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beskarberry · 3 years

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Devil’s Advocate

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 5

(The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 11.2k whoops

Content warnings: VICES: gambling/smoking/drinking (reader drinks) Introduction of chapter-specific OC characters. Lots of angst to fluff, sexy times of course.

A/N: This might be more self indulgent than the first chapters but not because of the smut. I kinda go off about fancy clothes so long descriptions of costumes are a big chunk of this chapter.

<-Previous Next->

You hated everything about Canto Bight.

Everything about the city was so... artificial. The stadium flood lights, the glowing neon signs, even the ocean herself had been excavated from the planet’s stubborn sandstone surface instead of eroded naturally by the march of time. To you it was like looking at Corellia’s gold painted twin, a monument to the hubris of all sentient life.

Even the patrons of the gilded city were fake; their clothes, their makeup, their personalities. Every aspect of them was perfectly curated to deceive and lie, whatever fanciful display would work best to cheat their way to the jackpot. You almost wished you could look past the falseness of it, experience the visual fanfare of light and color that reflected on every surface. You wanted the music and the art and the decor that had been so carefully picked and placed to mean something to you, to sparkle in your heart just as it sparkled in the eyes of the teeming masses. But, all for naught, the gleaming metropolis stung your eyes; and you turned away from it to admire the quaint little space that actually mattered to you.

You shared the tight quarters of the cockpit with the two strange boys that had recently whisked you away to the stars. Mando was seated in the pilot's chair with his tiny green son perched in his lap, trying to get him to eat his dinner without making so much of a mess. You had already eaten, and you were turning the last hunter’s puck over in your hand, reluctant to get this chase started and take away from the familial scene beside you. It would have to happen sooner or later, and you gave the puck a squeeze to fire up the projector. A ghostly blue fog glowed up into the space above your palm, and the face that looked back at you was surprisingly fair; if not for his crimson skin and long black horns you wouldn’t have known he was Devaronian by his elegant features alone.

Elios Blackwater was a dapper debonair, his high cheekbones angled sharply under devious eyes towards a sly, sharp toothed grin. The puck notes didn’t specify what he was wanted for, though from the looks of his charming smile and shifting eyes it could easily be anything from a gamblers quarrel to breaking hearts, with a higher reward for being returned alive rather than dead. He would most likely be in a heavily inhabited area, probably as close to Canto Bight’s aurelian heart as possible. You didn’t know why Mando had taken a bounty puck for such a densely populated world, and you would have loved to know what his plan was to get to the city’s casino center before you had arrived in his life. A pair of ragamuffin bounty hunters and their floating baby bucket would stick out like sore thumbs in this gilded mecca of gamblers. If you were going to get to your quarry without being arrested, you were going to have to blend in.

“We’re going to have to do something about...this.” You said, waving your hand in front of your partner’s ferocious attire, though truthfully you weren’t dressed any more appropriately for the mission at hand. “They’ll see us coming a mile away.”

He glanced down at himself with a tilt of his helmet, ignoring the mess his son was making of his meal. “What do you have in mind?”

You weren’t entirely sure yet. From where the Crest was parked you could see the glittering city’s reflection sparkling on the water far ahead of you down the beach, a sight most would find alluring, but to you it was just harsh glare. Nearby where you had landed were other space craft parked up and down the gravelly, machine-carved beach; the pleasure cruisers of wealthy betters made your little scrapheap look even worse than it already did. You watched out the cockpit’s transperisteel window, noting the movement of patrons and their attending droids loading skiffs with piles of luggage, and got yourself a mighty fine idea.

"I think so, but you're probably not going to like it. Stay here." You rose from your seat and kissed the baby on the head, earning yourself a soft, mush-mouthed chirp before you slid down the ladder and let yourself out of the old rust bucket and into the salty sea air of the Cantonican night. Gravel crunched under your boots, and you took a moment to turn and glance back at the Crest, catching the faintest flicker of scope glare where Mando was nervously watching you from the flight deck. Ahead of you a large cruiser was being unloaded by droids, the owners having long since made their way to the casinos, and you made yourself known to the robotic servants with your most charming damsel-in-distress voice.

"Hello! Excuse me! My luggage is too heavy to carry, can you help me? It's just over here on my ship..." The droid nearest you made a stiff bowing motion and tottered after you with the loaded hoverskiff floating along behind. You guided the droid up the open ramp and into the bowels of the ship to where your difficult luggage lay. It never stood a chance, bits of wire and duraplast flew across the cabin like confetti from the blaster shot to its head. Mando lowered his gun back to his holster, freeing his hands to help you haul the skiff into the narrow cabin space, then quickly close the ramp behind you.

The sled took up most of the walking space in the ship, so you got up on top of it and began looting through the stolen designer bags, pulling resplendent finery out into the hazy light. The first tote was full of piles of silk sewn for something with more arms than the two of you put together, so most of those items were tossed to the floor. The second bag was just capes, each a unique and lovely pattern, but nothing more. You demolished the remaining bags, making piles on the floor for ‘maybes’ and ‘definitely-nots’ until you found what you were looking for: a humanoid woman’s clothes.

Most of the unknown lady’s elegant garments would be just slightly too big on you, but you were able to settle on a soft, garnet colored evening gown that would go just above your knees, with extra length in the back. It had a sloping neckline that plunged at your cleavage, and around the bell of the skirt were silver rhinestones that caught the light of the cabin like dewdrops, the weight of them giving the dress a wistful sway. You wouldn't be able to carry much in such a revealing article, but a blaster and a knife alone had gotten you out of more trouble than you would care to admit.

You were fishing through the feminine things for something to do about your hair when you caught Mando in the corner of your eye. He was leaning against the hull wall, just watching you as you made a fat mess of the Razor's interior. You smiled down at him from your floating perch and held up the fanciful garment that you had picked out for him to see. "You like it?"

"It doesn't suit you, mesh’la." He said with a lazy tilt of his helmet. You had begun to mentally keep track of all the Mando’a he used around you, and you were starting to notice his frequent use of affectionates. You spun slightly so he could get a good look at how the fabric moved in the light, but the hunter gear you currently had on took away from the loveliness of the expensive clothes. You guessed he preferred your killer garb anyway over the flimsy, delicate fabric. Or nothing at all.

"Well, it’ll have to do, and if you don't start picking something out for yourself I’m going to dress you up like a dandy.”

He sighed, long and tired before turning his attention to the silken pile on the floor. You went back to the luggage, finding some knee high boots that were close enough to your size, but had a heel height that was going to make your ankles cry. You picked out some tasteless accessories: some bracelets, and big, jewel-encrusted hair pins to wear as well. The glitzier that you were, the less you would be noticed in this bass-ackward town. When you had made your frivolous selections you hopped off the skiff to help Mando with his costume. He was worse at finding something to wear than you were, having only picked out some of his own black leather gloves and two pairs of pants that were not made for human legs. Mandalorian armor did not come off as far as your metal man was concerned, and you were going to have to find a way to hide his bulk. You convinced him to lose his cloak, chest belts, and the bandoliers on his hips and boots, anything to lighten the load. Loose silks and stiff fiber combos would be your best friend, and you cobbled together what you could for your beskar-burdened buddy.

After what seemed like an eternity you had him dressed to the nines, or at least the eights. You had covered his chest plate in a black silk shirt and stiff black vest. The shirt had wide bottomed sleeves and neat, tight cuffs that hid his vambraces well, but you still made him wear a cinched-waist blazer plus a long, black and silver cape that almost reached the floor. You found a dark red pocket square that matched your dress and tucked it into the pocket of his vest, a subtle, but unmistakable announcement to the world that he was there with you. It was a ridiculous amount of fabric on top of an already massive mountain of metal, but the look was very in-style for Canto Bight. All together he actually passed for something besides a murder machine, and you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. Mando held still for you while you fussed with his outfit with only the occasional huff. As much as he didn't like the idea of walking so boldly through the gilded city, he did enjoy your brazen touch each time you added another article of clothing.

“And now for the finishing touch.” There was nothing you could do about his helmet, so you were just going to have to make it look as nice as you could. You hadn’t changed into your chosen disguise yet, so you strode through the messy cabin with ease until you reached the lock box next to the cot. Inside you found the krayt’s teeth that you had gifted him and pulled them out into the light, waving them at him as you stretched over the heaps of fabric on the ground. He raised his hands in protest.

“What if I lose them?”

“You can wear these or you can wear whatever the hell this is.” You held up an enormous chain of jewels that looked like it belonged in the treasure case at an arcade instead of around somebody's neck. “Besides, I know you won't lose them, you like them too much.” He tilted his helmet at you with disdain, and you realized that was precisely the reason he didn’t want to wear them, such lovely gifts should be kept safe and secure. But he let you press the precious trinkets into the recess of his helmet where his human cheeks would be anyway. The frozen pools of moonlight tied everything about his sin-city look into a perfect, glittery bow. You had grown to admire the look of him in his cultural armor, the ferocity of it, the utility and strength of the beskar that shined no matter how much damage it took; and you were a bit sad to see it hidden. The look of the man standing before you had a wildly different feel, though it was not one you were opposed to.

“You look nice, Din.” The sound of his own name coming from your lips made his heart swell, and he reached out for your hand on instinct to pull your knuckles to his brow in the sweet gesture of his people that you both now used. His movements caused the finery he was masquerading in to catch the cabin’s hazy light, and you got excited to put on your own costume and join him in looking like a fool. When he let your hand fall, you bounded over to your pile, throwing the hunting clothes off of yourself as you went. When you were standing there in nothing but your Tattooinian muck boots you cast a sly glance over your shoulder. As expected, the single black eye of your Mandalorian was locked on your almost-naked form, and you realized that in the time you had been together he had never seen you fully naked; just the parts of you he needed to get to in the moment. “How’s this? You like this better?”

When he didn’t answer right away you looked down at yourself and saw what he was staring at. You had forgotten about the marks of conquest he had put there when he had been driven to a sexual frenzy by the last quarry’s poison, still dotting your thighs with dark purple splotches. Not once had you been upset with him for his actions, you were just thankful you both made it through the ordeal alive, but he still looked at the damning marks with shame. He had been forced to break his protector’s oath against his will, inflicting injury to your precious body with his own two hands. You waited until his visor made its way back up to meet your eyes, and you reached out for him to give you his hand. He sheepishly obeyed, and you brought his hand to your lips, kissing at the all-black leather slowly until you heard him sigh through his modulator. You would forgive him a hundred times if you had to, and then a hundred more if it meant he could forgive himself. You pulled his hands to your waist and leaned up against him, enjoying the feel of new clothes on your skin and letting your hands run up his silken arms. “Well you can have this,” You nodded down at your bare everything with a mischievous grin, “As soon as we catch this fucko.”

This was the last bounty you would need before you made the trip back to Nevarro, but you were still on the fence about how completing your mission made you feel. On one hand you would be free of the Guild’s relentless hunters, but on the other your partnership with the strange metal man and his adorable beanbag of a son would come to a close. You turned back to your outfit and began cinching a pair of thigh holsters to your legs, hiding your wincing face as the leather closed around your bruises; a blaster on one leg and a knife on the other. You pulled on the dress and fixed up your hair as best you could, then stepped out of your good boots and into the slutty knee-highs. There was only one loose end to take care of.

“Where’s baby?” You glanced around the messy cabin, looking for your foundling. In the corner under a pile of capes there was movement, and you cleared the flashy finery away to reveal your bestest little friend. Big, glittering orbs looked up at you from the pile of fabric, and a tiny toothy grin shined from his cute baby face. “Heya booger, you ready to go?” You scooped him up in your arms for a hug before picking a big shiny scarf up to wrap him up with, then placed him carefully down in one of the gaudy designer bags. “If anyone asks, he is a pet.” The child didn’t seem to care, he was just happy to be included, waving his little pudgy baby hands up at you to hold. You squeezed his tiny paw, then turned to Mando, “You ready to go, Lord Beskar?”

He glanced down at himself, tilting his palms up and shrugging. “I guess so, I feel ridiculous.”

“Good enough!” You made for the exit ramp with a big stride, and almost broke your damn ankle on the first step, falling gracelessly into the arms of your partner. He caught you with ease, and your cheeks went red with his strong, gentle hands on you again for the hundredth time. You got to your feet, but you would be leaning heavily on him for most of the night until the boots were broken in. With you hanging off of his arm the two of you looked like a proper couple, just heading out for a night on the town instead of two bloodthirsty bounty hunters on the prowl. You might let yourself pretend though, just for the night.

You took a transport speeder from the beach to the city’s entrance, then made your way through the gilded streets, following the red blink of the bounty fob towards your quarry. You had to stop multiple times, the fucking boots making your feet hurt like you knew they would. Mando stood patiently with you each time, and more than once offered to just carry you. His visor would glide from side to side, always on the alert for anyone that might be following you, or worse, hunting you down. The tracking fob led you to the most obvious choice of casino: the tallest, brightest, shiniest temple of vice smack dab in the city’s center.

The front entryway was dominated by a roaring, gushing fountain, shooting geysers in a perfectly timed pattern high into the Cantonican night sky. The fountain was lit up with bright, multicolored spotlights so that every stream of water and drop of spray glittered back in defiance of the stars that had inspired them. Inside, the casino floor was packed with patrons, ranging in size and species in an infinite array of wealth and power. Chandeliers hung high above you from the soaring cathedral ceilings, sending sparkling lights racing around the endless room like shooting stars. Every surface was bright and gleaming, dozens of pillars and statues illuminated by blinding limelight. Even the floor was magnificent, black and white marble with huge inlaid stars, guiding gamblers through the limitless space towards their wildest desires. Again you wished you could appreciate the extravagance of it all, though the way the lights streamed like mercury over the beskar of your pretend date made something else sparkle behind your eyes.

The smell of inhalants and alcohol burned in your nose, and you took a moment to make sure your purse puppy’s face was covered with something so he wouldn’t have to endure it as much as you were. The sound of gamblers and music and roaring competition was louder than the screams of the hyperspace engine aboard the Crest, the cacophony of it all making you anxious. You were thankful that you weren’t hunting this bounty alone, and you still held on to Mando tightly, letting him lead you over the cosmic marble floor through the streaming masses. The people paid you no mind, moving out of the way without casting a second glance. Your costumes were working exactly as you had intended, and you applauded yourself for how well you had deceived the City of Lies.

You had guessed that if your bounty would be anywhere, it would be at the center of attention, and you were right. Elios Blackwater sat at the atrium bar, surrounded by beautiful and interesting people. The glint of gold jewelry caught the radiant casino lights every time he moved, drawing the eyes of all those around him. He was telling some kind of wild story that had his little crowd hooked on every word, though you could tell from a distance he was all bullshit. Immediately you knew this was a man that was used to having everything he desired, never being denied a single whim in all his days. A plan began to simmer in your skull, and you knew right away your partner was not going to like it. If you were going to get the quarry alone, you were going to have to persuade him to leave the company of his fans, and you only knew one sure-fire method for a man of Blackwater’s tastes. You let yourself off of your escorts’ arm to turn and face him, pulling his hands to your hips and letting your own rest on his shoulders so that to any outsiders you two would be just another pair of passionate dancers making their way through the counterfeit cosmos.

“Mando, do you trust me?” His hidden eyes were still glancing around the room, scanning for any lurking threats.

“Of course.” His words went right over your head, his ears too full of the sounds of potential danger to really hear you. You huffed and ran your hands to his bedazzled helmet, pulling it down to meet your eyes.

“Pay attention, bucket boy. I need to hear you say it and know that you mean it. Do you trust me?” He cocked his head, confused that you would have to ask twice.

“Yes, ner cyar’ika, I trust you.”

“Good.” You let your hands fall back to his armored shoulders, pressing yourself up against him tighter. Your fingers fidgeted in the heavy material of his cloak, he was going to hate this. “Because I need to do something. Alone.”

That got his attention fast.

“No, it’s too dangerous here. I want you where I can protect you. What if there’s hunters?”

“I know, I need you to cover me, but from a distance. I think I can convince Elios to walk right into the carbonite freezer, but I can’t do it with you looming over me.” You wrapped your hands around the back of his helmet, pulling him down so that his forehead met with yours. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think it would work.” He sighed between your hands, the steam of his breath slipping out from under the helmet’s edge. There was nothing he would rather not do than be away from you, but he did trust you, and he nodded against your embrace.

“I’ll call for you as soon as I’m ready, ok? Just keep your eyes on me, and don’t cause a scene. No matter what.” You couldn’t kiss him like you wanted to, but you still pressed your lips to the side of his beskar before letting go, pulling yourself away from his tender grasp. His hands still floated in the space where you had been as you turned away from him and made your way to the bar, the heavy purse bumping against your weaponized thighs with every flint and tinder step of your sky high heels. As you got closer to the bounty you could hear the shreds of his conversation starting to make their way over the noise of the casino.

“...And I said ‘Darlin’ if you didn’t want to take it home with you, ya shouldn’t have put it in your mouth!” The way he was telling his story gave you the impression that it wasn’t one you wanted to hear, and you started to regret your foolhardy plan. Gold rings and precious jewels sparkled all the way from his fingers to the caps on his horns, making it impossible for most to look away, a fact made apparent by his captivated audience. The beautiful boozers laughed and cheered at his every word, though from his stupidass sounding story you wondered how much of the affection was alcohol induced. You pulled a seat up at the bar a few stools away from the crowd and ordered yourself a shot of spotchka and a couple packs of cookies. You slipped the snacks into your bag for Din’s foundling, you would be needing him for your plan to work as well; and the promise of treats would keep his bright-eyed attention on you.

The taste of spotchka was vile, but you had started your journey though the galaxy on the gigantic starcruisers that were built on your homeworld of Corellia, and you had gotten to know the taste of the sailor-favorite drink at a tender age. You sipped at your brew, listening casually to the Devaronian’s conversation, but never turned your eyes to him. Every once in a while another bar patron would swagger up beside you to offer you another shot. You turned down anything you didn’t order yourself, but you started telling them fabricated stories about your life among the stars, most of which were wild tales of fancy from old holovids you had seen. You wished you could turn around and find your favorite rust bucket, wherever he may be hiding among the festivities, and give him something to reassure him. A nod or a wave, anything to let him know you weren’t just making him jealous on purpose.

Soon you were throwing back brightly glowing shots of brew, and a handful of interested patrons had gathered around you to hear about how you had jerry-rigged a star cruiser to run on spotchka when you were a space pirate smuggling kyber crystals for the resistance, among other things. When you had your head tilted back you cast a glance towards the bounty, and saw what you had been waiting for. His hooded eyes were watching you intently, he didn’t like that someone was getting any of the attention pie that he believed was his alone, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had to do something about it. Soon enough the dapper devil rose from his entourage, running a painted claw through his long dark hair before making his way to you, sauntering with every step.

Hook.

“Well hello there, darlin’, name’s Elios. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing chugging spotchka when you could be drinkin’ something as fine as you are?” The debonair’s words were long and slow, making sure that every drawn syllable would be heard. “Bartender! Get this lovely lady a real drink, if ya please.” You weren’t sure what counted as a ‘real drink’, but the dark liquid that was slid over to you stank even worse than spotchka with the strength of its proof. Elios couldn’t stand that someone else might be having more fun than he was, and he was determined to put you out of commission. He wanted to do it in such a way that you would be thanking him for it, preferably while on your knees. “What’s yer name, baby cakes?”

From the other side of the busy casino you could feel the void of a visor making the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Mando was standing on the far side of the slot machines where the light was just a little less glaring, so motionless he might have been part of the decorations. He wasn’t sure what your plan was, or how you would talk the quarry into being captured without gaining the suspicion of the wandering security enforcers. He bristled whenever a bar patron started trying to make nice with you, and only got progressively more frustrated when more and more started hanging around you. When he saw the bounty slink his way over to you he wanted to dash across the marble floor and break his fucking neck just for being in your airspace. ‘Don’t make a scene, no matter what’ is what you had told him, and you had asked him to trust you. So he did as he was asked. Watching, waiting.

“Hmm, I don’t think you could handle it.” Oh, Elios didn’t like that one bit, nobody told Mr. Blackwater ‘no’ without consequences. He swirled a glass of the same dark liquid around in one perfectly manicured hand, his polished claws clicking on the side of the glass. You continued to ignore him, but you started on the new drink in front of you. Yucky, at least spotchka was familiar. He took your acceptance of the drink as an invitation to join you at the bar.

“You’re awful sly, baby cakes, tell me yer name so I can make you forget it later.” His pointed teeth flashed out from his crooked smile, and you could smell the stench of expensive cologne and aftershave. You rolled your eyes big and wide so he could see just how unimpressed you were, but your nose was burning from how bad he smelled. This was a bad idea, but only because of how well it was going to work. Fresher soap, where are you?

“I’ll tell you what, if you can out-drink me, I’ll tell you my name.” His wicked smile split his face, showing off rows of brilliant white fangs. Party-boy could probably hold a few good shots, but you were raised by sailors, and you were gonna drink his ass under the table.

“You’re on, sweet cheeks. Bartender! Another round!” Another set of shot glasses plinked to the counter, and vanished just as fast. Elios was eyeing you up and down, seeing if you were all bark and no bite. If he could just get you drunk enough…

Far from where you were drinking the Mandalorian you had asked to trust in you was furious, trying not to thumb the handle of his blaster that poked out from the side of his hip under his cloak. It would be so easy, he could hit the target from here and it would be over, you would be back by his side and not being drooled over by that fucking pathetic excuse for a man.

“He has that effect on people.”

Mando’s helmet snapped on the sounds’ source, so lost in vicious thoughts that he didn’t hear the stranger come to lean against the wall by him. They were tall and thin, translucent green skin and a mop of hair-like cilia growing from their head to their flowy chiffon clothes. They looked exhausted. “That your girl over there?” Mando followed their gaze wordlessly, reluctant to make friends right now while he was busy waiting for you to call him back to your side. “Thought so.” The stranger took a long drag on an inhalant, blowing vibrant pink clouds into the smoky room. “Sorry for your loss, Elios always gets what he wants.” Mando turned again to the stranger, fixing them with his black hole glare, but they only shrugged; watching the drinking game unfold between you and the devil himself.

“Another!” You hollered, but the glasses were already in front of you, then gone again. The Devaronian hissed back the sting of the high-dollar liquor, shaking his long mane that had started to come undone. You pretended to reel from the liquor's effects, leaning back just a tad too far on your seat. “Again!” The third round of shots came and went, and Elios nearly fell off his stool. Right where I want you. You waved at the bartender for the fourth and final shot that would probably put the devil right on his ass, but that’s not where you were headed with this show of tenacity. You had to get him alone before you made your capture, or the security enforcers that littered the casino floor would descend on you like vultures.

You waited til he had thrown his drink back before you tilted yours, purposely spilling a few drops down your front so the booze would trickle down between your breasts. Elios nearly choked, and you knew you had his full, undivided attention. Din, I’m so sorry.

“Woo! I don’t think I can do any more, Mister Blackwater, you win.” you feigned, holding the back of your hand up to your forehead, trying to convince him that the room was spinning for both of you and not just him. His sultry laugh made your skin crawl.

“Please, call me Elios.”

Line.

“Well, Elios, you still wanna know my name? You’re gonna have to work for it.” You placed a hand on his leg, running your fingers up his thigh and around the edge of his waist, pulling at his pockets seductively to drive the point home. Does he have SCALES? What the fuck ew ew ew. He took the hint like a drunk takes to spotchka, flashing you a slurred smile.

“Well… sugar lips, we can take this... elsewhere.”

“Sure thing, Elios, lemme just have my attendant take my Poochie up to my room.” You held the heavy purse up so he could see the big black eyes hiding in its depths.

“What the fuck is that thing?”

“He’s a pet, obviously.”

“What kind’a fuckin’ pet?”

“Purebred.” Your quick answer seemed good enough for Mr. Drinky, and he nodded like that made perfect sense. You raised your fist to the air and snapped your fingers.

The human fortress was at your side in a heartbeat, towering above the two of you. You stuffed the purse in his hands before he could ask where to point his gun. “Here, take Poochums up to my room, mama’s not coming home tonight, if y’know what I mean. Get him washed and fed, and don’t forget to scrub his feet!”

“Yes Ma’am.” The bag was lifted carefully from your fake-drunk hands, and you tried to flash him your best ‘Please-don’t-be-mad-at-me-I-hate-this-too’ face at your partner, but you guessed the look was lost on his visor. The scene did not escape Elios’s eyes like you had hoped it would.

“Now what in the Mmmmaker’s Mammaries is that big ass fuckin’ thing? That some kinda droid? It’s damn fancy.” Shit balls of hell.

“Uh.. Yes! This is the finest in personal assistant droid technology! See, look.” You grabbed Mando’s empty arm and pulled back sharply on the fabric, revealing the delicate button panel of his vambrace. “Only the best money could buy...”

“I gotta get me one of those...” Elios stared bewildered as your personal petsitting droid turned and left. “Well, honey tits, you wanna take this upstairs?” Ugh.

“Oh suurrre… Oh Mr. Blackwater I’m ~soooo~ drunk ahaha…” You were barely buzzed, and you worried that your life among the stars had given your liver bigger balls than a bounty hunter. You wobbled on your stool, for phase two of your plan to work you would have to delay Elios as long as possible. You watched as the man whose heart you had stolen faded away from you, the fancy purse hooped over his shoulder and knocking up against his leg, cape billowing behind him as he went. Alright, Baby Beans, it’s up to you now!

Din was seething under his helmet, pissed as shit that this was what your elaborate ‘plan’ entailed. He was trying not to storm through the casino as he left to take your ‘Poochums’ up to your room, whatever the hell that fucking meant. How could he be so fucking stupid? This was exactly the same ruse you had tried to pull on him from day one. Seduction was your real talent, luring your lovers to their untimely demise. How many times had you pulled this stunt? Was this your master plan all along? Ouch. Play with his heart until you were free of your Guild warrant? Ow. You were just using him to get to Nevarro, then you would fuck off to the stars and leave him behind. After everything you had been through, he was just another notch on your bedp-

“OUCH!”

Din looked down to his side where the pain he was trying to ignore was coming from, and saw a fat green paw sticking out of the ugly expensive purse, digging vicious talons into the side of his leg. His foundling was trying to burrow through his thigh, and his claws might actually have drawn blood. “What, womp rat? What do you want?” There was something in the baby’s other hand, something golden and flashy. Din reached into the bag and pulled the embossed card from his son’s grasp. What’s this? There was a set of numbers etched in gold filigree in the top of the card, their shimmer blasting away the destructive void he had been spiraling into.

Key card! PENTHOUSE key card! You had tricked the bounty into getting close enough to you that you could pick his pocket without him noticing. You were luring Elios right into a trap, and your Mandalorian was the snare. Din felt a mix of emotion ranging from relief to shame, how could he even think for one second that you might be deceiving him? You had asked him to trust you, and he couldn’t even contain his jealousy long enough to make it through one hunt. He felt like such an ass, you were putting your skills to good use, at great risk to your own safety, just like he had asked you to from the beginning. This wasn’t just his hunt anymore, it was a joint effort between the two of you, and it was his turn to run the next leg of the relay. The heavy, silver-laced cloak was tossed to the side as he raced to the elevator, fluttering away behind him as he flew to beat you there.

Meanwhile, you were trying to keep the bounty from falling flat on his face, and the only way to do that was to hold him up yourself. His hands were all over you, the nick of sharp, neat claws catching on the fabric of your evening dress and scratching along your skin. I’m gonna break those fingers, motherfucker. He was slurring his words, making disgusting promises of what he was gonna do to you when you reached his private penthouse. You were just out of range of his boozehole, the lippy thing trying to steal a taste of you. Wobbly steps slowed you both down to almost a crawl, which was exactly what you were trying to do, anything to give Mando time to find the hotel room first. You passed a discarded cloak on the floor, the familiar silver inlay catching the light, and you worried that you might have pushed your partner too far. What if he left? What if he didn’t see the keycard and I’m heading up alone? Please be there, Din. Please don’t leave me with this fucking creep. You both reached the elevator, and Elios fumbled to find his wallet, thankfully having a spare key that he didn’t know he needed. The doors opened, and you realized you would be stuck in your own personal hell for the entire trip up to the top floor suite. Fucking super.

Elios was getting impatient during the ride up, and it took every fiber of your being to keep from retching as his well-moisturized hands ran up and down your spine. The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse, and his perfectly manicured claws dug into your ass to usher you into the room. The top floor suite was dark, save for the lights of Canto Bight shining in through the cathedral windows. You took a mental note of the speeder parked out on the balcony, you would be needing it later. The Devaronian was at your ear, breathing hot, boozy steam around your neck until he was facing you. He went to bite at your mouth, but you stopped him with a finger to his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." You whispered in your most convincing lust-laden voice. The devil chuckled and ran his slimy, forked tongue around the halting digit. Barf.

"Oh yeah, baby cakes? Why’s that?"

You batted your eyelashes and bit your lip into a wry smile before meeting his half-lidded eyes. "Because... you're going to make Daddy very angry."

His lips turned upwards in an aroused sneer, flashing his dazzling, daggerlike teeth, "How could getting a taste of that fiery little mouth’a yours make me angry, darlin’?"

Sinker.

"I'm not talking about you, I'm talking about him."

Elios didn't even have a chance to turn around to see where your eyes were looking before a black and silver fist broke his nose and sent his perfect teeth soaring across the room, throwing him down to the marble floor. Seeing his busted prettyboy face bleeding at your feet made you feel so relieved that a vicious shiver made its way from your head to your toes, and you let your body shake the devil’s touch off of you like a big wet bantha.

"Fuck! Oh fucking hell, Mando, you have -no idea- how hard it was to keep that up, he’s so gross! I’m gonna chuck his ass in carbonite so fucking hard his horns’ll break off!" Your partner was still squared up, just waiting for the interloper to try and get up and fight. He wanted the bounty to get up, flail, scream, any excuse to hit him again. But Blackwater was out cold, staining the white marble floor with his blood.

"You looked like you were handling it."

The deadpan tone of his voice told you that wasn't exactly a compliment, remembering the jealousy that had seethed out of him on Tatooine after that Trandoshan had tried to capture you. You had two choices: you could either try to defend yourself and your unconventional bounty catching method, or you could turn that jealousy in your favor. He didn’t remember much from his toxic encounter with the Ardennian, but you knew that every filthy, possessive thing he had said to you that night was still somewhere in that chrome dome of his; and you became determined to bring them to the light. You crossed one arm over your chest, raising the other to tap a finger against the corner of your lips.

"Oh? You didn't like that, did you? Didn't like that he had his hands on me? Touching things that don’t belong to him?" He didn't answer, but the creaking of leather from his fists tightening told you what you already knew. "Tell me, Mando."

"N-no." His visor remained fixed on the unconscious body still bleeding on the floor. Not good enough.

"No what?"

"No. I didn't like that." His voice was low and raspy, but only because he was trying to keep the boiling rage in his chest from blowing his fucking helmet off.

"Tell me what you didn't like." You stepped over the quarry to your man, running your fingers from his balled fists over his silk and steel arms until you were at his shoulders. You could feel the slightest shudder under all his layers at your touch.

"I didn't like him touching you. Nobody should put their hands on you, cyar'ika" His fists lowered to his sides but his visor was still on the floor. You let your hands wander up his neck to the bejeweled recesses of his helmet and turned him to meet your eyes.

"Why not?"

"B-because..."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Because you are mine." He growled through his helmet so hard that you swore you saw it vibrate, sending a delicious tingle though your spine. Atta boy.

“Again.”

“You are mine!” Even behind the beskar you could hear the clench of his teeth biting back deeper desires. His hands went to your waist, pulling you tightly to his chest. The fire coming off of him was scalding, you had pushed your luck too far with this one, and you could feel the volcano inside his ribcage boiling over. He was furious. His heavy armored head pushed against your brow, and you let your thumbs wrap around the bottom of his helmet to find the thinnest sliver of skin where the metal met the man.

“That’s right, I’m all yours.” When you had said that line to him the first time, you had been plotting your escape from his clutches, but as the reassuring words left your lips you knew there was nobody else in the galaxy you would have running their hands up your sides; and you mentally crossed ‘seduction’ off of your list of hunting skills for good. His oath of me'dinuir had swore him to your side alone, and now you knew without a shred of doubt that you wanted it to go both ways; whether you were Mandalorian or not.

You kissed at the bottom of his visor, so close to getting to feel the true, living flesh of him, and yet so far. You had to have him, you had to purge the demon’s touch from your body with the purifying fire of your protector’s rage. A choked, needy groan made its way out of the modulator, and you felt the heat of his breath on your skin. How desperately you wanted to taste it, fill your mouth with the flavor of him to replace the vile spotchka. You pushed up on his jaw, giving you just a tiny glance at his scruffy chin, and you forced your kisses into the tight, unyielding space of the beskar prison. It wasn’t enough for you, but it was a start, and you could feel his body starting to unwind at your touch. “Kiss me. Please, Mando.”

“Cyar'ika, it's not safe here.” He hated the sound of his own words, the denial of them crushing his very soul. You glanced around the dark penthouse and saw you were alone save for the crumpled devil on the floor and the designer purse that had been stashed in the corner of the room, its occupant still working on the bags of cookies. No eyes on us.

“I won’t look, just... lift your helmet a tiny bit, tin man, I need you, I need to kiss you.” You guessed you were safe enough from prying eyes, but you wouldn’t spill his name to the night just in case there were any sneaky listeners. You squeezed your own eyes shut and nipped at the armors edge again, and just ever-so-slightly began to push up on the unforgiving metal with your thumbs. You were just waiting for his hands to shoot up, to grab your wrists and halt your actions, but they were locked to your sides. Inch by inch you gradually lifted the armor, he would have all the time in the world to stop you, but when you felt the heat of his lips crash against yours you almost let your knees buckle out from under you. His strong arms were tight on your back, pulling you into him so he could kiss you harder.

So much better than spotchka. He was delicious, his taste, his feel, his scent, everything about him was intoxicating. So much more so than the despicable brew you had been throwing back all night, and a thousand times better than anything Elios could have offered. Blech. You realized then why the bounty had smelled so bad to you, though his perfume was expensive and his clothes freshly pressed, he was wrong for you. The wrongness was so overwhelming that it had nearly made you lose your drink, and you didn’t realize how wrong something could be until you tried to compare it to what was right. Din was right, he smelled of leather and beskar and the sweat of a man that had nearly combusted when someone else was at your side. And fresher soap! Thank the Maker.

A soft leather hand went to your head, pulling you into him so he could taste you better. His tongue ran over your lips, darting into you to find yours so they could dance together. You bit him playfully, and the way his breath hitched in his throat sent the fire of your core shooting all the way to your fingertips; and you knew right then that not even kissing his forbidden face would be enough for you. You pulled yourself from his lips, the snap of teeth following your retreat, reluctant to let you leave from the heat of the moment. Carefully, you let the beskar slide back down to cover him, and the anguished whine he let out into the night air almost broke your heart.

“I know, I know, I’m so mean to you, aren’t I?” With him covered you glanced around the room until you saw the private bar. With your thumbs hooked in the pockets of his borrowed vest you guided the two of you towards it until the granite countertop knocked against your ass. You used his shoulders for leverage, hopping up onto the cold surface and wrapping your knees round his waist, happy to find exactly what you were expecting to throbbing between your legs. He pushed himself against you, the feel of his stolen silks on your holstered thighs giving you goosebumps. His heavy metal head fell against your shoulder, and you wrapped your arms around him to hold him close while he ground up against your heat. He couldn’t contain himself around you, though you wouldn’t want him to if he could. You rocked your hips in time with his needy thrusts, and the growls in your ear almost made you think he would come undone with his pants still on. Can’t have that now, can we? "Mando, please fuck me, I can't wait anymore."

You heard thunder rumble out of his chest, sending electricity from where he was pressed to your shoulder straight down to where he was pulsing against your core. He was going to bring you the stars, alright, but not the ones in the night sky. He pulled back so he could look into your eyes from behind his visor, bringing a hand up to caress your pleading face.

"No, I don't want to fuck you." Your eyes shot wide, shocked that he wouldn't want you when he was rutting so hard into you that you could almost feel the dampness of precum through his layers. He saw your face and shook his head. "Elios wanted to fuck you, all of those creeps at the bar wanted to fuck you.” His helmet shook, trying to loosen the words he wanted to say. “No... I- I want to be better than them, I want to give you something else, s-something more.” He was struggling, his inexperience making it difficult to say what was on his mind. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be like them, he wanted to be worthy of you in ways they never could.

“Then make love to me instead.”

“Yes!” The words leaving your lips were like music to his ears, so much more lovely than any song. “I want to do that! I want to make love to you, cyar’ika, if you’ll have me?”

You laughed, nodding your head to hide your bright red cheeks. How he managed to be so ferocious and so sweet on the same day was a mystery you didn’t want to solve. He quickly glanced around the room one more time just to be sure you were alone, the light of the gilded city sending streaks of color over the charms you had pressed to his cheeks. Satisfied that you were the only ones awake in the room, he leaned away from you to rip the constricting blazer off of himself so hard the fabric around his chest and shoulders started to tear. Beskar plates twinkled in the limelight, sending stars flying around the room while he worked his pants open. The sight of him springing into view made your heart flutter, among other things. Long and strong, a pearl of precum glimmering in the dark of the penthouse. His hands went to your legs, the leather of his palms snagging on the straps still belted to your thighs as he pushed the elegant fabric of your dress up to your waist.

“You’re soaked.” You wished you could see what he saw through his visor, the sound of hitched breath telling you he could see you blooming for him clear as day, drinking you in with his hidden eyes. He hooked a thumb in the wet fabric of your panties to pull them out of the way, using his other hand to grip his cock and run the tip over your entrance, bumping against your clit while he lubed himself with your slick. You had to lean back until you were laying on the cold granite countertop, tilting your hips to the edge of the bar so he could see all of you on display. He pressed himself up and in, filling you slowly so he could indulge in every inch that disappeared inside. Your stretched walls clenched around him, making him shiver with each coiled squeeze. The Mandalorian you were giving yourself to pulled himself out of you carefully before thrusting back into you again, fighting every animalistic urge to just plow you into the bar. He was going to make good on his word, he wasn’t going to just fuck you.

But maybe he should have.

“Bing!”

The penthouse elevator door chimed, and both of you pointed blasters on the figure that walked out from the pink haze of the lift into the dark of the room. “Elios? I know you’re up here, I’m just going to get- Oh. There you are.” The stranger spotted the crumpled, unconscious body on the floor, crossing the room until they stood over him. “About time someone split that beautiful lip of yours, Lee-lo.” The stranger that Mando had run into on the casino floor turned their tired eyes to the pair of you, noticing your obvious state of passion. “Oh please, don’t stop on my account, that’s not the worst thing I’ve walked into up here.” They squinted in the dark, then gasped softly, “Wait, it’s you! Oh good! I saw you when you were dancing and was just heartbroken when Lee-lo came between you.” The tall stranger did a little dance. “Fucking Elios.” They kicked at the Devaronian on the floor, “All he lives for is breaking hearts. I’m glad you two made up.”

The wisp of a stranger bent down to the motionless figure on the floor, yanking one of the gold rings from his horns. They said something too low for you to hear, then got up and left in another cloud of pink smoke, the elevator door closing behind them.

You both lowered your blasters, trying to wrap your collective heads around what had just happened. Mando was still buried to the hilt inside you, and you could feel him pulsing with need; but he had been right from the beginning. You weren’t safe here.

“That’s probably not the only spare key. We should go.” You whispered, trying to get your blaster back to its holster under your dress. He groaned, he was getting sick of being torn away from you. He pulled himself almost all the way out, thrust in one more time for good luck, and released himself with a pop! He pulled you to your feet, helping you down from the bar and onto the Maker-forsaken boots you still had on. Fuck these. You ripped the boots off, chucking them somewhere into the dark and crossed the room barefoot to where the oversized purse held the foundling. You were happy to see him all tuckered out in a pile of cookie wrappers, probably not the healthiest thing for him, but it worked. Behind you, your armored companion was hauling the quarry over his shoulder none too gently, ‘accidentally’ knocking his bloody head against the wall as he turned back to you. You both made for the balcony door to the speeder you had noticed earlier, tossing the bounty in the back seat like a bag of garbage.

The ride back to the Crest was thick with anticipation, you weren't finished with each other just yet. Mando pulled the speeder right up to the ramp so you wouldn’t have to walk across sharp gravel, chucking the bounty in after you so hard he slid through the messy cabin and smashed into the wall. You slung the damned devil into the carbonite chamber, punching the freeze button with gusto. The ramp closed behind your armored companion, barely giving you a chance to get up onto the hoverskiff that still dominated the cabin floor before the lights went off. You yanked the dress over your head, listening for the sound of more fabric hitting the floor, then the clanking of beskar being tossed carelessly aside. Belts and snaps and zippers went flying, and you had to try not to laugh at the absurd amount of clothes he had to take off. The skiff tilted with new weight, and the body of a Mandalorian was on top of you, warm lips hunting for yours.

He’s naked! Every piece of armor and shred of clothing was gone, and the feel of bare skin against your body was electrifying. His mouth crashed against yours, fervent kisses desperate to taste you again. You let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him into you to kiss back. He was hungry for you, biting at your mouth and tongue like a man starved. Plush lips made their way from your mouth down your neck, nipping at your throat and sucking the tender skin until you had bruises to match the ones on your thighs. His hands wandered down your body, rubbing at your breast and teasing your nipples until you were gasping for more. The devious digits moved on until his hand was between your legs, pushing at your folds and finding your clit to spin circles on. He was becoming an expert at finding what made you squirm and whine from his touch, rolling callused fingertips into you until you were making a delicious mess on the pile of stolen silk.

But he wasn’t done there. The fuzzy kisses went from your breast down your belly to where his fingers were working into you. He pulled his hands from your soaked cunt and replaced them with his face, pushing his tongue up against the tiny ball of nerves that had so much power over you. Short, quick circles between long, languid licks had you arching your back and pulling his hair, demanding more. Lost in the heat of your thighs he was happy to give you everything, pushing the smooth muscle of his mouth into your slit and upwards against your clit until you were seeing stars again.

Your hands couldn’t stop exploring him, from his thick head of curls to the strength of his shoulders. The muscles kept going, tight coils on his back and the warm, rigid wall of his chest. The trail of fuzz on his belly went up farther than you were expecting it to, and the fine hairs tickled your fingers on almost every inch of his skin. Your hands trailed over the numerous, vicious scars that marred his flesh like a road map of every near-death experience he had lived through. Gashes on his arms and burns on his sides had healed over into smooth, textureless skin, the marks of a seasoned hunter that nobody but their barer had ever seen.

Having drank his fill, he pulled his face from the apex of your thighs, pushing your knees apart and quickly sheathing himself in you with a ragged groan. Mando’a praises poured from his lips, some you were familiar but many you weren’t, though all of them made your heart flutter. Strong hands wrapped around your knees to keep you in place on the wobbly sled while he pounded into you, the feeling of bare skin on the backs of your legs making you wish you could see him in the light. But the darkness was the greatest keeper of secrets, hiding your love making from the condemnation of his creed.

Make love. Though the phrase was just another on the long list of euphemisms used for sex, the pair of words weighed heavy with meaning in their new context. You wanted to explore the concept the way your hands explored his body, but the fire of your core was thrumming with heat, demanding your undivided attention. Din fell forward to your chest, the sweat of his efforts sticking to your breasts. Wandering kisses sent fire over your skin as he made his way over your peaks, sucking hard on their tender buds. Beskar-strong hips rocked against yours until you saw fireworks again, bearing down so hard on him with your orgasm that he sank his teeth into the crook of your shoulder. Bites made their way from where he had surely drawn blood on your flesh up your neck til they turned to kisses again. His brow pushed against your forehead, though your lips were right there he still defaulted to the only show of affection his armored inheritance allowed. Hot gasps of air puffed over your skin from the heat of his breath, and you knew he was close. You locked your legs around him, forcing him to pump every last drop of himself into you, painting your walls with his seed until it was spilling down your ass onto the piles of clothes.

The strength of his arms gave up, and he let himself fall against you, his face pushed against your cheek. You could feel his bristles brushing over your skin as his breath heaved, soft but scratchy. His hands wrapped under you and up your back, hugging you to his bare chest so hard the air was squeezed from your lungs. Fuzzy-lipped kisses dotted your cheeks and face, taking extra time to kiss your lips, each one a promise of more to come. You dragged your nails over his back, making him groan and shake at the touch. Never had anyone to scratch that itch, have you, tinman? Tight muscles loosened under your careful touch, making him sink harder onto you until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

You wanted to stay there forever, but as the sweat on your bodies cooled it became sticky and made pulling yourselves apart a chore. Both of you reluctantly made your way off of the skiff, clinging to the walls of the cabin while he hunted for his helmet in the dark. Lights came on gradually once his bucket was back in place so you could find your own clothes, and when you had both gotten yourselves put back together you piled everything you had stolen onto the hoverskiff and pushed it back down the ramp of the Crest. The Mandalorian was back in his beskar, and he cocked his vambrace back and shot a wall of fire onto the little sled, incinerating all evidence of your thievery and passion. The bonfire burned brightly on the gravelly beach of the Cantonican ocean, sending flaming ash into the light of the new dawn.

You decided to keep the red pocket square that you had tucked in on his costume, though you weren't sure what you would need it for again. Sentimental. You went to the supply crates where your backpack and droid mask were kept so you could squirrel the thing away, when you caught the familiar glowing blue of spotchka at the bottom of the larder. The horrible color made you fucking nauseous after today, but even more distressing was that you realized it was just sitting there unsecured when there was an impish child onboard that could easily get into the bottled brew and make himself sick, or worse.

“Din, we need to put this somewhere safer.” You held the liquid lantern up for him to see what you were talking about. “What if our foundling gets into it? He might get really sick or-”

“Our?”

Shit. “Sorry, your foundling. Your foundling might get-” Din crossed the small space of the cabin until he was standing close to you, the child in question tucked against his chest. The baby’s big, nebulous eyes glittered up at you, and you couldn’t help reaching out to rub his sail-like ears. He chirped happily at your touch, and as much as you wanted to keep your eyes on him, his father was towering over you, making you squirm under his tilted glare.

“Say that again.”

“Your foundling.”

“No. The other word.”

“Our?”

“All of it.”

“Our foundling?” His helmet cocked to the other side, doing his big metal bird impression. The arm that wasn’t holding the child pulled you up against his chest, squeezed right against the baby in question. The familiar galaxy-erasing hug made you realize how many times you had thought of the child as your own, he was your little buddy, your missing baby when he had been stolen away, your secret weapon that you had hidden in your purse. But he wasn’t your child, he was Din’s, so for him to also be considered as yours…

“Ours.” Above you the word was spoken like it was new, as strange on his tongue as Mando’a was to you. “Our foundling. I like that.”

You couldn’t turn your head up to look at the man who had you wrapped against himself so tightly, but you could smile at the green little child that was flashing you his adorable toothy grin. You little fart, you thought with a laugh, you’re gonna make me go all soft. Almost as though the creature could hear your thoughts he squealed in delight, patting your cheeks with his fat baby paws. You let your arms circle around the boys that had made your life a roller coaster of emotion blasting through the endless sea of stars. It might be a hell of a ride, but you weren't ready to get off any time soon. The memory of the sands of Tatooine where you had been trying to forget the dangers of the universe was starting to fade away, replaced by the moment you were losing yourself in. You were happy to see it go, though your past self would be shocked at how comfortable you had gotten with a magic alien baby and a man with no face.

“Yeah… I like it too.” You hummed into the beskar, feeling Din’s arms tighten even more. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, because the lovely smile had vanished. This is all going to end soon. You buried your face in the tiny space between the foundling and his father’s armor, trying to ignore where the coaster’s rails ended. Only one stop left.

Nevarro, here we come.

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awxward · 3 years

Text

A3! Boys + My Stuffed Animals

Spring Troupe:

Sakuya

Gabriel

Gabriel is a small elephant with big ears that constantly make him fall over. He has a pink bowtie that says 'I Love You'

Makes Saku feel safe and Gabriel is a reminder to himself that he's loved and appreciated by everyone at Mankai.

Named after a friend from theatre class :)

Masumi

George Washington

George Washington is a tiger. He is small, but his arms are like those slap bracelets so you can wear him on your wrist (or let him hang on the side of shelf like I do).

So I got Georgy-Boy for easter 2020. i asked my friends for name ideas. They sent me stuff like 'Stripes'. I went offline for a few minutes and when I came back online I told my friends his name was George Washington.

//////////

Me: tiger has a name now

Friend: which name did you choose?

Me: his name is George Washington.

Friend: what the fuck. how'd you get George Washington?

//////////

Pretty sure he got the name bc I was listening to the Hamilton soundtrack.

Citron

Daniel

Daniel is mostly pink but has other pastel colors that look like watercolors. He's a unicorn. And a ketchain. And he's one of those dream lites, so he lights up. (He's supposed too anyway, but he's never lit up since i got him like 7 years ago at a yard sale).

Named after Daniel Howell (formerly danisnotonfire) [YouTube]

Tsuzuru

Lucifer

Lucifer is a small panda pillow pet. Very easy to travel with bc he fits in most backpacks.

My mom told me she wanted me to have a stuffed animal with a biblical name, i picked him up, looked her in the eye and said "His name is Lucifer." My mom tried to protest. "You said a biblical name, Mom. Lucifer is in the bible."

Itaru

Pao(???)

Pao is a panda. They are also a phone holder thingy. Like it'll hold your phone if you're watching movies or whatever.

Like 5-ish years old. Got them from a friend. They have a tag with their name on it, but I read it once and then just called them "the panda" for some reason instead of their actual name and now the tag is too faded to read the name, but i am 38% sure it says Pao or something close to that.

Chikage

Tsuki

Tsuki is a dinosaur. Tsuki is a sparkly dino. He's green rn, but if you brush your hand over him, the sparkles turn over and he becomes orange. I like green tho bc his tummy and the bottom of his feet are orange and so are his eyes.

Named after Tsukishima Kei (Haikyuu)

Summer Troupe:

Tenma

Hinata

Hinata is a narwhal. A bright orange narwhal. Infact he is the same color as Tenma's hair.

Named after Hinata Shoyo (Haikyuu) [bc its the same color as his hair. there is a theme with this narwhal and the anime boys i associate with them]

Yuki

Steve

Steve is a regular teddy bear, except he has a shirt that has pikachu on it. (the shirt was originally Tsuki's bc i got tsuki at a friends build a bear bday party, but it fits Steve better)

I just think Yuki would try new designs/color schemes/styles by making clothes for Steve to see how they look.

I got Steve from a claw machine (my bf at time won him for me just before we watched Endgame together.)

Named after Steve Rogers (Marvel)

Muku

Eeyore

Muku most definitely loves the Winnie the Pooh movies and I will fite for this hc. He gets my Eeyore. You know how Eeyore's tail is always going missing or falling off??? Eeyore's tail comes off (velcro) but its attached to his actual body with a string so it cant be misplaced.

Eeyore has a patch that says "official disney store" but i got him for $3 at a thrift store.

Misumi

Sherlock

Sherlock is a polar bear. Sherlock is very huggable. He makes Misumi feel safe. He has a hat and scarf (that don't come off. they are sewn on him)

the hat has a pom pom on top and the scarf has a pom pom on each end. the hat and scarf and the bottom of his feet have a blue/white plaid pattern.

Kazunari

Victor

Victor is a puppy and the first big stuffed animal of mine on the list! He's all tan and abt maybe 3-4 ft long. Victor lays pretty flat so he's comfy to lay/sit on. I think Kazu would like sitting or laying on him when drawing. Probably has him on his bed so he's like a giant pillow.

Victor is from Toys R Us. I got him last August-ish from my Aunt and Uncle who found him at a thrift store and thought I'd like him.

Named after Victor Nikiforov (Yuri On Ice)

Kumon

PJ is a small white tiger. He is also a ball. He can fit in one hand. When Kumon is thinking or stressed or bored (etc) he just lays on his back and tosses PJ up into the air.

When Kumon is laying on the floor tossing PJ, Misumi sits on the bed closest to where PJ is and tries to grab him (but only if Kumon is in a good mood and okay with it) It's a fun little game they made up they like to play.

Pretty sure he was named after KickthePJ (YouTube)

liber pls give us a pic with all of autumn i am begging

Autumn Troupe:

Banri

Sammy

Sammy is another one of my large stuffed animals. He is also a puppy, but unlike Victor he is sitting instead of laying. He's abt 2-3 ft tall. His fur is the same color as Banri's hair. Great to squeeze at anytime, but very therapeutic when you're in a bad mood. Has a heart on his ear.

i got him abt 7 years ago. I had just finished spn season 2 and was upset abt the finale and had no way to start season 3.

Named after Sam Winchester

Juza

Tiggs

Tiggs is a beanie baby tiger. Tiggs is a little larger than PJ (and not a ball). He's a regular orange tiger instead of a white tiger like PJ. He'd buy Kumon PJ so they could have matching stuffed animals. Small and very comforting to just hold/hug.

Omi

Benedict (Ben)

Benedict, also known as Ben, is a small koala. Just a little bigger than Tiggs. He has a heart on one of his feet (i think the right one). very soft. very fluffy.

Named after Benedict Cumberbatch (Actor)

Taichi

Dean

Dean is my largest stuffed animal. He is a dark brown teddy bear that's abt 4-ish ft tall. He can be put in a corner and used as like a bean bag chair, or he can lay down flat and be a good pillow like Victor can.

It's very fun to just wrap around him and squeeze as tight as you can. Especially in when your in a bad mood. Very comforting to cry into.

I got him a couple years ago at a thrift store.

Named after Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Sakyo

Lev

Lev is a lion abt the size of a regular teddy bear (maybe slightly larger). I got him a thrift store so he's slightly worn out from age. He's mostly a pastel dark yellow-ish tan and his mane is dark brown. very huggable.

He's the stuffed animal I sleep with. Smells nice all the time, like the fabric softener.

Named after Lev Haiba (Haikyuu)

Sakoda

Emotional Support Iron Man

So Iron Man is small and he sparkles. He will hurt you/someone if thrown hard enough. Sakoda likes heroes bc they remind him of Sakyo they look cool. I'd hc that he got Iron Man from Sakyo when he was younger and its one of his most valued possessions and goes everywhere with him (or stays with Azamo or Sakyo at the dorm. Maybe Izumi or a couple others are on the list of who can watch over Iron Man.) Very protective of it.

Got the emotional support part of his name from a friend.

She saw Eddie Redmayne on a movie cover (think it was The Danish Girl) and started freaking out bc she loved him. I handed her the Iron Man and the next day she thanked me and said he was an Emotional Support Iron Man and the name stayed.

Azami

[Emotional Support] Spooder-Mon

Sakoda knew Azami as a kid. He most definitely got him the Spider-Man so they could have matching plushies.

Spider-Man is square and has little blob hands doing the web thingy. The tag said travel pillow, but he probably just chills by Azami's bed. When needed, Iron Man will be placed next to him if Sakoda can't take Iron Man with him.

I brought him to school one day and we had a bio test and all the people sitting around me passed him around and gave him a pat for good luck. We all got good grades and then he was dubbed as Emotional Support Spooder-Mon, but the Emotional Support title isnt part of his name (unlike the Iron Man).

i wanted guy in the pic, but i also wanted tsumu and hiso in the pic so you get 2 pics for winter

Winter Troupe:

Tsumugi

Phil

Phil is a zebra. He is a pillow pet zebra. Like Lucifer, Phil is also easy travel size. The bottom half of Phil is pink, so I refer to him as my pink zebra.

I just think it'd be cute to have Tsumugi with a pillow pet ok. I also thought he'd probably have has Phil for many years (since he was a kid) and Tasuku most definitely brings up things from when they were kids and shit.

//////////

Tasuku: you chose the pink zebra, and for what???

Tsumugi: its a very aesthetically pleasing pastel pink.

Tasuku: THERE WAS A DOG PILLOW PET RIGHT THERE AND IT WAS CUTER

Tsumugi: dont talk bad abt Phil.

the rest of mankai: ????????

//////////

I got phil before I got Lucifer many years ago. He was old when i got him and he is very old now. I love him so much.

Named after Phil Lester (AmazingPhil) [YouTube]

Tasuku

Cap

Cap is a husky. He was won from a claw machine with Steve.

There's just something abt the grey and white that gave me Tasuku vibes. Also, Cap's eyes are abt the same shade of blue as Tsumugi's and Tasuku knows this bc they are in love. Very squishy when hugged and with the way he sits, you could make it look like he's guarding something.

Named after Captain America (Marvel)

Homare

Ushijima (Ushi)

Ushijima, also called Ushi, is the last of my giant stuffed animals. He is abt 2-3 ft tall (like Sammy) and has a tail abt the same length.

Ushi is a raccoon thats mostly hot pink. Ushi's eyes are also pink and just abt the same shade as Homare's hair, although Ushi's fur is brighter by a few shades.

Ushi hurts when thrown/swung hard enough. Very fun to hug bc he's filled with beans (like beanie babies) so unlike all my other giant animals, he doesn't have to be fixed/adjusted after everytime you squeeze him. The tail has cotton tho and makes a good pillow.

Homare would definitely just see a 3 ft tall hot pink raccoon and claim it with no explanation.

Named after Ushijima Wakatoshi (Haikyuu)

Hisoka

Vladmir Dracula the 3rd (Vlad, Drac)

Vladmir Dracula the 3rd, who has many other names but usually goes by Vlad or Drac, is a vampire (surprise).

Vlad is a squishmallow thingy, and their tags say something abt them being able to be used as pillows, and thats why Hisoka gets Vlad.

Vlad is triangular in shape, with triangle ears, and triangle fangs, so I thought abt Misumi, but i figured Hisoka bc it's a pillow.

He's like the perfect travel size and he has a cape and a bowtie.

Named after Vlad the Impaler, the real life inspiration behind Dracula (my brother thought he was named after Vladmir Putin and I wanted to punch him for that but I was too busy laughing.)

Also named after Dracula, who was a vampire.

Idk where 'the 3rd' came from, but it's part of his name for forever.

Azuma

Sebastian

Sebastian is a dinosaur thats blue with a white tummy.

He's also a squishmallow, but he's bigger than Vlad by abt 2× as wide, so he'd be harder to carry around, which is why Hisoka got Vlad instead. Being a squishmallow means he looks more blob than dinosaur and i love it.

His tag said his name was Dominic or something, but I named him Sebastian before I actually checked the tag, so he's Sebastian.

Named after Sebastian (Black Butler) and Sebastian Stan (Actor)

Guy

Moriarty

Moriarty is my other polar bear. I got him with Sherlock and named him Moriarty bc Moriarty is Sherlock's nemesis.

He's just a plain white bear thats very huggable and adorable. I usually have a bowtie on him bc it makes him look fancy.

Guy would like him bc he's plain white and very fluffy.

24 notes · View notes

velvetthunder1999 · 4 years

Text

All the time on Earth

Part 29 - Wedding Fright

Summary: Everything goes well with the wedding until Death Eaters arrive. When Fenrir Greyback singles you out in front of everyone George cannot do anything to stop him. The next day the new regime takes place and as a Muggleborn you need to run.

Warnings: A bit frisky in the beginning // Angst // Mentions of Blood // Slight Abuse

Word count: 5.9K

George Weasley x Reader

Masterlist

You walked down the steps adjusting your flower crown, taking a last look at yourself in the kitchen window before stepping out into the bright sunlight. People were already lined up for the wedding and at the other side of the huge white tent you spotted Hagrid’s enormous figure. He waved, you waved back then made your way to the chattering Weasleys next to the tent.

“… she just told me my ears are lopsided,” you heard George’s voice. “Old bat.”

“Oh, is this about your Aunt Muriel?” you asked, joining the conversation. “I ran into her in the bathroom, she demanded to loose the ‘ridiculous weed’ from my hair.”

Everyone looked at your flower crown and they laughed. George’s mouth opened slightly and he took your hands.

“Y/N…” he said, taking you all in as you stood a few feet away from the others. “You’re beautiful! Really… I have no words.”

He was raising your arms a bit to have a better look at your dress. It was a simple, floaty dress that just showed your knees. The material started with light, sunset orange on the bottom and ended with black on your chest. Where the two colors met, nicely shaped black butterflies were flying around. Your hair was wavy and shiny, with white and pink flowers sewn into it. It was your perfect outfit for a summertime wedding.

“Well, thank you,” you said, blushing a bit. “You look wonderful as well.”

He really did. You had no idea how you got this lucky.

George smirked and kissed you quickly; he had to go back to escort the arriving guests to their seats.

“I expect you to ask me to dance tonight,” you shouted after him. He laughed and winked.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will!”

You took your assigned seat in the second row and soon the twins joined you as well. When everyone arrived the ceremony started and Fleur walked up the isle to Bill. George took your hand.

As they sealed the marriage with a kiss, the whole tent erupted in cheers and applause and as you stood up the chairs moved to the side of the place next to the tables, creating a huge space for dancing. Music started and Bill lead his wife to the dancefloor. You watched as she gleamed with happiness, dancing with such elegancy and gracefullness.

“Come!” shouted George over the cheering crowd and took your hand. “Dance with me!”

You laughed as he pulled you closer, his other hand on your back, making it impossible for you to even try to escape.

“You know I meant a slower song!” you said. “I don’t know how to dance to this!”

“It’s okay, love, me neither!”

You burst out laughing as he swayed with you to right and left, jumping to the quick pace of the cheerful music. Then he spun you around, almost making you crash into Aunt Muriel who was crossing the dance floor without even bothering to look around. George wheezed as you shot a sharp look at him, but then held you close again.

The music slowed down, and your already hurting feet welcomed the sweet tunes with relief. You put your arms around George’s neck and he rested both his hands on your waist.

“I reckon my dancing skills have not improved since last time,” he said with a grin. You chuckled.

“Well, not really. Your hair’s better now, though.”

“What are you on about, I was always handsome.”

“Meh,” you teased him. He grimaced in a mock outrage.

“How dare you!” he smiled at the sound of your giggling laugh. Then he leaned closer, whispering into your ears. “Just wait till we’re alone, love, you’ll pay for this.”

He kissed your neck then quickly stepped back acting like nothing had happened. You tried to ignore the goosebumps on your back but then something occured to you. You glanced behind your back, seeing Mrs Weasley talking with Lupin and Tonks. On the other side of the tent Mr Weasley was eagerly questioning an old wizard you didn’t know. You looked back at George with a new kind of excitement.

“You know…” you started. “Everyone’s outside.”

“Yeah,” he said, not really sure what you mean.

“I mean,” you said with a you-know-what-I-mean face. “That the whole house is empty.”

You saw how his uncertainity turned into confusion, then understanding. His eyes grew huge and he licked his lips, liven up.

“Are you serious?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together to avoid smirking. He stared at you for a moment then he grabbed your hand and started pulling you away from the crowd without another word.

“Not that way!” you whispered warningly in the dark, walking away from the tent. “Through the backdoor!”

George changed direction and stepped into the kitchen, making sure to shut the door behind him. He looked around and when he saw that no one was around he crashed his lips onto yours.

“In here…” he muttered against your lips and backed into the laundry room. You reached for the doorknob, fundling for several seconds before successfully closing the door.

Wearing heels had its advantages; you easily buried your hands into George’s hair, while he was pushing you against the wall. His hungry lips were biting yours, making you let out a moan without meaning to.

“Shh, love, they’ll hear us!” he panted against you jaw. You shivered.

“Well —” you couldn’t finish. Your brain seemed empty, there were no words for you to say. You only wanted one thing.

You raised your right leg and George understood; he gripped your tighs and lifted you from the ground. The coldness of the wall on your back was the exact opposite of George’s warm hands on you. You breathed heavily, your eyes closed, taking in his smell, tasting his tongue, your heart aching from happiness as everything was perfect in that moment and —

“Come here, dear, I’m sure we can fix that.”

Mrs Weasley’s voice from the kitchen made you jump. You opened your eyes, meeting George’s nervous glance only inches from you. On the other side of the door you heard Mrs Weasley rummaging in the drawers.

“Where did I put the — maybe in the laundry room?”

You let out a scared little scream and George put his hand on your mouth. His other hand — still lifting you up — started shaking under your weight. Outside a girl’s voice said something in French and you recognized Fleur’s little sister. Mrs Weasley said ‘aha!’ and a drawer was closed.

“There you go, better than new!” she said. “Would you like to go — oh, all right then dear, come!”

Footsteps, then a door creaking. A French sentence, Mrs Weasley’s inaudible answer, and the kitchen door was shut.

“Shit!” said George, putting you down and shaking his hand. “Bloody hell, that was close!”

“Oh, God, my heart’s gonna stop,” you panted, glancing at the door. “So typical!”

“Told you, cannot be left alone in this house!” he said. Then he laughed. “Imagine her face if —”

“Oh, no! No, no, no,” you said, cringing. You even closed your eyes. “Please, don’t even start!”

“We should probably go back,” said George with great disappointment. “Before she starts looking for us.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at the door. “Let’s go.”

You offered your hand to George who intertwined his fingers with yours. After making sure that the kitchen was empty, you hurried back to the tent under the night sky. As you stepped onto the floor George looked at you with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you rolled your eyes with a smile. “Actually, could you get me a drink? My feet hurts, I need to sit down.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He went for the butterbeer table on the other side of the dance floor and you sat down to the nearest table on your right. You took off your shoes and rested your bare feet on the nice, cool floor.

“Lemon bites?” asked a cheerful voice and Fred appeared next to you.

“Oh, yes, please,” you said, taking one of the small-sized cakes. Fred shoved them in his mouth two at a time. You snorted. “Are you even chewing them?”

“Don’t have time. Need to reload my energy.”

“Do I wanna know what for?”

“I don’t think so,” he smirked. You laughed. “All I’m saying is that Veela cousins are one of a kind.”

He ate another cake, looking around the tent.

“Where’s George?”

“Getting a drink.”

“Okay. Fancy a dance?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you said teasingly. “All that stuffing in your mouth.”

“Funny,” he said after swallowing the huge bite he just took. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait, I’ll need my shoes!” you quickly put your shoes back on and stood up from the table, too. You took Fred’s offered hand. “Now, careful cause my feet —”

The sentence died in your throat as a silver patronus burst into the middle of the tent, illuminating everything in the close vicinity in mysterious, blue light. The music stopped, people all stood still, staring at the phenomenon which then spoke in Kingsley’s deep voice.

“The Ministry has fallen… The Minister of Magic is dead… They are coming… They are coming…”

The patronus disappeared. The crowd erupted. Someone screamed.

You turned around, facing Fred who seemed just as shocked as you while everyone around you started running around in panic.

“George!” you panted and pulled Fred with you into to crowd, looking for that specific face among hundreds of people. “George!”

You reached for your wand and made your way through the disapparating guests. Your heart was beating incredibly fast. You screamed.

“George!”

“Y/N!”

Fred’s voice reached you late; a dark figure collapsed with you and both of you fell onto the ground. Fred was immediately there, helping you up.

“You okay?”

It was just a fragment of a second; you saw the Death Eater getting to his feet and you immediately pushed Fred away. The curse hit a hole into the tent just where his head had been.

“Stupefy!” you shouted and the Death Eater fell backwards. Wherever you looked, you only saw hooded figures battleing with the remaining guests. You were seriously panicking now. “George! GEORGE!”

“There!” shouted Fred, pulling you to the left. You turned and saw him running towards you. You fastened your steps and jumped into his arms.

“Watch out!” Lupin cried and all three of you backed away from the collapsing column. The tent was torn apart; under its wrecked parts people were shouting curses and dancing away from spells in total chaos. You saw a Death Eater closing on you, but George was faster and disarmed him in a second.

“The Order!” Fred yelled. “We —”

A bang, louder than a thunderstorm made you jump and grab your head in pain. The next thing you felt were strong hands on your arms and someone pulling you backwards by force. Your wand was jerked from your hand. You heard George’s bellowing from behind.

You were pushed to the middle of the dance floor and someone made you stand in a line, placing you between Fleur’s sister, Gabrielle and Ginny. They made another line opposite you and you saw Fred and George being pushed to the very end of it, wands against their neck. Looking around you saw that the fight was over; there were simply more Death Eaters than members of the Order present.

“Now,” a man with a raspy voice and blond hair appeared and started walking between the two lines, his hands behind his back. “First and foremost I’d like to congratulate to the happy couple.”

He nodded towards Fleur and Bill, who were standing with their faces stern, one Death Eater behind each.

“There’s no need for your games, Yaxley,” said Mr Weasley impatiently at the right end of your line. The blond man tilted his head.

“Tut, tut, Arthur, your position simply does not allow you this behaviour,” he reached the end of the corridor formed by the two lines and he turned suddenly. His calm expression disappeared and gave place to cold demand. “Where is Harry Potter?”

No one spoke. You felt a wand pressing hard against your shoulder blade. Yaxley looked around, then spoke again.

“No one needs to get hurt. There’s no bigger shame than wasting the blood of pure wizards… or blood traitors, even.”

Mr Weasley made a sudden move.

“Leave my family alone.”

“I will, Arthur, I will. When you answered my question. Where is Harry Potter?”

“It would’ve been foolish to invite Harry Potter to a wedding,” spoke Lupin. “Do you expect us to say we endangered the safety of…”

Lupin’s voice faded away as someone else grabbed your attention. It wasn’t Yaxley, it wasn’t the unknown Death Eather behind you… It was a tall man circling around the dancefloor; a man who didn’t wear a mask or a hood but only a long, black coat over his bare chest… A chest that seemed to belong to an animal, to a beast… And when he turned and you saw his face, a small gasp burst out of you as you looked at the most horrifying thing you had ever seen. He needed no introduction. You knew who it was without ever meeting him before. It was Fenrir Greyback.

“… no idea about his whereabouts, and I am sure you know it just as well!” Mr Weasley was now raising his voice. He was very tense. You saw Mrs Weasley holding onto Charlie’s hand, her face in agony.

Yaxley stopped, raised an eyebrow then nodded.

“So be it,” he said in his raspy voice. “Let’s see if we can change your mind. Greyback!”

The werewolf raised his head and grinned, showing off his sharp, yellow teeth. As he stepped closer the smell of an abomination reached your nose. You felt nauseous.

“Ah, they won’t talk?” he said with a grunt.

“Perhaps you can sniff out the information we need,” answered Yaxley, looking utterly bored. Greyback’s grin widened and he grunted again.

“Maybe the smallest one will be the most talkative,” he said as he stepped to your left and stood before Gabrielle. “Say, little girl, will you help me? Will you tell us what —”

“Leave her alone!” you snapped without thinking and every head turned towards you. Greyback looked up, leaving behind the weeping girl.

“Well… What do we have here?” he said, growling. You turned your head away immediately but you couldn’t escape the bloody, sweaty smell. “Young and sweet, just how I like them.”

You were determined to stare at Tonks’s feet in the line opposite you, but Greyback claimed all your attention to himself. He stood really close to you; his tall figure was casting a shadow on your face. He was still growling.

“So brave… so fierce… those always taste better.”

He leaned down, his face barely three inches from yours. You tried not to breath in his pungent smell, your quick panicky breathing, however, made the task impossible.

“Tell me your name sweetheart… Tell me so I can remember it…”

You started whimpering. As if Greyback was only waiting for this, he raised one of his huge, hairy, palm-like hands.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

Yaxley waved his wand in a very bored manner and George’s voice broke. Mr Weasley yelled at the blond man.

“This is not necessary, I already told —”

Yaxley silenced him again. He was curiously watching as Greyback stroke your cheek with his long, yellow, dirty nail. Fear was coursing through your veins, paralyzing you. You closed your eyes. Lips trembling, you started sobbing. You were sure you were going to faint.

“Delicious little thing…,” Greyback growled. His breath made you want to vomit. “And still so young… pretty, really pretty…”

“No!” Mrs Weasley’s cry made you open your eyes. She was looking at the twins; they were held back by two Death Eaters each, still struggling to get free. George was half pushed to the ground while Fred’s back was arched in a seriously dangerous way.

“Boys… Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Yaxley said disapprovingly. Then indicated at Greyback. “Bring her.”

A yell of pain and fear escaped your lips as Greyback got hold of the back of your neck, pushing you to the middle of the floor. You barely saw anything from your tears.

“Don’t you dare!”

“I ask again,” said Yaxley, speaking over the others’ cries. “Where is Harry Potter?”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK SHE’D KEEP IT TO HERSELF IF SHE KNEW?�� George was now sobbing. “Let her go, please! I’ll do anything… I’ll do anything, please!”

Yaxley was watching him indifferently while Greyback lifted one of your locks and smelled it. Yaxley took his time, examining each face in the tent. Mrs Weasley was tearing up, Lupin and Bill were watching the scene tensely. Mr Weasley seemed worried, his hands shaking violenty. Gabrielle was still crying, now holding Ginny’s hand. Fred was still struggling to get free, and George was looking at you desperately, tear stains on his face.

“I believe you,” said Yaxley finally. “We’ll let you go this time but don’t forget Arthur. We’re watching you. Let’s go.”

“Mm, will you come with me, pretty one?” said Greyback. Yaxley pointed his wand at him.

“I said let’s go.”

You heard a disapproving grunt, then the sound of twenty Death Eaters disapparating echoed in the garden and you felt Greyback’s grip vanishing from your neck.

You fell onto the floor, your legs simply giving up. You were shaking all over and you jumped in fear when a hand touched you desperately, pulling you close, into safety, to an embrace that’ll protect you from everything, to a smell that was so nice and familiar and so different from the previous one, and you were sobbing, and you felt that he was sobbing, too, and you swore that you’d never let go and you were holding on to him, grabbing his arms and hoping that the nightmare had really ended and you could catch your breath now…

What made you pull away was not relief, it was the pain in your stomach. You stumbled as you ran out of the tent onto the grass and vomitted… But you weren’t alone for long, a hand was holding you again, and a voice was telling you that everything’s okay…

Behind you people were talking hastily, then you heard a voice next to you in which you recognized Lupin’s.

“We should go in the house. It’s not wise staying outside.”

You straightened up, still shaking. You needed to focus. You needed to start somewhere because in your head there was nothing but chaos.

“Can you — get my — toothbrush?”

You didn’t recognize your own voice. George, however, did and in a second he summoned what you asked for. You brushed your teeth quickly, spitting on the grass, then got ahold of a glass of water and drank it. After that, your felt one percent better.

“I wanna go in,” you said. George nodded, and with his arms around your shoulders he lead you back to the house. He didn’t let you go for a second; you were sure that only his hand on you made you being able to keep walking.

“Oh, dear,” once in the living room, Mrs Weasley appeared next to you, holding a glass of blue liquid. “Drink this, it calms the nerves.”

You drank it without saying a word. In the corner of the room you saw Fred, his lips swollen, a cut on his cheek.

“Come,” said George hoarsly. He lead you to Fred and the three of you sat on the couch. You were shivering. The memory of sharp nails on your skin made you want to throw up again.

“Here,” said George, putting a blanket over you, kissing your temple. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled, desperately burying your face into George’s chest. “I just… just stay with me, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said reassuringly, gently holding your face in his palm. “I’m here.”

You looked up at his face. He was really pale. You took a deep breath, feeling calmness in your limbs. Maybe Mrs Weasley’s drink was working.

“… and saw them disapparating,” you heard Lupin’s voice. Everyone in the room seemed to be watching him. “All three of them. They got out.”

“Oh,” cried Mrs Weasley. Mr Weasley was stroking her hair.

“So what happens now?” asked Ginny.

“We need to find Kingsley,” said Tonk at once. “Then…”

“Then we can discuss the rest,” nodded Bill. “Let’s go. I’m sorry.”

He kissed Fleur and his mother, then stepped out on the door with Lupin and Tonks.

“So You-Know-Who took over?” spoke Fred. Mr Weasley nodded.

“Not him specifically, no. And not openly. His puppet must have been waiting for the perfect timing.”

“New Minister of Magic?” asked George.

“New rules, new regime… Wouldn’t be surprised to read about new laws tomorrow morning. Molly… I think I need to go, too.”

Mrs Weasley whimpered as his husband said goodbye. When he disappeared, George looked at you again.

“Would you like to go up? Or do you want to stay?”

“I wanna go,” you said at once. “I want to sleep.”

“You?” asked George over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m coming, too,” said Fred. All of you stood up, heading towards the stairs. The twins were talking but you didn’t pay attention. You were exhausted and weary. You wanted nothing more than closing your eyes and not thinking for a few hours.

As you reached the twins’ room Fred said goodnight to you and he continued walking towards Charlie’s. George opened the door for you and you stepped inside, kicking off your shoes. He lead you to his bed and lay down next to you, holding you close and stroking your hair.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am. I’m okay,” you answered. You didn’t know why you were repeating that you’re okay, when you certainly weren’t. You grabbed George’s shirt, crumpled it in your fist. You tried to breathe normally but in the dark your memories were extremely livid. You whimpered.

“I know,” George said, tightening his grip around you. “I’m here… you’re safe. You’re safe, Y/N. I promise.”

——

You woke up to a beam of sunlight hitting your eyes, making them hurt and to water again. You groaned in pain, just to be assisted by a nervous voice.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

You turned around to face George. He seemed tired but not sleepy at all. You frowned.

“How long you’ve been up?”

“A few hours. It’s almost noon. I wanted to wait for you.”

His eyes were sad and worried. You gently stroke his cheek a few times.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, casting down his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve —”

“You shouldn’t’ve done anything,” you said fiercly. “They would’ve hurt you.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’. It’s over,” you pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Come down, now. Let’s have some breakfast.”

On edge, but he agreed. You went down to the kitchen hand in hand, to find Mrs Weasley, Fred, Bill and Fleur there. They were talking over a cold plate of sausages, from which you happily chose some.

“Good morning,” you said as George sat down next to you.

“Morning, dear,” said Mrs Weasley. “These arrived this morning. Letters from the Ministry.”

You took the two envelopes curiously. George was examining them, wondering. “What’s this?”

“Well…” you started anxiously. “One of them might be the reply for my job application.”

“And the other?”

You shrugged. The two envelopes looked the same, so you opened the first. It was a short little message. You started reading it hastily, then you felt your insides drop. By the time you reached the end, cold waves of disappointment were coursing through your body.

“Well?” demanded George.

“I didn’t get in,” you said, not looking at him. From the corner of your eye you saw him frowning then grinning.

“Yes, you did, stop joking around! With those N.E.W.T.s results…”

“I didn’t get in!” you said, throwing the letter at him. He caught it and read it. His smile faded and confusion took over his face.

“This isn’t right. Are you sure this is for you?” he held the letter in front of the light coming through the window.

“Of course, it is for me, don’t you see my name?”

“What’s wrong?” asked now Fred, getting interested. George give him the letter and Fred’s face darkened.

“I can’t believe this! You had perfect grades for the — and what the bloody hell is this? What does it mean ‘rejected on grounds of failure to provide reliable family history’… What’s this rubbish?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shaking your head. Mrs Weasley took a step closer, now watching the scene.

“Perhaps in the other envelope they explain it?”

“Yeah, what’s this, then?” said George, reaching for the second letter. He seemed totally disturbed.

You took the envelope and tore it open with one movement. It looked very official, had three stamps on the bottom and was written with green ink.

You read it once. Read it twice. For the third time you thought you were going to throw up again.

“What?” asked Fred, looking at your face, dumbfounded.

“I…” you started, but couldn’t find the words. You decided to read the letter instead. “We are now issuing an invitation to you as a so-called Muggleborn to present yourself for interview by the newly appointed Muggleborn Registration Commission.”

“No!” said George and tore the letter out of your hands. “No, they cannot do this!”

“Look at the stamps,” you said in a shaky voice. “Look at Head of the Comission.”

George’s eyes fell upon the bottom of the page. His jaw clenched. You nodded.

“Umbridge.”

Everyone started to talk over the other; Fred was shouting angrily, Bill was determined to find something in the newspaper, Fleur was swearing in French and Mrs Weasley took the letter from George to read it.

“This isn’t possible, people are not going to agree!”

“They can’t do anything if they are against You-Know-Who’s policies!”

“But they don’t know it’s You-Know-Who who’s behind all this, cannot they…”

“It’s here, the article, it says…”

“I’m sure Arthur’ll know more about this…”

“Disgusting, loathsome…”

“The law is still on our…”

“It says it is compulsory to…”

“I need to leave,” you said and the whole kitchen fell silent. Mrs Weasley was staring at you uncertainly.

“What is it, dear?”

“I need to leave,” you said again and stood up. “I need to go.”

“What are you talking about?” said George in a mixture of anger and fear. “You don’t need to go anywhere.”

“Yes, I do,” you repeated. “I need to go.”

“Hey, hold on!” he said, grabbing your wrist as you were about to head for the staircase. “Let’s talk about this!”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said. “They invited me to a hearing. We both know what happens if I go —”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to leave!”

“George!” you pleaded. “If I go and they claim that I’m not at least half-blood — which I’m clearly not — then it’s done, it’s over! They take my wand, maybe even send me to someplace to —”

“They — they cannot do that… Mum!” George turned to Mrs Weasley who shook her head. You continued.

“And if I don’t intend on going, do you think they’ll just let it slide? You think they’ll let me continue life as if nothing happened?”

“All right, stop it. You are already talking about it as if it was certain, as if it was deicided! You go there, prove that you have magic, and —”

“But I’m still a muggleborn! And let me remind you what happened last time when someone from the Ministry disliked muggleborns.”

You held up your hand in front of his face, showing him the visible white scars that stated: ‘I mustn’t mix with purebloods’.

“You think Umbridge will let me go now that she’s the Head of the Comission? When she perfectly knows what I am?”

“You’re a witch,” said George through his gritted teeth. You ignored him.

“If I go, I basically give myself up to them. If I stay here, they’ll know where to look. I need to leave.”

“You can come live with us…” said George desperately. “Diagon Alley… that’ll be —”

“They’ll know she’s there with us, mate,” said Fred quietly. George shot an angry look at him.

“Thanks for the help.”

“He’s right,” you said. “I’m sorry, but —”

“And where do you intend to go, eh?” said George with sudden mock. “Could you please share with us, what perfect hiding place do you have in mind?”

“George,” said Mrs Weasley warningly. George ignored her.

“Tell me Y/N! Tell me the special place where no one will find you. Can I come visit? Or am I not even allowed to see you anymore?”

You stayed silent. You knew he was angry, you knew he was saying all this because he was desperate and scared. But you were, too. And this wasn’t school anymore. This was real life, and in real life — or at least in this life — muggleborns were in danger. You were a muggleborn. There was nothing more to discuss here.

“Dear, we can figure out something…” tried Mrs Weasley. You didn’t respond. You stepped closer to George, stood on your toes and pressed a soft kiss onto his cheekbone. You saw him closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

You turned away and ran up the stairs, then shut the door once you were in the twins’s room. You looked around in the slight mess, then grabbed the shirts, jeans, towels and shoes lying all over the place and shoved them into your suitcase. Where would you go? You had no idea. Your parents’ house? Death Eaters had already broke in there once. Leaky Cauldron? That wasn��t better than Diagon Alley itself. Grimmauld Place? But that was surely being watched. Never mind then. You’ll figure out somehow. Maybe you should leave the country.

Hearing a knock on the door you turned around. George peaked his head in, looking slightly calmer than five minutes ago.

“Can I come in?”

“I mean… it’s your room.”

He sighed and turned his head away for a second, muttering something under his breath. Then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes fell upon your half full trunk and his lips formed a thin line.

“Please, don’t leave.”

You waited. He didn’t sound like he was asking… he sounded as though he had already accepted that you’re gonna be gone, but tried anyway. You put down the shirt you were holding and stepped to him, hugging him tenderly, caressing his back as you did so. He buried his face into your neck, one hand on your back, one in your hair. It seemed so impossible that before yesterday you had been talking about marriage, and now you’re saying your goodbyes.

“Remember what happened last time I let her win?” you asked softly, still stroking George’s back. “I’m not going to let that happen again. I’m not going to let her torture me over who I am.”

He raised his head but just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“We’ll find a solution…” he whispered. “We’ll figure out something…”

“I know,” you reassured him, but did not believe him. He was just looking for comfort for you and for himself. You both knew it, so you didn’t even talk more. You were just holding each other for minutes, in complete silence.

There was a knock on the door and Fred stepped in.

“Oi!” he said. You let go of George and turned to him. “Mum wants to talk to you, Y/N. Come down!”

“What is it?” you asked. Fred rolled his eyes.

“Just come, woman!”

And so you went with him, George following you. As you entered the kitchen you saw that nothing has changed; Mrs Weasley was still accompanied by Bill and Fleur and all three of them were looking at you.

“What’s going on?” you said.

“You’re going to stay with us, that’s going on,” said Bill. You looked at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“Eet iz not safe for you ‘ere,” said Fleur. “But een our place eet iz.”

“The Ministry would look for you in the Burrow,” pointed out Bill. “But the Shell Cottage is different. It’s far enough, hard to locate, basically only those know where it is who have been there before. So it’s perfect.”

“But…” you were only realizing now what they were saying. “You want to take me there?”

“Of course!” nodded Fleur. “Eet iz dangerous for you to stay —”

“But… I cannot live with you!” you said, outraged.

“Why not?” said Bill.

“Because… you just got married! How would it feel if I —”

“Eet iz war!” said Fleur angrily. “And we take care of each other!”

“This would be a nice solution, dear,” stepped in Mrs Weasley, seeing how you were about to yell. “Shell Cottage is definitely safer. We are under survaillance here, Arthur told me. Now there are some enchantments still needed for the Shell Cottage but…”

“But it shouldn’t be a problem,” nodded Bill. “Y/N, it is a must.”

“But I —”

“I like it far more than you running off,” said George.

“It’s four votes in,” said Bill.

“Five,” said Fred. “It’s brilliant, really.”

“Are you sure it won’t be a problem?” you said. “We don’t know how long this thing will last.”

“Which is why it’s important to find a safe place as soon as possible,” said Bill. He looked at his watch. “Now if we want to leave, we need to hurry. I need to be in Gringotts in an hour. Fleur helps you to get comfortable. Also, we need to be careful because we’re being watched every second.”

You glanced towards the window.

“What d’you mean?”

“Folks from the Ministry are staying close,” said Mrs Weasley. “They’re of course waiting for Harry to show up but it wouldn’t help your case if they saw a young girl disapparating from the garden. Even the Ministry can put two and two together.”

“We need to do it so they won’t see you coming with us. Disillusionment charm, for one. Otherwise the first place they might look for you will be the Shell Cottage.”

“And what if they look for me there anyway?”

“We’ll know before they turn up. We can discuss the rest when we get there. Are you packed?”

“Sort of,” you said, your throat closing in nervous anticipation.

“All right,” said Bill. “See you downstairs in ten minutes.”

It didn’t take you ten minutes to pack, it took you six and then you spent the remaining four to say goodbye to George. When you entered the kitchen again, this time with you luggage, Bill waved at your trunk and sent it straight to the Cottage Shell. Then you felt as though ice-cold water was dripping down on you from head to toe as the disillusionment charm did its job. When you stepped outside, following Bill and Fleur, you saw two man at the nearby hill, leaning against a tree.

“They can’t see you, they’re too far away,” murmured Bill as he offered his arm for you to take. “Well, then. One… Two…

You looked over your shoulder, seeing Mrs Weasley watching you from the window with her two sons. You just realized that Ginny was still asleep upstairs. You couldn’t even say goodbye to her.

“…Three.”

Your stomach twisted and you fell into the dark emptiness, starting your new life as a runaway muggleborn.

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kickasskody · 3 years

Text

DAKOTA ‘ kody ’ PIERCE, a character study. “just because i cannot see it, doesn’t mean i cannot believe it.” -- jack skellington

Character’s full name: dakota pierce Reason for name and/or meaning of name: kody’s parents met and fell in love in north dakota, and decided to name their son after the great state 💖 Character’s nickname: kody Reason for nickname: in middle school, kody didn’t think the name dakota was cool. but the name kody, the most generic white boy name ever , was definitely cool Birth date: december 13th, 2002. baby sagittarius

Physical appearance Faceclaim: austin abrams Gender: cis male Height: 5″8 #shortking Build: scrawny boy body. looks like he couldn’t lift more than 30 pounds... PSYCH!!! he’s a vampire so he can actually lift several hundred pounds 🤪🤪🤪 Eye color: blue with little dark green specks Glasses or contacts?: not with that snazzy 4k vampire sight !! Distinguishing marks/scars: funny little frecklescape on his back that looks like this emoji 😦 Hair color: dirty blonde Type of hair: type 1, aka straight hair Hairstyle: gets up out of bed, looks in mirror. maybe tussles it a little bit. thats it Physical disabilities: none Mental disabilities: adhd Clothing style: sweaters sweaters sweaters. striped sweaters ( because the best time to wear one is all the time ), disney sweaters, sweaters with dogs on them. white collared shirts to go underneath most of them. denim jackets, a couple of them tattering with holes in the elbows. black skinny jeans -- like he owns four pairs of the same black skinny jeans. someone tell him that skinny jeans aren’t in style anymore. uses the same jansport backpack he’s had since the eighth grade with a sewn in epcot center patch on the front pocket. dirty checkered vans. falling apart high-top converse. it’s not that he’s poor and can’t afford new things, he just prefers all his old stuff. Make up: has never worn any but wouldn’t be opposed to trying some !!

Personality Good personality traits: good at secret keeping, friendly and uplifting, loyal, thoughtful, great memory, cautious, playful. chaotic good energy 🥰 Bad personality traits: gullible, slightly obnoxious, constantly confused, easily distracted Mood character is most often in: cheery, happy as f, practically bouncing off the walls Sense of humor: goddamn hilarious!!! at least he thinks so lol Articulation: loud and occasionally stuttery. repeating himself pretty often. the type to get lost in the middle of conversation and have to take a second to mentally loop back and remember what exactly they were talking about. uses the word ‘ like ‘ way too much. talks with his hands a whole lot. constantly talking like he’s a kooky disney character on a mission. Character’s greatest joy in life: riding a mf’in roller coaster Character’s greatest fear: disneyworld getting blown up / physically hurting someone Character is most at ease when: he’s curled up with his friends watching a disney movie Most ill at ease when: he’s laying in bed at night, pretending he’s sleeping since he can’t Enraged when: thinking about how there are vampires in bridgemead -- that they could turn other people, kill other people, or worse... harm his friends. Depressed or sad when: drinking from a blood bag. watching disney pixar’s coco. thinkin’ about a disneyworld churro and how he’ll never be able to enjoy the taste of one again. Priorities: at the moment? trying not to hurt anybody. Life philosophy: “Keep Moving Forward!” -- walt disney said that Greatest strength: his optimism / ability to take something sad or bad and turn it around! Greatest vulnerability or weakness: giving just about anyone the benefit of the doubt.

Goals Drives and motivations: getting enough money to be able to travel the world and visit every disney park on the planet. Immediate goals: graduating high school / helping the scooby gang solve mysteries Long term goals: roller coaster designer / engineer. create a haunted house / rollercoaster hybrid ride

Childhood Hometown: orlando, florida Type of childhood: the kind where he’s an only child, where his middle class parents live to please and spoil him, take him to whatever amusement park he wanted to go to and buy him all the best merch. the smile on his face was worth more than anything they ever could’ve purchased for themselves. kody probably would’ve had siblings, but his parents had complications getting pregnant again, and thus they lived to make sure he had the best life possible. Pets: a cat named toulouse ( shoutout aristocats ), but he passed when kody was fifteen Most important childhood memory: waiting in line for five hours to ride harry potter and the forbidden journey at universal studios orlando. blew his little kid mind. Dream job: imagineer!! Religion: non-practicing christians. church on easter and christmas ONLY!

Present Current location: bridgemead, massachusetts Currently living with: his parents 💖 Pets: none Religion: agnostic Sexuality: currently questioning his sexuality. growing up he always felt attracted to both boys and girls, but has never been able to articulate it. he’s only ever expressed interest in women, but he has a fat crush on chris evans as captin america Politics: would be socialist if he cared enough to think about politics Occupation/education: bridgemead high school super senior Mode of transportation: his parents dark blue prius!! but only thursday - sunday

Family Parent one: marcus pierce -- drug store manager Relationship with them: kody and his dad are best buds! if it weren’t for his fathers love for rollercoasters, kody doesn’t know what his life would be like today. they used to play rollercoaster tycoon growing up and kody still cherishes those memories today. Parent two: tina pierce -- bridgemead city manager Relationship with them: kody and his mother have a very loving relationship. however, kody’s adoration for his mother dwindled when it was her job that forced them to move to bridgemead. he thinks of it as her fault that he doesn’t get to go to disneyworld anymore, and there’s a bitter part of him that thinks that if she hadn’t made them leave, he never would’ve become a vampire. he knows its wrong to attribute her to his curse, but sometimes when he’s really sad he cant help it. Siblings: none Other important family members: his widowed aunt shirley who lives twenty minutes from disneyworld and occasionally would join them on their weekend visits to the parks. he misses her greatly 😩😩

Favorites Color: that bright electric blue color on the cinderella castle at disneyworld Music: electronic Food: a disneyworld churro. Film: the incredibles / scooby doo 2002 Drink: pink lemonadde mixed with sprite Form of entertainment: disney+ subscription. if that’s all he had, he’d be content. Most prized possession: a magic kingdom two day passport ticket from the 1980′s

Habits Hobbies: playing rollercoaster tycoon / designing rollercoasters on his computer. obsessively watching ghost club paranormal on youtube. bothering aj with the latest thing on his mind that she definitely doesn’t need to know about Plays a musical instrument?: nope. wishes he could though! Plays a sport?: nope, but would be great at track now that he’s a vampire! How he would spend a rainy day: playing kingdom hearts II in his pajamas. Spending habits: great at hoarding all of his allowance! since he’s not spending it on food, he’s an excellent saver. pre-vampirism kody was not as cautious with his spending. Smoking/drinking/drugs?: no way 🙅🏼 has yet to even try alcohol Extremely skilled at: cheering up his friends! finding the good in others and convincing them to see it too 🤗 Extremely unskilled at: stopping himself from crying when he’s sad / when he’s in the middle of crying. putting together pieces of their investigations. sure, he can find things -- but what the hell is he supposed to do with them once he’s got it?!?! Nervous tics: anxious picking at his cuticles. messing with his hair. aggressive foot tapping. scrolling through his phone without actually looking at anything. Usual body posture: that boy has been working on rollercoaster code on his computer for YEARS. his body posture is absolutely RUINED! Mannerisms: constantly talking with his hands. bouncin’ around like tigger when something exciting happens. abbreviating things that don’t need to be abbreviated. the loudest in the room at all times.

Traits Optimist or pessimist? Introvert or extrovert? Daredevil or cautious? Logical or emotional? Leader or follower? Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Prefers working or relaxing? Confident or unsure of himself/herself? Animal lover? HELL YEAH.

Self-perception How do they feels about themselves?: before the year 2020, kody actually quite liked himself! he realized that he was goofy and sometimes not everyones cup of tea, but for the most part, he knew he was a good guy who was a little obnoxious! now, he has mixed feelings about himself. vampirism has elevated a lot of his emotions and more often than not now, he dislikes himself for what he’s become, or what he could become if things turn bloody. One word the character would use to describe themselves: spunky What does the character consider their best trait?: his compassion What does the character consider their worst trait?: his gullibility What does the character consider their best physical characteristic?: his fluffy hair !! What does the character consider their worst physical characteristic?: that he’s a short king. stream short kings anthem by tiny meat gang How does the character think others perceive them?: he’s pretty sure most people think that he’s wildly annoying, but that doesn’t stop him from being fully himself most of the time! What would the character most like to change about himself/herself: his vampirism!! get this shit out of him just make him a normal aging boy again!!

Relationships with others Opinion of other people in general: kody is a big ole’ ball of love, and thus so, he tries to share that with everyone. strangers are treated with compassion, acquaintances are treated as old friends, and friends are treated like family. unless kody already knows someone to be a bad person, or is wary of them, he’s genuinely one of the nicest people one could ever meet. Opinion of the Scooby Gang: talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it. Does the character hide their true opinions and emotions from others?: it depends on the topic, but for the most part, yes. when it comes to most scooby gang related endeavors, kody will share his thoughts -- if it’s something related to movies or tv, he’ll be talking your ear off for hours. if it’s something that could result in it hurting someone else, he’ll be quiet, and if his vampirism was ever to come into question, he’d be absolutely be suppressing it. Most important person in character’s life: oh god, not to pick scooby gang favorites, but probably aj. she’s the closest thing he has to a sister, and he doesn’t know what he would do without their banter, and her support. Best friend/s: aj darke, dylan frye, & arabella byrne Dating experience: absolutely none. kissed 2 girls in the span of 2 years over 3 years ago. Romancing: kody wouldn’t know the first thing about trying to get someone to date him. all he knows is the stuff he’s seen on tv, watched in movies, or experienced around him ( such as his parents successful marriage, or his friends dating people ), but if it were to come down to him, he’d be extremely awkward. picture tom holland’s spiderman trying to talk to zendaya’s mj in far from home -- because that’s extremely accurate. kody isn’t trying to date anyone right now for a couple of reasons: one being that he’s too nervous, and not exactly looking for love, but if it were to happen... he wouldn’t run from it necessarily. but two being that his vampirism creates a bit of a problem for him, and he’s not sure if he should subject anyone to the curse he’s stuck with.

Extra Physicality: if necessary, could probably lift a car and throw it down the street. as of right now, doesn’t know how strong he really is / is more concerned about hurting his friends with this supposed strength than he is finding out how many hundreds of pounds he could lift. kody in a fight? probably losing within the first five seconds, unless bloods drawn and the instinct to pounce takes over. Species: vampire How do they feel about it?: hates it. would do anything to reverse it. wishes he had just stayed a little longer at karma cafe that night. or had never gone at all. How do they look in their supernatural form?: pretty much the same, however when he’s hungry and near blood, his eyes go all dark and bloodshot, and the veins around his eyes start to pulse ( basically just like vampire diaries ), but kody is unaware of this since he’s never seen it happen to himself or another vampire

#bridgemeadtask01 #shoutout aaustinabrams for this gif #idk how to credit gif makers listen thats my credit right there

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cosmic-hearts · 4 years

Text

castles in the air | lee donghyuck | three

lee donghyuck x female reader

genre; enemies-to-lovers, friendship, romance, fluff, angst

warnings; none

foreword; in which you might be a real-life princess with a prince promised to you right from the start, but you won’t be getting your happy ever after.

<< previous chapter | next chapter >>

Over the next couple of dates, it’s like a switch has been flicked in your relationship with Donghyuck. You could finally say with confidence that he’s a friend, and you’re grateful for this time with him; it feels like you’re both catching up on all the lost years.

Sure, he made fun of you constantly for that obnoxious heart-shaped Prada Odette Heart Bag you always carried around with you for casual dates, and for wearing Dior sneakers on the rare days you weren’t in heels. God, that bag looks like it’s for a twelve-year old. And who the hell wears Dior sneakers? I didn’t even know freaking Dior sold sneakers. You tried explaining to him that it was an AF1xDior collaboration special but that didn’t soften his judgement in any way, so you settled for calling him an uncultured jerk. And there was the time he got gravy on your prized pink bag and you nearly stabbed him with your butter knife.

But there were sweeter times too. When he was feeling generous and perhaps more than a little sentimental, he sang you songs as you two sat on the hood of his car, soaking up the moonlight. These days were rare and therefore exceedingly precious, and though you’d never tell him, you cherished them deeply. His voice whisked you away from this sublunary world, to a place filled with the breath of angels and flights of fancy, a place where you could build castles in the air and wonder what it would be like if what you had with Donghyuck was real.

You love every second with him.

That said, you’re already regretting your decision to go with Donghyuck to his senior high prom. Even your coveted Sadek Majed Summer Spring Couture gown (literally woven with all the blessings of spring) isn’t enough to keep anxiety from clawing its way through the perfectly fitted waistline. It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never actually been to a prom before.

It doesn’t get any better when you step into his school and all eyes are on you. Perhaps it’s your gown; you had a feeling you’d overdone it this time. You knew it from the moment you got into Donghyuck’s car and his jaw literally dropped. When you asked him what was wrong, he looked away, cleared his throat and gripped the steering wheel unnecessarily hard without bothering to reply. You knew maybe you’d taken it a little too far, but you didn’t think you looked that bad.

Donghyuck brings you to the auditorium, then promptly abandons you in search of Jaemin. You’d expected as much—Lee Donghyuck may have the voice of an angel, but he most certainly isn’t one.

You sip your glass of punch, and when you set it down you see someone’s come to sit opposite you.

“Hi,” she says, eyes curving into crescents, “I think we’ve met before.”

You take a good look at the girl; she’s dressed in a baby blue rafaela dress, obsidian locks tumbling across her shoulders, a sharp contrast to her alabaster complexion.

“Oh, that’s right,” you say, eyes widening in recognition, “Sohui, right? Donghyuck’s girlfriend?”

“Yup,” she says, “I just wanted to say thank you for that day. When you spoke up for me… I really appreciated it.”

You smile. “It’s no problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Sohui scoots over to sit next to you. “I absolutely love your dress. It’s so pretty.”

“Thanks. I really like yours too.”

Silence ensues for a moment, then she says, “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure, what is it?” “It’s about Donghyuck.”

Your grip on your glass tightens just the slightest. Of course it would be about Donghyuck.

“I just wanted to ask, when will this whole fake dating thing end? I know I might seem like a really jealous girlfriend right now, but… I’m actually asking for Donghyuck.”

For Donghyuck? “I’m not sure,” you reply truthfully, “but I can try to speed things up. I’m sorry about having to hog him like this; I know it’s not easy for you both.”

Her perfect face almost melts with relief. “Thank you,” she says, “that would be great. Donghyuck’s just been really stressed lately and I’m worried about him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why has he been stressed? Did he say something?”

Sohui sighs, her shoulders falling into a slump. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay then. I don’t know how to put this any other way, but… it might be because of you.”

And then she tells you. She finally tells you the reason why Donghyuck had spent the majority of his life hating you.

Your expression never once falters, not even a bit. Not even when Donghyuck returns and you witness his face light up at the sight of his real girlfriend.

You will not falter.

—

“Hey,” Donghyuck says, his voice filling the silence that had been permeating the car all the way back. “You’re being unusually quiet today.”

You fiddle with the embroidered flowers sewn into your dress, iridescent in the shaft of moonlight streaming through the car window. Tonight, even the beautiful artistry of fashion fails to make you smile.

“I’m just tired.”

Donghyuck laughs. “I didn’t ever think you could run out of energy at events like these. You always looked so perfectly put together at every single social function. Unlike me. God, I always found it all so tiring. I could never understand how you did it.”

You didn’t know me, you bite back the urge to say, just like how I still don’t know you.

It seems like years pass before he reaches your house, and for once, you can’t wait to bolt out of the car, to run as far away from him as possible.

“By the way, I wanted to tell you something.”

You respond with a questioning glance. Donghyuck’s gaze darts away from you and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“When I first saw you just now… I didn’t think you looked bad at all. Really.”

Your heart stills for a moment.

“I thought you looked... really pretty. I mean, you still look… really pretty, of course.”

You give him a polite smile, say thank you and goodnight, step out of the car and walk away until you hear the sound of the engine revving.

It is then that you finally fall apart.

“His hatred for you… it’s because he feels that you’re tying him down. Holding him back from all the things he wants to achieve. He told me that he hated you because he was made to marry you from the start and he viewed this marriage as a prison. He feels that you’re taking his freedom away from him.”

Your head spins.

“So you can probably see… having to spend all this time with you… it’s taking a toll on him. I think for his sake, you should end it soon.”

You let out a bitter chuckle at your own hypocrisy—you wanted to help him reach for the stars, but you’re the one who’s chaining him to the ground.

Your house stands before you like a castle gleaming in the starlight. You sigh, a soft sound that escapes immediately into the darkness.

All this time, you were merely building castles in the air. How naive of you to believe that what you and Donghyuck had could ever be real.

But you’re strong and you don’t need anyone, you tell yourself. You close your eyes, imagining the moonlight washing away the pain, the starlight making you new and whole again. You’ll be ready to make things right; it’s the least you can do for Donghyuck.

And you? You’ll be okay. You always are.

—

“Darling, you look absolutely fabulous.”

You won’t demur or say otherwise, not when you actually do think you look ready to rule the goddamn universe tonight.

You decided on a dress from POEM Couture’s autumn-winter collection, and you really do think you look like a dream, ethereal almost. Your hair is put up in a low tendril twist bun with curled wisps escaping from the knot, framing the sides of your face.

You’re about to head downstairs to check in on the decorations when your phone screen lights up with a message.

From: hyuck

happy birthday, see u later ;) mayhaps i got u a present

Jaw tightening, you put your phone facedown on your desk.

Don’t ruin your makeup, you say sternly to yourself, swallowing harshly to get rid of the sudden thickness in your throat.

You just need to get through this night and everything will be okay again.

—

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for being here to celebrate my daughter’s 18th birthday with us today.”

Donghyuck looks out at the sea of people in stiff suits and designer dresses, and pulls uncomfortably at his necktie. How many of these people do you actually know, he wonders? They’re probably your parents’ colleagues, friends, rivals, people they wanted to show you off to. They’re milling about at your birthday celebration, making polite, small talk and pretending like they actually want to be here.

“Y/N has always been the most perfect child,” your mother coos into the mic, “and we’re so lucky to have her as our daughter. Today is a very special day; our daughter has grown up into a beautiful young lady, with a beautiful mind of her own. And I’m so happy that she has finally found the one for her to blossom through her eighteenth year with.” She sends a wink in Donghyuck’s direction, and he offers back a weak smile while his own parents look proudly on.

He wonders where you are, and why you haven’t replied to his text. Then again, he imagines that you must be absolutely swamped with preparations for today. He makes a mental note to go find you later so he can pass you your present in private.

“All right, I won’t delay this anymore. After all, this is my daughter’s night, not mine. Everyone, I present to you, Y/N!”

Like magic, you appear from the shadows of the upper wing and all goes quiet.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen.

He doesn’t know much about fashion, but it doesn’t take much to realize that you’re dressed to kill tonight. The midnight purple bodice of your gown fades out into a lush pink in a glorious ombre, like twilight melding with a rosy sunrise. Your hair is delicately tied in a low bun, curly wisps gently kissing the sides of your face. Under the luminous light of the chandelier above, your skin is aglow with radiance, eyes aflame with a sparkle that takes his breath away.

As you descend the grand staircase, a hand on the gold rail, a regal aura is composed around you and time seems to stop. Donghyuck swears he can hear several sharp intakes of breath.

You look just like a princess.

You look like you have the blood of a royal running through your veins. If Donghyuck has the ability to command and captivate with his voice, you too have that same ability, but with your mere presence.

“Oh, my darling daughter,” your mother gushes, arms extended towards you. She raises a hand towards Donghyuck, signalling him to come over.

“I’m so glad you two are finally together. I mean, we knew it would happen all along, but now that it’s finalized, I can rest assured,” she announces, and Donghyuck finds that he can scarcely lift his eyes to meet yours; you’re simply too dazzling.

The crowd erupts into applause, and at first it is low, quiet him, but it soon morphs into a collective cheer, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

You cast a despairing glance at your mother, trying to convey to her the sheer impropriety of such a notion, but she merely winks at you and whispers, “Don’t worry, we’re not all that old-fashioned.”

Unconsciously, you grab a fistful of your dress as your heart begins to race. You simply cannot kiss Donghyuck, that would literally be the end of you. Donghyuck would hate it with every fibre of his being, and you don’t want to force him into doing this; he would hate you even more than he already does. You absolutely cannot bear the thought of tasting the disgust on his lips—

A warm hand closes around yours, the one that’s nervously clutching onto the folds of your dress. Your fist uncurls and your relaxes as Donghyuck threads his fingers through yours, his grip firm but gentle. He places his other hand on your cheek and whispers so softly that you know it is meant for your ears alone,

“Can I kiss you?”

You look up into his eyes, expecting to find reluctance and discomfort, but instead, his eyes are burning with a sort of—you wouldn’t call it desire, not exactly, but more of determination to see this moment through, because he too knows that there’s no way out of this.

So you let your eyelids flutter shut to indicate your assent; you might as well get this done and over with, it’s all meaningless anyway and Donghyuck knows it too.

But the moment his lips meet yours, a shower of sparks explodes in your chest and you can feel your heart sing. Your grip on his hand tightens as you attempt to hold him close and you will this moment to last forever so that you can memorize the sweet taste of his lips on yours, the heat of his hand against your cheek, handling you with such gentleness and care you almost believe this charade you’re both playing is real. He presses his lips against yours just a little deeper, draws you closer to him ever so slightly, thumb stroking your flushed cheek, and a shiver of electricity jolts through your veins, sending a chill down your spine—maybe the castles you’d been building in the air can be real after all.

But this isn’t a fairytale, and your happy ever after won’t come by so easily.

Donghyuck’s lips leave yours. As quickly as it had begun, it was over, and the castles crumble right before you. You can’t hear the whoops and cheers arising from all around—in that moment, all you are aware of is Lee Donghyuck, gazing down at you with the darkness of midnight in his eyes and stardust streaked across his face.

You’re suddenly transported back to a cramped, dimly-lit closet, where a boy huddled so close to you you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear and see the beauty spots that speckled his skin. Like stardust.

“... if I kiss you, you might just fall in love with me. Can’t risk that now, can we?”

How right he is. You almost let out a sardonic laugh right then and there.

You’re royally screwed, and all it took was a single kiss.

—

You gaze out at the cityscape below you, breathing in the cool night air on the balcony and watching the twinkling nightlife of the rest of the world. You hope the chilly winds will cool the warmth in your cheeks and restore your former composure, so you won’t look like you’ve just been wrecked apart with the mere sensation of Donghyuck’s lips on yours.

That would be too humiliating.

You’re about to turn around and go back to the party, back to where you should be, when you feel a soft tug on your bun. Your hair escapes free from its tight hold and falls down your back, a long and lustrous stream illuminated by moonlight.

You turn to the side and see Donghyuck, eyes gleaming with mischief. The familiarity of this action makes your heart swell; it’s like he’s reminding you of the memories he made with you. It’s like he’s deliberately making this so damn difficult for you.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that you haven’t returned me my Scrunchie,” you say, and Donghyuck lets out a loud guffaw.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it back soon.”

Then his gaze suddenly drops away from yours, towards the floor. He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks blazing. “About just now—,”

“Thank you for that. I really appreciated it, and I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“N-No,” Donghyuck says, a little too quickly, “it was fine for me.. Really. I was actually wondering if you were okay with it.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“We did what we had to do, and that’s all that matters,” you reply, turning away from him to face the night.

You two stand in silence for a moment, your heart hammering in your chest as you gather up the courage let Donghyuck go.

Now.

“Y/N,” Donghyuck starts, right at the exact moment you say, “I think it’s time.”

Donghyuck tilts his head to the side, eyes focused on you. “You go first.”

You take a deep breath and plough forth. No turning back now. “I think it’s time to stop this. Tomorrow I’ll tell my parents that I want to cancel the engagement.”

Donghyuck freezes, eyes wide, and for a moment you think you saw a glimpse of hurt flash across his eyes. But you must be deluding yourself.

“Why?”

You raise an eyebrow in feigned incredulity. “What do you mean why? We were supposed to end all of this after we tried it out for a while, just to show our parents that we were putting in the effort. I’ll let them know tomorrow that I want to break up with you. I think we’ve fake dated for long enough and it should be enough to convince our parents. It’s time we both moved on, don’t you think?” you say, doing your best to keep your tone light while twirling a lock of hair around your finger and hoping you were a picture-perfect portrait of absolute indifference. And not a shaking mess.

Donghyuck’s eyes are glassy, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked crushed.

“I just have one question,” he says, eyes boring into you, “well, two, actually.”

You lift your chin to meet his gaze, a defiant shine in your eyes and a coy smile on your lips. “Go ahead.”

“Did you feel anything when we kissed?”

It is your turn to freeze. Why would he ask this? And how can you possibly tell him that when he kissed you it was like a thousand angels were singing in unison, and you felt your heart soaring to places it had never been before? That if you could, you would grab his collar, pull him towards you and claim his lips just once more—

“Are you drunk right now, Lee Donghyuck? That’s literally the craziest thing to ask. Of course I didn’t.”

His eyes harden. “Great. Just… one more question then.”

You cross your arms over your chest because your hands are shaking visibly and you’re unable to stop them.

“Is this what you really want?”

Again, you’re assaulted by a wave of deja-vu—the same cold, starlit night on a different balcony, where he’d asked you the same question in all earnestness. Previously you weren’t sure if he really cared what you wanted, but now that you know he truly cares, it makes it all the more painful.

“I don’t want a model answer, Y/N. I’m asking you what you really want.”

You bite down hard on your lip, suppressing the wildness in you that screams no.

“Again, that’s a stupid question. Of course it’s what I want. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s what we both want, isn’t it? You wanted so much to break our marriage contract because you hate me. That’s why we’re doing all this in the first place.”

A film descends over his eyes at that moment and your heart breaks.

“You’re right,” he says after what seems like an eternity, voice barely above a whisper, “we should have ended this long ago. I’m sorry. For wasting your time.”

Your heart breaks at his words, even though you’d seen them coming from a mile away and you really don’t have the right to expect anything else. Your heart breaks at the way he’s already slipping away from you.

Even though he was never yours to begin with.

He steps closer to you and takes your wrist. You feel a prickle of electricity course through your bones, but he merely hands you a large shopping bag.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” he says, with a smile that appears forced and yet genuine all at once. Like he really wants to smile at you but he can’t bring himself to.

And with that, he turns and leaves. You grip tightly onto the bag, fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as his silhouette fades back into the glow of the ballroom.

You don’t even have it in you to cry, to regret, to yell for him to come back.

Because the moment he left a gaping hole tore through you and now you are just too filled up with empty to feel anything.

—

Hey Y/N,

Happy birthday! I can’t believe it’s been so long since we started hanging out. Honestly, I’d long forgotten about our contract, and now that I think about it, it’s actually so stupid—how did we even come up with that bullshit? Then again, I guess I’m glad we did, because it gave us the opportunity to hang out and without it, I would never have known what a great person you are.

Here’s your Scrunchie (did you really think I wouldn’t give it back lol) and your birthday present, because I’m sorry I got gravy on your ugly ass Prada bag. Don’t worry, this one’s also from Prada, and I think it’s SO much nicer—my mum helped me get it custom made. I personally chose all the colors and the design, and it has your name inscribed inside so you’d better not lose it. Don’t you dare get gravy on this one or else I’ll literally come for your ass.

All right, now that that’s out of the way, it’s confession time. You’re right, I did hate you before (and it’s not because I hate pink, I swear), but I realized that it wasn’t personal. I just hated having to marry you, not because of you, but I just didn’t want to be in an arranged marriage. I thought that would take all my freedom away and I really didn’t want that. I’m sorry for hating you so much—that was just plain stupid of me.

But in a funny way, even though I saw you as killing my freedom, you were the one who gave it back to me—you were the one who rekindled my love for singing at a time when everyone around me was telling me I should give it up. I can’t believe you still remembered that I sing, by the way. I didn’t even know that you knew, so that was pretty cool of you. So yeah, I just wanted to say thank you for that, you have no idea how much it meant to me. How important it was to me. If you look inside the Prada bag you’ll find a USB drive. I’d actually been working on a song for you for a couple months just to say thank you. It’s called “Beautiful Time”, and I really hope you’ll like it.

I hope that whatever happens next, we’ll always be friends, because you’re seriously one of the coolest and strongest people I know. Sometimes I wish I had your strength; I don’t know if you know this, but you’re so strong it makes me jealous sometimes. It’s crazy how we’re the same age but you’re just so much more mature and stronger. You’re just… so amazing sometimes.

All right, before I puke writing this, let’s just end it here. Here’s to many more memories and great times, have a great birthday Y/N <3

Love, Donghyuck

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monsterthorst · 4 years

Note

Could we get Jaxon meeting his human mate for the first time? Perhaps she’s a bit of a small thing working at a bar, bringing drinks to tables and typically being harassed. Despite her size though, she may be sharp and witty, not having a problem with much of the harassment that came with her work but in no way tolerating being degraded. Perhaps she uses her wit to bring them down a few notches or she’s stronger than she looks. Up to you.

Dude, Jaxon got SO much more attention than I EVER could have anticipated. I mean, just look at his notes versus any of my other monster boys, like DANG IN THE HUNDREDS???? I’d never even done a dialogue prompt before! I think it was the ‘werewolf boyfriend’ tag, if I’m gonna be honest, hahah. Not gonna lie, though, the boy’s a snack. So yes please????? Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Oh, did I mention Jaxon’s half-Hispanic? No?? Oop, have fun.

Jaxon- The Meeting

The Red Dahlia, a local bar named after its ginger spitfire of an owner Miss Dahlia, sat in the middle of a gravel parking lot a handful of miles from town. It brought in all manner of creature and, according to a certain utterly baffled reporter, was a “breeding ground for drunks, lechers, and perverts”. Jaxon chuckled at the memory, his wide palms tucked within the depths of his jackets leather pockets as he stared up at the flashing red neon sign, swinging dangerously from rusted iron chains in the wind. He’d been there when the ‘reporter’(blogger, actually) had come into the bar, working on an article about ‘local, underrated hotspots’; she’d come in, head held high and brown, hair-sprayed curls bouncing, red lipstick so crimson it had called him a peasant, and eyebrows as thin as Miss Dahlia’s patience. She was a target from the moment she walked in.

Miss Dahlia had greeted the middle-aged housewife, a wide smile across her full lips, and the entire bar erupted into outrageous laughter when the woman introduced herself as ‘Karren’(two ‘r’s, she’d elaborated for a Miss Dahlia who hadn’t asked). Karren loathed every inch of the Red Dahlia, insults and back-handed compliments lashed harmlessly through the air, and, when Knash(a local, grungy gnoll with a wicked grin and a short muzzle) grabbed a handful of her bottom, she‘d stormed out with an unintelligible screech. Jaxon missed it.

He’d left the small town, Arrowway as it was known on maps, around a year ago and he’d only just gotten back in town a few seconds earlier; his motorcycle engine rumbling like distant thunder and pressing hotly against his long legs. He’d been in New Mexico, chasing down hunters and beasts alike and digging up any information he could find on his father. Aaron Bluewater, Jaxon’s dad, had been missing for months; the police declared him dead and the investigation had stopped, but that didn’t mean Jaxon was ready to. Nowhere close.

A rowdy group of girls burst from the double doors of the wooden building, laughing and stumbling across the parking lot in their stilettos. A black-haired fae, dressed in what Jaxon would simply call a wasted fish net, caught sight of the sun-tanned male and hollered across the way at him, “Wh-hello, han’some! Wan’ join ‘s?”

“No, thank you,” Jaxon couldn’t help the grin that tumbled across his face as he tucked his thoughts away and approached the old bar. As flattering as the slurred compliment may have been, Jaxon furrowed his eyebrows at the red-faced girls and kept his hands tucked in his pockets, “You have a ride home, right?”

A blonde harpy girl spoke then, her shimmering top see-through and her pink lip gloss smudged, “Why don’t you be our ride home, hmm?”

“I’m not into narcolepsy, but thank you.” Jaxon grinned, his canines illuminated by the flashing red ambiance of the ‘Red Dahlia: Pub and Club’ sign, “You girls call in a taxi, yeah? You’ll get someone killed driving around like that.”

The girls fell into a stunned silence and, as one of them whispered ‘Yeah, I-I can call’, Jaxon pushed opened the bar doors and stepped into the pulsing, Latin music. Jaxon ran a nervous hand through his thick, black hair and cast his light blue eyes across the familiar space, as though he were looking for something, before he took a quick seat at the empty table closest to the door. He noticed a little, plastic menu in front of him and he raised his thick brows curiously. Taking it in his hands, he read over the contents; all of the drink options were as he remembered, with a few new, interesting concoctions listed, but now there was a small section for food, many of which he could recall from his early childhood. A grin swept across his face and a nostalgic warmth fell across his chest as he read over the menu.

“Hello!” Jaxon nearly jumped from his seat, shoulders instinctually squaring and his curved claws peeking forward in anticipation. You stood before him and the warmth in his chest crawled up across his throat and burned at his face. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Jaxon, for the first time in a long time, couldn’t formulate the proper, English words and a gentle, “Tan hermosa…”

“Hmm?” You intoned curiously, your silken hair tumbled across your forehead and cheeks as you slightly turned your head up to him.

Jaxon’s mouth went dry and English failed him again, “Nada. I mean-I… Nothing. Sorry, you’re fine. Wait, no-I mean, yes, but… Thank you.” Jaxon whispered quietly as he forced himself back down into his seat, he cupped his forehead and groaned softly, “I’m sorry. I’m just… Tired.”

“I completely understand! I feel the exact same way too, sometimes words are just so hard.” You spoke sympathetically, a giggle punctuating your sentence. The sound, unsurprisingly, did not help Jaxon piece his thoughts together better. You introduced yourself politely, the sound of your name echoing in Jaxon’s head for a few moments after wards, “So, what can I get for you, sir?”

Jaxon fumbled with the menu for a moment, reading over the laminated words(despite the fact he already knew exactly what he wanted), “Uhmm, I-I’ll just have a Whiskey Sour, please.”

“Ohh, interesting choice. I was expecting an Old Fashioned. Would you like anything to eat? We just recently added some things to our menu.” You reached over the table, pressing a plain nail against the bold-printed ‘Appetizers’ at the bottom of the small paper. “I personally like the Cheesy Beef Empanadas, they come with Sofrito sauce. The best you’ll ever have in your life.”

Jaxon nervously ran a hand across the baby hairs along the back of his neck and cast you a gentle grin, “The best?”

“Scouts Honor.” You ran your fingers over your heart in an ‘x’ and your smile made Jaxon’s chest feel tight.

“Alright, I’ll have a Whiskey Sour and an order of Cheesy Beef Empanadas.” Jaxon extended the menu out for you to take and he hoped you couldn’t see the way his hands shook slightly under your gaze.

Whether or not it was intentional, when your fingers ran across the back of Jaxon’s hand, a shiver coursed up his spine and his skin tingled where you’d touched him. “Coming right up.”

“Thanks,” Jaxon whispered quietly as he watched you stride away from him. You wore a long-sleeved, black shirt with a red Dahlia sewn into the back, a matching pencil skirt, and dark black stockings tucked into your zip-up wedges. Your hair shone in red-tinted lights of the bar and brushed across your neck and face as you moved. You were beautiful and, much to his dissatisfaction, Jaxon wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

An elf, as white-haired and lean and feminine as any elf he’d ever seen before, watched you lecherously as you approached his one chair table. Rather than letting you pass by, the elf stood up quickly, his oily hands closed around your back and arms as he pulled you against his shimmering, leather shirt. Jaxon’s blood roared in his ears and he felt a sharp pressure growing in the beds of his fingernails and dancing along his canines.

“What a pretty, little thing I’ve found.” He slurred into your face, inching himself closer to you with each word, “What say we get out of here, doll? I’ll have you screaming ‘til dawn.”

You grimaced at the reek of alcohol on his breath, placing your hands against his shoulders and attempting to politely push him away, “No, thank you. Now let me go.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Mmmm, no, I don’t think so. I’m not quite finished with you yet, human.” Silence fell over the patrons of the bar and club as they all turned from their drinks and rambunctious stories to glare at the outsider man-handling you.

A bouncing cackle echoed across the hushed space and Jaxon recognized Knash, just as grungy as he’d been the last time the young man had seen him over a year ago, tucked in the corner amidst the center of a young pack of gnolls. “I’d do what the little lady says now, ya’hear? A mean left hook, that’n.”

“Excuse me.” Jaxon found his voice as he heaved himself upright, stalking towards the elf as his eyes burst into life with blue flame, “The young lady asked you to stop. So stop before I make you.”

Your startled expression found Jaxon’s glare, and the gentle furrow of your eyebrows and the frown across the curve of your lips sent a scorching wave of anger straight through him. The elf grabbed your face then, cupping your chin in his long fingernails and pressing your cheek against his own, “Oh? Is she your girlfriend? What sort of magic could a mutt like you have possibly gotten your grimy, little hands on to-“

A fist drove itself upwards into the delicate curve of the elf’s jaw, crushing his teeth into his tongue and sending him to the ground in a pitiful ‘thud’ of leather and Axe body spray. You uncoiled your hand and shook your fingers loosely, eyes a blaze of color as you glared down at the unconscious pervert. “I can tolerate a lot of things, sir, but the insulting of my customers is not one of them.”

Laughter erupted throughout the bar, noise echoing loudly between the walls as hands pounded on the tables and hollers rang through the air. Jaxon turned to you, his anger dissipating from his system as an impressed amusement began to fill its place, “Are you-?”

“What do you borrachos think you are doing!?” A heavy ‘thwack’ echoes through the air as a wooden bat slammed against the bar top. Miss Dahlia herself, all five feet and two inches of her, cocked her hip as she swore around her cigar. Her beautiful caramel eyes caught the blue reflection of Jaxon’s gaze and her full lips split into a wide smile, “¡JAXITO!”

“Hola, Tía Dahlia.” Jaxon grinned bashfully at the childhood nickname, but his heart grew warm at the sound of her voice all the same.

Miss Dahlia, dropping the bat and extinguishing the cigar in a crystal ashtray along the bar top, gathered the thick, faux-fur bottom of her red nightgown and hurried around the bar counter. Pausing as her eyes fell down upon the crumpled mass of elf before she turned a firm stare up at you, “Again? ¡Está es la tercera vez está semana!”

“Lo sé, ¡pero él fue siendo grosero!” You answered Miss Dahlia quickly, your Spanish was better than Jaxon had expected(considering the fact that he was unaware you spoke any at all) and listened in amusement as you went back and forth with his spitfire Aunt.

Miss Dahlia began to wave her hands dramatically; gesturing between herself, you, the bar, the unconscious elf, Jaxon, and anything else she could jerk her fingers at quick enough. “¡Eres imposible, estás tan cerca-! KNASH!!”

“Yes’m?” Knash jumped to his flat feet, scurrying forward until the thick fur on his chest brushed against Miss Dahlia’s shoulder. Jaxon narrowed his eyes at the action.

“Take this puta and drop him outside, por favor!” Miss Dahlia’s words blurred together as she wildly gestured towards the front door. Knash nodded, his muzzle brushing across Jaxon’s aunts shoulder and the black-haired male clenched his fist with a frown.

“I’ll go with him.” You whispered quietly, pointing quickly over your shoulder before you helped Knash pull the unconscious elf to his feet and drag him to the front doors.

Jaxon turned towards his aunt, watching as her expression turned from an angry exhaustion to a wide grin. She cupped Jaxon’s cheeks and cooed endearments at him in Spanish, they made his tan face flush and eventually he took her small hands into his own, “Tía. She was only defending herself, she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Aye, I know, mí sabrino. But,” Miss Dahlia paused for a moment as she shook her head, rubbing her manicured thumbs over the back of Jaxon’s hand, “the police system is not what it was when you left us. They’ve all fallen into the pockets of politicians and businessmen. I’ve had to buy my way out of three lawsuits because of those bastardos!”

Jaxon furrowed his brows at the news, but he remained unsurprised. Their little town had been free of corruption and swindling for a long time, it was bound to fall to greed sooner or later. He only hated that it had all come sooner rather than later. The door jingled back open and Jaxon turned to watch as you and Knash slunk back into the bar. Knash lumbered right up to Miss Dahlia’s side and, with a scowl, Jaxon watched his aunt rub the top of the gnolls head. “Okay, what’s going on here? Knash, are you dating my aunt!?”

“Well-“

Knash began to explain himself with a bashful tilt of his head, but Miss Dahlia cut him short, “Ohh, Jaxito, I was going to tell you, but it just never came up!”

“Meaning you weren’t going to say anything at all, huh?” Jaxon shook his head with a sigh before he pointed a finger at his old friend, “You better not pull anything funny with my tía, got that?”

Knash chuckled, running a large paw along the back of his neck as he gave Jaxon’s aunt a not-so-subtle look of adoration, “Yeah, I got it… Jaxito.”

“Don’t you-“ Knash threw back his head with a rambunctious laugh as he bounced off to rejoin his pack.

A gentle hand pressed against the back of Jaxon’s arm and he turned to meet your mesmerizing gaze once again. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Jaxon whispered quietly down at you. Your head fell just below the curve of his shoulder and he found himself lost in the way you looked up at him.

“Thank you. For standing up for me, I mean.” You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before you clasped your hands together in front of your waist and fought the blush growing across your nose.

Jaxon smiled, acutely aware of his aunts surprised gaze scouring across your faces, and opened his mouth to respond before you interrupted him, “Oh! Your drink and food! I completely forgot, let me-“

“Wait!” Jaxon wrapped his hand around your waist as you began to dart away from his side. You turned back to him quickly, studying his warming face, “Actually, uhmm. Forget the food. Can-can I walk you to your car?”

“Oh… I, uhh, I have to help Miss Dahlia close the bar.”

“Aye, forget about it today, girly.” Miss Dahlia interjected your explanation, shooing the both of you away with a cocked hip and a grin. “Go on. The Lord above knows you need a date.”

“Miss Dahlia!” You exclaimed, burying your face in your hands with a laugh.

Jaxon cupped your hands in his palms and pulling them away from your burning face, “So, is that a yes, then?”

Jaxon will never forget the look on your face- the brewing grin, the gentle glimmer in your eyes, the soft blush across your cheek- as you said “Yes.”

*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ*

Spanish is not my first language so I hope the phrase I used are correct! I hope you enjoyed this despite the delay. I’ve really started developing Jaxon and his background, I think there’s definitely more to come with him. WINK WONK

Translations:

Tan hermosa- “So beautiful”

Nada- “Nothing”

Borrachos- “Drunkards(masculine)”

Jaxito- “Little Jaxon”(endearing term used for children)

Hola, Tía Dahlia- “Hello, Aunt Dahlia”

¡Está es la tercera vez está semana!”- “That’s the third time this week!”

¡Lo sé, ¡pero él fue siendo grosero!- “I know, but he was being rude!”

¡Eres imposible, estás tan cerca!- “You’re impossible, you’re this close-”

Puta- “Pussy”

Por favor- “Please”

Mí sabrino- “My nephew”

#jaxon #werewolf #werewolf boyfriend #werewolf x reader #werewolf x human #monster x human #monster x reader #creature x reader #creature boyfriend #creature x human #monster boyfriend #sfw #handsome man

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thataceelfgalzi · 3 years

Text

The Adventures Of Vanity Chapter One

I looked at the simple gold watch and found that the time in which I was returning home was a little after 2 am. Nearing my home after a quite dangerous walk while inebriated, settled me with relief. But that relief was soon gone, when I saw my house was starkly dark, and being in a dark forest didn't do any wonders for me. I would have to go through my house searching for my oil lamp.

Everything appeared as a blur as I stepped closer and closer to my destination. Fear seemed to discipline me as a terror rode through my body, seeing shadowy apparitions, darker than even the midnight, travel through my house in loud silence. It felt as if I would swallow my tongue as I stood stilted by the door, with my key hanging in my hand, waiting to open my door. So, I made quick movements, moving as if it were choreographed by quick and lithe dancers. I was far less graceful however, as after I ran through my open door to flee the discomfort of the darkness and instead twisted around by stepping on the tail end of my dress and end up hitting my head harshly on my shoe rack.

As I lay there, my life evaluation came into existence in my head, try as I did to shake it away. Here I was, trying to avoid these dark and troubling apparitions, when really my real escape should have been against my base loneliness. No one danced with me at the party, barely anyone said a word of notice, realizing that I was a wallflower trying to be seen. I don't know what bothered me more, the standing by because I do not have the forthright ability to approach anyone, or that I'm so characteristically common, that it would be a challenge to actually notice and remember me.

No more of the apparitions, the shadows, now it is just the beginning of daily thoughts. Slowly, I begin to rise, startingly angry at myself for having such low thoughts of myself. My head is already having the symptoms of sickness, so I move fast up the stairs, towards my room to bathe all the dirt of the night away.

Before I felt, I heated up water and put it in a silver tin wash tub. It was a little lukewarm after I stripped my clothes away and slipped in. I dipped my brush in and rubbed a little soap on it. Scrubbing so hard, I left dirt not from tonight, but from the past, from my skin. There also lie some peelings that let me know of my aggressiveness. I drained the water out of the tub and threw it out of the window after I dressed in my nightgown, without noting how bright the moon, the stars or even how lush the trees as I usually do, instead noting how close I was in dropping the tub out of the window. I stumbled into my room and slammed into my bed, immediately closing my eyes and despite noticing the cold breeze of the wind tumbling through the window, which was sightly open, no longer did I have the energy to close it. I went slack and everything seemed even darker when I closed my eyes.

****

The sun began twinkling through the curtains and blinds of my windows, and just as I predicted, a loud booming sensation scattered through my head. I laid my head down and closed my eyes even tighter to shut out what seemed to be blinding light. Then the thoughts of last night began to rise to occasion and I also had to block out that unfortunate occasion.

It was a Sunday morning and soon the choir's hymn began to rise, heavenly and light. The singing began to cloud my mind, distracting me from loneliness of last night. I got up and found myself, almost as if I were not in control, opening the curtains wide, spotting the yellow and red beginnings of Autumn in the field.

A smile rose to my face and I turned away, going to my door to open it and precede down the stairs. There was a haunting quality of those voices echoing against the walls of my head. But there was peace overtaking me. It calmed my soul, slowly overcoming the ache from my head, and my heart, which all sang low tones. It fueled me to go ahead and make my breakfast, to find my new start in my day. The muttering of the service settles in my ears and the memories of the services I used to attend when I was an adolescent and child are opened to me. Then I was 9 and believing. Now I am 20 and 3, and while those beliefs I still find interesting, never will I allow myself in an actual church due to the harmful system it has.

Shaking away those thoughts, I find myself looking through my icebox for my eggs, jelly, sausage, and continuing on top the icebox for my grits and bread. It was such a surprised that I was even this hungry after what was a lesson in how inebriated you should not get, but gently the pain was flowing back to my head.

As I am creating my omelet and starting my toast, a knock came against my door. Momentarily I was distracted by that because never have I had company out in these somewhat secluded forests. Slowly, I come back to my sense and cut off the stove before I could burn anymore of my food. I figured I was moving a bit too slowly, because another knock came, so I rushed on over and pulled the door open. In front of me was Margery, a schoolmate, with a simple, yet richly elegant dress and bonnet, with her angelic and divine brow face lit up in a smile.

"Oh! Margery, please do come in." I ushered her inside the house and felt the breeze already coming to wake. However, she extends her hands and I look down to see a purse sewn on pink roses. My purse.

"I found this at the party and couldn't find you, so I figured that I would find where you lived to bring it back to you."

Graciously, I took it from her and thanked her, asking if she would like to stay for tea.

"Actually, I was going to Joe's coffee house today." She did a quick pause before continuing. "Would you like to come out with me?'

At once I felt flattered and shamed. I did not have the money for such a rich coffee house, yet the want for company seemed so tempting.

"I should love to go, but I do not have the money for such things."

"I asked that with the full confidence you would say that, and here I retort, I shall pay and do not worry about owing me back."

I was shocked, as I have no comeback for that.

"Well…I'd love to go." I simply said. "That would be sure to make my day."

A smile grew on Margery's face.

"I must tell you, your shock about this is somewhat surprising. For someone so outspoken and confident like you, to hear you have really no friends is well..." Margery slowed to a stop and looked at me as if I were a enigma.

"I'm not really anyone's cup of tea, and while I'm somber about that, I continue to go on with my life and do the best I can. Hopefully, the right people come along." I respond, averting my glance.

"Well," says Margery. "I don't have quite a lot of people attempting to knock on my door and hang out with me either."

I turned my gaze back to her, shocked.

"What I'm saying is that we're both wallflowers in our own way and no longer do we have to be since I've found you and you've found me."

And a slow smile grew on our faces. It took a while for our paths to cross, but it was worth it. Or was it? Should I have had to wait so long for a companion that most people have when they turn around 6?

Slowly, I drew away from her, as we were so close, our hands seemed a millimeter away from touching. As I drew away, I knew to say "Let me just get dressed. It seems I'm a little underdressed here." She nodded her head with a gentle smile plastered on her face.

Up the stairs I walk, and I am met with the sheer ordinary plainness of it, yet there is comfort inside of this room, with its mint green walls and not a crack or peel in sight. I search through my closet, finding a simple frilly blue dress that is much like a nightgown (but more proper to wear outdoors) and a white bonnet with a deep green ribbon tie and net-like fringes covering my face. I then grabbed a pair of laced white boots to complement my clothes. It took me a moment to go down the stairs, just breathing. So, breath I did, multiple breaths until I made it down the stairs. Finally, off the final stair I made it to and towards Margery. She turned with a bright smile of hers.

"Shall we begin to go?" She asks with a flutter of her eyelashes.

"Yes, let's get going."

And yes, we've only just begun, but a soulmate can be a soulmate even if we're just friends.

#amwriting #original writing #fantasy #writeblr community #wip #black writers #young writer #creative writing #thataceelfgirlwrites

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mimiplaysgames · 4 years

Text

save it for the morning after, pt. 2

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 7,384

Summary: Terra learns to trust his body to another.

Read on AO3

A/N: HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY!!! I posted what would’ve been a one-shot last year... then came the messages asking me to expand on that. Considering what kind of writer I am, I don’t know if y’all understood what you asked for: I pick on Terra savagely - it’s dangerous to be my favorite. This piece goes to @lyssala who requested a piece that featured Character C interrupting Characters A and B during moments when they wanted to be alone, when I wanted to celebrate 100 followers on Twitter! I had to split this chapter in two cuz it got too long, so CONGRATS. You get two gifts. <33

~*~*~*~*~

Waking up is a nightmare.

Terra doesn’t remember his dream when he opens his eyes - only the sensation that he’s about to stare into a cloaked face, grinning with sharp canines and bright yellow eyes. His jaws clench badly enough that his teeth grind. His lips feel like they have been sewn shut. He can’t move anything, not his head cemented against the pillow, not his sagging arms or legs, as though the strings he’s used to move them have been cut.

Not again.

He takes in oxygen with short, desperate inhales through his nostrils. His fingers claw into the bed sheets as he tries to take back control.

As pleasant as this bright sunny morning, something presses on his chest, crushing his breath.

Yet, the only thing greeting him is an off-white ceiling.

Falling asleep is usually just as bad. It’s not the act of dreaming that puts him in danger - it’s the transition between consciousness and not that he fights every morning and every night. It’s the feeling of slipping out of fear that he’ll never speak again. If he didn’t have to rely on sleep to stay alive, he would just never close his eyes again.

She shifts next to him, murmuring before quieting.

Terra thanks himself for not moaning or yelling this time. The last thing he needs is to disturb her with his fits.

Aqua rolls over, readjusting her body before nestling into her pillow. She looks so serene like this, bedsheets wrapped tightly around her hips and her breasts exposed, creamy and still.

It’s bright for an early morning - the snow outside reflects the sunlight, painting the entire room in a brilliant glow that illuminates the entire room, including just how pink her nipples really are.

She’s like a mermaid. Precious and rare, something he doesn’t deserve, and he’s the stupidest, luckiest bastard in this world, who has done absolutely nothing to have her in bed with him.

He’s more unworthy than that - he’s in her bed.

Terra lets go of the sheet finger by finger, his breath eventually losing its deathgrip over his throat and settling still, letting his muscles relax and giving his shoulders back some control. Rolling over to his side to watch her, he leans on an elbow. The butterflies in his stomach flurry worse than ever, more excitable than even last night.

Last night… Wow. He can’t believe it all happened. Lying together undressed, touching her, sharing kisses that he dreamt of for years, feeling her on his skin, being inside her, how they exchanged breaths to keep going… now she’s sleeping soundly like she’s in the safest place in the world.

She’s told him before that she has the worst trouble sleeping, but last night, she fell under quite quickly in his arms, taking a spot in the crook of his neck. He’s glad he could help her in any way.

The Realm of Darkness has done an impressive job in preserving her. While Aqua doesn’t smile like she used to, her face is still everything he remembers. Face untouched by marks or lines. Lips pillowy and hair the same color. For her, sleep is peace, very much like the way she used to look when she napped on top of her open books in the library, halfway through an anxious night studying.

She’s been given a second chance at life - they all have, let’s be honest. A rare grace that most will never see. People grow old, they separate from their loved ones, they die. Here two of them rest in a soft bed, keeping their youth, grasping at something like childhood dreams and excitement about their future - but the truth is they’ll never have it again. He’s sorry about that.

And Aqua, she does have scars even if they don’t live on her face. There are scruffs crisscrossing down her arms, two on her collarbone - mostly unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t know their history. There is one, faded and white on her bicep, that he inflicted on her one nasty afternoon when he wanted to prove that his brand new Keyblade was stronger than hers.

He paid for that afternoon with a severe lecture and a fifty-page essay.

Then there are others - nastier, some braided, others like craters. One on her ribcage right under her breast that curls and splays. There’s a slash across her entire back, and he’s scared of asking where it came from.

Really scared.

Of course, he has to account for all the scars he can’t see: the ones that make her flinch at night, like Ven walking in on her unannounced, taking her by surprise.

She pays for her second chance at life in plenty of ways.

Despite it all, she’s beautiful. She has always been. And when she’s gray and cranky, she still will be.

Her nose wrinkles and she sniffs - some of her hair strands have fallen in front of her face, tickling her.

When he takes the opportunity to brush her hair - gently, gently - off of her face, Terra lingers in the feeling of silk strands as he collects them behind her ear. He’s always wanted to do this.

Aqua hums, her arms stretching outward. Her chest arches with breath. He jerks his hand away, hoping against hope that he didn’t ruin it.

“Sorry,” he whispers, almost shushing her back to slumber.

Wiggling her eyelids open, the first thing she notices is him. Aqua smirks and immediately covers her mouth with her hand to giggle.

So seeing him struck memories of last night for her, too.

“Good morning,” he says, trying to sound cocky but his voice is rougher than he wants.

She brings the bed sheet up to her nose. Her cheeks are as red as a tomato. This isn’t really her usual self, Aqua has always had too much dignity for giggling. But he likes this sudden melting of her defenses - a flustered Aqua is a cute Aqua.

“Good morning,” she says, almost like she’s about to ask what he’s doing there. Despite covering herself, her smile reaches her eyes, and every time she glances at him, she beams even more.

“Looks like you’ve slept well,” he says with a distinct flavor, like he’s witnessing a scandal.

She narrows her eyes. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “You’re…” Naked. I’m naked. “The proof is under the sheets.”

Aqua composes herself, lowering the sheet to her collarbone, and confidently calms her nerves, her eyes whittling away all that childlike excitement from earlier.

But he knows she knows what he’s talking about, though there’s not a hint of shame in her eyes either. She rolls over to meet him face to face.

“I did sleep well,” she says softly, inching closer, looking up at him.

Her intense blue eyes glimmer, especially in sunlight. Drinking in the sight before her, they find solace somewhere on Terra, even though he doesn’t have the capability to give it to her.

Terra’s heart thumps and it’s the loudest thing in the room. His fingers strum the surface of the bed, so close to her face. He could tap her nose and make her laugh. Cup her cheek and let her sigh. Stroke her jaw and finally embrace her.

These are all just fantasies, but he indulges in them. Aqua’s quicker to act. She lifts her head up, closing the gap and taking his lips onto hers.

While the ones they had last night were hungry, maybe even desperate, this one is patient, feeling him slowly, taking him in different angles, exploring the sorts of ways she can invite his tongue to do more.

She gathers her arms around his neck, pulling him as she falls back. When she skates her hands over his shoulders - his biceps and back up to his pecs - his skin electrifies, shooting goose flesh down his spine.

Aqua lets one hand go to fuss with the sheets wrapped around her chest, letting nothing stand between his bare skin and her creamy softness.

The contact shocks him and he has to breathe deeper, taking it in like he’s drowning. It helps him feel her all the more.

More. Everything in his twitching groin needs more.

Gripping her waist in a moment of panic - the kind where he’d never feel her again if they let go - Aqua responds by pushing with her weight, rolling him onto his back, pulling them together with her hands on his jaw, her messy kisses pulling hard on his lips (they still need to practice).

Terra in the meantime glides his fingers up and down her back. Her scar is as long as the list of consequences that could all be traced back to his mistakes. Longer than that - as long as a trail that would lead out the bedroom.

The one under her breast splays like a mess of bare branches in the dead of winter, and he holds his palm there firmly, like he’s trying to keep them from ripping more.

How does he tell her with anything but words that he didn’t quite understand the extent of pain, of how far it could go, until he was possessed?

Is there such a thing as a hug comforting enough or a held hand loving enough to measure that?

His hands go to her hips, and squeeze what plumpness she has. He lets her make the decision to rock against his pelvis. Only then does he apply the pressure, make her pant against him.

Terra becomes more impatient, and he kneads her with both hands, starting with her ass before climbing up, taking notice of how her nipples harden under his palms.

The kiss breaks with her smile.

“What?”

Aqua is already red from the flush, but now she’s worse for wear and she’s trying to hide it. “Your hands are so big.”

“They are?” He doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Her breasts fit his palms just fine, supple and round. Letting one go, he tests the size by comparing it to her face; it covers everything, from his wrist on her chin to the fingers digging into her hairline, his palm taking up the entire space across her cheeks that he can only see dashes of her eyebrows. “They are.”

She chuckles into his hand, giving it a quick peck before caressing it. Her breath composes itself, and her smile is content. Her gaze is full of light, welcoming him in, and it makes him feel protected. Safe enough to surrender. Maybe even forgiven. She’s about to come back down, and they can continue. He can let her shine on him, let himself go and forget all about this horrible morning-

A knock on the door. “Aqua?”

Aqua sits straight up. Immediately clamps down on Terra’s mouth with her hand.

Everything suddenly… slams to a stop, and Terra’s erection writhes, begging.

Worst timing, Ven.

“Y-yes?” Aqua calls.

Terra stares at her with bulging eyes. Please don’t leave me like this.

She smirks.

“Terra’s not in his room,” Ven says through the door. “And I’m hungry.”

“Okay-”

Terra bucks up against her, gnawing at her toned thigh. It makes her gasp and wrestle with a smile.

“I’ll be right out, Ven,” she says, trying so hard not to choke on a laugh. She gives Terra a sympathetic smile, and quickly, silently pecks his lips before peeling off of him and pulling him out of bed.

His sternum grows stones and they all sink to his stomach.

Pushing him into her bathroom, she scrambles to pick up all of his items of clothing: his pants, shirt, briefs… is that everything? Yes. She throws them in a heap against his body before quietly turning the knob and closing it.

Her bathroom is chillier than the bedroom, and Terra rests his back against her closed door, grimacing.

Rustling behind him - she hurries to get dressed, calling out a You can come in, Ven, before turning her attention to her bed sheets.

“Sorry,” she says as footsteps approach her.

Terra keeps his breath steady and inaudible - but it’s so hard. Really. He’s still ready to go, the throbbing in his groin becoming agonizing. It tingles like an interrupted sneeze - worse than that, like a desperate itch with an uncomfortable squeeze - and he pushes and stretches his shaft to make it uncomfortable, just so it would calm down.

It doesn’t calm down. Why.

“I overslept,” Aqua continues.

Without a pause, Ven says, “So you must have really slept well, that’s great news!”

Terra swallows a groan.

Aqua rustles some more. He imagines she’s nodding, trying to find the right words. “It does feel good.”

“Do you know where Terra is?” the twerp says.

Terra will tell him where Terra is. Terra flips the shower on, only the cold knob. His erection needs it.

There’s an uncomfortable pause from the other side of the door, and Aqua has stopped making her bed.

“Is that him using your shower?” Ven asks.

“His isn’t working.” She sounds so confident.

There’s another pause - something about it, maybe the way Aqua finishes her words so trepidly, that makes the silence seem longer even though it isn’t.

“It smells weird in here,” Ven says, slowly.

“Terra is filthy,” Aqua says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “Ven, when I finish getting ready, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Terra is sure she’s probably throwing daggers with her eyes through the door and he grins at the thought. Most of his pranks are usually thought-out and have some figment of imagination, but this has to be his new favorite.

Cold water stabs at his skin - it’s terrible enough to make him forget every mood he’s experienced since waking up. He picks up her lavender bar of soap. It smells so different than on her skin, and it invigorates all of his senses. He never thought he’d get the chance to. But here he is, in her shower, covered by a turquoise curtain and seeing how neatly her toiletries line up.

Ven must have left by now, because Aqua knocks on the door, telling him where she’ll be… after breakfast they’ll all be outside to shovel snow from the lower windows and pathways… have a snow fight, that will be fun… and maybe she’ll see him later? There’s hope in her voice, shyness even.

~*~*~*~*~

Outside, he can’t help but stare at the way the sun gleams off of the snow. He has to shield his eyes from the way it blinds him, and yet it makes him grin from ear to ear.

Consider how much better it is than a decade of nothingness.

They were absolutely buried last night, but they all survived.

Snow blocks the front and back entrances of the castle, tall enough to reach Terra’s hips. The trees all sag from the weight, and the fields have hills on them now that don’t exist in the spring.

What a chore though - his friends don’t understand what it takes out of him anymore, now that he’s back in a body he’s lost touch with for years (to the point that he used to forget he ever had one). Shoveling is a skill that demands all the power in his biceps and triceps, his shoulders, his rhomboids, all the way down to the lower back, straining to the point that it feels like a heavy ball is chained into his skin, pulling down.

At the same time, he sweats profusely underneath all those layers, like he’s trapped in an oven, baking for two hours past the point of well-burnt. It makes him want to strip naked and run down the woods.

If Aqua and Ven are enjoying the cold in their faces from the exposure, or finding comfort in the heat of their snug clothes… they’re lucky because they can’t compare. They don’t feel as strongly as he does.

Terra hunches over the terrace, staring at the snow gathered along the stone railing.

He’s on fire.

Freeing his fingers from his gloves and throwing his knit hat off, Terra plants his bare hands into the snow. It stings. Then it burns in a different way, quick to sear.

“Doesn’t that hurt, Terra?” he hears Ven ask, skipping over to him.

Terra groans. It’s too much - too much cold, too much heat, yes, even from this morning, lingering and gnawing and asking for release… But he can’t think about that or Aqua right now, it will make it worse. It’s all Ven’s fault.

“It’s actually nice,” he mutters, grabbing fistfuls, nearly wanting to plant his face into it.

“I guess…” Ven means well. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be a maniac (his words, not Terra’s). “Making a snowman?”

Terra continues to collect the snow into a ball - it’s massive now, definitely fit for a base.

He grins, and the sight of it strikes nervousness into his best friend.

“What are you-”

Whump.

Ven pummels backward, slammed in the face by a mound of snow. It was so large and heavy that Terra had to carry it in both hands, and it buries Ven when he lands.

Spitting snow out of his mouth, Ven’s nose is now red from the cold. “That’s not fair, we aren’t supposed to have a snowball fight yet!”

Not fair was the interruption this morning.

“Better now than never,” Terra says, lightly stomping the ground with his foot. The earth beneath layers of frozen water hears his call. It vibrates, radiating upward, and a wave of snow bursts outward and covers Ven from head to toe.

“You’re crazy!”

Ven crawls out of his frigid entrapment, and Terra prepares another massive heap. Something about this is very gratifying. He should pick on Ven more often.

“Heads up!” Ven yells.

A tiny snowball that Ven grabbed in a second - inconsequential, honestly, in comparison to the boulder Terra has now - strikes Terra on the neck.

It’s just the thing to take the beast down.

Snow runs down his inner coat, like a million needles pricking all those sore muscles that got a beating earlier from shoveling. They tense up until they’re hard as bone. It’s cold. Shit.

Terra falls on his knees, beating his shoulder to warm it up as much as possible, but it only gives the snow momentum to scuffle into his pants.

“Aaaaaaaaand,” Ven boasts, “he’s down.”

Terra staggers, the snow burning his hip and trickling down his thigh. He manages to stay on his feet, his skin getting numb. Then he lunges forward.

Ven shrieks and laughs, taking off, running as fast as he can from big, bad Terra. He’s much faster than either of them, yet they sometimes forget.

Terra underestimates Ven all the time, who is now disappearing into a thicket, but he doesn’t care. Running pumps blood into the right head. The wind brushes through his hair and it chills him all the more, overwhelming with the smell of fresh air, the sting of the light reverberating off of the whiteness, the unresolved frustration, the bead of sweat which has frozen itself on his forehead.

But more than the fact that Terra feels too much is that he’s tired. Sprinting can only get him so far (or so near, compared to how fit he used to be before the fall). He’s quick to lose stamina, and his foot sinks deep into a pot of loose snow. He trips, landing face first.

It’s cold and it burns, but Terra is relieved from all other sensations just the same.

~*~*~*~*~

Now he can’t shake off the shivers.

Aqua sets a hearth ablaze in the fireplace, a haven within the library on the first floor, close to the doorway which would eventually lead to the dining room. Everything about the bottom floor is situated like a home fit for a family. It’s expansive, where all the hallways interconnect so no one can get lost. It’s where all the pleasant memories live.

This isn’t the place where they had their first kiss, though. Nothing on the first floor can hide.

Terra rests on the lounge chair, a massive thing that swallows anyone smaller than him in a dark forest green. It looks black now that the sun has dipped behind the mountains so early today.

It’s a deep enough color to hide all the torture that three rambunctious children have whipped on the poor thing. Terra has a faint memory of where the stains might be, but he can’t find any.

The fire isn’t enough. Terra has an ocean blue blanket to boot, wrapped around his shoulders. Aqua’s. She’s always been the neatest of the three, so he can’t imagine this would have any evidence of foul play.

The door behind him creaks and he hears soft, bare footsteps approaching him. Unlike her, sound doesn’t really make him nervous.

But having her near him does. Always has, and maybe always will.

“Doing better?” She puts a warm hand on his forehead for the fifth time that evening to check for a fever. She was the one to find him slumped and groggy in the snow outside. Of course. “You’re still cold,” she mumbles.

At her touch, his heart beats obnoxiously for his attention, like a shrill child being purposefully ignored. Look, look, she’s touching us!

He groans.

“No, you’re not okay?”

“I am,” he says. “I just hate how I’m feeling.”

Aqua grins, taking a seat on his armrest, bringing one bare leg to her chest. She’s wearing shorts, and Terra takes a quick glance over. A baggy sweater covers most of her body, and his heart is now thrashing, knowing exactly what it looks like underneath.

But it’s her eyes that hold him still.

“You’ll get used to it,” she reassures him, nodding into her knee.

That’s usually her answer, and she’s right: the day he came back, the minty taste of mouthwash burned a hole through his jaw, and he had yelled from the pounding in his ears. You’ll get used to it.

Now, it just gives him a tense headache. See?

It’s her confidence that he finds so comforting - like she knows all these hyper-feelings will sort themselves out if he gives it another day (or week, or month). After all, she has said before, he’s been out of commission for so long.

Terra wonders if she’s ever said that to herself, night after night in the Realm of Darkness. It’s okay to be alone right now, I’ll get used to it.

Aqua does such a fantastic job holding it together, even late in the night, when he almost expects her break. She never does. How does she do that?

Love is such a strong word to use, but it’s the truth.

Terra knew it as a child. Aqua had begged him to play a tea party with her, under very specific conditions: she was the lady knight and he was the princess. She made him wear an apron and a paper tiara to play the part. As much as he begrudged the idea, the moment she told him he was holding the teacup wrong, he knew - he was going to marry her.

Adults would say that children wouldn’t know any better, but child-Terra knew his heart, and he knew it would never change.

He loves her now, as vibrant as the forest becomes the moment the rain hits. One day, he’ll get used to the feeling and won’t feel the need to cry at the thought.

He thinks about telling her what his last thoughts were, right at the moment he lost it all: her cerulean eyes. How there is the faintest sliver of amethyst in them if they reflect off the sun at just the right angle if he was close enough to see, like a secret jewel nestled in the shallow water of a beach...

“You’re right, I will,” he mutters.

“No more knocking yourself out in the wild?” She chuckles. “Please don’t worry me like that again.”

“I won’t, I’m sorry.”

She hums. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

There’s a lot to be sorry for.

Terra’s eyes fall for just a second. He can’t kick the habit of struggling with his own existence sometimes, but she finds reason after reason inside that insane mind of hers to smile when she looks at him. She forgives him way too many times, and it makes that small girl who barked at him for sipping his tea too loudly at a dainty party seem so distant.

Aqua brushes the tips of her fingers on his knuckles, leaning forward. “I’m…” Stopping herself, she searches the carpet for something to say, anxiety creeping into her face. Try as she might to say more, she can’t bring herself to. She’s chipping.

Terra turns his palm over to take her hand in his. She’s the one to thread their fingers together.

He doesn’t know why everything knots in his throat either, too apprehensive to come out. Love is a strong word to say after years apart. He’ll let her say it first, lest he scares her more.

If she ever does. Though he’s not scared of it himself.

The sound of footsteps approach from the hallway, and Aqua releases him before straightening herself out.

Terra’s heart sinks at the silence that crashed between them, uninvited. It drowns when it gets to his stomach, but it will breathe eventually.

“Chicken soup for the big loser,” Ven announces, rolling a cart with a boiling pot behind him. There’s a stack with three bowls, and spoons.

Terra and Aqua don’t say anything back, readjusting their posture and pretending that nothing has occurred this moment, this day, or last night. Terra brings his fingers - the ones she held - to his lips. They’ve made contact for so little that he can’t smell her scent on them, but her warmth lingers.

Ven’s about to tease some more when he glances at each of them. “Am I… interrupting something?”

“Not at all, Ven,” Aqua says sweetly, composed. She approaches his work, all the pieces that have crumbled away coming back to her. “It smells delicious.”

Ven tosses a pout at Terra, who’s uncharacteristically quiet in the vicinity of savory food, but Terra gives back a reassuring smile. It’s dimmer than he wants it to be, and Ven’s smart enough to notice it, but he says nothing.

The rest of the evening passes with pleasant conversations, as it goes:

They have never found a good enough reason to talk about anything else. Why bring the darkness back inside when they make a habit of lighting all the lamps at night?

In every case when one of them is ready to talk, they lock up. Swallow. Cough. Next question.

Pleasantness has its tremendous advantages, as it reminds them the worth of being alive: the warmth of drinking this wonderful soup together, the joy of sharing a joke, the thrill of panicking over the thought that Ven could catch Terra and Aqua in the middle of a compromising position.

They belong together, the three of them. Wayfinders were specifically made for that pact, and that’s something Terra would never trade anything for... he just wants something more from Aqua, and that shouldn’t break the delicate balance between the three. It shouldn’t, and maybe he’s still naive to think that way.

When the evening sweeps into night, Terra falls into a slightly different dance with Aqua. Lingering looks across the hall, right over Ven’s head, followed by nervous chuckles, with the grand finale of never whispering about what they would do before bed (if they’re going to bed together at all).

And when Ven finally retires to sleep, it’s just the two of them, with nothing left except to improvise.

Nothing in their timid conversations gives Terra the right opening to bring the subject up.

He’s ready to expect it’s just him and his hand tonight when Aqua holds his wrist to keep him from returning to his room alone.

“Do you want to…” Aqua hushes. She brings her hand up to brush her hair out of her face but it stops right before contact, like she’s lost the way. “Um…”

“Sleep with you?” Terra blurts out.

A shocked grin stretches across her face.

He stammers, running a hand through his hair.

There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with her - in fact, the night they came home, they all slept in the same bed, just so they didn’t have to be separated.

Terra’s being dumb - of course sleeping has a different connotation now, even between best friends. Why is it so awkward to bring it up in conversation? It was so much easier this morning when they woke up naked and could do what was natural from there.

Leaning on her door frame, bringing himself closer to her body, Terra braves what’s really on his mind.

“I- I’ve been thinking about it all day… I want to kiss you again.”

Aqua considers him for a moment. She stands on her toes and brings her mouth to his for a small peck, for a second, for a third, longer one.

She eyes Ven’s closed bedroom door nervously - it’d be a hell of an explanation if he catches them now.

So Terra steps into her bedroom, barely illuminated by a single desk lamp that’s living its final days, and she closes it behind him.

Whipping around, Aqua throws her arms around Terra’s neck, aching for a fourth kiss and so many more that neither of them can keep count. Terra squeezes her waist to his body, bending over to meld her to him while she digs into his hair.

Somehow, holding her this closely isn’t close enough.

When Terra massages the small of her back, it rustles her sweater so that his fingers make contact with her skin.

Aqua takes this as her cue, tugging at his shirt. She breaks contact (for an excruciating second) to pull it over his head and he responds in kind by undressing her sweater and tossing it.

With her bare, soft, springy breasts against his chest, he tastes her lips, her tongue… They have to pant for breath in between but they can’t take the hint to pause. And yet -

They still aren’t close enough.

Terra picks her up by her thighs, wrapping her legs around his hips to carry her. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle a laugh, and she yelps when they fall together, bouncing on her bed.

With her head against her mattress, he can now kiss her deeper. His pajamas are so thin he can feel her pelvis in every way when he thrusts and he’s dying to take them off but he doesn’t want to part from her mouth either.

They’re running fast, desperate to finish what they couldn’t from this morning, and he doesn’t know what he should do next - if he should be focusing on some area on her body, or if she’d like him to do something and he’s not understanding what she needs.

So Terra slows down, savoring her bottom lip, bringing the whirlwind to a breeze, letting them both breathe easier.

He grazes her jawline and she trembles when he gets to her ear, lingering at a spot he discovers really makes her shiver. She squirms like she finds his lack of speed unbearable, grinding her hips up onto his. He groans.

She still makes a point to whisper. “On your back.”

So bossy. Terra stops to snort. “Those are fighting words.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You first,” he says, his voice rough.

“I mean it.”

Aqua’s hands push against his shoulders, massaging every curve in his pecs, and her legs wrap around his as she makes the first attempt to roll him over.

“Terra.” Her breaths deepen when he stays in place.

“I insist.”

He isn’t going to let her make him the focus of all her attention just yet - and they both know she’s always lost at wrestling with him.

She tries her game anyway, lifting herself to reunite his lips with hers while they sit up.

Both options are tempting. Terra can surrender to her, melt under her touch so she can have her way, and let her think she’s won. That’s a nice fantasy… but he doesn’t like losing either.

He laughs into her smile, grabbing her wrists and bringing them over her head. He holds them together in between the thick fingers of one giant hand, and brings her weight down with his. He’s won, easily.

Then he takes his other hand to brush his fingers across one nipple, from top to bottom, while his lips find a good spot on her neck that makes her whimper. She rocks her hips with his, coaxing him into a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Her shorts are also thin, and she’s wet through the fabric. It sets him on fire, sparking from his pelvis and burning up to his chest. It’s so hard to resist her.

“What are you doing,” he murmurs, and he feels her giggle from underneath her pulse.

“Playing a strategy.” She gasps and tenses from his nibbling. “I think I’m winning.”

Traveling down her collarbone, Terra finds himself at her breasts, taking his first taste for the night while rolling circles on the other, eliciting a moan from her - one she keeps stifled, so she’s not too loud.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Give it time,” she says, bringing one leg to hook around Terra’s hips.

Terra growls into her skin. She’s making it difficult.

She’s winning.

“Dammit, Aqua,” he whispers into her chest before standing up, taking her shorts and panties with him before fumbling with his pants.

Pleased with herself, Aqua rises to meet him, a hand snaking down his abdomen, playing with the tuft of hair before going lower.

He’s weak when she strokes him, when she grabs him, when she rubs the entire length, twisting her hold. She’s a quick study, and the gooseflesh crawling all over his back slips him into a stupor. He tumbles over the bed. His pants bind him by the knees still, but they’re forgotten.

Straddling him, Aqua settles. Slowly, too - she’s adjusting herself to him before taking him fully, and if he didn’t know any better, it feels like the sweetest, sickest comeback for teasing her so bad.

A shiver strikes through his spine when he gets warm and she gets tight. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning out loud.

Meanwhile, Aqua experiments with her movement, her angles, her speed, whether she should rock her hips back and forth. She looks good on top of him, naked and bouncing and enjoying herself, running her palms across his carved abs, feeling the ripples where his skin dips. Something about the way she leans her head back sends Terra on a high.

His hands feel everything. He measures how her waist curves inward before following the trail out to her hips. The muscles on her thighs buck with every thrust she makes.

It doesn’t matter how she looks: with or without clothes, in bright light or in poor light, even with shadows chiseling her amazing form, none of it does her any justice.

She’s beautiful. He’s lucky.

The more she moves, the more he comes closer to that brink, and he’s too drunk to find the words to tell her. The best he can do is moan her name, and when she gently shushes him, it turns him on even more.

But then his heart beats too hard. It stings as sharp as a cut.

The monster with the sharp canines smiles. Snaps its jaws.

The brink will make him fall over (and never get back up again). He’ll die. No. He’ll lose control. Go to sleep. Lose her forever, all over again.

Terra grips her hips and lifts her off of him. “No no no no,” he says, lurching up, leaning over the edge of the bed. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Terra?”

He shudders from the heat rising to the top of his head. His hands tremble violently, and he rubs the pads of his fingers against his palms to make sure he can still feel. Gritting his teeth together, Terra takes all he has to stop himself from yelling - no need for Ven to spring out of bed and burst in here to save the day - and the effort withers Terra to exhaustion.

Aqua holds the back of his hand - very gently, brushing her fingers first to test if he’d have a strong reaction. He realizes that he never responded to her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Terra holds her face, stroking the worries off of her cheek with his thumb. “You were,” he swallows. Even in such dim light, her eyes keep their rich brightness. “You’re perfect.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him. A dark thought trickles in his mind, and suddenly he can’t look at her anymore - she must be so disappointed with his awful performance.

“I’m just a basket case, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t say that.” She gifts him the most generous smile, one he doesn’t understand. But that’s Aqua, never asking for something in return.

She hugs him warmly, giving his shoulders a steady hold as if to keep him up.

Despite how big of a man Terra is, now he is fragile, wilting into her strength. He wants to be more like her, to keep himself together. Silent tears stroll down his cheeks until they land on her bare shoulders and continue on their way.

With his palm, Terra rubs their existence off of her skin.

A much-needed chill comes down his spine - she’s cooling him off with her magic, letting the Blizzard gently wisp off of her fingers.

“Can you talk about it?” Letting him go, Aqua throws her feet over the edge of the bed to join him, side by side.

Terra cannot. He stares at his knees, throwing glances at her to create words out of thin air.

Aqua threads her hand under his arm to interlace their fingers together, resting them on his thigh. Her hand is so small in comparison, but in Terra’s opinion, it’s a perfect fit.

“I think I have an idea of what happened,” she says when she’s waited long enough. “Even when we spar, you don’t let yourself go all the way.”

Feeling like he’s finally seen, Terra unravels. “What if I lose it and go crazy? What if I hurt you?”

She eyes him for a moment. At first she’s full of concern, but she’s the type that when she faces anything that intimidates her, she’ll find a reason to stay brave. “Then I retaliate. I’m good at that.”

It sounds like such a simple and logical answer that Terra can’t help but feel silly for never considering that she’s stronger than he is.

Yet there’s plenty to worry about - she deserves a better lover that wouldn’t have fits in the worst of times, or threaten to kill her in the best.

“I know,” she continues when he says nothing. “It’s weird to have good things.”

Terra huffs. Drawing his voice low, he says, “Aren’t we supposed to tell ourselves that we deserve them?” She shifts uncomfortably against his arm, and he chuckles cynically. “Maybe we can hope.”

“No,” she drawls, rubbing circles on his knuckles with her thumb. “Hoping is dangerous.”

The scar on his chest is rough under the touch of his palm. Those have been the truest words he’s heard in years, and they worry him. If they continue to try again, he’ll continue to dissatisfy her, with no guarantee he could give her what she wants.

“It feels like,” he says, “willingly jumping off a mountain.”

Aqua leans her head on his shoulder, watching the stillness of her carpet with him. It’s as dark as the deep sea.

“It does. We’re supposed to stay optimistic, and the letdown destroys us until it numbs. And then there’s nothing left.”

“And then there’s nothing left,” Terra whispers back.

“Wishing is a little safer.” He feels her smile into his bicep.

“That’s more like willingly drowning yourself.”

“Taking one swallow isn’t too bad by comparison,” she says, squeezing his hand harder. Her cheek trembles, and her eyes dart back and forth across the room. She’s chipping again. “Can I make one wish?”

“Of course.”

It takes quite a moment before she speaks again, and all he hears is her ragged breathing. It almost sounds like she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. She’s a miracle.

“I wish for a good night’s sleep. I wish you’d stay in bed with me. I wish for more time with you, and… I wish you’d come back tomorrow night. Or maybe I could go to your room. Either way, I don’t want us to stop.”

Since he’s been expecting her to wish him away, Terra chokes on a sob. He wants the same, and he wants to say it, and he wants to kiss her again but he’s shocked. If he slips one word, he’ll fall apart and she’ll have to carry him all over again.

He squeezes her hand back, and all the tears wanting to pour out of his eyes find their place in the strength of his grip, and they stay dry.

As though she understands what he’s not saying, she smiles. “It’s a journey, just like everything else, right? I think there’s every reason to step off that cliff, and I want to be there with you when we do.”

Terra sits with her words, comfortable in the quiet. It’s not like they had a teacher to coax them in the right direction about the art of tumbling in bed. In the privacy of his mind, he can pretend the reason she’s willing to be patient is because she loves him, too.

“I needed to hear that,” he says, his pajamas slipping off of his ankles. He’s completely exposed but his skin is just the outer shell. The fact his soul has been heard is the most naked he’s ever been. “I’m impressed.”

Aqua holds her breath. “You’re impressed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stifles his snickering but it only makes it harder not to laugh.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that,” she says, giving him a playful shove. “I know I put my foot in my mouth, sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

“Which means I’m sensible other times.” She holds up a finger to make a point.

Terra lifts the hand he’s holding and kisses the back of it. She’s still so much like the girl who glared at him when he slurped his tea. “Whatever you say, I’ll play along.”

She shoves him harder and finds herself in his clutches, under threat of unbearable tickling. She locks her laughter up so hard that it slips out in squeaks. Without her magic, she’s completely futile against his ferociously giant hands. She admits defeat when they fall on their backs.

Now they rest, and she’s finally close enough, their bodies locking warmth in between.

They whisper good night through soft, innocent kisses. Aqua finds refuge on his shoulder while her arms go limp on his thick waist, one leg tucked in between his, burrowing her body into his. Every time she drifts in and out and remembers that he’s with her, she inches closer.

How she wants to be near him this much blows his mind. He tells himself he’ll get used to it.

Her breathing slows as he rubs circles on her back, and soon enough, she’s asleep, like she knows nothing except a world without nightmares or shadows.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about when they first started sparring - how they paused before striking, how they confused a cue for another and hit each other when they weren’t supposed to, how they bickered and teased when the course of the game adjusted to their skill level. They didn’t know what they were doing then.

Last night, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, too, telling him all they need is practice.

Now’s the perfect time than ever - Terra whispers into her hair until he finds it easier to say, knowing she won’t hear him until he’s ready to face her.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: I SWEAR this will end happily. I swear it. To be continued.

#terraqua #terqua #terraqua day #terra #aqua #smut #lemon #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #i felt a lot more comfortable doing it this time than last year #then again i downed two bottles of wine for this #my fic

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 4 years

Text

Unspoken Truth - Jet Star x Reader

Request: Fic request: Literally anything with Jet Star because there isn’t enough fics of him :) Warnings: the usual load of blood, injuries, pain, violence etc., as always with DD Word count: 3 805

Slowly you tilted your head a little, ignoring the pain that shot down the muscle strands from your neck into your back. You really had pulled your neck badly. But now your focus was less on the pain you were in as much as it was on the brown haired Killjoy in front of you. The orange light of the evening that streamed into the dirty diner through the dusty windows, made every single one of his curly hairs glow warmly, and his lashes were almost shining. You blinked slowly, and wondered if you had ever felt so fondly for anyone as you felt for Jet. He was always kind and patient with you, and more than once you had fallen asleep to the mental images of curling into his side at night.

Your daydreaming was rudely interrupted by the painful sting on your leg, as Jet started stitching you up.

“Hold still,” he pressed out between his teeth, when you flinched involuntarily.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, and did your best not to move again.

You had made it pretty unharmed through the fight this time, no lacerations like usually, not until the very last Drac had managed to shoot you in the calf. It was not bad, not like some other injuries Jet had successfully dealt with, but painful. And of course you had been, once again, the only one who had gotten injured.

For a while you tried to get back to that peaceful place in your mind where you were so focused on watching Jet treat your wound that you did not notice anything else around you, but this time the pain was too present. Sighing, you leant your head back into your neck, so you did not have to see the blood that ran down Jet’s fingers, your blood. Your shoulder was aching from the pulled muscle, and slowly you tried to roll it, hoping to sooth it a little.

“Your shoulder alright?”

Jet’s voice had lost the sharp edge it had had when he had told you to hold still, and instead was back to the warm, caring sound you were used to hear from him.

“Just pulled a muscle,” you shrugged, regretting the motion immediately. Lifting your head back to look at Jet, you found that he had finished stitching you up, but your foot was still propped to his knee, where he was kneeling on the floor.

“You should keep it warm,” he told you, looking up to you a hunch of concern written across his features, “Wrap a scarf around it, or a jacket.”

You nodded, signalling you had heard and understood him, and carefully he rolled the now ripped open and bloody trouser down your leg again.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and got up, carefully putting weight on the injured leg. It hurt and the stiches were pulling, but other than a little limp you would be fine to walk around.

Jet got up too, his eyes not leaving you, as he watched you hopple away. Sometimes he wondered if you even cared about how much he cared. Sure, he cared for everyone, would die for every single one, he loved all of his friends, but you were special. He did not see you as a friend, no matter how hard he tried. His heart beat far too fast every time he merely thought of you, he was more scared for your life than his own when the group got into a battle with the Dracs, and when you were not around, or when he was trying to fall asleep, his heart ached for your presence.

Biting his lip, he watched as you limped out of the door, into the evening sun. He knew you would climb to the roof top of the diner, even with that injured leg. You always climbed on the roof when you wanted some peace, and somehow he felt like he had said or done something that made you want to be alone now. Maybe he should not have been so harsh when you had flinched earlier. But he would almost have hurt you even more; he had been concerned. Slowly he shook his head. He had just treated you like he would have treated the others too. You had never given him any reason to believe you might want to be treated differently. And he could not always blame every second of you not being entirely happy on him. He did not take credit for your happy moments either. Even though he wished he could play at least a small part in you being more relaxed and happy out here, in this dystopian desert.

Outside you had managed to crawl up the ladder that was leaning against the wall, and found your favourite spot on the roof. For some reason the metal here was slightly bent, making a small hollow for you to lay in. Crossing your arms under your head, you lay on your back, and looked up at the sky.

Why did you feel so rejected just because Jet had told you to hold still? He had just helped you, probably more than he would have had too. You remembered he had told you to keep your shoulder warm, but you had brought nothing to wrap around it. For now the metal roof was still warm enough to provide some comfort for your aching muscles.

Your thoughts were focused on nothing in particular for a while, you just watched the clear sky above. Without the radiation of the sun poisoning the desert, it was almost beautiful. In the distance a few stray clouds were glowing pink and orange with the last beams of sunlight, while above you the sky grew darker and darker, from baby blue to azure, navy and then almost completely black. And in front of the dark abys of nothingness, a billion stars spread out, blinking and shining, big and small, bright and fading, in constellations you had once known, or on their own, untouched by the catastrophes of this earth, eternally beautiful.

You only perked up, when you heard steps outside of the diner in the sand, and a few moments later someone climbed up the ladder to the roof. When a familiar mop of brown curls came into vison, you laid your head back down on your arms; even in the dark you would always recognise jet. You expected him to tell you to go inside, that it was cold, or that you needed to sleep. For a moment you hoped that ignoring him would make him leave you alone, so you could continue looking at the stars above you, and think about how much less awful a world would be in which he would feel the same for you as you felt for him. But instead of speaking up, he climbed onto the roof, and walked over to you, sitting down right by your side.

You could feel him looking at you, his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, as his eyes were scanning you carefully.

“You’re not keeping your shoulder warm,” he realised, but his voice was soft and quiet, no reproach, “sit up.”

Glancing over at him, you found he was taking of his black leather jacket, and hesitantly you followed his instruction, pushing yourself up to sit.

Quickly, as if he was almost embarrassed about it, he wrapped the jacket around your shoulders, before turning away. Did he fear your reaction? The jacket was warm and smelled of him, like a warm hug around your back. The material was rigid, the leather had not been cared for in years, and the fabric that once had been sewn into it had ripped out, leaving the jacket rough against the bare skin of your arms. You had not really noticed, but it had grown cold out here, under the sky, the heat of the day escaping into the vastness of space, and the desert yet again surprised with its ability for change; in some nights the ground even froze over.

Carefully you stole a glance at Jet. He was still sitting with his legs pulled up, his head turned away from you. Against the stars-filled sky his silhouette painted clearly into the night. Under the jacket he had only been wearing a black t-shirt, one which was so washed out that the print of a skull that had once been well visible on the chest, was now faded. With such little light you could not even see it.

While your mind had been peaceful earlier, sitting in the night, Jet’s presence once again caused your thoughts to tumble around. It probably was a Killjoy’s worst fate possible, other than the Drac mask, to fall in love out here. You all were destined to die, earlier or later. Being in love was painful enough, but losing the person you loved… the pain would probably kill you. So you always looked out for Jet, always tried to keep him safe, always wanted to make sure he was out of harm’s way. And that was why you had gotten shot today; had you not been so busy shooting the Drac that had aimed for Jet, you would have been able to deal with the one that aimed for you. Your priority was clear, and that was Jet’s life, not your own.

As if he had heard your thoughts, Jet suddenly spoke up.

“You need to be more careful out there,” you mumbled. His voice sounded tiny and lost in the huge desert, as if the wildness and the night just swallowed every sound right up.

“I know,” you answered just as quietly, tightening the black jacket around your shoulders.

“You’re usually not so careless,” Jet finally turned to you. Why was he even so bothered? You were alive, right?

“I got distracted,” you explained, and suppressed the shrug that usually would have followed such a statement.

He just hummed in response. You turned your head away, looking back out over the desert that spread endlessly into the distance. But from the corner of your eyes you saw Jet was still watching you. For a few moments you were sitting in silence, before he spoke up again.

“I mean it, I need you to be more careful,” his voice was more urgent now, and even though his voice was like a magnet, pulling you too look at him, you resisted, and started out into the night, “you hear me? You can’t get shot again.”

A hand landed on your arm, a gesture of concern that finally made you look at him. In the dark it was hard to say which emotions exactly his eyes were holding, but from what you saw he looked very serious. It was important to him that you agreed, you understood.

“Sure I can,” you smiled jokingly, “always got you to patch me up.”

You had intended to make a joke, to make his mood lighten up, but that this went completely wrong was evident in his reaction.

“And what if you die?”

His voice was louder now, not from anger, but clouded with something that almost sounded like panic in your ears. The hand he had still resting on your arm grabbed you tightly, as if you would disappear if he did not hold you. His outburst confused you, and for a split second you almost allowed yourself to think that maybe he did care.

“What difference would it make,” you asked and looked away, well aware how negative this sounded. You did not want to die, did not plan on dying, but sometimes you really wondered if your addition to the group was worth the food, the water, the effort they had with you.

“It would make all the difference,” Jet’s voice was still loud, but the panic was gone, instead he sounded choked up, “It would make all the fucking difference in the world, okay? To me it would.”

The last words were more mumbled than properly spoken. Slowly you turned back to look at him, finding he was staring out into the desert like you had just done.

In the light of the stars you could see how upset he looked, his brows furrowed, his nose scrunched up, jaw tightened.

“I’ll be more careful,” you finally whispered, and for a moment you though he had not heard you, but then he nodded quickly, “but promise me something in return?”

Jet looked back over to you, his expression immediately softening when he saw you sitting by his side, wrapped in his jacket.

“What?”

“You be more careful out there too, okay,” you asked, and sighed. Might as well tell him, you thought, the heartbreak of a rejection could be hardly any worse than the one you were in without him knowing. “I didn’t pay attention because I was busy with taking out the Drac that was out to ghost you.” Even in the dark you could see him raise his eyebrows. “Would have shot you, so… be more careful yourself too, alright?”

“I- I-,” Jet stuttered around for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he had finally sorted out his thoughts, “I was taking care of the Drac that aimed for your head.”

For a long moment you looked at him, finding nothing but honesty in his eyes.

“Oh,” you eventually managed, and looked away again. He had not seen the Drac you had shot because he had been busy making sure you were not killed. And here you had been thinking he did not care. “Thanks, I guess.”

Jet just nodded; a gesture you once again only spied from the corner of your eyes. It took you a while until you finally found the courage to speak up again. You did not know what the conversation, which you just had had, meant, especially not what it meant to Jet, and at this point it felt too awkward to ask. You realised that you had chickened out once again, from telling him how you really felt. He had to assume you had just looked after your friend, the way he had done with you.

“I’m getting tired,” you eventually announced, and slowly got up from the roof.

Jet jumped up as well, and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s cold here,” he agreed, and suddenly you felt guilty for having not given back his jacket.

“Here,” quickly you pulled it off your shoulders, and handed it back to him, “Sorry for keeping it for so long.”

“Don’t worry,” he shrugged, and threw the jacket off the roof, before climbing down the ladder.

When you followed, you knew he was standing close next to you, worried you might fall with your injured leg not being able to support all your weight. Indeed the wound still hurt, but you were able to handle yourself.

Side by side you walked back into the diner, and on the way Jet picked up the jacket he had thrown into the sand. Inside the diner it was dark, the lack of lights signalling you that your friends had already gone to sleep. You could not help but feel like there was an awkwardness between Jet and you that had not been there before, as if the conversation on the roof had triggered something, but both of you were too scared to talk about it. It almost felt like Jet was feeling the exactly same for you, as you felt for him, but both of you were too shy, too afraid of a rejection, to mention it.

You could feel the tension building over the last two meters over to the door to your bed room, and for a second you actually considered to just kiss him right here on the stop, just so the weird feeling between the two of you would go away. Your thought was crossed by Jet’s voice.

“Good night,” he said, his voice sounding normal and not at all as emotionally strained as it had mere minutes ago. So the tension you had felt had just been in your mind. Thank Destroyer you had not acted on that stupid, little-

“Good night,” you mumbled back, “see you tomorrow.”

Quickly you pressed down the handle of your door and slipped into the tiny room. In the dark you could almost see nothing, but you knew your room well enough, even without light. To the right stood your bed under a tiny window, and in the narrow wardrobe next to the door was just enough space for a couple of old shirts and trousers, plus your weapons and masks. Pressing your back against the door you took a deep breath. How ridiculous to even think for a second Jet might return your feelings for him, how idiotic to play around with the idea to actually kiss him.

Outside in the corridor you heard a door open and close. Jet had probably retreated to his room too. Pressing your lips together you tried to hold back the tearless sob that worked its way up your throat; it just came out as a tiny whimper. How could you be so bloody stupid? Reaching into your hair, you gave it a short tuck before letting go again.

What use was it to work yourself up over the fantasy of a feeling someone might have for you? None, it only took away precious moments of sleep. Pushing away from the door, you took the few steps to your bed, when suddenly there was a bang on your room door.

Alarmed you spun around, and walked back, opening the door just enough to glance outside. The moment he noticed you had come to the door, Jet pushed it open further, walking inside your room, closing the distance between you with a single step. You were too surprised, having him storm your dark room like that, to do anything but stand there, and before your mind had even started to process what was happening, he had placed his hands on your waist and leant in for a kiss, hot and fast and passionate, leaving no room for any thoughts in your mind but him.

You had still not completely caught up with what happened, just enough to gently place a hand on his bare arm, when he pulled away suddenly. He was breathing hard, his hair dishevelled, and you found yourself wishing it had been your doing, though you had a feeling it was the result of him running his hands through it before knocking on your door. It seemed like maybe he had thought about going into his room but decided against it, and pulled the door closed again, which was what you had heard earlier. His cheeks were flushed bright red now, so much even that you could make it out in the lack of light, and his lips were pink, so perfectly pink that you could not take your eyes away from them.

You knew he was waiting for a reaction, any kind of rejection, something that told him to stay away, to leave you alone, but you would be damned if you gave him that. So when you finally tore your eyes away from his lips, and glanced up at his eyes, you were not surprised to find them filled to the brim with the same kind of violently suppressed love that also hammered in your chest.

It just took the faintest movement of your head, the slightest reaching up to him, searching for his contact again, and Jet crashed his lips back into yours, not willing to hold back any longer, and you sure as hell did not want him to either. Walking you backwards a few steps, he pressed you against your wardrobe, keeping your trapped between his body and the cold wood. His hands were grabbing tightly into the shirt that covered your waist, surely leaving marks, but you did not care. You just wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, pulling his body against yours. Heat radiated through his clothes, a warmth and comfort only another human being was able to provide, and he stood so close against you that the metal buckle of his belt pressed into your belly almost painfully. But you did not complain, you would never complain about him being too close, he could never be close enough.

Your hands were still weaving through his hair long after the kiss was broken. He held you trapped against the wardrobe, this forehead leant against yours, his nose brushing over your cheek, and his hands still softly grabbing at your waist. You were both out of breath, with blood hammering in your ears and under your cheeks, and you did not even care to be embarrassed about the tiny whines he sometimes drew from you when his touch was just too sweet, or his lips brushed against yours.

Eventually he pulled away, hesitant, as if every fibre of his body ached to stay closer to you. You stayed with your back against the wardrobe, not sure what would follow after this. You had never believed a kiss could be this passionate, so filled with love, and yet here you were. Would he just leave, pretend like it had not happened?

Luckily your thoughts were interrupted by Jet gently taking your hand in his. Following him like a little puppy, you allowed him to guide you to your bed where he signalled you to lay down. Quickly you scooted aside, making room in the narrow bed for him to lie down next to you, which he did. Both of you lying on the side, facing each other, you studied his face. He looked tired, but excited, and… happy.

“Know now why I want you to be careful,” he asked, his voice husky and deep.

Biting your lips you reached your hand into his hair, which was a lot more dishevelled than when he had stormed into your room. His curls easily fell around your fingers, soft and warm.

Instead of answering, you scooted a little closer, and pressed your lips against his again. The urgency and heatedness form earlier had molten away, and only left the pure love and adoration you felt for the man. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, but the safety Jet provided started to calm you down. He wrapped an arm around your middle, pulling your against him, while his lips softly moved against yours, warm and full of unspoken words of love. Maybe these words would never be spoken out here, in the desert. Maybe it would always be too dangerous to share these feelings out loud, but right here, right now, no words were needed to make you understand doubtlessly just how much you loved each other.

Part Two

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years

Text

Heaven Is a City We’ve Been Priced Out Of (Ch 1)

Another death is nothing, but the life he finds in the wake of it means everything. --- After taking out a target, Bucky just plans on getting home and going from there. Running into heaven in the form of the skinny little slip of Peter Parker was not part of the plan. Doesn't matter now though, Bucky isn't leaving without the mysterious angel in the slums.

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Underweight character (due to poverty), violence, drowning, mentions of drugs (no usage), and possessive behavior.

The ones like this. The slow ones. They were one of the few times he truly felt something other than indifference. One of the few times he felt pity. As the grimy little thing seized in his hands some part of him, the once human part, hoped that this was a release. A sad, painful life this thing had lived, it was written in it’s skin. The dirt, the leathery hide, the wrinkles, all signs of a poorly lived life. A series of mistakes that lead it to Bucky’s hands to die, drowned in less than a foot of water as he held its face submerged in a bucket by the neck. Sinking it would have been too obvious, holding it in the river itself too loud. So he sat here, stiff as steel, unflinching as he felt the body desperately suck in water looking for air. Pained gurgling that had made lesser men empty their stomachs. Thought he could hear the lungs sloshing.

It gave one final kick and slumped. Bucky held it there a few moments longer, making sure the deed was well and truly done. He let go and the bucket slipped, the homeless man slumped to the ground, now drenched in water. Bucky’s arms covered in scratches which had bled under the dead man’s fingernails. He dragged the body towards the river. The yawning void of night swallowing the scene, a bad part of town where predators lesser than him lurked. No one would see the man who had to die. The man who had stumbled in on a Family dealing, a deal meant to be so secret not even Bucky knew the details. Why they had sent their top enforcer made sense in that light, even if the man was an easy kill, failure was too dangerous to risk.

Bucky silently slid the man into the water. Waded in, washed under the man’s nails to remove evidence of his existence. Scooped mud from the bed of the river to redirty them. He went out till he was chest-deep, rolled the body in the water to ensure nothing was dry. Let the body settle face down before pushing it out into the current, watched as the mass of tattered cloth was whisked away in the turbulent, black water.

He got out, stripped his wet clothes off and threw them, wrapped in a plastic bag, into the ratty backpack he had brought. Put on beat-up jeans and an old T-shirt, a well-worn coat and barely held together shoes. Picked up the various ‘valuable’ trash he had originally put in the bucket before setting off. The last article of clothing dawned, an old blue baseball cap.

The quickest way back was through the tent city he had originally come through. He retraced his steps, the man in the river already forgotten, just another body that marked him a killer. It seemed as though those within the homeless encampment knew that as well, the dirt paths between the cluttered tents strangely empty. Prey could always sense the proximity of a predator it seemed.

He was studying a strange sculpture in front of one of the tents when he walked into something. The clattering of cans and the short point of contact led him to believe it had been a garbage can until he heard a high “I’m sorry!”

He was going to ignore it, keep walking and leave the rat to scuttle amongst its filth when he caught a flash of the boy in front of him. The kid could barely have been older than eighteen. Big doe eyes and wild oaken curls, milk-white skin hidden underneath dirt and poverty. For the second time that night he felt. This time it wasn’t pity, there was certainly sadness but this feeling… it warmed him. His very bones sang with the image of divine beauty before him. The dim street lights in the distance seemed to build a hazy halo and for a second Bucky wondered if he had truly found an angel. It seemed as though God had a cruel sense of humor to place such beauty before him after he had smothered a helpless soul only twenty minutes before. He wanted to reach out, feel divinity on a carnal level. He wanted to-

“I’m so sorry sir!” The sweet bell of the angel’s voice brought him back to reality. To the fact that the angel was kneeling in the dirt at his feet, scrambling for cans that had been dropped and scattered. No place for a being of heaven.

He crouched down and helped pick up the trash, placing it in a plastic grocery bag where the others that had been retrieved sat. “It’s alright, shoulda been lookin’ where I was goin.”

They picked up the rest of the cans in strangely comfortable silence, though Bucky wished to hear his voice once again.

“Ah, thank you for helping me. Most people would have either taken them or kept walking. I really appreciate it.” The kid looked up at him. Those honey brown eyes melting his heart, their gaze saying so much more than his words could.

“Of course, seems rude to walk away when you were in need’a help.” As though he hadn’t been planning on just that.

“Still, thank you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around? Are you new here?” Those sweet eyes blinked at him, curious as they melted through every wall he’d ever put up.

“Yeah, just came to this part of the city, didn’t know it existed before.” Not a complete lie, though Bucky had never been one to care about the morality of such a thing. Yet, lying to this man more than needed made him feel off kilter, like there was something wrong about it here and now.

“Oh, yeah, most people don’t know about it. They don’t want to think about us, sadly it’s easier to forget than try to fix it.” The kid stood up. Bucky mirrored him, never taking his eyes off him. “I’m Peter by the way.” A frail, bone-thin hand reached out towards him.

Bucky saw that hand and it was like he’d been slapped across the face with it. Suddenly the sallow body before him came into focus, the beauty still fiercely present but a sickness hid behind it. Something in him broke at the sight, a protective instinct he didn’t know had been living buried under his skin ripped through him. He took that hand ever so gently, wanted to cradle it between both of his own but refrained. His closed fist swallowed that tiny hand. He could feel every knob, every knuckle, bone, and tendon shifting under that paper-thin skin. He didn’t dare squeeze, terrified he would shatter it. “Bucky, pleasure to meet you.”

Peter blushed and it stoked a fire inside of Bucky, the flare of pink bringing life back into that now too pale looking skin. Bucky had to resist every instinct to consume the angelic little thing as Peter politely pulled his hand away.

“Well Bucky, I know it’s a bit late but would you like to come by my tent? I don’t have much but I’d like to treat you to a snack if you’d be willing.” The kid wouldn’t make eye contact, glanced away. Bucky wanted to hear him say his name again, wanted to hear it whispered in his ear between gasped breaths and screamed as he slotted himself inside Peter’s body.

“Course, doll. Lead the way.” He gestured absently with his hand towards the dirt path.

Peter strode ahead, so trusting as he left Bucky at his back. It made the hunger grow. In his world, trust was everything, to have it so easily given made him want to know more. Made him want to keep Peter and all his innocent trust to himself.

The journey took longer than he expected. Peter’s tent seemed to be on the very edge of the encampment, a fact that set off alarm bells in Bucky’s head. The farther his tent was from the center the more likely he was to be attacked and harmed. Such a frail thing would be easily overpowered and wounded. It triggered a rolling swell in his gut, a muted anger that these people would leave someone so vulnerable on the outskirts in a place set up to provide safety in numbers. That anger only bloomed into a simmering rage when he realized Peter had a limp. He’d seen enough of them to know it, even as Peter clearly tried to hide it. It wasn’t an old knee injury-induced one, Bucky had seen enough busted knee caps to know it. No, this limp was from a hip injury, how it occurred was beyond him but that fact was as clear as day.

Peter brought him to a dark green tent that had seen far better days. It had been patched with duct tape, plastic bags, and even small strips of cloth. It was filled with numerous holes too small to bother patching up, that said, there were spots where the fabric puckered from being sewn together. This tent was old, older than Peter. Pointed to the fact that even amongst the homeless this boy was at the bottom rungs of poor, barely sitting above those without tents. Peter stopped in front of the zipped up entrance and faced Bucky.

“There isn’t much but it’s mine. It’s meant for four people but it might still be a little tight. You’re a lot… broader than I am so I don’t know, hopefully it’s not too small.” Peter gave a nervous smile, like he was trying to make Bucky comfortable with all this.

He wasn’t, but not in the way he knew the boy was worried about. “I’m sure it’s lovely doll, don’t be nervous for my sake. I can promise I’ve seen worse things.” Far worse. Terrible, terrible things.

That blush popped back up again, warmed Bucky up once again only to be doused by a bucket of ice water. Peter opened the tent, inside was almost harder to see than the outside. A pile of bags filled with cans sat in one corner, waiting to be recycled for change. A small pile of food, barely worthy of being called a pile as it consisted of a few cans and a plastic tray of cookies, all carefully taken care of and clean despite the dirt that seemed to cling to his skin. Ratty blankets took up a third of the floor space, all threadbare and providing a poor illusion of being better than sleeping on dirt. Each detail chipped away as his cold heart, somehow thawed out by this angel disguised as a wretch. It should have been frightening, to become so attached so quickly, to want to protect this being with every fiber of his own. It was foreign, completely alien to Bucky but in a way, it grounded him. Just the short time he’d already been around Peter made things feel sharper and brought him into the present. Like he had been dissociating, barely within himself all this time and Peter was a light sent to return him home. Bucky had never been a religious man but in this moment he felt as if Peter may be something beyond human, a gift sent specifically to pull at Bucky and make him feel.

Peter took off his shoes, beat to hell red converse that were held together by hope and tape. It was such a domestic and ingrained activity, yet strange to see in this context. Slapped Bucky across the face as once again he was forced to acknowledge that this hovel was Peter’s home and had been for god knows how long. Bucky set the bucket he’d been carrying outside and slipped his own shoes off, seeing how clean the floor of the tent was earnestly kept.

“You can bring your shoes in, just stick them by the entrance. Some people will take anything not nailed down.” Peter said it jokingly but it only made Bucky wonder if the sparse belongings were because of someone following exactly that code.

“I have cookies, they’re fudge stripes! I got them a few days ago, this nice old lady offered to buy me a snack. I… probably should have asked for something a little more substantial but I couldn’t resist. It’s been a long time since I’ve had sweets.” There was a distinctly sad note to Peter’s voice. Bucky hated it, never wanted to hear it again. Too permeated by sadness already.

“Doesn’t hurt to enjoy the little things.” Not that he got to enjoy much of anything.

“Well, I’m glad I have them at least. It’s a bit harder to share stuff from a can. My spoon broke so I just kind of drink out of them. I don’t think you’d appreciate swapping germs with a random stranger all that much.” Peter smiled as he opened the tray of cookies, slid out the plastic holder, and held it out to Bucky.

Bucky tried not to think about how he wanted to do a lot more than just swap germs with Peter. But, he was a man of control, and even though this slip of a thing was working his way under Bucky’s skin in the most pleasant of ways, it didn’t suddenly void his training. He took two cookies after Peter encouraged him to take more than one.

“So, Peter… How long have you lived out here?” Took a bite of the cookie, hated the taste of over-processed flour and cheap chocolate but was willing to put up with it when Peter beamed. He seemed to take pride in being able to give despite having so little.

“Oh, here specifically it’s been about six months but I’ve been homeless for about a year total.” Peter was shoving a cookie in his mouth as he rustled around in the blankets, looking for something. Bucky zeroed in, watching as even with this helpless one he could not break the need to be on guard.

“And how’d you end up homeless, kid?”

Peter stopped and looked at him. “I know that there are a lot of stereotypes out there but it wasn’t drugs if that’s what you’re thinking,” he resumed looking, found his prize in the form of a small box of cigarettes. Bucky couldn’t help but note the irony. “I lost my aunt and uncle in an accident. I lived with them for most of my life after my parents passed. They didn't have life insurance so I was on my own. Had to sell everything to pay off their debts and then my hips were crushed in a car accident three months later. I lost my job and all the insurance payouts went to medical bills because I didn’t have health insurance. Seems like insurance is the root of all evil in my stories,” He laughed and offered Bucky the box of paper wrapped nicotine. He explained when Bucky shot him a look. “I don’t smoke but they’re good for trading. You said you were new to this whole thing so I thought it might help you out some to have these.”

Fuck, fuck, this god damn kid. He couldn’t leave him here. Couldn’t let such a sweet soul rot out here in slums of the city. Bucky’s world may be dark but at least it isn’t this. At least there is food and a bed. At least every moment wasn’t trying to survive solely on chance and the kindness of others, however rare it may be. Could be yours. You could keep him safe, an angel all your own. He doesn’t have to say yes… A voice whispered in the back of his mind, dark not like his own but… persuasive.

“Peter, you don’t have to give me those… I’m not homeless, I was just passin’ through. Was headin’ to my car just on the other side of all this.”

Peter wilted, set the pack of smokes off to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry for assuming. People just don’t usually come through here unless they are.”

Bucky gently caught Peter’s hands, startling them both. “Peter, let me take you home. Let me treat you right. You shouldn’t be out here, let me take care of you.” Knew he sounded crazy, could see it in Peter’s eyes.

“Bucky… that’s really kind of you but…” I don’t know you; know if you’re safe to go with. Peter didn’t say it but Bucky could hear it.

The same voice whispered to him, telling him to just go the easy route, pick up the kid and leave. No one would notice but… Seeing him wilt like that just from Bucky rejecting the cigarettes told him all he needed to know. The beauty on the outside was alluring but the peaking light of his personality was something he wanted, needed. He wouldn’t risk destroying that, not now.

Bucky reached into his back pocket and flicked open a pocket knife, held it out by the blade to Peter, didn’t miss him flinch. “I know I’m askin’ a lot here, doll. Can’t have trust without earnin’ it. If you don’t feel safe then you can take a stab at me.” Covering the blade he set his fist lightly just below his ribs. “Just take a shot here, blade isn’t long enough to kill me but it’ll still hurt like a bitch.” He held it out again, this time a little closer to Peter. Let the knife rest on his open palm this time.

Peter picked it up very carefully. The knife was carbon black all over and the blade about as long as his pointer finger. Bucky used it for a variety of things. It wasn’t a great weapon but it was reasonable for someone on the street to casually have. Even if Peter tried to stab him, he didn’t have the training to do much damage, and Bucky could easily stop him before it plunged through his skin. No, this was about proving something. Showed that Bucky was willing to give this stranger a weapon to defend himself to prove he meant no harm, risking his own hide if Peter ended up being the “dangerous” one here.

Peter looked up at him out of those doe eyes, so large in his hunger ridden face. “Okay, I’ll go with you, but only for tonight.”

Bucky wanted to laugh, Peter wasn’t leaving tomorrow. He’d go the peaceful route first, certainly, but Peter had sealed his fate by taking the knife.

Bucky shuffled out of the tent. “Let’s go. It’s gettin’ late and we’re gonna have to run through somewhere and pick up food. I’ll have groceries delivered tomorrow, you can tell me what you like and I’ll make sure it’s in the pantry.” He could feel Peter’s need to protest, wanted to grin when it didn’t come. The temptation already enough to stifle complaint.

He slipped on his shoes, picked up the bucket, and held out his hand to Peter. The young man gave it a suspicious glance before gently taking it. Bucky did let himself smile this time, happy to have this tiniest of surrenders. His car was only a few minutes away but he had a feeling Peter would grow tired. The hand not only a warming point of contact but a way for Bucky to assess Peter’s exhaustion.

“Come on, sugar. Car isn’t terribly far. Food and shower seem like priorities right about now so we’ll go somewhere quick. Any preferences?” Bucky wasn’t normally a talker, in fact, the amount he’d spoken in the last twenty minutes was more than he had willingly in the last four months. Something about the kid made him chatty, made him want to run his mouth just to see how Peter would react to every word.

“Um, just something warm.” Peter squeezed Bucky’s hand for stability as they clambered over uneven ground. Peter had closed the knife and was holding it in his other hand, not quite relaxed but not strung tight. “I’ll really eat anything, it’s just cold and I think something warm would help.”

The word ‘cold’ pinged in Bucky’s mind as he realized that yes, it was. Things like that didn’t normally come up on his radar, weather was one of those things that just was so he was inclined to ignore it. He only ever considered it when he needed to dress appropriately to blend in. He slowed for a second and slipped his hand from Peter’s to remove his coat, handing it off to Peter.

“Bucky, you don’t have to give me your coat. It’s cold and you’re already doing so much-”

“I’ll live, cold doesn’t bother me much and you need the insulation.”

Peter looked like he wanted to protest, and seemed about to. Bucky cut him off by taking the coat back briefly so he could drape it across the smaller’s shoulders. He picked Peter’s hand back up and went back to their march towards the car, charmed briefly by Peter’s childish huff as he followed Bucky’s lead.

It didn’t take all that long. The car came into view, exactly where he left it. It was a painfully dull car, one of the various work vehicles the Family had on hand that he was given to use. The license plates were regularly swapped and all under false identities just in case it was ever linked to a scene. It was a perfectly serviceable car, which was why Bucky didn’t think about the challenge it might pose for Peter’s injured hip.

Bucky unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for Peter, who stood there staring at it. He naturally read it as hesitation, Peter possibly reconsidering.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ready to catch him if he ran or lunged.

“Yeah, um, I- I can’t crouch that far without… without my hip locking up and falling.” Clearly embarrassed to admit, refusing to look at Bucky.

Relief. “Oh, doll, I’ll help you. Come ‘ere.” He gently maneuvered the smaller man so his back was against the open door frame. “Put your ‘ands on my shoulders and I’ll lower you down.” The ‘h’s disappearing in the softness of his accented voice.

Peter complied, held on tight as Bucky bent his knees and braced Peter with an arm just below his rear and a hand on his lower back. Bucky had lifted and lowered enough bodies to know it needed to all be in the knees as he crouched to help Peter down. Nearly purring as those arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him as Peter was guided down into the seat.

“Thank you, Bucky.” Peter withdrew, not in fear but merely to situate himself, buckle in.

“Anytime.” Shut the door carefully and moved around the other side, scanning the area for anything abnormal, anything he should worry himself with. Nothing but the empty night looked back at him. He dumped the trash in the bucket into the bin in front of his car where he’d found it and stuck it in the back seat as he climbed into the driver seat.

Peter had his hands folded in his lap. The knife still closed and now resting between his clamped thighs. Bucky wanted to reach over and feel the soft muscle giving under his hand, to pet at the pretty thing next to him. Instead, he jammed the key into the ignition and listened as it hummed to life. Pulled away into the night without looking back, for the first time bringing back a life where he should have left death and death alone.

#siliqua writes #winterspider #bucky barnes #peter parker #peter parker x bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #hitman!bucky #homeless!peter #bucky is real sweet on this kid #will i ever write something other than winterspider?#god only knows #one day ill write s'tucky like I promised #but today is not that day

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