yet he was only embracing the moment, watching you afraid, wanting, tense, needy. Almost like he wanted you to try and endure the tension, he let the crop fall to the floor, then took off his jacket, slowly opening it based on the quiet sounds of rustling of fabric and buttons, and finally, the sound of his trousers buttons opening. Lust overwhelmed you as you knew this was the moment before pure pleasure mixed with pain. He had given you pain that turned to pleasure, now it was time for pleasure that could turn to pain, and you were more than ready for him, you were ready to give him pleasure however he wanted it.

And he wanted you, he had to have you all to himself. There was no way he would let someone like Krennic get near you, you were his, Tarkin’s, but sometimes you had to be reminded where you should stand. His hands grabbed your waist, tightly keeping you in your place, and with one smooth motion he pushed inside you, like a sword into a scabbard, and you took him in without any resistance. So wet and dripping, yet the excitement made you tighten around him, making Tarkin moan through his teeth. His grip tightened, fingers digging into your skin, and he pulled you closer for a rough fucking, almost like he had been deprived of the nourishment for his body for too long. But he was Tarkin, he was a servant of the Empire, and he did not need anyone to nourish his desires, it was purely… something else.

An unrestricted moan grounded him back to the moment, bliss and lust in your voice like a melody almost broke the curtain Tarkin kept up, but you had given up on keeping any type of façade of reluctance or decency. There was no room for decency as you were on your knees, ass up, in front of one of the most powerful men in the Galaxy. You had given into the pleasure, moaning and pushing yourself closer to him, wanting more of his cock inside you. You needed it, wanted it, and had to get it deeper, to feel as much as possible inside you, filling you. Like knowing what you wanted, he picked up the pace, releasing one hand to grab your hair. His cock hammered into you, harder and deeper, and he gripped your hair so tight it hurt, but that wasn’t enough, not enough pain mixed into your pleasure, so he had to yank on your hair to hear you scream in distress.

Your hands gave up, sliding forward on the bed so that your whole body met the sheets, and in a second after that, Tarkin was on top of you. His bare chest felt rough on your skin, like it was filled with scars, memories of battles won and lost, but the most distinctive feature was his breathing. Usually so calm and collected, even his breathing kept the same pace from a moment to the next, but now it was ragged, fast, shallow. No matter how odd it struck you, he didn’t give you any time to dwell on it when he grabbed your neck, hand closing your airways slowly. The fear made you tense up around him, again making him moan, but this time, aloud, and he began fucking you faster, chasing the high, ready to cum any second. You kept tensing around him, it felt so good when he roughly pushed in and out of you while your brain could hardly keep up with all the sensations, even less now that it was slowly deprived of oxygen. Fucking into you, Tarkin’s breath came irregular, fast, as he felt you tighten around him, teasing him like the slut you were. You needed discipline and he was here to give it to you, but right now, he needed you, just for a moment, to himself.

Tarkin let go of your throat as he felt himself on the edge. Unceremoniously, he came inside you with a groan and a push, only letting gasps of air past his lips that held back the moans and words he wanted to say. Rather than pant for air, he took control of his breathing again, gathering himself while laying on top of you. You were so warm and soft under him, panting, trying to catch your breath, enjoying the weight on top of you and the feel of him slowly going limp inside you. Even if you didn’t finish, the sex was fulfilling in itself, and it felt good to know you were the reason he came, that he came. There was something sweet in the moment and you savored it, a moment of calm happiness, but it couldn’t last long. Tarkin took a deep breath of your scent, memorizing the softness of your skin against his battle-hardened chest. One last touch, his fingers brushed against your hair that was messy and sweaty, and he had to push himself off of you. Tarkin began gathering his clothes, dressing himself like any other day getting up from bed. You let him, there was no way for you to stop him, yet… if this once? Maybe he would stay for a minute?

“Wil-- I mean sir, could you... stay… for a while?” you asked. A question didn’t hurt, but his answer did. Not even looking at you, he finished buttoning his jacket and walked to the door.

“There is no need for that,” he answered, opened the door, and left, leaving you naked in a small apartment, quickly coming down from the pleasure and afterglow, the flash of happiness, to find yourself utterly alone again, wishing you could feel his touch again.

#x f!reader #x reader #tarkin x reader #star wars fanfiction #bittersweet #fanfic

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gentlemanjester · 4 years ago

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Why the Bionicle movies is a masterpiece

From the beginning, we’re told about the villain: The Makuta. The Makuta is the brother of Mata Nui, the “Great Spirit”. Throughout the movie, there are always cuts to The Makuta, and I have to say, his dialogue in this movie is fascinating because it actually calls into doubt his villain status. He’s a master of shadows, sure, and he creates the Rahkshi, he tries to convince Takua to bring him the Mask of Light... but what’s his reasoning? In this movie, as far as we’re told, he’s doing it to prolong Mata Nui’s slumber, his brother’s sleep... because wakefulness brings pain to Mata Nui. If your brother was in pain unless he was asleep, wouldn’t you want to let him be at peace as well?

Then we have our two intrepid heroes: Takua and Jaller. We’re introduced to them and given great character profiles: Takua is the foolhardy guy who’s always seeking adventure, no matter how dangerous. Jaller is his best friend, always more level-headed, basically Takua’s rock. It’s this scene where Takua discovers the Mask of Light, and is subsequently rescued by Toa Tahu.

They go to their Kohlii match (basically 3-way football with 2-player teams), where we learn that the Toa are protectors of the Matoran (the small Bionicles). A cool Kohlii match unfolds, where we get a scene which is foreshadowing for the climax, we’ll get back to that later. Actually, the whole match is foreshadowing for the climax, but we’ll get back to that later. But it’s at the end of this match that the Mask of Light is revealed, and the Turaga (old, wise Bionicles) translate the text inside the mask. Here, they discover that there is a seventh Toa.

Now, there are six Toa to represent six elements: fire, water, wind, ice, earth, and rock. We also learnt hat these six Toa appeared once day, whereas this mysterious seventh Toa needs to be found. It’s here that we learn of Takua’s reluctance to make his own story. Known as the Chronicler, it’s naturally his job to chronicle; to record the tales of others. The Mask shines for him, yet he manages to convince everybody that Jaller is the Herald of the Seventh Toa. Takua is so uncertain about his own destiny (one of the three virtues, alongside Unity and Duty), that he is quite distressed when Jaller drags him along for the ride.

Speaking of the three virtues, let’s discuss a fantastic sub-plot of the movie: Tahu’s corruption. In the beginning, there are three Toa in attendance at the Kohlii match: Tahu (Toa of Fire), Pohatu (Toa of Earth), and Gahli (Toa of Water). There is obvious tension between Tahu and Gahli, with Pohatu trying to act as a mediator. When the initial three Rahkshi attackTa-Koro, the village of Fire, Tahu still tries to go solo, but gets a cut on his face from one of the Rahkshi’s spears.

Tahu eventually gets more and more dejected and angry, saying how he wasn’t strong enough to protect his home, he pushes Gahli away when she tries to help him... until, when fighting the next trio of Rahkshi in the stone village of Onu-Koro, Tahu straight up turns against Gahli. He struggles through a stream of water she’s holding him back with, while snarling “I... have no... destiny!” which, in my opinion, is a fantastic line. Destiny, arguably one of the most important of the three virtues of Mata Nui, and he is so corrupted by the Rahkshi’s venom that he’s rejecting it mindlessly. It takes Toa Kopaka freezing him to stop him.

Tahu is healed of the venom by Gahli, Lewa, and Kopaka, and makes peace with Gahli as thanks for saving his life.

Now, back to Takua and Jaller in what is another fantastic story arc. So, the pair (riding atop Pewku, a crap-like Ussal who’s adorable), are in the tunnels, following the Mask of Light. Takua gets distracted, as he’s wont to do, and get separated from Jaller. While in the darkness, the Makuta speaks to him, and tells him to bring Makuta the Mask of Light, because not doing so will only result in pain and darkness. When Takua is reunited with Jaller, he realises that the Makuta can obviously see where he is, so he pushes Jaller away and convinces him that he should continue alone, because Takua’s only going to be a burden and isn’t worth keeping around.

Takua arrives at Onu-Koro right before the Rahkshi arrive, and it’s then that he realises “No... I need to help my friend!”, so he and Pewku continue on to try and find Jaller. Takua and Jaller are the best of friends, this much has been made clear. Which means that for Takua to push away Jaller like that, make them part on bad terms, he knew that Jaller would be safer without him. But with the arrival of the Rahkshi, chasing him rather than the Mask, he realises that his duty is the Herald of the Seventh Toa, and like it or not, he has left his best friend in the wild with no less than six Rahkshi hunting for the Herald and the Mask.

The pair reuinte, and they’re led to Kini-Nui, a sacred sight, and there, they are set upon by the six Rahkshi. The Toa arrive and, now with unity, they battle with their foes and defeat them. During the fight, however, one of the Rahkshi is about to attack Takua. Which is when Jaller, the best friend in the world, jumps up and grabs hold of the beast’s spear, which drains his life. Jaller dies in Takua’s arms, with his last words being “You know who you are.”

Takua, torn by the loss of his best friend, he realises that he was right all along: Jaller was the Herald of the Seventh Toa. Except the Seventh Toa was there all along. Takua dons the Mask of Light, and becomes Toa Takanuva, the Toa of Light.

He goes into Mangaia and faces The Makuta. As mentioned before, that Kohlii match was foreshadowing... and the two, Light and Shadow, fight in a “Kohlii” match, tossing a ball around with their respective weapons. It ends with a fantastic exchange. Makuta: “My duty... is to the Mask of Shadows!” Takanuva: “Then let’s take a closer look.. behind that mask!”

Takanuva proceeds to leap onto Makuta, trying to wrench his mask free. They struggle for a bit, before falling into the pool of energized protodermis together. By now, the Turaga and the Toa have arrived, trapped by a rockslide caused by The Makuta.

And from the pool of protodermis emerges an amalgamation of Takanuva and Makuta. Light and dark, merged together. This merging of the two lifts up an extremely heavy door to a balcony beyond, holding it open for everybody to get through. However, he stops a young Matoran who’s carrying Jaller’s mask. He places the mask on the ground, then uses his power to restore Jaller to life. Then, with everybody save and a dramatic “My... duty... is done...!”, the door collapses, crushing him. The Mask of Light then skids along the ground to come to a rest at the feet of the Toa, Matorans, and Turaga.

So, this movie has got:

Drama - Takua’s rescue at the beginning, the Kohlii match, Tahu’s corruption, the attack on Noru-Koro, Takanuva’s assault on The Makuta’s mask. Emotion - Takua pushing Jaller away, Jaller’s death, Tahu becoming more and more hateful towards his fellow Toa Action - so many fight scenes, it’s all awesome Character development - Tahu’s acceptance of Gahli’s help (even at he beginning, they never got along), Takua’s acceptance of him being the chronicle rather than the Chronicler, the true motivation of The Makuta? A deep, lore-filled world - we’ve all seen the memes of Bionicle lore

The movie is fantastic for people of all ages. I know I’ve already done a short review on it, but I want people to understand how good this movie is. It is fantastic. Wonderful. Glorious. Perfection. It has everything a good movie needs.

#Bionicle #Mask of LIght #Movie #Review #Masterpiece #Best #Here's why

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fe-semi-decent-scenarios · 5 years ago

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How they act around their crush: GD edition

[This one’s for @glass-grapes. I saw your submission and am completely psyched that you love my blog! I know that I’ve only recently had it kick-off with a few posts, but I have been wanting to start one of these since January. Hope this is to your liking! (p.s I didn’t know if I should do pre or post time skip, so I did a little dabbling into both]

Claude:

We all know Claude here is both a go-getter and a tease

If he finds you interesting then there’s no reason for him to hide it. A battle of wits never hurt anyone, and boy do you two fight well

He is s a s s y. If you’re chatting with some other students he might stick his nose into the conversation to toy with you. It’s all in good fun, right? Just a little mini-game on his way to achieving bigger things

That’s what he tells himself

Some days he finds you a bit too alluring, and can’t help being self conscious of the other people around

Fiddles with his braid when you throw him for a loop

Will pay extra special attention to you in battle, and makes excuses to the prof. for why you should be near him. He really is a snake

Post-Timeskip he hides his bias even more. Not enough to fool his close comrades, but enough to avoid you receiving any extra attention from the enemy

Sometimes slips items in your room to distract from the stress. Tea, a new blanket, etc.

During the five year gap he keeps track of your whereabouts. After Garreg Mache fell he decided that his dream would take priority as planned, but also believed that one day you would be at his side

Wasn’t surprised at all to see you at the reunion, but that familiar urge to tug his hair returned too

Judith and Nader have already heard about you prior to your meeting. Much to his dismay they view his buried feelings as open range comedy

Lorenz:

We all know how Lorenz acts when he finds someone of interest. The guy is a huge flirt which causes the professor wayyy too much stress

He’s not as in-tune with his sense of romance as you would think. In the early stages he’ll treat you the same as all the other ladies: a potential partner for house Gloucester.

Date offerings, frilly words, gifts, acts of kindness. Ah tis but the duty of a noble, yes?

No.

One day he lets that stubborn side of his personality slip out, and you come back at him with just as much fire. He becomes so angered after it, but somehow hearing the words from you hurt more than if someone else were to say them

That’s when he knows that he’s in deep, and from then on he treats you more gently. He’ll watch his tongue around other women, and sets his sights on only you. His mannerisms are the same as before, but now he tries to learn more about you as a person vs. just the cold hard statistics

He’s a blusher. He has a naturally light pigmentation so it shows.

After the time-skip he’ll watch you like a hawke. Do you like his new hair cut? Surly it’s an improvement from before sorry bro it’s not

Sets his dignity aside to request that you be given a hexlock shield during battle, or placed near him. Claude won’t let him live it down

Ignatz:

He m i g h t avoid you, but please don’t take it the wrong way. That’s just how he is, you know?

Young Ignatz isn’t that confident in himself. You’re...well ‘you’. And he’s...well, ‘him’

Oddly enough he confides in HIlda of all people. It originally began with wanting to see if she was still on stable duty with him, but ended up with him working and her talking

When you’re nearby he chooses not to speak unless spoken to. If you didn’t know his tells he’d come off cold, but one look at his hands wringing together just proves he was nervous

Byleth puts you two on cooking duty together: que panic. He legit grovels at their feet to pick someone else. They don’t, and that evening he sketches a wonderful picture of you sifting through different seasonings

On your birthday he struggles to give you the gift he prepared. It ends up with Lionie giving you it while he watches from afar.

When you’re older he is much more verbal with his opinions

More often than not he lets those honey-coated words slip out, which usually end up with him excusing himself quickly

Invites you to join him during downtime at least once a week. Every day could be his last, and goddess forbid yours. He wants to spend time with you even if he isn’t the most graceful companion never mind that he’s a smooth-talking mofo

Raphael:

If there’s one thing Raphael is good at, it’s showing that he cares

The boy is a giant muscular teddybear. He will carry your things, he will spar with you, he will eat anything you cook without complaint, and he will hug you; hard.

Unlike everyone else he’s pretty open with his feelings. Life is short, you know?

If you make him particularly bashful he’ll laugh loudly. More so to cover up his own embarrassment than because he finds the situation actually humorous

Adopts this habit of constantly asking if you need anything. The guy loves to dote on people, and lookie here you’re the perfect target

Remembers all important dates like a pro. On your birthday he drops a gift right on your desk first thing in the morning

Goddess forbid anyone gives you trouble. Without the smile on his face he looks the murder type, and the guy uses it to his advantage. He will happily escort you anywhere you need to go

Once his sister is settled he might honestly stick with you during that five year gap. He’s made his feelings painfully obvious, and you haven’t chased him off. Why not stick around?

Hilda:

Yo she’s clingy

She knows you have to be a catch and a half to steal her heart, so who knows who else that you’ve smooth talked

Just like everyone else she’ll still get you to do her bidding...but, maybe a smidge less

She feels guilty, but won’t show it

Hilda will do all in her power to not let the news reach her family. The last thing she needs is Holst sending her more letters, or worse: showing up at the monastery

Y’all she will don her best perfume for you. She will push all her work onto Cyril and drag you to have lunch with her. This is normal Hilda behavior so she has no reason to be shy

Will flirt openly and proudly. If you recuperate she’ll go gossip to Marianne about how you’re ‘totally smitten’ with her

Post-skip she’s not much different. Most of her time is spent doing what she can for the cause, but when you see each other she’s more bold.

Like always she doesn’t like to have expectations pushed onto her. She does have one for herself though, and it’s to stay by your side.

Marianne:

During the academy years she tends to admire from afar

Her favorite memories are of when the professor signed you both up for choir practice. She loves your voice, and it was a time where there wasn’t any pressure for conversation

As time passes she’ll become less adverse to talking. Quiet greetings will be whispered when you cross paths, and occasionally you two have lunch together

Marianne is not as reserved as people assume her to be. She’s just had a rough time, and if you take things slow with her then she’ll gradually have a stronger presence in your life. She hopes that this comes true for you two

Eye contact hasn’t always been her forte. She does try to maintain it with you though

Her feelings remain at a stalemate through most of the academy days. Only when she bypass’ some more personal-issues does she let her emotions go free

About halfway through the war period she changes. Her stance is more vertical, and she becomes the one to take initiative in your relationship

She’ll still blush upon any physical contact, and in some cases she’ll lose her breath when you talk. Don’t take the momentary silence as a bad thing, she’s okay.

Occasionally she’ll be restless and unable to sleep, worrying about the future she now has in her grasp. You might find her scouring for a cup of chamomile late in the night

Lysithea:

She’ll deny herself immediately. For Lysithea the future is an anomaly. One of which that no amount of studying or research can uncover.

It’s painfully obvious that there’s a spark between you two. Anyone can see it, and Hilda has pestered her many times regarding confessing

If the situation was a bit different, she would. Lysithea is no push over, but she also doesn’t want to invest time into something that will bear no fruition

She keeps her cool around you for the most part...or at least until you’re out of hearing distance

Then she completely loses composure. Did someone say clammy hands? Because hers get slicker than lorenz’s hair gel

Leads to stress eating, not gonna lie. There are many late night trips to the mess hall, and many angry cooks over the missing sweets

Times are different post-timeskip though. She’s a bit more reluctant to let these feelings go

Occasionally there’s some open flirting on her part. If you recuperate then it becomes more frequent and less forced. The sassy banter between you two becomes the deer’s free entertainment

Leonie:

She’s commonly been viewed as ‘one of the guys,’ for her personality. So she’s very insecure about getting friend zoned

It’s not like she was actively searching for romance. It just happened, you know? One day something just struck a chord

She never took the time to picture sharing a life with someone. Most of her life has been spent worrying about her village, or working hard to attain some kind of recognition from the Captian

For a split second she considers going to Byleth for some advice. Now isn’t the time for school-girl crushes. Now is the time to be forging a path to the future

Decides to completely ignore the ache she feels when you’re nearby. Just...lets it go.

She’ll put hella distance between you two. The only time she’ll initiate contact is during sparring

After the timeskip she stays this way too. Well, until HIlda calls her out on her bullsh*t (if you haven’t noticed from all these. Hilda is a perceptive little cookie)

Just like anyone she’ll go through the moral dilemma of deciding to confess or not. She instead chooses to just let her feelings do as they please, and if something happens then it happens

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littlekatleaf · 5 years ago

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Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (end)

Holy shitballs. Pretty close to exactly a year ago I got this idea - Junkrat and Roadhog have Christmas with some of the Overwatch crew. It was gonna be short and sweet and fluffy. I started writing in... February? 10 months and 21K words later I ended up with something almost entirely different. Oops? Thanks for joining me on the ride! Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Meds and tea and whiskey and food and mitten and probably a bit of fever still and the lingering feel of Roadie’s hand on his forehead all swirled together into an edgy excitement that made his blood fizz in his veins. Twitchy, itchy. Been looking forward to setting off the fireworks for months - been working them up that long and planning even longer. Had to get it all just right, then combine it with Lucio’s music, get the timing connected to the right shapes, the explosions to the right second… had to be focused, had to be precise and he loved the challenge. The sparks of thrill tingled along his spine and the fire they ignited burned away the lingering crud of sickness leaving him sharp and clear.

He enlisted Hana and Lucio to round up the others, betting they’d be able to convince anyone who was reluctant much better than he would. Even so, he was urging them down to the lake, torches bobbing through the dark, throwing odd shadows between the trees. Maybe talking a little faster than usual but how else was he going to impress upon them how exciting this was?

“Know it’s cold - hadn’t really thought about that when I was planning. I mean, hadn’t planned to be here at all, just thought we’d be at the Watchpoint. Course, this is better, discounting the cold. Which is hard to do, but Roadie’s getting the bonfire goin’ - he could light a fire in the middle of a monsoon so no worries on that count. An’ Hana brought some whiskey to help so she’ll be right. Ya need to stand here, no closer. Gonna be over the water. Safe as houses, but can’t be too careful - least according to Morrison, ha! Now turn off the torches. Better the darker it is. Lucky ain’t moonrise yet…”

“What are we doing out here in the middle of the night when we could be curled up on the couch?” Mei asked no one in particular.

Junkrat ignored her. She’d see, they’d all see and he knew they’d love it just as much as he did if they gave it a chance. Lucio had been kind enough to not only have his sound system set up, but also brought out the box of fireworks so Junkrat didn’t have to lug it himself.

Didn’t take but a minute to set it all up, music on automatic once he started the program. All he had to do was hit the power and light the first fuse.

Music came up slow, soft, bit of piano, then edge of something electronic, rising bass and the first firework streaked up to the center of the sky and as the beat kicked in it exploded in a rain of silver and gold. At the crackling boom the others fell silent, faces tilted to the sky. The sparkles reflected in their eyes and Lucio’s soft ‘oh!’ and Hana’s squeal of delight made even the cold worthwhile.

Let it start slow. Basic colors, red, blue, green, as well as the gold and silver. Usual shapes, circles, stars, ones that looked like fountains or willows. Then the music shifted, became rhythmic and complex with a minor edge and he sent the first special rockets. The streaks crisscrossed, intersecting like Satya’s hard light shield, like one of her knit shawls and around it burst snowflakes, all in shades of blue and silver.

Music shifted again, bright and quick - and the second set of his own rockets split the air with a whistling crack then exploded in a crackling red heart, then a gold arrow streamed through. Lena bumped Emily’s hip with her own as their names twined through the heart. Another shift, one of Lucio’s songs, written for Hana and the rockets burst into pink bunnies and green frogs that seemed to bounce up the mountains ringing them and into the stars.

As the music shifted a final time, setting a beat with a swing, Lena grabbed Emily’s hand and pulled her into a twirl, hands clenched firm but light, feet moving quick, spinning each other in and out and then they were dancing and so were Hana and Lucio and even Mei tugged Satya into the group.

And then - perfect timing, as the music sang “Seeing’ stars, I’m seeing stars” the final bursts of fireworks - his favorite of the bunch - exploded overhead and Junkrat couldn’t stop his grin at the stars he’d created. Spread above him and Roadie was their night sky. The Saucepan and the Crux. Looking right, looking perfect, not upside down like here.

For a long moment Roadhog said nothing, just stood with his face tipped up, sparks reflecting in his mask as the fireworks cracked and popped and the music thumped and the others laughed and danced.

“Thought ya might like a bit of Straya,” Junkrat said finally, unable to wait for Roadhog to say something. Anything. Maybe he hadn’t recognized it after all. Or maybe it wasn't anything like he’d hoped. Maybe it only looked like home because he was remembering it so clearly. Imagining it. Making it all up again. He shoved his hand in his pocket as a gust of wind swept over them and a sneeze slammed into him, followed quickly by two more. “Huh-r’isssh! Isshh! Ishhew!”

Didn’t even hear Roadhog move, but suddenly he was right there, shoving his hat down over Junkrat’s head and then wrapping his scarf around Junkrat’s neck. “Stay warm, idiot.”

“Trying,” he said, shivering still. He let Roadie lead him over to the fire which had grown to a roaring height, pouring out a welcome heat. Pine logs crackled and spat sparks swirling into the sky to swirl with the real stars and their backwards constellations.

Lucio cranked his own mix and the bass echoed off the mountains and Lena and Emily still danced with him and Hana. Mei and Satya huddled together, passing a mug of something between them and for a moment, just for a minute, everything felt fine. Felt good.

Junkrat glanced at Roadhog, and though the mask obscured his expression, there was a looseness in his shoulders, something in the tilt of his head that seemed to speak of relaxation and calm. Made the cold and exhaustion worth it. “Happy Christmas, Roadie.”

“Happy Christmas, Rat.” The warmth in his tone did more to drive away the chill than the fire and Junkrat leaned against his side, letting himself enjoy the closeness.

After a bit, the others joined them around the fire and Lena passed a joint around, “For everyone except you, Junkrat. Sorry.”

He shrugged, pulled a flask out of his pocket. “Not gonna share my plague. Got this anyway.” The whiskey left a warm curl in the center of his belly, his muscles loose and easy. Satya told a story about a Snow Queen whose frozen heart melted with the love of a peasant girl, and though Junkrat wanted to roll his eyes, he understood the feeling. The desire to have one’s own story told in myth - to be connected to something bigger. Lena told a story about Father Christmas. Mei about a Chinese hunter, Jia Deng, who hunted with a pet wolf and left gifts of his hunt with the poor during the cruel months of winter. Then Roadie exhaled a long puff of smoke and said,

“Bet you never heard of the Holiday Boar.”

Junkrat giggled into his scarf. “Ain’t gonna tell that one to this lot, are ya?”

Lena cocked her head quizzically. “No, can’t say I have.”

“Well. Long before the Omnium exploded, before the Omnics were even an idea someone had, the Outback was still a hardscrabble place. Dusty and hot and many were desperately poor, trying to eke a living out of land that wasn’t easily giving. One day a wild boar appeared in a village, ribs showing through its skin, hair falling out in patches, it was the most pathetic excuse for a creature the villagers had seen. Most tried to chase it away with kicks and shouts and stones thrown.

“At the edge of the village there was a farmer. He lived alone on the land. When the boar came to his homestead, the farmer’s first reaction was the same as the others - he wanted to chase it away. Nothing good could come of bringing another mouth to feed into his life. But as he raised a hand to throw a stone, he caught a glimpse of the creature’s eyes and his long dead daughter’s voice spoke in his heart. ‘Papa, please.’ His hand fell and he sighed and the boar stayed.

“In the beginning he found it annoying, an intrusion on his solitude. Still, he fed the creature, sharing the little he had, and in return it kept him company, following him like a dog and seeming to listen when he spoke. Come winter the boar was healthy and grown to a surprising size. Villagers who saw it walking with the farmer nodded knowingly - at the first cold snap he’d likely kill it, and the meat could feed them all.

“But the cold came and still the boar walked with the farmer. The villagers eyed them more than a little oddly. Finally, on the longest night of the year, the farmer was sitting by a fire with the boar at his side as usual. The farmer was lamenting that the land had been even more reticent than usual, and he was likely to lose his home to the mortgagers.

“The boar’s stomach gave a great rumble, then it leaned forward and puked up a pile of gold coins onto the ground. The farmer never went hungry again and the village prospered.”

Junkrat couldn’t help himself, he burst out laughing.

Hana laughed too, shook her head. “There’s no way that’s a thing.”

“It’s Australia,” Roadhog argued, deadpan voice. “It absolutely is.”

Lucio nodded, took a drag from the joint. “I could see it.”

They told stories and Lucio led them in carols and the warmth of the fire and the whiskey and Roadhog at his side and Lena’s jokes “What do you call a dinosaur fart? A blast from the past! Why does a duck have tail feathers? To cover his butt quack!” and Emily’s laughter lulled Junkrat into a doze.

“He snores louder than a boar,” Satya said, irritably. Lena giggled.

“You gave him your scarf,” Hana said to Roadhog and her tone was equal parts teasing and curious.

Junkrat felt Roadie’s shoulders move in a shrug. “Never takes care of himself, even when he’s sick.” But though he was more than half asleep, he could hear the tight coldness of the comment. The relaxed ease had gone. Junkrat wanted to sit up and interrupt, but he was just so tired.

“Gave him your cold too, huh.” Still that sing-song teasing tone, but it cut at Junkrat.

“Maybe.”

“Come on, Roadhog. What’s up with you two, anyway? He won’t give us a straight answer.”

Felt like everyone’s eyes were on them, staring. Junkrat tensed. Sit up, he told himself. Stop this. But he didn’t. He wanted to know what Roadhog would say, even more than he didn’t want to know.

Roadhog’s shoulder moved in another shrug. “Someone’s gotta keep him from offing himself on accident.”

Mei laughed; least no one else did.

Ice through his body, through his stomach, his mind, his lungs. He coughed against it, but it didn’t move. The fire had burned down to little more than embers and even scarf and hat, mitten and whiskey weren’t enough to keep him warm. He forced himself up then, away from Roadhog. Faked a yawn like he just woke up.

“Knackered. Gonna call it a night. Happy Christmas all.” Forced the words past lips that felt frozen and barely heard the others saying goodnight and thanks for the fireworks.

The moon glowed on the snow, lighting the way back to the cabin enough to keep him from stumbling on tree roots and rocks. His foot crunched softly on pine needles and he heard Roadhog’s louder footfalls behind him. He walked faster. Just wanted to be inside, to be alone, to be warm, to be silent. Even the light of the Christmas tree seemed to mock him with its fake promise of coziness. He’d take a bath, let the water warm his bones, soothe the chills, then sleep.

“When I said ya ain’t gotta babysit me no more, I meant it,” Junkrat said stiffly as Roadhog followed him into the bathroom. “Promise I ain’t gonna drown in the bath. Even I’m not stupid enough to do that.”

“How’re you going to get in and out?” Roadhog asked bluntly.

Junkrat turned to look and of course there were no bars to let him navigate it himself. Once he took off his prosthetics he’d be screwed. Fuck. He pushed past Roadhog and out of the bathroom. Wasn’t worth it.

But the bedroom was just as bad. Wanted to collapse onto the bed and sleep for a century or ten, but Roadhog was standing there in the middle of the room taking up all of the space and all of the air and Junkrat knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep with his… looming. Instead he shoved the pillows to the head of the cot and sat against the wall, wrapping a blanket around himself. Just barely resisted pulling it over his head, too. Knew Roadie would stare and it was making him jittery. Not in a good way. His head ached again, skin tight with the too hot too cold feeling of returning fever. Should have asked Lucio for more meds. He rubbed a hand over his face, wishing for relief. Wishing for Roadie’s hand on his forehead again, cool and firm and steadying.

“Gonna tell me what’s eating you?” Roadhog asked, finally. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked down at Junkrat from his full height. Not exactly the most inviting posture.

“What are we?” The question spilled from him like he was vomiting. “An’ don’t give me some stupid shit like you don’t know what I mean. Hana asks and Lucio asks and you avoid the question.”

“Why do we need to put words to it? Why do they need to know anything?”

Junkrat shrugged. It wasn’t for them that he needed words. It was him. He needed a foundation, an understanding. Because things were slippery and they could slide away from him before he had a chance to catch hold. “It’s me askin’. Now that ya ain’t my bodyguard. What are we?”

A long pause, a silence full of all the things Roadhog didn’t say.

“Morrison said I could leave,” Junkrat blurted, unable to stand it.

Roadhog waited.

“Said if this do-gooder shit was too bloody difficult he’d have Lena turn me in. Serve my time and then whatever came next was my choice.”

No response.

“Told him I’d have to talk to you about it, but he said just meant me. I been thinkin...’ we should do it. Could probably convince him to let you go too. Then when we were far enough away could hijack the Orca, dump Lena and head back to Straya. Head home. Get the treasure, sell it to the Queen and find a place to just… live.” He blinked and the after-image of fireworks burst across his vision, constellations in all their permutations. Home. Was it? Didn’t really know anymore… But maybe there it wouldn’t be so hard, maybe there it would be like it had been.

Still no response, no movement at all. Like Roadhog’d turned to stone. Mountain. Felt his gaze go cold, measuring, calculating. Had seen Roadhog turn that gaze on others, size them up, find them lacking… but not on himself. He froze. Utterly still. Waited for the judgment to fall. Then Roadhog laughed. Not like something was funny, or maybe like he was funny and the sound was brittle and sharp in his ears.

“What’s so bloody funny, mate?” and his own voice held an edge.

“The idea that I would want to leave this,” he gestured around the room, taking in everything, “give up the good thing I got going here to… what? Live out some tiny shit life in that hellhole with you? Why the fuck do you think I’d want to go back to that? And with you?” He positively roared with laughter. “You are thick as a rock. Batshit crazy. A complete mess. Sure, when there wasn’t anyone else around who wasn’t trying to kill me, you were good for a laugh. A way to get my rocks off. But in the real world? Fuck no.”

“Fuck you too.” The words scraped his throat and he wished he had covered his head because he had that ominous prickling behind his eyes like he was going to fucking cry, or sneeze, and either way he was fucking well not going to give Roadhog the satisfaction.

“You want to know what we are, Junkrat? We ain’t shit. Nothing. Do what you want, stay or go. I couldn’t possibly give less of a shit.”

“Well that’s fuckin’ clear as crystal. Why don’t you fuck off then an’ let me sleep.” He grit his teeth, bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that he tasted iron. Not going to crumble. Watched as Roadhog turned and crossed the room. Watched the door click shut behind him. Watched the blank wall and refused to let himself crack. Silence then, that he’d wanted. But no warmth. Even wrapped in blankets felt like he was sitting in a snowstorm. Everything muffled and frozen. Freezing.

Then that chuckle in his head. You got an answer. Might not have been the one you wanted, but really Jamison, what did you expect? Did you honestly think he would go back to an irradiated waste land and a criminal life to be with you?

He thumped his head back against the wall, squeezed his eyes shut. Clenched his fist so hard his nails bit into his palm. Shut it. Ain’t real.

No? So make me be silent, then. More laughter. Oh Jamison. How do you think someone would want to be with you when your own mother couldn’t stand to be with you?

You don’t know nothing ‘bout my mum, he told her. Nothing. But a couple tears leaked free, and the tingling prickles made him sneeze and he buried his head in the blankets and let himself go until he fell asleep, her laughter and Roadhog’s laughter still ringing in his head.

Sleep was restless, part of him kept jerking awake thinking he heard the door open. He hadn’t. When he finally woke completely he felt like he’d been hit by the ute, then had it back over him again. He stumbled out to the living room where he found Hana and Lucio playing a game with Emily, and Mei and Satya watching.

“Morning, Junkrat,” Lucio said.

“More like afternoon,” Hana corrected.

“Potato potahto,” Lucio shrugged. “Wanna join? You can play winner.”

“Nah,” he cleared his throat, tried to sound nonchalant. “Where’s Roadie?”

“Apparently Morrison sent him on some mission. Something going on in Australia. Lena took him early this morning,” Satya said. “Guess you didn’t go ‘cause you’re sick?” Hana asked.

“Yeah. Something like that.” His head went light. Hadn’t thought Roadhog would actually leave. Take the treasure for himself and go… but there it was. He made his way into the kitchen on a floor that seemed to rock like a boat. Opened the sat comm with numb fingers.

“Morrison.” “It’s Fawkes. I’ll take your offer. I want to turn myself in.”

#oversnez #snezfic #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #this fic took me out behind the barn and shot me in the head #what you doing Roadie??#Merry Fuckin' Christmas

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cxffexngel · 4 years ago

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{ @caeruleis - Violence felt necessary, Sandy has been allowed peace for too long!!!! } Slowly - very slowly, Gran attempts to sneak up behind the Supreme Primarch armed with nothing but terrible ideas and a bucket ice of he promptly attempts to shove into the other's armor the second he's within range. In the same breath, he hurls the bucket aside, and proceeds to run for his miserable life.

Danger has loomed for quite sometime now, but the summer's glare and the day's warmth couldn't go ignored anymore, not for the stubborn archangel that even now falls reluctant to change into the more proper garments to chase off how sweat collected on his skin, and permeated the undershirt below ebony armor to feel unbearable and sticky. The ich to go and change is there, but also is hoping a fateful breeze to give the archangel maybe a breath before finally moving from the edges of the airship and scramble to the wardrobes. Memories of two individuals, especially gran and Lyria surging forth from that one time in the past they had to basically drag him out the armor to try something loose - and a gentle smile dances at the memory curving sharp lined lips into a crocked grin. It was only a matter of time. Either it was willingly or to be dragged down the clothes Sandalphon even now looks quizzically at because of their revealing manner to happen, and waiting would surely not make the consequences any better. Yet none of it was needed, the very one who sends the archangel's senses haywire make muscles tense, having all the energy to turn around and ask what is it what the world's Singularity wants now — yet none of the mental imagery he makes up has a chance to happen, the tug on his hood forcing his frame to lean awkwardly back and then comes the soaking cold surging under his armor.

It's somehow a harsh, breathless curse permeated against a hiss, and a gasp. Yet another one of the most inhuman noises Sandalphon has ever made to be recorded into history as the taller primarch falls on his knees and hands fly to try and find as quickly as clumsy, frostbitten limbs would attempt finding the clasps that keep the ebony armor of his chest in place in naught as shivers quake his body and all he can focus on are the icecubes digging against the fabric doing little to protect his scarred body on the icy assault as they melt against him. Little options left but call forth his power to send away armor back to his room and let the remnants of half melted ice cubes unceremoniously falling in silent clicks against wood that gladly absorbs their damp puddles that follows. Petty ire flares ablaze with a hunger for revenge, and so on light and heat gathers against the archangel's back, particles waiting no one to for, the feathery form of wings manifesting unfolded as all of their might are for the skies to witness. Milky with the call of the flames, and a peaceful sky blue with the frost of the very same waters of the world at their tips, each wing charged with that very same desire and thirst of violence against who has dared bother the supreme primarch - the fire magic enough to evaporate in a cloud of steam remnants of what moisture had clung on dark thin clothes, and lips finally part baring sharpened canines in a snarl.

" Captain... You are a dead man. " The growl reverberates as it rumbles from the depths of his lungs, with a single beat of both wings his silhouette against the meager cast of the sun is sent forward where he knows, and senses, the soon to be hunted young man had run to. Say your prayers now, Singularity.

#Nostalgic Flavor; [ 1 ]#caeruleis #heart of a sun itself; unbearable and kind as it radiates life and regrets; [ Gran ]#[ Rip gran #[ at least this is his training to run away from actual monsters or beasts! a great jogging practice as a murderous angels chases him!#[ you can guess what he will do with these pair of wings :) gran your retribution will mark a new era sdFKSDÑFDSFDF #[ but sandy's at fault for still using his armor despise summer's almost here!!!!!

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 5 years ago

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Kingdom Collisions III

This is a fic i’m writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my dialogue-whore ass, so updates are sporadic as i just write whenever i feel like it. However, i hope you enjoy what is here, because these two princes are creeping into my heart at an alarming rate. Also the cabin in this story is based off my happy place. I really really want to go back, but i can’t right now so i’m projecting onto them. Oops

Masterlist

Percy Jackson awakes to the smell of coffee. He snuggles into his pillows groaning away the sluggish in his veins. He can hear the wind rustling the trees outside his window and the distinct lack of sun filtering into his room. Opening one eye he looks outside to see the world awash in grey. He groans again, ready to pull the duvet over his head and get at least two more hours of sleep. But the universe has other plans because suddenly there's a deafening crash from the kitchen, and an accompanying string of curse words.

"JASON!" He jumps out of bed, falling over himself to get to the source. He slams into the wall as he races down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Wait!" Jason screams.

Percy skids to a halt, mere inches away from the glass scattered everywhere.

"What happened?"

"I knocked down the coffee pot." The blonde sighs, stepping cautiously around the kitchen to get the broom.

"I'm sorry," He mumbles, "I'll replace it for you as soon as I can."

Jason, Percy observes, looks exhausted. Looks like the weight of a thousand worlds is resting in his palms.

"Hey," He shakes his head softly, "No its okay. It's not that big a deal." He takes the broom from shaking hands and motions for the prince to sit on the counter.

Quickly he cleans up the glass, trying to get all the little pieces, stuck between the flooring.

"I think we still have an old espresso machine somewhere. How about I get that on and you grab a jersey, you're shaking."

Blue eyes shoot him a grateful glance, and he shuffles off.

Percy has the overwhelming urge to hug the golden prince, instead he puts the cleaning supplies away and starts opening cupboard after cupboard. Finally at the back of the top most one he spots the old espresso maker him and his mom had bought from the annual market many years back. He wasn't sure it worked even then but rather this than nothing. After all most princes he knows are made from fifty percent etiquette, twenty percent reluctance to do it, and thirty percent coffee.

With a half tilted smirk, at his sleepy ramblings he fills the machine with grounds and pulls two mugs down. The smell of rich dark roast envelops the room and he takes a deep breath in. There has always been something earthly and intense about coffee that can never be quite replicated in other beverages. Just then the prince walks into the room, adorned in grey sweats, and a blue hoodie that perfectly matched the enchanting shade of blue that was his eyes.

"Feeling a little better?"

"Didn't get enough sleep last night. Takes me a while to adjust to a new place." He says by way of explanation for his earlier clumsiness.

Percy nods, understanding the feeling of being taken out of your own comfort. Of being forced away. "Here's your coffee. I'm going for a walk. Why don't you stay here and rest up a bit?"

The blonde looks like he's going to protest but he rubs his eyes, yawning quietly, and mumbles in agreement.

He quickly gets dressed, uncaring what he looks like here where there is no one and nothing for miles. Where reporters and paparazzi are not breathing down his neck, or his mother isn't fixing is already fixed collar, or heaven forbid their advisor isn't chastising him about something or the other. He takes his steaming mug of coffee and steps into the foggy winter morning, taking lungfuls of air in. He can never get tired of this. Of being isolated. Alone. Free. Oh gods he hasn't felt free in so many moons. Even this little taste is like magic sparking in his veins. He wants to chase the high forever. But he reels these feelings in, shoves them under the mountain of princely duties his life is built on. Instead he takes one step, and then another, across the porch, down the stairs, out out out. He goes the opposite direction to the woods he'd escaped to yesterday, heading instead towards the lake that glistens and ripples. When the sky is blazing blue, and the sun is a glorious warmth against his brown skin he likes to strip and dive head first into the lake. His mother often had to drag him out by the legs, kicking and screaming, because he wanted one more hour, minute, second. Bribery and corruption were a big part of their trips, bribery in the form of cookies, and corruption in the horror stories she used to tell about what happened in the lake when the sun went down. He recalls one of those stories now, as he takes the concrete steps down to the water.

There was once a little boy, just like you, with bright eyes, and curly hair.

He shakes his head fondly, remembering how she always ruffled his curls when she said that.

Who was the boy mom? Did I know him? Did you?

Hush little one, and let me continue. So he zipped his mouth closed and looked up at her earnestly.

The little boy was on holiday with his family. He stayed in the room just opposite yours, in this very house. And everyday him and his family would go swimming in the lake. He used to love splashing in the shallow end but his sister, who was older than him, preferred to swim deeper in, and the little boy wanted to be just like her. So after much fussing, his parents said he could as long as he was holding onto his sister at all times.

Her voice got lower then, almost whispering through the rest. It had always sent shivers down his little spine, now it just makes him laugh.

The little boy was very good at first, he always held onto his sister and they had a great time. One day, a few weeks into their holiday, he wanted to go swimming but his sister didn't. The little boy, deciding he was big enough to go by himself, got dressed in his bathing suit and went to the lake all by himself.

Little Percy gasped, small hands covering his mouth.

Yes he was very naughty indeed, his mom frowned.

What happened mom, did he drown?

No little one. He started swimming and he got all the way to the middle of the lake. But by then it was getting very dark and he had swam very far out. He was tired, and cold, and he wasn't having any fun at all. His moms didn't know where he was and his sister was sleeping, which meant he was all alone in this big lake. He tried to yell but he was too far. And then a ginormous monster fish tickled his toes. Because you see the little boy had swam into the monsters home and the monster didn't like visitors.

Why not mommy? Wasn't the monster lonely?

Queen Sally Jackson had smiled at that, continually amazed at the empathy children had.

The monster had many friends, little one, but they didn't like human friends because they couldn't stay with them. The monster told the little boy this and said he could only swim in that area if he promised to stay forever. But the little boy was scared, he didn't want to leave his family, so he swam back as fast as he could. And when he got back to his moms and his sister he hugged them tight. And he never went to the lake without them again. So you see, little one, you have to listen to the people you love. They will keep you safe.

Percy smiles as the memory fades. He can't help but miss those days. They are the only memories he has that haven't been tainted by royalty and the life he'd been born into. It wasn't that he hated being a prince, hell he knew he was born on the lucky side of the stars for it. He just wants to be something other than prince. His whole life is defined by his status. Nobody save for his mother and a few members of their court see him as anything else. He wants, for once in his life, to be seen as more. He wants to be the boy who paints his own skateboards, the boy who learnt how to surf from watching the professionals at the national competitions they had to make an appearance at, the boy who plays piano till his fingers cramp, the boy who lies awake at night and dreams about the life beyond the stars. Instead he is the crown that glitters by the light of their gold chandeliers, and the stiff lapels of his suit, and the charming smile on the front page of RoyaltyWeekly™, and the future King of Mare.

His coffee is cold by the time he makes it to the lake. He doesn't mind; it was almost done anyway. He thinks about taking his shoes off and stepping into the water but he refrains when he remembers he still has to take his husband— oh gods, breathe, breathe, breathe— on a tour. He sits on the cold sand for a little while, and watches the water dance and the reeds sway. The wind is picking up but it's still comfortable enough that he relishes in the caress of it against his cheeks. The world is so quiet just then. So full of nothing. Even his own heartbeat is too loud. The birds have stilled their singing, maybe cosying up to each other to brave out the oncoming storm slowly blackening the sky. The leaves of the forest are too far away to be heard. And the lake, although rippling, does not slosh against the banks. He wonders briefly if this is what it feels like to be nature. To be the air, and the wind, and the sky, and the trees. He likes the silence. Likes how it let's him decide what he wants to be. Who he wants to be. He distinctly avoids all his recent predicaments and let's his thoughts wander like fairies in a may field. They are without substance and pull a smile onto his lips that stays there till finally, hours later, he makes his way back to the cabin. He kicks off his sneakers at the door and steps into a toasty warm house. The fire is raging in the hearth, and the delicious, mouth watering smell of baked bread is wafting in from the kitchen. He gets drunk on the smell, letting his nose lead him to the source. There still adorned in a hoodie and sweats, with decidedly more flour on him, is Prince Jason.

"You bake?"

"My father insisted we learn how to make traditional meals. He said no future ruler of this kingdom would be disgraceful enough to not know his own country's cuisine."

Percy just hums in reply, putting his coffee cup in the sink, and moving to sit on the other side of the counter.

"Well when you're done I guess I can show you around."

Jason looks up from the bread board, where he is slicing through the still hot loaf, and says "Oh please don't do me any favours."

"It's not my favour, it's my mother’s."

"Well tell her I said thanks but I don't need your bratty ass to show me things. I'll figure it out."

"What the fuck happened to you since I left?"

"What happened to me? You're the one that's acting like you'd rather be in hell than here with me!" He explodes, blue eyes blazing with unleashed anger.

"Maybe I would." Percy growls, "At least I know what to expect in hell."

The Prince reels back, looking like he's been slapped, "What does that mean?"

"You know what don't worry about it. I'm going to my room. Try not to disturb me unless you're dying."

"Fuck you." Jason seethes.

"Not even in marriage." Percy spits back, and before any more spiteful words are dropped he turns on his heel and races from the kitchen.

The last sound in the house is the echoes of a slammed door before all goes deadly quiet. He screams into his pillow and collapses onto his bed. If only he had been the little boy who met the monster in the lake. He would have stayed. The people he loves will keep him safe, but what happens when there aren’t any left?

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detectiveupstead · 5 years ago

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Silver Lining [Upstead One Shot]

A/N: If you’ve watched Criminal Minds, then you’ll know this one shot is completely based off the Season 14 finale where JJ and Reid were held hostage, except at the end of this I of course took some creative liberty and changed it into fitting Upstead. I write for other fandoms on here, but this is my first Upstead fic. Let me know what you think!

They weren’t quite sure how they’d gotten here.

Well, they were. They’d been chasing down the offender, Eddie, who held Judge Carlyle at gun point and dragged her into a jewelry store. Jay and Hailey kept their guns pointed at him even as he held the store manager to his chest, gun to her temple, amongst the panic of the store as everyone else fled. They kept their guns pointed at him as he forced Judge Carlyle to pick up the gun and point it at the two police officers, only doing so because Eddie held her daughter somewhere.

Eddie forced the store manager to hit the security button, barricading the store containing priceless diamonds and gems and trapping them from the world outside. Jay and Hailey dropped their guns, now staring down the barrels of two others, despite Judge Carlyle holding hers with reluctant and trembling hands, and she followed Eddie’s orders as she picked them up and tossed them aside before duct taping both Jay and Hailey’s hands behind them. They had no choice, not with Eddie still holding a hostage, as they sat on the ground. Carlyle had no choice either, not with her daughter being in danger as well.

“Get on your knees,” Eddie spat at the manager, Jenny, who whimpered as she did so, eyes squeezed tightly and tears escaping them. Eddie pointed his gun at Judge Carlyle then, lifting his chin as he demanded, “Shoot her.”

Jenny let out a sob and Judge Carlyle looked at him, horrified, the gun still in her hands. Hailey’s muscles were tense, wishing Carlyle hadn’t taped her hands so securely. She wondered if the team was outside, knew they were doing everything they could to get them out of the store. But they wouldn’t have a way inside, not with them barricaded so securely, and from where she was sat, she didn’t quite have a view of the security camera in the upper corner behind her.

“Please,” Judge Carlyle begged, her voice trembling.

She was being put in an impossible situation, Hailey knew. She’d seen it enough times on the job to know a mother’s love was both powerful and heartbreaking. Knowing her daughter was being held somewhere because of the man holding a gun to her would force her into a heinous crime she didn’t dare commit.

Hailey’s blue eyes looked at Eddie, giving a shake of her head. “Don’t do this,” she said, unable to seep the warning tone from creeping into her voice. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

Eddie’s gaze snapped over to her, the fire in them bold, and she watched as he strode over to her, bending down. His free hand grasped the back of her head, her loose blond hair gripped tightly in his fingers yet Hailey refused to flinch, even when he pressed the barrel of the gun under her chin and tilted her head back to keep his eyes on hers.

Jay’s jaw tightened, automatically feeling his body shift, desperately wanting to put some distance between that gun and Hailey. His teeth hurt from how harshly he was clenching them, green eyes sharp and dark, as Eddie sneered at her, “I don’t think I was talking to you.” He was dangerously close to her face, digging the end of the gun into her skin, and as much as his body was screaming at him to do something, Jay knew one wrong move would end shit for good. Fuck. His gaze alone would melt the gun Eddie held. “Talk again and I’ll put a bullet in your partner.”

He let her go jerkily and Hailey glared after him, exhaling sharply through her nose as her gaze shifted over to Jay’s. He looked back, silently asking if she was okay, her response being a single yet assuring nod. They both looked back at Eddie, who seemed to be brimming with frustration that the judge hadn’t made a shot yet.

“You’re taking too long, your Honor,” he decided before his free hand grasped the back of Jenny’s shirt to yank her up. She shrieked, terrified, and both Hailey and Jay sat up, the scene in front of them unfolding too quickly. Eddie pushed Jenny into one of the counters, a stand of necklaces as well as a mirror smashing to the floor as she crashed into it, followed by the single pop of a gunshot as Eddie shot her once, sending her to the floor among the broken jewelry.

Judge Carlyle gasped, frozen in horror, widened eyes looking back at Eddie as he pointed his gun at her. Hailey tried to get a look at Jenny, her heart racing, trying to see if the woman was still alive. But all Hailey could see were her legs, the rest of her obscured behind the counter, and it wasn’t like Jay could look. He was sitting on the ground against the counter that separated him and Jenny. His sharp gaze was on Eddie, no doubt trying to figure out a way out of this where they all made it out alive.

“New game,” Eddie said, eyes on Carlyle, a near sinister smirk tilting at his lips. “You get to shoot one of them. Better make it quick—remember, I’ve got your daughter.”

Hailey’s throat worked. Fuck. She watched Judge Carlyle look at them, the gun still in her hand, pointed in the general direction of both cops but not quite at one of them. Behind her back, Hailey was still trying to work her way out of the duct tape, despite knowing it was more or less useless. They were taped tightly, sticking to her skin painfully. She was all too aware of her heart racing in her chest, refusing to look anything but collected in this moment.

Judge Carlyle, with trembling hands, pointed the gun at Hailey and Jay’s throat threatened to close up as he looked at Eddie and said, “Come on, man, you don’t gotta do this.”

Eddie, who stood behind Carlyle, scowled at Jay, thrusting his gun in the detective’s direction as he snapped, “You don’t get to tell me what I gotta do!” Jay noted the look of pain in Eddie’s face, masked under the hated anger. “You don’t know what it’s like to go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.” He shifted his gaze back to the judge, tilting his head. “The honorable judge here made a choice and sent me to prison, no matter what I said. Now, she’s gotta make another choice.” He took a menacing step forward, gun pressing into Judge Carlyle’s back, making her jump slightly and the trembling in her hands to grow worse. “She either shoots one of you, or she never sees her daughter again. It’s all up to her.”

Before Judge Carlyle could make a choice—the gun was still pointed towards Hailey—the store phone rang. The shrill ringing cut through the tense silence, making all four of them jump. Hailey’s lips parted, having a feeling of knowing exactly who it was. Voight and the others were probably attempting to set up a line of communication.

Eddie didn’t make any moves to answer it, and Hailey’s gut twisted. How was the team going to negotiate with a man who didn’t want anything except to make the woman he already held hostage pay? He had taken the fall for a crime his partner had committed, had been imprisoned for it and while he was locked up, the so called partner had disappeared and his family wanted nothing to do with him.

They couldn’t negotiate with a man who had nothing left to lose.

“Answer the phone, Eddie,” Jay said, his smooth voice calm and steady. Hailey looked at him to Jenny, who was still on the floor. Hailey couldn’t see if she was bleeding out, but she could so faintly hear the soft whimpers escaping the woman, could see the subtle shift of her legs. She was still alive. “Just answer it, man.”

They watched as Eddie snarled, gun still pointed at Carlyle as he took a step back, reaching behind him with his free hand to rip out the phone’s cord, instantly silencing it. Hailey cursed mentally, jaw tightening as she looked back at Jay. She saw the look he wore under the dull lighting of the store, knew that he was thinking the same thing—that there was probably no negotiating with Eddie.

“You’re taking too fucking long, Judge.” Quickly, then, Eddie snatched the gun out of Judge Carlyle’s hand before using it to shoot her in the leg. The woman went down with a scream of pen, falling to the ground with her upper half propped up by the counter, and Hailey felt herself jerk upwards at the sound of the gunshot. Both hers and Jay’s instincts kicked in to help, to do something other than just sitting around uselessly. But Eddie quickly pointed the gun at them, the fire in his eyes still present. “I don’t think so. Since the judge is too much of a coward to play, which one of you will it be, huh?”

“I’ll do it.” The words were falling past Hailey’s mouth without much thought, all too aware of the sharp, startled look Jay was sending her way. But Hailey didn’t regret it, because now the gun was once again pointed at her which meant it wasn’t on Jay. She didn’t think she could handle watching her partner get shot again. Twice was more than enough. She ignored the rapid beating of her heart, the protesting shift in Jay’s figure as he watched them intently. To Eddie, she agreed, “I’ll play.”

Eddie licked his lips, looking down at her. “Alright then, blondie.” He lifted his chin as Hailey watched him. He looked like he was considering his next few words. “Tell us a secret. One you wouldn’t ever say out loud.”

That. . . Wasn’t quite what she was expecting. But it was better than being forced to choose who to shoot. Her flannel seemed to feel too hot against her skin, but Hailey couldn’t pay any attention to that. A secret? “Okay, um—” Her throat worked, finding her gaze sweeping over to Jay. He was watching her, silently telling her she didn’t have to play Eddie’s game. But maybe it would stall him, long enough for the team to figure out a way inside. Hailey wanted to keep looking at Jay, to revel in the comfort his mere gaze brought her, but she couldn’t risk Eddie getting impatient and shooting one of them. “Uh,” she looked up at the offender, heart drumming. “I was with a, uh, guy who worked in a higher position than me and, um—” Fuck, she felt uncomfortable even uttering this. “I got promoted and to this day I, uh, tell myself it’s because I earned it but sometimes—sometimes I’m afraid that I didn’t and it was all because I was with the wrong person at the time.”

It was insecurity of hers, one she hated to even think about. But it was also an experience that always made her keep things close to the vest, to never let anyone in unless she trusted them with every fiber of her being. It was a rare bond for Hailey, but one she had so easily found in Jay Halstead. She tried not to think of her past, of her meritorious promotion, because every time she worked in Intelligence to solve a case, Hailey was reminded she was right where she belonged. Sleeping with someone who happened to get promoted right before she did had nothing to do with it—she’d told herself that countless times. Yet, it still was a thought that scratched at her like an itch that never disappeared.

She cleared her throat lightly after she finished speaking, watching Eddie, hoping her words were enough. Enough for what, she didn’t know. Hailey doubted he’d let them go even if she gave a satisfactory answer. Truthfully, she had no fucking idea what was going to happen. One glance at Jay—at the clench of his jaw and subtle lowering of his eyebrows—told Hailey he was still trying to figure it out, too.

She caught movement, in that moment. His hands, taped behind him just like hers, were ever so slowly moving, using his fingers to grasp something that may help to cut the tape. Hailey’s breath hitched in her throat, feeling the small pocket of hope open a little bit.

Except Eddie scoffed, scowling down at her, utterly unimpressed as he gave a shake of his head. The damned gun was still pointed at her. “Nah, nah, I don’t think so.” And then he moved the direction of his gun, pulling the trigger as the pop of it burst in Hailey’s ears.

She jerked, a startled gasp and terrified, “No!” escaping her before she could help it, because the bastard had pointed the gun at Jay and Hailey was sure Eddie had just blown his head off.

But the sound of the bullet shooting into the wooden counter, splintering it into pieces as Jay ducked into himself still hadn’t been enough to reassure Hailey that her partner was okay. The harsh sound elicited a scream of fright from Judge Carlyle, but Hailey couldn’t focus on her, or her own thundering heart, as her blue eyes widened and body jerked to move towards Jay.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so,” Eddie stopped her, the gun once again on her as she stopped in place. She hated that her hands were tied behind her back. But Hailey’s gaze remained on Jay, watching as he let out a sharp breath and sat up, his green eyes only slightly widened from the shot being so close to his head. He had ducked into himself, moving his head as far away from the splintering would as he could.

Her gaze remained on him, both of their breathing labored, as Jay finally looked up so his green eyes could meet her blue. She saw the subdued panic—a healthy level of panic was necessary for this kind of job—but otherwise he was okay. He nodded at her, expression alarmed, silently telling her this was getting out of hand. She couldn’t agree more, watching as he once again, subtly, continued to try and rip off the tape around his wrists.

“You’ve got one more chance, detective.” Eddie’s voice drew their gazes back to him, and Hailey pressed her lips together as his eyes narrowed at her. He took a menacing step towards her, looking down at her, definitely getting a kick out of having so much power over the bleeding judge and tied up police officers. “A secret you wouldn’t tell anyone—not even your partner here. And you better make it good or next time I won’t miss.”

Hailey’s breathing was labored, an effect of the panic of thinking Jay had been shot and the adrenaline pumping in her veins as she tried to figure out a way out of this. She wondered if the team was having any better luck on the outside. But for now, it was up to them. Up to her.

A secret she wouldn’t tell anyone—not even Jay.

The last thing she wanted to do was play this bastard’s game, to spill secrets she kept close to herself because that’s just who she was. Her personal life was her own, not anyone else’s to exploit. The confession about her promotion had been real, it had been the main reason as to why she had kept her relationship with Ruzek a secret last year. But it hadn’t been the biggest secret Hailey had, and somehow Eddie could tell. He wanted her to confess something she held right in her heart, and the thought of voicing it closed up her throat.

Hailey Upton was not a crier. She could remember only a handful of times she had cried in the last couple of years, and it had all been in situations that would make any sane person emotional. Al’s and Cameron’s separate murders, Garrett’s death, Ruzek getting hauled off to jail, Devin’s suicide in the holding cell, both times Jay was shot and she’d thought he was dead. . .

Jay.

Her throat worked as she looked down at the beige carpet, biting her lower lip as she felt her eyes glass over. She hated crying, wasn’t a fan of showing any kind of vulnerability—especially in front of an offender. But a confession had been something she had been so close to doing a few months ago in the hospital before she had silenced herself. Before she decided against it despite her heart screaming in protest and despite wanting to rid of the disappointed expression Jay had worn when she backed out. Hailey tried not to remember that night, tried not to think of how she got the feeling that Jay knew exactly what she had been wanting to confess, and how they never talked about it after. How they pretended things were like they always were between them.

Her nose burned, a tell tale symptom of the tears that gathered in her eyes as she whispered a soft, “Shit,” under her breath.

“You don’t got all day, detective,” Eddie snapped, the impatience in his voice one not to be prodded at. “Talk before I shoot your partner!”

“Okay, okay!” Hailey sounded, lifting her head as she took a breath. She took in Eddie’s expectant expression, at the gun he held, and Hailey decided if she was going to finally admit to something she’d been keeping to herself for so long, she wasn’t going to do so to the offender.

So she turned her head, blue eyes meeting green, catching the concerned expression that painted across Jay’s face when he took in her features. She could see the strain of his muscles under his jacket as he worked on the tape behind his back, though his eyes never left hers, and Hailey felt a terrified twist of her stomach over the next few moments. She would speak, and nothing would be the same between her and the best damn partner she’s ever had, for better or worse. And though she was pushed to it under threat, she would still be speaking from the heart. It would still be true.

“Jay.” His name fell like an unsteady whisper from her lips, sniffling before she let out a breath. Her heart was pounding, feeling the terror of her confession take over the fright of the situation at hand. Being scared was what kept Hailey from telling Jay all those months ago. Now, it seemed as though she had no choice. She wished the circumstances were different. “I—” She let out a breath through a nervous, anxious, scared smile. But his green eyes were encouraging, always ones she found herself getting lost in, warm and welcoming despite the situation at hand. And so she confessed. “I love you.”

If her confession slammed into him like a truck, then Jay didn’t show it. But Hailey noted the way his forehead smoothed out in surprise, lips parting silently as he looked at her, maybe thrown into a stunned silence. Hailey offered a close mouthed smile as she continued slowly, unsteadily. The words were out. Their relationship would be completely changed from now on. Might as well go all in.

“I’m in love with you,” she said breathily. “I—That’s what I wanted to tell you at the hospital. And—and I didn’t, because I got scared. Because the last partner I loved ended up dead and you’ve come too close to that too many times and it just terrified me. I was selfish for keeping it to myself for so long and I’m selfish for telling you now but—” She let out a breath, offering a sad, accepting smile as she finished, “But you should know.”

Jay stared at her, silent and surprised, and Hailey felt something in her heart twist at the thought of her confession ruining everything between them. The thought of losing Jay as her partner—it was something she had experienced too many times and just wanted to stop. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her, took in her words, let them process. What could he say? Hailey didn’t expect a response but. . . At least now he knew. For better or worse.

“Hot damn,” Eddie laughed from where he stood over them, and Hailey had to blink back the tears that had threatened to escape as she looked up at him. He looked pleased, and Hailey’s fingers itched to punch that stupid smile right off his face. “Now that’s a confession! Lucky bastard, aren’t you?” he added, raising his eyebrows at Jay, who merely tightened his jaw as he glared back. Clicking his tongue, Eddie looked back at Hailey before shrugging, “Too bad it ain’t good enough.”

Hailey’s eyes widened at his words, ready to jump as fast as she could and launch herself at Eddie to keep him from pulling the trigger, despite putting her life in more danger than it already was. A gunshot sounded and Hailey froze, watching as Eddie fell to the ground, lips parting, stunned, before she looked over at Jay.

Her partner sat with a gun out, shoulders moving up and down as he breathed, the weapon in his hands as he looked at Eddie’s lifeless body. Hailey’s eyebrows drew together over widened eyes, eyeing the the gun in Jay’s hands that wasn’t his regular sidearm, before her gaze lowered to his legs. She blinked in surprise, catching the ankle holster he wore under his jeans, completely unaware that he started wearing a second weapon.

But instead of sitting there and trying to process what just happened, both Jay and Hailey moved. They got to their feet and Jay quickly ripped off the tape tying Hailey’s hands, and as he went to check on Jenny, Hailey kicked the gun out of Eddie’s dead grip and picked up her own, not finding a pulse on him before she quickly pressed the button to rid the store of the barricade.

The next few moments were a blur; the rest of their team entered, as did EMTs from Med. Hailey kept by Judge Carlyle, who was in tears of relief as Voight assured her they found her daughter, who was being guarded by officers in her room at Med where the Judge was going to be taken. And for a little while, Hailey put her confession out of her mind, didn’t think about how she probably may have ruined her and Jay’s partnership and friendship. Because if she thought about it now, she knew her emotions would get the best of her once the adrenaline wore off.

She could feel his gaze on her from across the room. But Hailey didn’t look back. Not yet.

Hours later, she sat on her couch in the living room, a glass of whiskey in her hand as the TV mindlessly played a show she’d stopped paying attention to a while ago. Rojas was out with the rest of the team, who’d decided on Molly’s after the day they’d had, but Hailey decided to stay home. So she showered, got into some of her comfiest sweats, and tried to put the day behind her.

Easier said than done as the doorbell rang, and when she opened it, the breath caught in her throat at the sight of her partner standing on the other side.

Jay looked down at her, expression soft, as he asked, “Can I come in?”

Hailey refrained from biting her lower lip, heart pounding as she nodded and offered a quiet, “Yeah.”

He entered, stepping up into the dining room, most likely catching sight of the bottle that was placed on the coffee table in the TV room as he familiarly asked, “Pour me a drink?”

She grabbed a glass on her way into the living room, the weight of the couch sinking next to her as Jay sat down to her left after ridding his jacket. She poured him the drink, handing the glass over and picking up her own. It felt normal. Like what they always did after a tough case. But it wasn’t, Hailey knew that.

They were silent, the only sound emitting from the TV, as Hailey looked down at her glass. She wanted to say something, anything, but Jay had beat her to it. “You know, for two people who don’t have the best track record for work place romance, we’re doing a shit job at it.”

Hailey let out a light scoff, finger tracing the rim of her glass. She didn’t meet his gaze as she reminded him, “We don’t have a work place romance.”

“What if we did?”

Hailey’s grip on her glass tightened so she didn’t drop it, finally looking over at the man sitting next to her. Jay was already watching her, green eyes intent, looking for something in her features. Her breath was locked in her throat, wondering if she’d heard him right, wondering if this was going where she so badly wanted it to, but was scared. She hated being scared. Especially with Jay—someone she trusted with everything in her, the person she’d follow anywhere and knew she would get the same in return.

What if we did?

He wanted something more. Just like she did. And that both thrilled and frightened Hailey. Would they be making a mistake? Would they still be able to do their jobs if they were partners and something more at the same time? Neither of them had a good history with that, she knew—what would make them so different that they wold work?

Hailey looked at Jay, and it was like he knew exactly what was going through her head, because he set down his glass and turned his body to face hers. “Hailey, you and I? We work. There’s something here that’s so much more than just a partnership, and I know you feel it too. Having you as my partner, my best friend—it’s more than I could’ve ever asked for. But I can’t sit back knowing there’s a chance for us to be more.” He let out a breath, offering a shake of his head. “Not when I know what I feel for you isn’t just one sided.”

Her eyes widened, blue eyes taken aback as she looked up at him. Her heart was drumming, skin flushing, as she pathetically stammered out, “Y-You—”

“Yeah,” Jay nodded, a light, short chuckle escaping him as his lips quirked up into an endearing smile. “Yeah; I love you, too, Hailey. I should’ve said it a while back so. . . That makes the two of us being scared to say it.”

She looked up at him, at the handsome, charming man who was also the best partner she ever had. And despite the fear still twisting her stomach, Hailey would be lying if she said she didn’t also detect the excitement, the overwhelm of knowing that he felt the same way. And to hear him say it, to hear him say that he loved her too, well that had the air rushing out of her lungs and heart jumping in her chest. He loved her too and it was the best thing she had ever heard in her life.

“We go forward with this and. . . Everything will change. You know that, right?” Hailey asked. Despite her heart telling her to shut up, to not give him a chance to back out, Hailey knew she owed it to him. She just needed to remind him, and herself, about what they would be getting into if they decided to act on these confessions.

A corner of Jay’s lips curled upwards, a boyish smirk she’d grown so fond of over the years. “I don’t think it will,” he responded confidently, the signature Jay Halstead smugness coming out to play. “We’ll still be us—except with a whole lot of this.”

She raised her eyebrows at his words, heart racing and feeling the smile curl her own lips as they greeted Jay’s in a kiss. His warm hands cupped her face as she leaned into him, moving her lips with his own, feeling the flush of warmth and shock of the electricity that shot through her body. Her right hand was still holding her glass of whiskey, but her left slid up Jay’s chest and fisted the material of his shirt, keeping him close as they got lost in the kiss. One that had been a long time coming, melting into each other and the warmth, comfort, and safety they provided.

Despite herself, Hailey couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she kissed Jay, feeling his own lips tilt upwards into an adorable grin of his own. Today had been a rough one, no doubt about it, but if there was a silver lining, this would be it.

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