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notjustjavierpena · 1 year

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Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did - Part II: Wasp

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A cute summer romance has started! Enjoy chapter two!

Summary: Joel helps you restore your grandparents' house over the summer. You trip on a stepladder.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love

Word count: 2.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/120864268

Chapter Two: Wasp

The school’s summer vacation wasn’t around just yet, and so you found yourself spending a few days working on the front of the house alone or with Joel. He came by with Sarah whenever they were free, but Sarah mostly just did her homework whilst he cut the grass, drank lemonade, swept the stone path to your front door, took a look at the water tap at the back of the house, wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his gardening gloves… He was always eager to help you with whatever you had in mind as a project that day, but not scared either to tell you that the weather was great for painting the facade of the house.

So that is what he and you are doing. Sarah is at school still, but you don’t mind a moment with him alone.

You stand on your tippy toes on the stepladder that Joel assembled for you a few weeks ago. Weather wise, you are in a drought that makes coating the house in wood protection perfect because it’s not going to be raining for a few days (Joel’s words). On the side of the ladder, a bucket of the varnish hangs on a hook which you are continuously dipping the paintbrush into.

You have gotten clear instructions on how to use the brush, nearly getting scolded for going up and down in the beginning until Joel had grabbed your wrist to make you go from side to side instead. You had let out a sir, yes, sir, and you had been able to hear him roll his eyes at you with a chuckle.

“Looks good, like I taught ya,” Joel says as he walks up behind you, holding the ladder in place as you paint along the boards. You hum quietly in agreement, a little lost for words as his face is level with your thighs and his hands are level with your calves. He could so easily reach out if he wanted to, but you haven’t felt his hands on you yet despite several opportunities, which has made you hyper aware of how one-sided your crush is.

“I’m not completely hopeless, Miller,” you say as you continue working the brush from side to side. You’re glad that you didn’t wear a dress with the way that the soft summer breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees would have pulled at the skirt, exposing you more to him.

“I’m just making sure that you know how to do this, so you can do it yourself a few years from now,” he replies, tapping his fingers on the warm metal of the ladder. He goes silent for a moment, but you don’t notice him staring at your exposed thighs in your shorts, because you have your back towards him.

“That’s fine, but I won’t have any trouble finding someo—“ you’re just about to dip your brush into the varnish again when you spot a wasp close to your face. Your mouth falls open in a squeak, and you automatically take a step back to get away from the insect, “Joel, I’m allergic to wa— Ah!”

Your movement has made you fall backwards. You feel your ankle twist due to stepping too close to the edge of the step you’re standing on, causing you to lose balance and reach for the stepladder’s side, but you simply swing backwards to your right instead of saving yourself from the fall. You squeeze your eyes shut then tense up as you prepare for the impact of the ground.

It never comes though.

Instead, you’re caught in a pair of strong arms due to Joel’s dangerously fast reflexes. He has you in his arms, bridal style, looking down at you with big eyes as if he cannot wrap his mind around what he has just done. He doesn’t let go of you though, and the wild eyes that he is giving you almost has you courageous enough to kiss him right then and there, just to see if they’d widen even more or find peace. It would have made Sarah laugh, cringe visibly too, but mostly laugh at how cliché it would have been.

You’re pulled from your thoughts again shortly after, because despite how bad you want it to be fireworks, sugar and pointed toes, you can hear the buzzing of the wasp close by. It makes your heartbeat spike even more.

“Wasp! Wasp wasp wasp! Joel!” You slap Joel’s shoulder to make him notice, panicking at the thought of being so close to the stupid animal. Joel frantically grabs you tighter and carries you away from the spot where you had been working and you listen carefully before confirming that the buzzing is gone. Whew. Your EpiPen is inside the house in a kitchen drawer, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell him where it was before it would have been too late and he would have had to call emergency services.

“Perhaps a pretty decent idea to tell me that you’re allergic to wasps before we started working outside in the middle of summer,” he huffs, but his tone isn’t angry, but more concerned as well as flustered, “Must’a been your bright colored top. They like that, don’t they?”

It’s your turn to be flustered, steadfast in holding your gaze at his eyes and not let it drop down to his mouth like it often did. You are too close to him to hide when your eyes start to roam around his handsome features.

“Uh, Joel—“

“What?” Joel furrows his brows.

“Put me down, please?” You are blushing.

“Oh,” Joel splutters, but soon easily bends down a little to place your feet back on the ground.

It isn’t easy for you though. You wince as soon as your right foot hits the grass, making you nearly tumble to the ground, but Joel quickly supports you so it doesn’t happen, and you grab the front of his shirt. Perhaps emergency services aren’t such a bad idea after all.

You frown despite the opportunity to lean your whole frame into Joel’s strong body. He has an arm wrapped around your waist, so you can stand on one leg without tipping over. You take the time to stretch out your leg in front of yourself to look down at your foot and carefully try to rotate your ankle. Pain shoots out from your joint, and you whimper under your breath.

“Don’t let go,” you warn him anxiously. You notice that you have smeared varnish over his t-shirt from gripping it as you had nearly fallen.

“I won’t,” he absentmindedly rubs your side soothingly but it doesn’t make your heart rate drop.

“Oh no, I got varnish on your shirt,” you point out.

Joel gets a line in his forehead when his expression switches to confusion. He blows air out of his nose in a humorless laugh, “That’s your worry? Sweetheart, we should get that foot checked. Head too, maybe.”

The nickname seems so natural. You slap his shoulder again, but then remember that he has your whole body at his mercy; your legs will disappear from underneath you if he moves, so you decide not to protest too much.

“You can take my car,” you say but he already objects.

“Ain’t no way in hell I’m putting you on the front seat of your own tiny car. We can take my truck, and you can lie down on the back seat,” he doesn’t even give you room to argue, just leaves everything as it is in your front yard and crosses the street with you in his arms.

“You’re overreacting,” you want to have the last word, and Joel gives it to you, because he says nothing in return, focused and determined instead.

When you reach his old truck, he puts you on the bed to go fetch his keys. It gives you just a moment to process the way that your skin feels on fire where his hands have been, and you hope that no one at the emergency room wants to test your blood pressure or pulse with him in the room. You already start practicing a polite way of telling him to get out.

When Joel returns a few moments later, he unlocks the truck and turns on the engine before fetching you again. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, trying not to look too interested in the way that one of his hands rests comfortably just underneath where your bra sits against your skin.

“Uhh,” Joel quickly turns on his heel as Sarah clears her throat, having arrived home from her walk from the bus stop to their home. You nearly bump your head into the roof of the car as Joel spins due to him being too startled by his daughter’s sudden presence to notice the space around him.

Sarah has on her school backpack, clutching the straps as she approaches the two of you. She raises a brow, “What is going on here? Should I leave again?”

You hope Joel doesn’t drop you at that.

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” he shoots her insinuations down a little too fast.

“Definitely not,” you add just as quickly to save face, and then reach out for the door handle from your position in Joel’s arms, “I’m just a klutz, think my ankle might be sprained or broken.”

“Oookay, whatever you say,” Sarah says, but doesn’t look very convinced with the way she grimaces as she removes her gaze away from you for a moment. When she regains her composure, trying not to make disgusted teenage eyes at her father, she goes on, “So should I wait up?”

“Probably not, s’not serious enough to be prioritized,” Joel says as he crawls half way into the truck’s backseat to place you down on it. You look up at him with a hitched breath, nod when he asks ‘this okay?’ with his eyes.

He pushes himself back and out of the car again by gripping the roof of the vehicle, turns to Sarah then leaves you with butterflies in your stomach.

“There’s still leftover pizza from yesterday,” you hear him say to her, and she replies with whatever. Knowing enough about her by now, you know that she will probably be cooking her own dinner.

She knocks on the window to wave at you before leaving, “Hope it’s nothing too serious!”

After waiting three hours to see a doctor at the emergency room, you are now the proud owner of a sprained ankle. It’s a conclusion that you could have made yourself, but Joel hadn’t wanted to take you back home and had argued that it was better to be safe than sorry. There had been no point in arguing about it because Joel is as stubborn as a mule, even now that the doctor is confirming your suspicions.

“Plenty of rest, ice packs, pillow under when you sleep,” the doctor tells you as she taps away on her computer to log your condition. She smiles softly at you and urges you not to try to put on your shoe again, “I will let a nurse wrap your foot soon, so just relax for now. Just regular ibuprofen for any pain or discomfort. I’ll make sure the nurse gives you a dose before you leave too.”

“Thanks,” you say as you scoot back onto the examination table, already determined to put your foot up. Joel sits on a chair with his arms crossed over his chest, resting his chin in one hand, and has his legs spread out in front of himself. He looks tired but he did carry you all the way through the hospital.

The doctor turns towards the two of you on her spinning chair, “So it’s no more house work for you the coming week. You’re lucky it wasn’t bad or your boyfriend may ha—“

“Not together,” you and Joel say in unison. You try not to be offended by hearing him say something you’ve just said yourself. At the same time even.

“Well, nevertheless, you’re lucky that it isn’t bad enough to have been four to six weeks of rest,” she says a little sheepishly.

You laugh softly at her comment, nodding in agreement, “Oh yeah. I’m terrible at sitting still.”

You don’t tell her that you feel lucky because four to six weeks without seeing Joel would have been torture. This is good. You don’t have to stop seeing Joel, and knowing his stubbornness, you guess that you’ll be allowed to watch him coat the rest of the house with varnish because the dry weather calls for it.

You guess right, spending lazy days on your porch with cool drinks and a nice view of Joel’s tall frame on the stupid stepladder. He had insisted that you stayed inside, but you’d told him it wasn’t going to happen. That was fine, but only if you had your EpiPen next to you.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #my writing #the last of us fanfiction #dilf!joel

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dreaminghour · 1 year

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obikin crèche teacher AU - volunteering

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars Rating: General Audiences Prompt: 11 Volunteering Ship: Obi-Wan/Anakin Context: AU. Five years ago Anakin was grounded at the Temple and has been a trainee in the Crèche with all the youngest Jedi children ever since. A direct continuation of "painting the walls" from last year. You don't have to read that one but it's only 150 words. Words: 525

"Ani-Ani-Ani!"

Anakin was pulled from his reverie by the high pitched call of a little mon calamari, running into the room at top speed. Once he reached the ladder Anakin was on, he began to tug on his trousers.

"Zooz, how many times do I have to ask you to not pull on my pants," Anakin said wearily. "And not to run in the crèche! Save that for recess."

"Sorry, Ani." The mon calamari pulled back his hands and folded them contritely in front of his tummy. "There's a Jedi Master here looking for you!"

There was only one Master who usually came looking for him and it flipped Anakin's stomach to think he was back.

"Alright," Anakin said, climbing down the ladder and gesturing to the boy painting the baseboard. "Come on, Sifa."

Both children took Anakin's paint splattered hands and walked with him out to the main common area of the crèche. There, standing amidst a gaggle of younglings all clamoring to speak with him, was the best Jedi of his generation, hair like burnished gold, smiling and trying to listen to all of them.

Obi-Wan was Anakin's master in name only. Ever since he'd been grounded at the Temple five years ago, not dismissed but not allowed to move on, Anakin had gone from weekly missions with the man to only seeing him every few weeks or months even. He still came to instruct Anakin, but despite his own reticence to leave the Temple — to leave Anakin apparently — his skills were in high demand, and they saw less and less of one another.

It surprised Anakin how much it still made him ache to see Obi-Wan, that sad sort of happiness to know he wasn't forgotten here, more than just recieving letters from his teacher. It made him feel cared about, more than his lessons with the other masters did.

But Obi-Wan was not alone.

A young togruta woman was with him, Anakin seemed to remember her from the younglings when he'd been a freshly shaved padawan. Her name was Ahsoka Tano. She had blue and white striped skin on her montrals and was orange faced. She looked nervous. And when Anakin glanced to Obi-Wan, so did he.

"What is this?" Anakin asked, voice hoarse.

"Anakin, I—"

"They want volunteers to go to Illum with them!" spoke up little Simo, head wrapped in the black scarf of a mirialan, grin toothy. "For people to make their first lightsabers!"

Anakin felt cold all over. Escorting a trip to Illum, or to another kyber source, was often a first mission for a new padawan and master pair.

"I came to—" Obi-Wan tried again.

"You have my blessing," Anakin said, throat tight. He picked up Sifa and quickly marched over to the bathrooms with him. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Faintly, through the bond which still lingered between them, he felt pain, but he didn't know if it was Obi-Wan's or just an echo of his own.

"It's okay," little Sifa said, kissing the tears from Anakin's cheeks. "We can go to Illum someday if you want a lightsaber."

Anakin didn't trust himself to speak.

#domaystic2023 #dreamy does fic #2023day11 #angst and fluff #crèche bound anakin au #star wars #dreamy does domaystic #writing this made me cry #all up in my feels #obikin #obikin fic

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marvel1012 · 6 months

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Sins of the Father - Pt.2 "Donna"

Synopsis: AU 3rd season episode of The Bear. Carm makes a startling discovery, and must navigate the fallout.

Warnings: cursing, drinking, smoking, Donna

Word count: 2,600-ish

Author's note: Please read Part 1 first! Likes, reblogs, and constructive feedback welcome!

Part 3

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Early the next morning, Carm took the train across town and then walked the few blocks over to their old neighborhood. Standing on the sidewalk outside their mom’s house, staring at the stoop, it was hard not to see that December night from almost six years ago– his mom’s car still half-buried in the front room, getting slowly pulled out by a wrecker, Donna hysterical on the lawn, Mikey trying to calm her down, Lee and Jimmy screaming at each other, the neighbors filtering out from their houses to watch. He blinked hard and the scene was gone– the house looked good as new, like none of it had ever happened.

He steeled himself with a deep breath, thought about lighting up one more time before going in, just to slow his brain down for a minute, then thought better of it. He needed to get this over with, so he could get back to The Bear and make sure the week’s inventory got done on time.

Let it rip.

He marched up the front steps and tried the door. Not surprisingly, it was unlocked. Typical. He opened it slowly, sticking his head inside and looking around. “Mom?”

“Carmen? Is that you?” Donna’s voice sounded like it was coming from the back of the house, a bedroom, probably.

Stepping inside, Carm shrugged off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks next to the door. He didn’t bother removing his shoes, though– he didn’t think he’d be staying that long. Knowing Donna, this conversation was gonna go over like a ton of lead bricks. As he walked down the photo frame lined hallway, he couldn’t help but glance at a few of the old family group shots. How could he have ever looked at himself next to Mikey and Natalie and believed they came from the same family? Nat may not have been the spitting image of her father, but she sure as hell looked more like him than Carmen ever had. As the photos got older and his siblings got younger, the resemblance to Jerry got even more noticeable.

He stopped briefly in front of a group picture from when he was still a baby, probably not even walking yet. It must have been Easter or something, because the entire family was dressed up in all their early 90’s glory. Michael was probably around thirteen, Nat was just a toddler in a frilly white dress, Donna was holding her hand and probably coaching her to look into the camera and smile. Carm was being held by Jerry, and staring wide-eyed at something slightly to the right of whoever was taking the photo. His brilliant, bright blue eyes and curly, sandy hair stood out like a sore thumb when you saw them all together. He heard Sam’s sneering voice in his head, “Who did that crazy bitch think she was foolin?”

“Carmy?”

When he made it to the bedroom, the first thing he noticed was all the mess. There were open paint cans, drop cloths, brushes, rollers, half-filled trays of paint, and Donna, perched on a step ladder with a metal pole draped across her lap. She had obviously just stopped sanding, because she was covered in a fine layer of dust. As always, she was sipping a glass of her favorite red wine.

At 9:30 on a Tuesday morning. Christ.

“Uh, hey Mom. You ah, repainting the bedroom?”

Donna grinned. “Sure am. I read in one of those house magazines that nobody does the textured look for paint anymore, it’s all gotta be a single color now. First you gotta sand it, then you gotta paint over it. Next week I’m taking down the wallpaper in the bedrooms upstairs! Repainting those too!” She giggled and took another swig. This was most definitely not her first glass of the day.

“Oh, okay. Ya know, most people hire a bunch of guys for big paint jobs. We could find someone to handle the wallpaper, too. The Bear’s finally doin’ alright and–”

“No,” Donna snapped, cutting him off.

Shit, I haven’t even been here five minutes and she’s already mad at me.

“But, it’s really no trouble. I can even pay for it, that’s what I was tryin’ to say.”

“I don’t want a bunch of strangers coming into my house, breakin’ things, makin’ a mess, getting paint and God knows what else on my furniture,” she finished off the wine and nearly dropped the glass while sitting it down, apparently oblivious to the mess she had already created. “I know what this is, you think I can’t do it on my own. You think I’m too old, and and frail, and and, old.”

“No, no, that’s not it Mom, I just wanted to help, is all. I was just trying to be nice, and help you.”

“Well I don’t need it. I don’t need you doing things for me. I’m capable of doing things for myself. And I can pay for things, too. I don’t need your money.” She was clearly ratcheting up, and then, in half a second, her mood turned on a dime, and where once there was righteous anger, embarrassment had taken its place. Carmen could see the shift when it happened, having spent years trying to gauge and wrangle Donna’s moods.

“Aww, Carmy, I’m sorry for getting mad,” she pouted, “You were trying to do something sweet for me, and I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m really glad that your restaurant is doing good, I really am.”

“Thanks Mom,” an awkward pause while he thought of something else to say, to move the conversation away from whatever it was about the painting that had set her off, “Hey, ah, Nat told me she and Pete brought the baby over to visit last weekend, how’d that go?”

Donna beamed, “It was great, just great. She’s a cute little thing, but looks a little bit too much like Pete, which is going to be unfortunate for a little girl,” she picked up her empty wine glass and gestured toward the hallway, “I need a refill, let’s talk in the kitchen.”

Carmen followed along behind as she retrieved the open wine bottle from the fridge. Before filling her own glass, she held up the bottle, offering. “Oh, no, I can’t right now. Gotta get back to work in just a little while. Thanks, though.” Donna shrugged with a “suit yourself” smirk and dumped the rest of the bottle into her glass, filling it almost to the rim. She was chatting excitedly between sips about her “very first grandchild”, how good Nat seemed to be doing as a first time mom, how she couldn’t wait to babysit (if Carm had been drinking, he might have spit his wine out at that idea).

Since they appeared to have moved back to solid ground, he figured it was now or never. He waited for Donna to take a breath, then cut in. “Hey, so, what I came over to talk to you about. Last night, this guy came by The Bear after we closed. He said his name was Sam Morris.”

Her head snapped back as if she’d been struck. “What did you just say?”

“Well, uh, there was this guy, named Sam Morris. He came by the restaurant last night to talk to me. Actually had the nerve to ask me for a job, talked to me like I should know who he is. Should I know who he is, Mom?”

“I- I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Donna quickly crossed the kitchen to toss the empty bottle into the trash can. “I’ve never heard that name in my life.” She went to the sink and began to furiously scrub her hands under the running tap, as if she had just conveniently noticed that they were covered in dust. “Why would you even ask me about some strange man looking for a job?”

“Mom, you know why. Sam Morris said that he’s my dad. He said he was my real father, and that I should ask you about him.”

“Jesus Christ, Carmen, are you gonna to listen to every lunatic walkin’ the streets of fucking Chicago?” Her voice may have been steady, but Carm noticed that her hands were shaking as she grabbed a nearby dish towel and dried them off.

“Mom,” he softened his tone, trying to appeal to reason, “Richie already told me what he knew about what happened. So we can be honest about this.”

Donna made a big show of rolling her eyes. “Uh huh, okay, Richard Jerimovich, that paragon of honesty and virtue. That’s who we’re getting our ‘facts’ from these days? Right.” She grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the counter and lit one.

Why couldn’t anything ever be easy with this family?

“Richie would never lie to me about something like that, and you know it. Now I’m going to ask again, politely, will you please tell me what happened with Sam Morris?”

“Oh, I don’t want to talk about that, Carmy. Let’s just go back to having a nice morning together, okay? Let’s forget about Sam Morris. He’s nothing, he’s nobody.”

Carmen could feel a hot flush spreading from his neck up to his cheeks as his temper started to flare. “No, Mom. I have a right to know where I came from. I’m an adult, and I want you to tell me the truth. Tell me what happened.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed over her cigarette as she took a long drag and exhaled slowly. Finally, she started to nod, “Okay, alright. Sure, you wanna know? I’ll tell you.”

“Good, yes. Thank you.”

“You don’t remember anything about your fath— Jerry, because you were so young. But he was a real piece of work. Your Uncle Jimmy got him mixed up in something, and Lee was in on it too. He was gone all the time. All the time. He should have been here, helping me raise his children, but whatever he had going was obviously more important than me and Mikey and Natalie. He’d come home drunk, 4:00, 5:00 in the morning. I was here, all the time, doing everything by myself as usual, and he’d just stumble in after doing God knows what all night with those crimi-”

“Are you just gonna shit on Dad for the rest of the day, or are you getting to the point?”

She took a deep sip of wine, then pointed at him with the two fingers clamped around her cigarette. “You shut your trap. I’m gettin’ there.”

Carm shrugged. Coulda fooled me.

“One night, your father was out with Jimmy and Lee, of course. Mikey and Richie were spending the night with their friend down the street, and I was so lonely here by myself with Sugar. Sam stopped by to return some tools he had borrowed from your dad at work that day. We had a drink together. Then another drink. And another drink. Honestly, probably another drink–”

“Mom, I get it. You were drinking together.”

“Well, after a lot of drinks, one thing led to another and,” she threw up her hands, “I made a mistake, Carmy. I made a mistake. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

Carmen felt stung by that. “Thanks for reminding me about what a huge fucking mistake I am, Mom.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re not a mistake, being with Sam was a mistake. But I was lonely, and your fath– Jerry– was never around. He was always scheming, always starting this and that but never following through, always boozing, probably had something going on the side himself all those years–”

“Jesus Christ, are you really gonna to sit there and blame Dad for all of this? You were there, too. You made your own choices. Dad didn’t make you fuck that guy.” Carm was breathing hard now, practically seething with rage. He thought hearing the truth would set him free, but if anything it was just pissing him the fuck off.

Donna shook her head, ignoring his outburst. Her expression had turned wistful, like she was reliving the past more than she was talking to her son in the present. “It was just one time, just that one night. I was so lonely, Carmen. And Sam seemed nice, he listened to me. Actually listened.”

Suddenly, Carm was struck by the impression that none of this was real. Something about the way Donna was explaining the situation didn’t add up. Richie made it sound like there was more to this than some drunken one night stand. The betrayal he described was deeper than that. Some, or possibly all of this, was an act.

“I don’t believe you,” he mumbled.

That brought Donna back from whatever booze soaked fantasy she’d drifted into. Between gritted teeth, she hissed, “What did you just say?”

Carmen met her gaze, “I said, I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”

She sucked in her breath, jaw clenched, winding up. “Carmen Anthony Berzatto, how dare you accuse your mother of being a liar. How dare you.” That old familiar growl made the hair on his arms stand on end. She only used his full name when she was getting ready to unleash hell. He took a step back, no longer so sure in his own anger.

“Mom,” to his surprise, he felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He tried to blink them away, “I just want the truth.”

“No!” Without warning, she hurled the half-full wine glass across the kitchen, where it shattered against the opposite wall. Carm felt a few drops of wine splash on his cheek– she hadn’t missed him by much. “You came here to crucify me! You came here to shame me! Well I’m not going to stand for it! If you only knew what kind of man your father really is, what he’s done, you’d be on your knees thanking me for saving us from him, not interrogating me in my own home!”

Carmen backed toward the door that lead out to the front hallway, hands up in a defensive posture, “Mom, I didn’t mean–”

“Get out! Get out of my house!” She grabbed the closest object to hand, which happened to be a heavy crystal ashtray, and drew back as if she was about to launch it at him.

He bolted out of the kitchen and down the hall, grabbing his jacket and throwing open the front door in one smooth motion. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to run from Donna.

Once Carm made it to the sidewalk, he stopped for a second to catch his breath. She wasn’t chasing him this time, which was a small miracle. He was doubled over, hands on his knees, breath misting out in the bright morning sun. He glanced around at the neighboring houses. As always, everything seemed peaceful and calm on their little street. Nobody had a clue what went on inside his house– inside his family.

He happened to look down at his white t-shirt and realized the whole left side was stippled with drops of red wine. Probably how his shirt would look if he was standing next to someone when they got shot, except the stains were just a little too purple to actually be blood. Wonder if Mom’s blood looks like this now? Is it mostly wine? A strange giggle escaped his chest. Was he losing it? He straightened and took a deep breath, steadying himself.

At this point he only had access to two people who could tell him what happened between his mom, Sam Morris, and Jerry Berzatto. At least one of them had just lied and then thrown a wine glass at his head, so that door was closed. That left just the one remaining participant.

Sam.

(To be concluded…)

#the bear fanfiction #the bear au #carmy berzatto #donna berzatto #the bear fic #the bear fx

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stayhereforasecond · 1 year

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CREMATION GROUND

As a kid, I only saw, knew, and heard about cemeteries and cremation grounds in movies and on TV. It’s not something that your parents deliberately discuss with you when you’re a kid. It’s not something MY parents would discuss with me. For the most part of my life (almost 13 or 14 years), I was not even aware of the cremation ground near my home. It’s only a few hundred metres away. There are a lot of things that have surrounded me my entire life which I was never aware about. Anyway, even after learning about the existence of this cremation ground, I did not think much about it. I don’t remember it ever crossing my mind. It was only when I was about to turn sixteen when this turned around. This was when I lost someone close to me for the first time in my life. Before that I never really struggled with death. It was a natural concept of life that was very realistically acceptable to me.

The cremation ground was on one of the routes I took coming back from school. Generally i would just pass by without acknowledging its existence. However, I remember one day there was a dead body tied to a wooden ladder, covered with white cloth and some marigolds on top of it. Few men, some in white clothes and some in old washed up shirts, were standing around. I guess they were waiting for something. And that was the first time that place caught my attention like never before. Maybe it was because around that time I started paying more attention to dead bodies. I thought about it all day. After that, every time I rode alone by that place it was hard not to pay any attention.

It’s weird and striking that a place near my home, a place I was not even aware about the first 15 years of my life, and a place that crossed my mind only a few times in 18 years is so visible now, that it’s hard to not be aware of it. I wish I was speaking metaphorically. And this time i don’t even have to ride past it. Just like college and work, I get to be aware of it from my home.

I’ve lived in this city my whole life. I’ve seen this place change. I’ve seen roads being destroyed and constructed over and over again. I’ve seen trees being taken down. I’ve seen homes slowly turn into apartment buildings. I’ve seen the whole landscape change. I remember seeing hundreds of houses from my roof and now I can’t see past one house. When I was very little, maybe 5 or 6, a carnival was organised a few hundred metres from my home. On the same road as the cremation ground actually. I live in a colony and even though it was more than a decade ago, I could not see the carnival from my roof. But what I could see was its light in the sky at night. And sometimes we could even hear the music. For a week or so the sky was so pretty because of the lights of the carnival. Even on days we didn’t visit, the carnival made me happy.

This is one of the oldest memories I have of living on this earth. I didn’t think about it this much but for the past few months I can’t stop thinking about it. 2 months ago, when we all knew someone who urgently needed hospitalisation but could not get one. When we stopped watching news because of our mental health. When someone we knew was dying every other day. This is when this beautiful childhood memory became the realisation of how life has changed for all of us. The road from where the lights were lighting up the sky became the road painting a picture in the sky of all the deaths and the grief they left. Some, not even acknowledged. Just like I watched the lights in the sky all those years ago as a 5 or 6 year old, this time I was watching the smoke coming out of the cremation ground non stop in the sky as a 18 year old.

(I wrote this when the covid cases peaked)

#grief #death note #tw covid #reading #love #grieving #general grievous

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taughtdefense · 8 months

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"If you say told you so I'm going to rip your heart out through your stomach."

to say you're surprised when you sense talia of all people enter miyagi-do's... miyagi-fang's?... walls is an understatement. oh, look at that. she's weaponless & decidedly not backed by former cobra kai goons, some of whom are now miyagi-fang. the revolving door of allegiances ceased to exist with cobra kai's takedown. however, there's a few outliers; some who didn't join miyagi-fang because of hard-stuck allegiances to cobra kai, but hey. good for her. you watch her out of the corner of your eye as she approaches the sparring deck, instead keeping focused on painting the top panel of the dojo's siding.

❝ kyler joining miyagi-fang was a mistake. ❞ you begin. mr. larusso was apprehensive, given his history with sam, too. it's been a week since he's joined, & things aren't exactly smooth. he's still completely in his cobra kai headspace. ❝ he's never gonna change . i- ❞

❝ If you say told you so I'm going to rip your heart out through your stomach. ❞ she cuts you off. you don't miss a beat, not even blinking at her words.

❝ bold of you to assume your hand can reach that high. ❞ you quip instinctually to @vipersunion. your words are flat, & you're not smirking triumphally at her for being incorrect. you also don't have a heart to rip out, in the most literal sense possible, at least currently. there's no one near you who would need to hear your heartbeat, so you'd kind of just flipped that switch, so to speak.

eldritch physiology is... weird, for lack of a better word.

in all honesty, you've been annoyed all day. kenny's been a bit of a prick to you, nolan & kyler even more so. about twenty minutes ago, kyler shoved you into the koi pond for the second time in a four day time peiod... basically unprompted, mind you. still though, that's a new personal record. you'd thought he'd have done it for the second time in only two days, not four. ❛ self-restraint ❜ doesn't exactly exist with him. he's still a fucking bully. after being pushed into the pond, you'd almost lost your shit. you'd hopped out of the pond with help from a concerned sanji, then dried off inside the dojo, robby, tory & emma at your sides, trying to calm you down. miguel & hawk dealt with kyler... in a decidedly non-violent way, despite his best-friend-recently-turned-boyfriend & best friend, respectively, being messed with. espeically given all of the shit you've gone through. it'd been much more shouty.

the ladder you're standing on also gives you a larger height advantage. you carefully climb down the ladder & place the teal-stained paintbrush back into the correct can of paint on the sparring deck, which is on top of an old, paint-splotched sheet. your hands are devoid of paint specs, & there's nothing underneath your nails, which is a relief. you'd started painting the walls of the dojo to calm yourself down... not to mention, your sharp eyes had been able to see that the top of the dojo's siding needed a bit of a touch up, worn down by the weather & a fair bit of unintentional neglect on all of your parts. the karate war had been on the forefront of everyone's minds, so the siding of the dojo had suffered the consequences. you're the tallest person in the dojo - probably in the valley as a whole - so the task was easy; learned, routine, safe. mr. larusso seemed pleased with it — both with the fact that he doesn't have to paint, & you implementing the miyagi-do teachings once again in a moment where you'd have undoubtedly turned to retaliation if you were in cobra kai or eagle fang, through & through.

❝ what're you doing here, anyway ? you can't have come all this way to check up on me. ❞ you don't think she's interested in joining miyagi-fang, either, like she hadn't been upon silver's takedown & cobra kai's end; johnny's disappointment about losing a student like talia had been obvious when he broke the news to you. you frown slightly as a thought comes to mind. well... ❝ did tory text you ? ❞

#vipersunion #in character. / post season 5.#main verse.: miyagi fang. — ❝ i ached for warmth & peace. the universe laughed at me. ❞

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luvnami · 3 years

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𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐜

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - a little thing i wrote for da bestie who loves issei a while ago. not proof read

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 626

“babe,” issei begins. “you look like you’re a succulent.”

you hold a spray bottle in your hand, misting your face with your eyes screwed up. your skin glistens with tiny droplets of water all over it.

“it’s so that my moisturiser-”

“you put the ‘succ’ in succulent. get it?”

issei stands in the bathroom doorway, all six foot and two inches of him leaning against the hardwood doors you had painted together.

(it was a few days spent balancing on top of a ladder, arms aching as you wielded your paintbrush like a weapon. issei had left a dollop of paint on the tip of your nose and you looked funny for a week after. he called you his little IT clown, much to your displeasure.)

you sideye your boyfriend as he cackles away, spreading an ample amount of cream on your cheeks.

“you crack jokes that a 12 year old would make.”

“you think i’m funny though, don’t you?”

you can see issei’s pout through the mirror. he meets your eyes, jutting out his lower lip and tugging on the sleeve of your pajama shirt.

“not really.”

“babe!”

issei lets out an anguished noise akin to an animal dying. not that you’ve actually heard any animal die before, but you think that issei would sound like one of them.

he takes a step into the bathroom, bare feet meeting the cold tiles. you busy yourself spreading the cream around your face with the tips of your fingers as issei wraps his arms around your shoulders, balancing his chin atop your head. warmth envelopes you like a blanket. it’s late, and you’re eager to go to bed after a long day of work.

“you’re like a big baby, ‘sei,” you observe.

issei’s hands travel down your body, resting on the curve of your waist. he presses kisses down the expanse of your exposed neck.

“‘sei,” you warn.

he nips at your skin. having enough of his antics, you whip the cat ear headband off of you and smack him with it. issei retreats as he raises his hands up to block your attacks.

“babe! babe! you’re killing me!” he groans.

you burst out into laughter, giggles ringing through the small bathroom as issei pretends to fall to the ground. he slides down the wall of the shower limply, head lolling against his shoulder.

“oh, ‘sei!”

you scramble to kneel before him, holding his face in both your hands. he opens one eye to look at you before closing it promptly. you snort.

“the dying prince needs a kiss from a beauty to live,” issei whispers. he opens his eye again, then shuts it once more. “quickly!”

you’re a mess as you laugh, shoulders shaking. you lean your head against his bare chest as you try to get yourself together. issei pretends to be dead the entire time and your combined weight sends him sliding onto the shower floor. you cradle his head.

his messy curls tickle your skin as you lean down, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. issei stiffens. you purse your lips and place a quick peck on his forehead, then his nose and cheeks. he squirms beneath you. finally, you kiss his lips. your eyes flutter shut and you taste the mint of his toothpaste.

issei’s hands grab your hips. you gasp, face heating up as he opens his eyes and finds your face mere milimetres from his.

it’s silent. you hear nothing else but the quiet rush of the bathroom ventilator and the blood thumping through your ears. issei’s hand creeps into your hair as he presses your face back down to his, lips meeting lips once more. you press a hand against his chest.

your hearts beat in sync.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabble #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq drabble #haikyuu matsukawa #hq matsukawa #matsukawa issei #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei fluff #matsukawa issei drabble #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa drabble

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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One Step at a Time - Part 1

Master List | Next Chapter

A/N: IT IS TIME! I'm very excited for this fic, and I hope you all are too (even if it is a purely OC fic). I've loved these three since I introduced them (Chuckles and Arni first appeared in 200 Follower Celebration Ficlets, and Nita made her first appearance in “Reunion” and is also featured in one of those ficlets), and I wasn't certain if I'd ever write a fic for just them, but this one has really just been a labor of love from the start. I know this will probably have lower than normal readership since it doesn’t revolve canon characters, but I hope those that do read it love it as much as I do. As always, thank you to the absolutely incredible @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this for me and encouraging me to write this (while also being a wonderful sounding board for all my ideas). Couldn’t do this without you, TJ! Without further ado...

Chapter Rating: T (entire work is rated E, but M-rated version can be found on AO3)

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 6.6k words

It’s almost over.

Chuckles’s feet felt lighter as he stepped out of his fighter and onto the ladder next to the Z-95 Headhunter, slipping his helmet off and tucking it under his arm. He paused for a moment on the ladder to examine his reflection in the transparisteel of his cockpit viewport. He ran his fingers through his flattened mohawk, trying to stand the colored ends back up from where the helmet had pressed them against his skull. The teal color he’d dyed the tips of his hair a few weeks ago was fading to more of a greenish grey at this point, and his mouth twitched at the hue.

Needs a touch-up soon.

The color had been chosen by his friend Howzer after a lost game of sabacc to “ensure everyone knew who beat him.” Chuck would never admit it, but he’d liked the teal the best of any colors he’d tried during the war. It had looked nice against the magenta and grey of his armor.

Three years, and it might all end today.

When he reached the base of the ladder, he paused, glancing down at the helmet in his hands. His fingers traced the stars he’d painted for each of his fallen brothers on the plastoid, some of them with scratches marring their magenta paint. Turning the helmet, his thumb grazed the single grey star he’d painted on the back of the helmet near its base. He sighed.

Thank the Maker this might all be done. Was running out of real estate for these guys.

A few of the maintenance droids were already rolling towards his fighter, and he gave them one of his lop-sided grins, the scar on the right corner of his mouth tugging against the expression. “Make sure you polish her up good, fellas. By all accounts, it sounds like there’ll be a victory parade shortly.” The droids buzzed and beeped in excitement, the R7 unit spinning in an excited circle. Chuckles grinned, patting its metal dome as he moved past.

What to do with my day off? The possible last day of the war? Maybe I’ll go see that mechanic down in the temple garage. Might be time I finally asked her out to dinner. To celebrate.

Chuck glanced down at his armor before raising his arm and giving his armpit a sniff. The last mission had been shorter than the others, so the stink hadn’t set in yet. He shrugged, deciding not to run by the barracks and change.

Eh, who can say no to a guy in his armor? I showered yesterday anyway.

Reaching down, he made sure his sidearm was still in its holster at his hip before he stepped out of the garage. He’d misplaced the damn thing enough, and he was not about to be reprimanded by some uptight admiral on a day as momentous as this.

The streets of Coruscant were buzzing as usual, but today felt different. There was a charge of excitement that made the air feel electric, as if everyone knew what he did.

News travels fast, I’m sure. Especially good news.

He slipped his helmet back on so that he could monitor the clone comm channels. This was not the day to be out of the loop. He tuned into the main feed, listening to the crackle that was occasionally interrupted by one of the millions of voices that all sounded like his, reporting statuses or giving order updates. If General Kenobi could just handle things on Utapau with the 212th, then it would be all over.

A new beginning.

Chuckles had been created to fight in this war, and with the end of it looming, he wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about his future. If he was honest, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead. With as many brothers as he’d lost, he’d just assumed he’d wind up as a star or a hashmark on someone else’s armor at some point, but now, he’d made it.

Beat the odds, I guess. Despite the galaxy’s best efforts.

The columns of the Jedi temple loomed taller as he approached, their towers reaching up to pierce the clear Coruscant sky that was beginning to turn orange and pink as dusk approached. Chuckles nodded to a few of the Jedi stewards as he passed into the gardens that ran along the side of the temple. He loved cutting through them to get to the maintenance garages. Normally, they were filled with masters and padawans meditating or younglings running about, but today, they were uncharacteristically still.

Probably all inside tuned to the feeds like I am. Wonder if General Rancisis is back from Saleucami yet. He’ll want to be here for this.

He paused under one of the larger trees in the garden, his head tilting up to observe the fluttering petals of the blooms that had broken out across the branches since the last time he’d been here. A few of the pale pink petals were caught in the breeze and fluttered downward towards him. Chuckles reached out his glove to catch one of them, smiling to himself underneath his bucket.

“Attention all Coruscant-based troops. Attention all Coruscant-based troops.”

Chuckles paused, listening to the buzzing, monotone voice in his helmet.

“Execute Order 66.”

There was a ringing in his ears before a flash of pain shot across his vision, blinding him for a second as he cursed loudly. His hand flew to the side of his helmet. The petals he’d caught drifted to the ground, his boots crushing them as he tried to steady himself, his knees shaking.

“Execute Order 66.”

Another searing blast emanated from the right side of his head, and Chuckles pressed his hand against the tree as he tried to stay on his feet.

Good soldiers…

He slapped the side of his helmet, trying desperately to clear his mind. His thumb grazed the comm switch, silencing the channel that was just repeating the same directive over and over. Another bolt of pain slammed into him, and he roared a curse. And then, as suddenly as it came, it dissipated. Chuck was crouching down by the tree, bracing his palms against the bark of its trunk as he took several deep steadying breaths. The rushing of his blood in his ears had subsided, giving way to a deafening silence. He rested the forehead of his bucket against the tree as he inhaled deeply once more.

What the kriff was that?

A scream ripped through the silence. Chuckles froze, almost wondering if he had imagined it until he heard another one, unmistakable and a much lower register than the first. And then came the blaster fire. Chuckles ripped his sidearm from its holster, crouching against the tree.

Good soldiers follow…

The pain came roaring back and he gasped, banging on the side of his helmet again.

Come on, get it together, Chuck.

He heard the pounding steps of someone running. Crouching low, he peered around the trunk cautiously. The back door of the temple was open. A blonde human padawan was running from it, making her way across the courtyard, her lightsaber in hand as her dark robes trailed behind her. Suddenly, multiple blaster bolts erupted out of the door. The padawan whirled, and Chuckles could see tears streaming down her face.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!” she screamed before another volley of bolts flew through the door. Chuck stood, running towards her as fast as his legs could carry him. He made it through the durasteel decorative gate, sprinting towards the hedges that lined the courtyard the padawan was standing in, but as he went to vault them, one of the branches caught his toe. As he fell forward, his arms flailing, he watched as a blaster bolt caught the padawan in her shoulder. She dropped her lightsaber as another one caught her in the chest, and she collapsed to the ground, her blonde braid trailing behind her.

No.

Chuckles felt bile rise in his throat as he slammed onto his chest behind a set of bushes. The wind was knocked out of him, and before he could struggle to his feet, he froze as three clone troopers in blue and white armor jogged out the door of the temple. They approached the padawan, their blasters trained on her. One of them crouched down, checking her before nodding at the others. Chuckles watched in horror as they abandoned the padawan’s body, retreating into the temple.

What? Why would they do that? She needs help. She needs…did they kill her?

From where he lay, hidden from view, he could see inside the temple now. The unmistakable blur of lightsabers shone down the hallways, deflecting blaster bolts back at more troopers in blue and white armor. Chuckles watched another group of Jedi fall, the troopers stepping over the bodies left in their wake. Pushing himself to his knees, Chuckles lifted his helmet just enough to vomit violently into the bushes.

What the kriff is happening? The temple is under attack. Where did the Seppies get clone armor? How did this many of them get on Coruscant with no one noticing?

He took a deep shuddering breath.

Focus. You need to focus.

He punched the comm on his arm. “This is CT-4311. Does anyone read me?” He was met with silence. In frustration, he punched the comm again. “HELLO? This is CT-4311! I’m at the Jedi temple, and they are under attack by soldiers wearing clone armor. We need as many battalions as we can get down here ASAP.” No response. He banged his vambrace against the ground again. “HELLO? IS ANYONE THERE?” He slapped the switch on his helmet again, tuning to the main comm channel.

Surely this is making the waves.

“Execute Order 66.”

The pain shot through his skull again, and he gasped before switching the comm back off.

What the kriff is going on?

A rustle in a set of bushes off to his left made him jump. Chuckles sprang to his feet, drawing his sidearm and aiming it at the source of the sound.

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF.”

The bushes rustled again, closer to him this time, and Chuckles took a step backwards as he tried to put more authority in his voice. “I SAID IDENTIFY YOURSELF.” He gripped the blaster tighter, trying to hide the shaking of his hands.

Hushed whispers carried to him from the foliage. Suddenly, he noted two bright, honey-colored eyes peering at him from between two branches.

It’s a youngling.

He holstered his blaster, squatting back down. “Hey there, can you come out?” He went to take a step forward, but before his heel could hit dirt, a blur of brown and blue stepped in between him and the bush. A yellow lightsaber hummed in front of his face, held by a quivering young blue Twi’lek.

“DON’T TOUCH HER.”

The kid’s face was covered in tear stains, their bottom lip trembling as they dug their teeth in as if that would keep them from dissolving into a sobbing mess. They were mostly blue with a tan birthmark on one side of their face that reached from their chin to just below their eye, almost like a splotch of paint had been flung at them. The kid’s lekku hung down their back, trembling along with the rest of them. They were dressed in a traditional brown Jedi tunic and robe that matched their lekku wrappings and the cap that covered their head, but along their belt were multiple pouches with handwritten labels. Bacta. Bolts. Snacks. I’ll have to ask what kind of snacks later. Chuckles glanced at their face. Can’t be older than twelve, maybe not even that.

“Back up,” the Twi’lek demanded in a quavering voice.

The bushes behind the youngling rustled again, and a small Pantoran emerged. Her silver hair was wound into two messy buns on either side of her head with a few leaves from the bush sticking out of them. She wore a silver tunic that seemed just a little too large for her, her sleeves hiding most of her hands. Her large golden eyes appraised the clone in front of her, but before she could speak, the Twi’lek shoved her behind them. The Pantoran peered at Chuckles from behind her companion’s robes. There was fear in her eyes, but also curiosity. That one’s probably six or seven. Maker alive, what is happening?

Chuckles raised his hands in surrender, sinking into a crouch behind the bushes, blocking them from the view of the door.

“Kid, look-”

“Why?” the Twi’lek demanded. “Why are you doing this to us?”

“Doing what?”

“Why are you attacking us? Why are you killing us?” the youngling demanded.

Chuckles stared at them blankly. “It’s not us, kid. Someone must have stolen our armor. We would never-”

“IT IS YOU! I SAW ONE OF THEM TAKE OFF THEIR HELMET!”

Chuckles’s heart thundered in his chest. That can’t be. Why would we attack the Jedi? That doesn’t make any sense. What the kriff is happening? He shook his head. No, focus. I’ve got to get these kids out of here. He made a move towards the Twi’lek, but the youngling brandished their lightsaber as firmly as they could.

“Stay. Back.”

Chuckles noticed the youngling’s eyes were flicking back and forth as they looked at him, and then he remembered he was wearing his helmet. Slowly, he reached for the base of his bucket, sliding it up and over his head and setting it on the ground next to him before he raised his hands once more. The Twi’lek’s face seemed to soften a bit at the sight of a human face staring back at them.

It’s harder to kill something with a face, Chuckles thought.

“Listen, I don’t know what’s happening either. I’m just as scared and confused as you are. But, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to get you out of here, alright?” The Twi’lek appeared to be considering it carefully, their eyes darting to the direction of the screams that were still coming from the temple and then back to Chuckles. Chuck took a deep breath. “I’m not one of them, kid.”

“Arni.” The Pantoran gently tugged on the Twi’lek’s robes. “I think he’s telling the truth. Reach out to him.”

The Twi’lek looked at her for a moment before moistening their lips. “I…I can’t read him without touching him. I haven’t gotten good enough at it yet.”

Chuckles thought for a second before taking his blaster and tossing it near the Twi’lek’s feet. We need to get out of here, but I need them to trust me first. Pulling the binders he had on his belt, he held them up. “I’m gonna put these on, ok? You’ll have to let me out once you’re sure. And if you don’t get the right…read, you can just leave me here, alright?” And then I’ll be on my own. But at least maybe they’ll be safe. Or at least, safer I guess. Before he could overthink it further, Chuckles turned so his back was to the two younglings, slipping the binders over his wrists and locking them in place. He gave them a tug to demonstrate he was locked in. The two younglings whispered again behind him before coming around to stand in front of him. The Twi’lek Arni stepped closer, and with trembling hands, cupped his face. Their palms were sweaty and cold, and Chuck could feel them trembling against his cheeks. Arni closed their eyes, their brows furrowing in concentration. Chuckles closed his eyes as well, feeling a warmth wash over him that seemed to emanate from the kid’s fingertips despite their clamminess. He’d never really experienced the Force before, but he imagined that was what he was feeling now. It was…pleasant.

Suddenly, a rush of memories overtook him. His batchmate with him in a supply closet, drunk and giggling uncontrollably as they tried to stifle their laughter to hide from one of the trainers on Kamino. The first time he flew. The first time he saw a sunset on Bespin, soaring and diving through the pink and gold clouds. The losses. Painting the stars on his helmet. The sobs. The anger. And then, the moment the Twi’lek had stepped out of the bushes. He felt as though he was watching a replay of his life. And then, it was over, and he was staring at the back of his eyelids. His eyes fluttered open, refocusing in the bright light. Arni stood before him, panting.

“You…you’re telling the truth. You’re not one of them.”

“I’m not. Will you let me help get the two of you out of here?”

An explosion rumbled from within the temple, and all three of them turned to see smoke billowing out of the upper windows. Arni moved quickly behind Chuckles, and he felt the binders click and loosen. He sighed in relief as he slapped them back to his belt. Turning, he gripped the Twi’lek’s shoulders, looking in their eyes to try and steady them. I can’t do this without them. I need them with me.

“Arni, right?”

The kid nodded.

“Ok, Arni. I’m Chuckles, but you can call me Chuck.” He turned, extending a hand behind him, which the Pantoran glanced at before looking at Arni. The Twi’lek nodded at her, and the Pantoran slipped her small, pudgy hand into Chuckles’s gloved one. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. “What’s your name?”

“Nita,” she said quietly.

“Excellent, we all know each other now. You two have done so well getting this far, and I can get us out of here, but I’m going to need your help, alright?” His words were more certain than he felt.

The two younglings nodded.

“I’m a pilot, so if I can get us to a ship, we’ll be in good shape. Do either of you know if there are any in the garage?”

Arni thought for a moment before nodding. “No fighters, but a few transports and maybe a freighter when I was down there yesterday.”

“Good. Good. Ok, to the garage then. You two stay close to me.” Chuckles reached for his helmet and blaster, sliding the bucket back over his head. It muted the smell of smoke that had started to permeate the air. Quickly, he ushered the two younglings forward, keeping low behind the bushes as they raced towards the garage entrance. After a few minutes, it became apparent Nita was struggling, so Chuckles scooped her up. “I’ve got you, kid. You’re alright.” He felt her tiny hands dig into the fabric of his undersuit at his neck, and he gently pressed his helmet against her head. “You’re gonna be alright.” He looked over to Arni, who was jogging next to him. “If we see anyone, you help me out, ok? That lightsaber will prove pretty handy in a fight.” Arni nodded, but he could still see the tremble in the young Twi’lek’s hands at the thought.

They managed to make it to the garage door. “Can you get us in?” Chuckles asked Arni. The Twi’lek nodded, digging out a slip of flimsi from one of their pouches before setting to work finding the door code punching it into the panel. Chuckles turned his back to the door, scanning the courtyard for any approaching clone troopers. He clicked the stun setting on his blaster. Just in case.

Smoke was billowing from the Jedi temple now, a dark column reaching towards the sky, which felt more blood red than anything at this point, far more menacing than it had been mere minutes before. Chuckles felt himself sigh with relief when he heard the door beep and hiss open. Turning, he nodded at Arni. “Alright kid, lead the way. We need-”

“YOU THERE! STOP.”

Kriff.

Chuckles froze, his breathing growing shallow as he recognized the voice. A brother.

He turned back slowly, his grip tightening on the blaster at his side. Two troopers in blue and white armor were approaching him and the younglings, blasters aimed at them.

“What’s up fellas?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“Where are you taking those traitors?”

“To…um…to the prison block. Figured a transport would help me get there faster.”

“They’re marked for execution.”

Chuckles’s breath stuttered in his throat.

“They’re kids,” he rasped. “Just kids.”

“They’re traitors to the Republic and are to be executed.”

What the kriff is going on?

“We’re not killers. We don’t do this,” he said quietly, a plea sneaking into his tone. “Please don’t do this.”

“Put the youngling down.”

Chuckles’s mind raced before coming to the clear decision. Something’s wrong. I have no kriffing idea what, but this is wrong. I have to protect these kids.

“Nita, close your eyes honey, ok?” he whispered.

“Are you not going to comply?” the trooper demanded.

“Arni, stay behind me.” He heard the Twi’lek shuffle in the doorway.

The trooper on his right took a step forward first. Chuck raised his blaster and fired, but rather than the blue stun rings he expected, a lethal bolt erupted from the muzzle. The bolt struck the trooper between the eyes, and his body collapsed limply to the ground, a small trail of smoke snaking from the smoldering hole in his helmet.

I clicked on stun. Why is it not on stun?

The other trooper raised his blaster, but before he could squeeze the trigger, Chuckles shot him in the chest twice. His body hit the ground with a thud, his blaster skittering out of his hand.

I just killed two of my brothers. I set it to stun. Why…how?

It felt as though Chuckles was trapped in the worst nightmare of his life, everything around him sounding muted and muffled. It was far worse than any of the battles he’d relived in his sleep, snapping awake in a cold sweat, but even as he stood rooted to the ground, he knew there would be no waking escape this time.

This can’t be happening. It can’t.

Nita whimpering in his ear pulled him back to the present. He looked at the blaster in his hand, still smoking, and then back at the bodies. He felt a tug on his arm and looked down to see Arni staring up at him.

“We’ve got to go,” the youngling whispered.

“Yeah. Yeah we’ve got to go.” He slipped the blaster back into its holster at his hip and wrapped his other arm around Nita, cradling her against his chest. He felt a dampness in the fabric of his undersuit as he stepped into the garage.

“Arni, lock the door behind us. That’ll buy us some time.”

He set the little Pantoran girl down and looked her over. She was trembling, tears streaming down her blue cheeks quietly, but she didn’t seem to be injured. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t cry, but I’m just so scared,” she whimpered.

She shouldn’t have to endure this. She’s just a kid.

“Hey, none of that. You are doing so good, ok? This is scary,” Chuckles soothed, brushing some of her stray hairs out of her face. He paused before taking his helmet off again. “You know what helps me feel brave? Wearing this.” He slid the helmet on her head, and it immediately slipped to her shoulders, far too big for her. “There, do you feel braver?”

The helmet nodded wordlessly, swinging back and forth on her tiny shoulders.

“Alright. You look braver. And cooler.”

“Chuckles, over here!” He looked up to see Arni waving at him from a freighter.

Taking Nita’s hand, he strode towards the ship quickly, appraising it as much as he could from its exterior. Corellian. Small freighter. Should have at least a hyperdrive and looks to have forward cannons for defense. It’s a bucket of bolts, but it’ll do.

“Good stuff kid. I’m gonna take Nita inside and get the pre-flight started. Do you know how to open the main roll-up door?” Gently, he pushed the little Pantoran inside the ship’s hatch.

Arni nodded.

“Can you do that quickly and get back here as fast as you can?”

Arni looked around, their eyes settling on another keypad against the far wall. Chuckles could see the wheels turning in the kid’s head, calculating the risk.

“Hey, I know it’s scary, but I need to get this ship warmed up, or else it’s gonna be another few minutes before we get out of here. Now, can you do it?”

Arni looked back up at him with wide, fearful eyes. The kid had been so brave, but the facade was starting to crack. Chuckles placed his hands on the Twi’lek’s shoulders again.

“I won’t leave without you.” He held out a pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Arni blinked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, for me and my batchmates, this is as good as a blood oath. Now gimme some pinky and let’s get this done.”

Arni gave him a small smile before locking their pinky with his and then turning and sprinting towards the keypad on the wall. Chuckles bolted into the ship, leaving the main hatch open for Arni. Sliding into the pilot seat, he examined the control panel.

Simple enough. Even simpler than a Headhunter.

Glancing over, he saw Nita was sitting in the co-pilot seat, her feet dangling off the front of the chair. The helmet was still perched on her head, watching him as it swung.

“Buckle up, honey. This might get bumpy.”

Chuckles began slamming switches to boot up the flight computer and warm up the hyperdrive. The ship whined to life, the various buttons on the flight console flickering on. Another explosion rocked the building, sending dust falling from the garage’s ceiling.

“HOW WE DOIN’, ARNI?”

He heard a loud mechanical squeal and saw the first traces of Coruscant's waning sunlight filtering in as the garage’s main door began to lift. A few seconds later, he heard a thud as Arni leapt into the ship, slamming the hatch shut behind them.

“They’re coming,” the Twi’lek said quietly.

Chuckles leaned forward to look past Nita, and sure enough, he could see the door they had entered through shuddering under what he could only assume was troopers trying to get in. He turned to Arni, keeping his voice level despite the panic rising within him.

“Buckle Nita into one of the rear seats and then strap in yourself,” he said, standing to reach the exterior light controls before turning to his tiny co-pilot. “Nita, I need Arni up here with me, ok? You’ll have to sit in the back for now in one of the jump seats.”

Nita appeared to consider the proposition. “Can I keep the helmet on?”

“Absolutely. Arni?”

Arni lifted Nita out of the seat clumsily, helping her towards the rear of the ship as Chuck eased the freighter forward, frantically trying to get a feel for the controls. He hadn’t expected the freighter to be as nimble as his fighter of course, but the response felt slower than a stoned bantha, lumbering and clumsy. Chuckles ground his teeth together, trying to gauge just how minute small movements actually were as he piloted the ship around a few stacks of supply crates. Arni slid into the seat next to him just as a blast rocked the rear of the ship. Nita squealed in fear.

“It’s alright honey, just a bit of a bump,” Chuckles called over his shoulder before leaning over to Arni and pointing at a few of the displays on the console. “This thing does have basic shields. I need you to work on getting all power diverted to our aft end. Can you do that?”

The young Twi’lek nodded before they leaned forward, pressing buttons. Chuckles punched a button to bring up a rear camera and swore under his breath. An entire battalion was pouring in behind them, blasters firing at the ship with a few heavies moving into position. “You got it, kid?”

“Yup, almost there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Chuckles could see the displayed mapping of the shields shift, and he gave the Twi’lek a tight smile. “Good. Nice job. Now get strapped in. I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet.”

As if the galaxy was playing a cruel joke on him, the proximity sensors began screaming. Leaning over, he brought up the radar and swore more loudly this time. “Fighters inbound. You ever work a ship’s gun before?”

Arni’s eyes were wider than saucers. “No.”

“Alright, well the best training is on the job.” Chuckles joked dryly, reaching over past the kid and swinging the controls in front of them. “This is your computer. Helps you aim. You’re too close for torpedoes, so stick to lasers. That’s these buttons here.” He tapped the grey triggers lightly. “When you’re ready to fire, flip this switch so that it’s green. That means the gun’s hot. Then you want to line up your target in this box. If you can get the little ‘x’ over the main body of a ship or a wing, you’ll be in business. Then you give ‘em hell. Clear as mud?”

Arni placed shaking hands on the controls and nodded.

“You’ve got this, Arni. I know you can do it.”

At least I hope so, or we’re all dead.

The Twi’lek nodded wordlessly again. Chuckles didn’t miss the way their throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Nita, honey do you have a favorite song?” he called into the back.

“Yes.” Her voice sounded tiny, even through the helmet’s modulator.

“Great. I don’t know many songs. Can you sing it for me to help me learn it?”

“Right now?”

“Yup. Right now. I love multitasking, so let’s put on a concert. I hear all Pantorans have great singing voices.”

The ship shuddered again, and Chuckles glanced over at Arni. “Shields are holding in the rear,” the young Twi’lek said quietly, seeming to understand what Chuckles was trying to do.

“Alright, when I tell you, swap the power back so that we’re 75 percent in front, 25 at the rear, got it? We’ll need more power to block fire from the fighters ahead of us, but we can’t leave our back end totally unprotected.”

Arni nodded.

From the rear of the ship, Nita’s tiny voice began to sing.

“I’ve been to many moons and all the stars in the sky

I’ve been to rocky shores where all the fish fly

But all of them pale, yes all of them pale

When compared to my darlin’s sweet, sweet ale.”

Chuckles stifled a nervous giggle. “Nita, where did you hear that?”

She pushed up the helmet to look at him. “One of the troopers was singing it once. I said I liked it, and he taught it to me. His name was Hardcase.”

Chuckles huffed a laugh, noticing Arni watching him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know many troopers from the 501st, but everyone had known Hardcase.

Still a menace, even beyond the grave, he thought, a smirk creeping across his face.

“Is it a good song?” Nita asked hesitantly.

One of the best drinking songs I know. At least he didn’t teach her the verses.

“It’s great honey, keep singing.” Chuck’s eyes flicked down to the radar blips that were quickly approaching. “Ready to swap the shield power, kid?” he asked Arni quietly.

“Yes.”

“Good. On my count. Three…two…one.”

Arni frantically punched the buttons in front of them just as two fighters swung into view at the mouth of the garage.

“GOT IT!” the Twi’lek said excitedly.

“Great job, kid. You’re doing so well. Alright, remember, flip to green and then shoot. Get it armed. Don’t shoot unless they fire at us first though. There’s still a chance they don’t know we’re trying to get out of here.”

The first fighter immediately began peppering them with laserfire. Chuckles swore under his breath. “Alright, never mind. Shoot ‘em back.”

Arni swallowed hard, but he saw the youngling flip the switch to arm the guns before opening fire. Reaching over, Chuckles slammed the throttle forward. He realized it had grown quiet in the rear of the ship.

“Come on, Nita! Keep singing!”

There was still silence as the ship rocked from a well-placed bolt from one of the fighters.

“Arni?”

“Forward shields still at 68 percent.”

“Good. Keep firing. NITA! Come on! I’ve been to many moons…”

Nita hesitantly joined him, and Arni started singing as well after a few minutes. Chuckles sang louder as alarms began sounding around him, warning him that he was pushing the ship to its limits. Just hold together a bit longer, you kriffin’ rust bucket. You weren’t my first choice either.

Arni gasped next to him, and he redirected his attention to one of the fighters, which now had smoke pouring from one of its wings as it drifted out of view, slowly beginning to spiral downwards. Chuckles let loose a whoop. “YES! That’s the way to shoot, kid.”

“I hope they make it out ok,” Arni said softly, and Chuckles sobered.

“I’m sure they will. They have ejection seats.” His heart broke as he watched the Twi’lek nod, clearly not certain. Reaching up, he pulled down the hyperspace display from above Arni’s head. “Alright, you’ve done good work, but I need another favor. Do you know how to set up a hyperspace jump?”

The Twi’lek stared at the display, their eyes flicking between the various readouts before nodding. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll need coordinates though.”

Chuck’s mind raced as he dodged the fire from the last fighter. I’m gonna have to pull it into a steep climb and then just jettison into hyperspace from the upper atmosphere. I’ll never outrun them otherwise. But where do we go? I don’t know how widespread this is. Can’t take them to a Republic world. Definitely not a Separatist system. No neutral ones close by. There’s… yeah, that’ll work.

Reaching over, he punched in a set of coordinates over Arni’s head. “Use those. Get the calculations started.”

Arni squinted at the coordinates. “Where is that?”

“A safe spot,” Chuckles replied. “Just trust me.”

Arni looked at him for another few seconds before nodding, beginning to program the computer for the jump calculation. Nita had looped back through the chorus of her drinking song again, and as Chuckles cast a quick glance over his shoulder, he grinned at the tiny Pantoran, swaying back and forth with his helmet on, the base of it swinging back and forth as she moved. The ship rocked from another blast, and her voice faltered, but Arni took up the chorus louder, and she joined in again. Chuckles gave the Twi’lek a grateful smile before rolling the ship hard to the right.

“HANG ON, KIDS! Arni, let me know the second we’re good for the jump.”

“Another few seconds. We’re close.”

The ship shuddered.

“Rear shields are failing,” Arni stated, fear starting to trickle back into their tone.

“Don’t worry about them. Keep working the calcs. Won’t need the shields when we jump out of here.”

Chuck yanked the ship’s yoke hard, pulling the freighter into a tight turn that kept the front of the ship facing towards the other fighter and swinging around so that the fighter was forced to circle back towards the garage, keeping all sources of fire in front of the freighter. Leaning over, he threw a switch to reverse the thrust of the engines, pushing the ship backwards.

“You’re in a speeder lane!” Arni said urgently. “You might hit someone!”

“I’m bigger and they’re faster. They’ll get out of the way,” Chuckles said as casually as he could. “How much time?”

“Five seconds.”

“Give me a countdown.”

“Five…four…three…”

Chuckles flipped the direction of the thrust again, pulling back on the yoke with all of his might and sending the ship skyward. He pushed the engine to its max, searching for a clear hole in the speeder lanes to shoot through.

“Two…”

The clone pilot could feel his teeth creaking as he ground them together. Glancing at the radar that showed the orbiting ships, he held his breath. Just need our trajectory to stay clear for another few seconds.

The ship jolted. Nita screamed.

“ARNI! NOW!”

Chuckles felt the familiar pull of his stomach pushing to the back of his chest cavity as the hyperdrive whined to life, pressing him back in his seat. Coruscant’s sky seemed to smear past the viewports as the engines began to roar, the sky rushing towards them. Chuck closed his eyes and exhaled.

Please let this work.

In between heartbeats, he felt the pressure on his chest ease as the ship stopped accelerating, the roar around them fading to a steady hum. Chuck opened his eyes slowly, and felt his body almost sag into the chair in relief at the familiar sight of blue and white star streaks of hyperspace that were rushing past them. Turning his head, he looked at the Twi’lek next to him. Arni was still clutching the guns so hard their knuckles were pale, visibly quivering. Chuckles climbed out of his seat, flicking the safety back onto the guns before gently removing Arni’s hands from the triggers and pushing the weapons controls away. The Twi’lek had a dazed expression as they looked at him, their eyes somewhat blank as Chuckles spun their chair to face him.

“You did good, kid. You did exactly what you needed to do to get us out of there, alright?” Chuck said quietly, resting his hands on Arni’s shoulders. The youngling nodded slowly, swallowing hard again.

“What do we do now?” they asked quietly.

Chuckles took a deep breath, exhaling it in a deep sigh. “I don’t know yet. But we’ll figure it out.”

Arni bobbed their head, but their eyes were glued to the floor of the ship.

Unsure of what else to do, Chuck searched for the right words. “Hey, look at me.”

Arni met his gaze, their wide brown eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“Do you trust me, kid?”

Arni’s eyes became focused as they studied the clone crouched in front of them. After a few seconds, they nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. Because I’m going to need you and little one back there to help me. We’ll get through this. Together. One step at a time.”

“Why did your brothers want to kill us?”

The memory of the smoking hole in the front of the trooper’s helmet flashed in Chuckles’s mind again, and he blinked rapidly, trying to fight the tightness that suddenly began squeezing his chest.

Keep it together in front of the kids. Focus.

“I don’t know, kid. It doesn’t make any sense. But I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you and Nita. Alright?” He held out his pinky again, and a small smile tugged at one corner of Arni’s mouth. They wrapped their thin blue pinky around Chuckles’s thicker, gloved one.

“Alright.”

The sound of coughing made them both turn and Chuckles grimaced as he took in the sight of Nita holding his helmet in front of her as she vomited into it.

“I’m sorry. The ship made my tummy upset,” she said softly after she finished retching.

Chuckles ran his fingers through his mohawk again, giving her a small smile. “It’s ok, honey. We’ll get it cleaned up. Definitely my fault for flying like a drunken mynock.”

The little Pantoran giggled before tilting her head back down and emptying the rest of her stomach contents into his bucket.

Chuckles sighed.

One step at a time.

Tag List: @seriowan @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @partoftheeternalsoul @hockeyjedi13

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romirola · 3 years

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hi!!! could i request "i dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. not when it’s you." with asher and babe? thank you! :)

Hi, @angel-bubbles! Thank you so much for your request! It ended up being a bit longer than I was originally aiming, but hope you enjoy!

Rating: T, WC: ~2.1K, Prompts: "I dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. not when it’s you," and Asher/Babe

Babe stared blankly at the half-painted walls before them. They darted their eyes all around to the room to take in the full scene. A drop cloth that covered half of the floor sat with little puddles of white paint. Color swatches were lazily taped to shelving in a variety of colors. And Asher was in the middle of it all, dried paint marring his face and hands like stripes. He wore a pair of faded overalls with no shirt, standing up on a ladder to reach the corner of the kitchen without any spillage over into the ceiling.

“Hey, Babe,” he greeted with a warm, welcoming smile. “You’re home early! I wanted to have this part done as a surprise.

Babe had come home early from work with a headache under the agreement that they could get all of the necessary paperwork for the upcoming pitch deck their team had spent the last week compiling proofed, edited, and ready to go by Monday. The faint scent of paint fumes was not helping their headache they suspected was actually a migraine, nor was the realization that Asher had apparently decided to spend his day off ruining any chance of the security deposit that Asher and Babe had just paid for only six weeks ago would be returned to them someday.

“A surprise?” they echoed, stepping around the drop cloths to avoid getting their work clothes stained. They opened their palms and moved their hands from side to side. “We can’t paint this apartment! We live in a complex with rules about this shit. We need to go through the building company, submit a request, get permission in writing.” They rubbed the back of their wrist along their eyes in an attempt to displace the pressure that was growing inside their head.

It would take a solid few hours of cleaning just to get the room back into its normal order. Even if they had the energy to clean the kitchen and to remove the paint, which they didn’t, Babe still had a mountain of work to check over before the workday ended. All they wanted at that moment was to curl up into a ball on their bed, shut out any semblance of light and sound, and sleep until their headache dissipated.

Asher was too engrossed in his job to notice how dejected Babe looked behind the sunglasses they sported on their way home despite a lack of sun that day.

“Oh, don’t worry about all that,” Asher shrugged off. He let his paint roller fall to the floor before he made his way down the ladder to approach Babe. He hastily rubbed his hands on his overalls to clear his hands of any wet paint. “We’re planning to stay here for a while anyway,” he reminded them brightly. “And you said how dingy and faded the yellow looked. So, tah dah!” he announced, gesturing to the wall with overly dramatic spirit fingers. “I’m not about to let my mate live in a home with a kitchen they think is dingy and dull. And I got a bunch of sample options so we can decide how to do the trim. I'm thinking purple!”

Asher and Babe had moved in together shortly after Asher had asked them to be his mate. They planned for weeks, scoping out the perfect apartment that was both large enough and wouldn’t drain their now-joint bank account. It also had to be close to the bus line Babe used to get to work as well as close enough to the Shaw Security office for Asher. It was the perfect apartment in so many ways, but when Asher heard Babe make a comment a week ago about how they’d love to redecorate the kitchen, starting with the paint color, he sprang into action and planned a surprise for them.

“I… I…” Babe sputtered. They weren’t even really sure as to what they wanted to tell Asher. Yell at him for breaking the rules? Thank him for having the balls to make their home their own despite what any building company told them? Vomit from the sickening paint smell that threatened to overwhelm their overstimulated senses? Or perhaps, they didn’t want to say anything. Did they want to fall into Asher’s chest and have him massage their forehead until their pain lessened.

Rather than opt for any one of those responses, Babe just turned on their heel and marched to their bedroom without a word.

Asher’s spirit fingers drooped, along with the rest of his body. He hurriedly followed them into the bedroom, careful not to let his body bump into any furniture as he did so in case there was still wet paint on his clothes. He didn’t know what had Babe so upset, but he did know that marking up the furniture they had just purchased would not make them feel any better.

Asher found them sitting on the floor at the corner of the bed, running a shaking hand through their hair, their sunglasses tossed to the side. “Babe?” he asked quietly, shuffling up beside them and dropping to his knees. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Just…” Babe bit out, the dull throbbing across their skull turning into a forceful pounding. They knew how upset they would often get when they felt a migraine coming on, but they didn’t want to subject Asher to that. They hadn’t had to worry about something like that for years now, because they had lived alone. It scared them to let Asher see this part of them because they knew it was a side of them that wasn’t particularly loveable. The absolute last thing they wanted to do was upset Asher or say something that they would regret. It might cause him to rethink this whole living situation, and Babe wanted nothing more than to take this next step with Asher. “Leave me alone,” they finally managed to say.

“What?” Asher sat back on his heels, his expression twisting into a cross between confusion and discomfort. “Babe, come on. Talk to me.” His lips pressed into a thin, straight line. “I’ll change the kitchen back,” he appealed. “I promise. You won’t even know I painted. Just a little paint thinner and a little scraping and we’ll be good to go. No harm, no foul.” He searched Babe’s face for a glimpse of a smile, but instead, they only shut their eyes and turned away from him, distressing Asher even more. “Babe?”

“Those awful fumes,” they sighed. Babe could barely focus on anything but the pain exploding in their brain and the wave of nausea churning in their gut. They clung to the last bit of control they could muster, pointing to their head with one hand as they hid their face with the other. “Migraine,” they finally explained shortly. “Go away. Please.”

Asher knew that Babe occasionally suffered from migraines. Based on what he could piece together from their brief discussion of the condition and what he could find online, he knew that having one meant Babe was in a considerable amount of pain, that sometimes their stomach would get upset or they would see stars in their line of vision, and that other than waiting it out, silence, stillness and sleep were the one things that got Babe through the attack.

What he didn’t understand was why, if Babe was in so much pain, would they ask him to leave? As much as he always respected their boundaries, Asher sensed that there was something else going on, and he was determined to stay by his mate’s side until he found that out.

“But, you’re hurting,” he said, immediately lowering the register and volume of his voice to accommodate them. “Why would you want me to leave? You can’t possibly think I’d let you sit here, alone and in pain.” He scooted a little bit closer, not wanting to spook them, but remind them he would help them anyway he could, even if that waiting with them was all he could do.

They instinctively scowled at Asher, but then when they realized they were directing their frustration onto him unfairly, their scowl crumpled into a frown. That was exactly what they were afraid of and why they wanted Asher to leave them. “Because,” they replied despondently. “I’m so mean when I get one of these. I can’t help it. I try not to be. I really try!” They clutched their head when their own voice rang annoyingly in their own head. “But I don’t want to say anything to you that I don’t mean. I don’t want you to have to deal with me like this. I don’t…” They hunched forward. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Asher’s brow furrowed. “‘This’ as in ‘us?’”

Babe gave a teeny tiny nod.

“Aw, Babe,” Asher laughed, a relief soaking into his body. Once he knew that was what was keeping Babe from seeking him out in their time of need, he felt resolved to provide that for them. He reached out his arms to bring Babe into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about that. Not at all,” he assured them as they couldn’t help but get him in a vice grip as they tried to squeeze away their own pain. “I dunno who taught you that love comes with conditions and limitations, but mine doesn’t. Not when it’s you.” Asher cradled them close as he whispered that vow. “I want you. All of you. I want to help you when you’re feeling like this, if I can. At the very least, I want to be there with you when you’re going through it.” He rubbed soothing circles into Babe’s tight back. “You can say whatever you want and guess what? No way that’ll scare me off. You’re stuck with me. I’ve got the mate-bonded certificate to prove it.”

“Really?” Babe asked dumbly. On one hand, they could barely believe what Asher was telling them. They had spent such a big portion of their lives trying to be the perfect family member, friend, boss, employee, and so much more because they had latched onto the idea that if they wavered from that image of perfection, they were giving the people in their lives cause to walk away. On the other, Asher was so different from anyone they’d ever met before. He was kind, compassionate, so fiercely loyal, strong as hell. Of course he meant it when he said he loved them unconditionally.

They knew it meant it because they felt the exact same way towards him.

“Really truly,” Asher winked, sealing that promise with a kiss on the top of their head. “I love you so much, Babe. You feeling a little irritable when you’re sick sure as hell won’t change that.”

Babe let themselves fall into Asher, their muscles going slack as they stopped trying to fight through the pain. “I love you,” they whispered softly. To their shock, the aggression and frustration that they typically felt during a migraine was nowhere to be found. Instead, they only felt safe and relieved to be in Asher’s arms, even if the ache in their head did continue to plague them.

“Let me get you up on the bed now, hmm?” Asher posited, hooking an arm under their knees and one around their mid-back. “It’s gotta be more comfortable than this hard floor.”

“Mhmm. Thank you,” Babe said as they felt Asher place them onto their new mattress. They let their tired body sink into bed. The faintest memory of their work flashed in their mind, but they decided that they could have the pitch done a day late and no one would even know the difference. Asher’s presence had a way of prompting them to rethink their priorities, especially when it came to work and health.

Asher removed his overalls and tossed them outside the door in case there was any trace of paint odor on his clothes. Once that was done, he climbed next to Babe and held them close. Babe struggled to find a comfortable position, but they were also clearly unable to force their body to move. Their attempt at shifting into the bed was clumsy, looking as if they were only aggravating their migraine more. “Can I help?” Asher asked in that same, soothing low register. When Babe gave him a moan of confirmation, he pulled them into his body, guiding their head to rest on his chest. He brought one gentle hand up to their head and began stroking rhythmically. Asher knew that his gesture probably did nothing to chase away the migraine, but he could have sworn he saw the lines around Babe’s eyes soften at his ministrations.

“And, Honey?” they said sleepily, relaxing into Asher. “The kitchen walls looked great. Tomorrow, I’ll help you finish them.”

“Sounds like an awesome plan,” he murmured, continuing to hold them close and run his fingers through their hair. “Feel better soon, Babe. I’ll be right here with you until you do. And forever after that.”

#redacted asmr #redacted fanfiction #redacted asher #redacted babe #thank you!#Requests are still open but I am going to prioritize the handful currently in my inbox and any that come in the next 24 hrs #After that I'll still have my asks open as always but I will not aim to respond to them as quickly as I have been

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abbeybutnottheroad · 3 years

Text

Let Me

In which Y/N has broken her wrist, and is starting to get a bit frustrated, because it makes doing a certain thing hard to do. But Harry of course, wants to do nothing but help her out.

Warning: fluff, smut, smut, fluff (that’s basically the story line), best friend Harry, it’s probs not the best smut in the world, but eh well, it’s there. Hope ya like;)

Word count: 4300

” I swear to God, if you don’t do as I say, I am seriously going to punch something.” you sigh frustratedly. Everything was getting on your nerves these days; nothing was going your way.

“Just to be sure Love, but you are aware that you’re talking to a light chain, right?” If looks could kill, he would be dead. He knows how much you are struggling, only having one hand, even though it’s been like this for a while now. You should have gotten used to it by now.

“Oh, come on now, don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault your wrist is broken you know.” He cheekily grins.

“I am well aware yes, but maybe you could give me some help?” you hiss, tired of him sitting around, while you try to make your newly moved into apartment a bit cozier, which by the way, should be a joyous thing to do. Two weeks ago, you started to move in, and while cleaning out your old place, you fell down a ladder trying to repair a hole in the wall, that wasn’t even your fault. It was Harrys, of course. He was drunk one night and wanted to help hang up your new painting. Turns out giving drunk harry a hammer, was a blatantly bad idea.

“Of course, I’ll help you darling.” He says and stands up.

“But what is the magic word?” The smirk on his face is evident, and if your right hand was working, you would’ve knocked it right off.

“Harry, if you don’t get your goddamn ass over here right now – “

“Then what?” He teases, as you clearly do not intimidate him at all. Okay, you actually just might start to cry.

” Jesus, Y/N, what is it? I am so sorry if I said something, I was just trying to cheer you up, I swear.” He quickly rambles, running over to you and putting a comforting arm around your shoulders. Now that you think about it, why are you even crying? Everything has just been so difficult these past weeks. Breaking your wrist prevents you from doing a surprisingly lot of things and you guess that just overwhelmed you all at once.

“Oh, it’s just everything” you say to him, wiping away the few tears that has managed to fall.

“Whew, everything… that’s a lot.” He says to himself, but makes you chuckle, nonetheless. He smiles. “Are you sure there aren’t anything I can help you with? Knowing you, when it’s everything, there is always something bigger that causes you to feel like everything is bad.”

He knows you way too well. You blush and look away.

“Because you were fine last week, even a couple of days after you had gotten a cast on, so it’s not just the broken wrist, I can tell.” He tilts his head to the side, awaiting your answer.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” you say and start to turn around so you can get away from this, very soon to be awkward, situation. But he grabs your left arm, not letting you leave.

“No, no, no, none of that Love. You know you can tell me everything.” “I really don’t want to talk about it, Harry, and neither do you, believe me. It’s only going to get awkward.” He chuckles at you.

“Awkward? Y/N, I don’t think we’ve ever had an awkward moment in our entire friendship.” He was right, you hadn’t. But then again, you had never talked about anything quite like this.

“Harry… I – “unsureness is clear in your voice, and he’s getting impatient.

“Spit. It. Out.” He says, voice stern and leaves no room for any argumentation.

“Alright, alright, jeez” you sigh heavily. Harry is way too stubborn to let this go. How did you even get yourself into this?

“It’s just that… you know, not having your right hand makes a lot of things very… difficult.” you say, looking at him knowingly.

“Yeah of course.” He says comfortingly.

“And you know, I just… since I broke it, two weeks ago…. There are some things I haven’t been able to…do. Or I’ve tried, but I haven’t been able to do them as properly as I normally can…” You try to read his expression, which is nothing but confusion.

“Yeah, I get that, but I don’t think I’m quite following… What is it that’s really bothering you?” How do you say this? You can’t say this, have you gone crazy? What are you doing, you think to yourself quickly shaking your head.

“Nothing forget it.” you turn around and hurry away this time. But he still won’t let it go. He easily catches up to you and blocks the entrance to the hallway, preventing you from getting out of the living room. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me Y/N.”

“Well, then we’re going to be here for a while Harry.” You answer sassily, not at all in the mood for this.

“Come on just tell me.” He pleads.

“No, not happening.” You sigh.

“Y/N come on.” You know what he’s doing, he is trying to annoy you to the point where you just say it… he does that a lot.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”  “Please.”

“NO Harry!” You can see a little bit of anger in his eyes now, not a lot, but it’s there. What the hell does he get to be angry about? It’s not like you normally kept secrets from him, he can’t expect you to share everything. The one time you don’t want to tell him, he must understand that maybe there is a reason.

“Y/N, tell me right no- “

“ALRIGHT!” his eyebrows shoot up in surprise from your sudden yelling, and you surprised yourself as well. “I haven’t had an orgasm in two weeks!” You burst out and silence takes over the room. Your cheeks are burning.

“What?” He asks, an amused smile starting to play on his lips, as he wasn’t quite sure he heard you correctly or if you were joking. You sigh.

“I haven’t had an orgasm in two weeks. I am sexually frustrated Harry, that’s what’s wrong.” You try to move around him so you can go to bed, lie down, and probably cry a bit more. But again, he blocks your path.

“May I please leave now?” He is looking at you like you’re a completely different person. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. He fumbles a bit, moving his weight from one leg to another, then back again, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Great, you probably just ruined your friendship.  “No.” He says.

“Excuse me?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” he breathes out, now looking the slightest bit hurt.  “Oh, jeez I don’t know Harry. Because it’s embarrassing? Because you’re my friend?”

“It’s not embarrassing Y/N. I get frustrated when I haven’t had an orgasm in more than 24 hours… but two weeks. Wow. You must be burning.” He bites his lip as his eyes stare into yours, an unrecognizable look on his face.

“Something like that.” You mumble, hanging your head low. You really don’t know how you can ever look this man in the eyes again.

“Let me.” He suddenly says.  “Let you… what?” Your heart starts to beat faster, quite anxious about what he means. He couldn’t be talking about… “Let me help you.” There isn’t the slightest hint of unsureness in his voice.

“What? No way. Have you gone insane?” You laugh, but every inch of your body is tickling now. Just the thought of him being that close and doing such things.  “Oh please, don’t pretend you’ve never felt the tension between us.” He got you there.  “I... I don’t…” you stutter, not knowing what to think, not knowing what to feel.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Even if you knew what to say, you are not sure any words would come out. Your throat has gone dry. Your mind has gone blank. Are you breathing?

“Please,” He whispers, and he brings a whole new meaning to the word, than when he said it just two minutes ago. You couldn’t possibly say no to this.

“Alright.” You hear yourself whisper. As soon as the word has left your mouth, he grabs both sides of your face, and leans down to kiss you. A longing, heavy kiss. You both sigh with relief, like you have been waiting for this ever since you first became friends. His hands slide from your cheeks, down to your neck and further down your arms until he reaches your waist, and confidently pulls you closer to him. You lift your arms and lock them around his neck, careful not to hurt your wrist. His kiss gets more dominant as his tongue slips into your mouth, and he walks backwards, pulling you with him down the hallway, until you reach your bedroom door.

“Gosh I have been wanting to do that for such a long time,” he mutters against your lips, as he reaches to open the door, walking you inside.

“Please Harry, do something.” you whisper, and as soon as the door is closed again, he unexpectedly and roughly pushes you up against it, trapping you and putting his leg between your thighs.

“Mmmhh, I love it when you say please, darling. What do you need me to do?” He asks, and you are too turned on to think properly so you just moan as his lips travel down your neck, sucking and leaving marks on the way.

“You need to tell me love, I’ll do anything you want me to, just have to say it” It’s the simplest of words, but they sound unbelievably sensual coming from him, and you think he’s catching up on the effect they have on you, as again all you can do is whimper into him, getting lost in his touch. You feel him smirk against the skin on your collarbones. You bring up your left hand to pull at his curls and slowly grind yourself against him to tease him as well, and he groans at the feeling, sucking a bit harsher on the spot he was paying attention to.

“Y/N baby, I swear to god, you have to use your words before I’m doing anything, but it better be soon because you are killing me.” his right hand travels down to your behind, firmly gripping it while the other is holding your jaw, making you look at him. His pupils are full blown making his otherwise green eyes much darker. You bite your lip unable to fathom how unbelievably sexy he is. Sighing heavily, attempting to collect your thoughts, you try to get the words out, contemplating on what to say because honestly, you want him to just do everything to you. Anything he wants.

“I want you Harry,”

“Want me to what Darling?” he slides his thumb over your lip, opening your mouth slightly.

“Everything, you can do anything I don’t care, just touch me please…please.” you beg, not caring how desperate you sound, you can see it in his eyes that he feels the same way. Desperate, full of need and lust. He smiles slightly.

“I am touching you baby.” You groan at his teasing statement. He is so cocky, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. He grabs your jaw even tighter pushing your head into the wall, and leaning his lips down, right next to your ear.

“I don’t think you’re in a position right now to roll your eyes at me love, so I would stop that if I were you.” He whispers. You breath in, getting much turned on by his dominant words, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You have never seen this side of him before, you didn’t even know it existed. But you are not complaining the slightest. Your heart beats a little faster, as his hand holding your jaw slides further down and wraps gently around your neck.

“Now, you say I can to anything to you huh?” you nod, the only response you can manage to give him.

“That’s a lot, I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Harry, I want you to… I need you to make me cum okay. I don’t care how, just please, you make me feel so good right now already.” He huffs at your words.

“As you wish.” He whispers, and leans in to kiss you roughly again, while his hand slides from your behind, following your thigh around and slowly trails his fingers up to the zipper of your jeans. He gets them open with one hand, and as soon as they’re off, his hand goes to cup your heat. Fingers running along the outside of your panties, without a doubt noticing how wet you already are. He groans at the feeling; at the same time you moan at the sensation of his touch.

“So wet already and I’ve barely touched you yet. This is going to be fun.” He smirks. Again, he goes on being cocky, his confidence doesn’t exactly need this boost. You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes again out of pure reflex. His hand around your neck tightens, slightly cutting your air flow.

“What did I tell you about rolling your eyes, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” you manage to breath out, “I won’t do it again.”

“Mmhh, good girl.” He says. You can’t help the moan that escapes you at the praising words, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, whose smile just got a lot wider, dimple almost showing. Boosting his confidence like this, was something you were surely going to regret in the future. But oh well.

His fingers start to rub slow circles on the outside of your panties. It feels good, but you just want him to dip in already, you want him to touch you. You pull at his curls again, hard, trying to send him the message.

“If you want something, then ask nicely Y/N” He smirks, and you are sure he is trying to kill you. Words aren’t an option for you right now.

“Touch me,” you whimper.

“We already went over this love, I am touching you.”

“Fuck you know what I mean Harry. Touch me properly! Please,” you whine. He groans in response, “Lord, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg.” Harry quickly pulls your panties down your legs, getting down on his knees in front of you. He looks up at you, lust written all over his face, as he slowly licks his lips. He moves his face closer to your bare pussy, and you can feel his breath hit the sensitive area making you shiver.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” He commands, and you do as he says.

“Now stay still.” He murmurs, before he dips in. His tongue licks a straight line over your folds, and soon after it begins to circle around in a quick pace. It feels better than amazing. You can sense that familiar fire building inside of you, and you are desperate to make it explode. You squirm in anticipation.

“Y/N, stand still or I swear to god I will tie you down.” He grumbles. You let out a heavy high-pitched sigh, and he moves his head away for second, to look up at you.

“I am loving getting to learn what turns you on.” he grins. But you quickly take a handful of his curls again, moving his head back to where it was before, whispering a gentle please.

“Right, sorry,” he murmurs, getting back to work. His large hands grips your ass hardly, moving your lower body even closer to his face, as his tongue does Gods work. His right hand lets go of your behind and comes around to replace his tongue, gliding his fingers up and down between your lips, before slowly dipping into you. You both moan at the sensation.

“So wet and warm, I bet you feel amazing wrapped around me pet.” He says, making sinful images flash through your head. Images you need to be reality.

“I want that.” You mutter, not even comprehending it.

“Pardon?” he says, sounding like he didn’t really believe you.“Please, Harry, I want you inside of me.” His fingers increase in speed, pumping gracefully in and out of you, making you drip down your thigh. Every time his fingers go fully inside of you, you can feel his rings touching your folds, and the feeling is indescribable. His touch is something you’ve never experienced before.

“Harry I’m going to… I- “The words stop in your throat, as the fire spreads more and more. All hot and bothered, he suddenly stops, making you drag out yet another high-pitched whine. Bastard.

“What are yo-“ you hiss, but are interrupted, as he stands up pushing his lips to yours again.

“You said you wanted me inside of you, did you not?” he whispers, putting his lips to your ear again. “And I would love to know how you look while coming around my cock.” His words send shivers down your spine and you are eager for him to just get in you already. He puts his hands under your thigs, easily lifting you up and you wrap your legs around him. He moves you to the bed, and slowly lays you down on it, crawling on top of you. You instantly feel his erection poking against your inner thigh, and it makes you groan in anticipation of what’s to come. You gesture with your hands at his shirt, whispering a soft “off”. He chuckles and sits up to quickly pull it over his head and throws it away somewhere in the room and he takes off his jeans as well, while he’s at it. He stops for a minute, just to look at you laying in front of him, an adoring look in his eyes. You can’t help but shy away from his intense stare.

“Hey, stop it, look at me darling.” He pleads, and you turn your head slowly. “You look so incredible right now.” His words make you blush, and you can’t help the smile that forms on your lips. “Do you know how unsexy I feel wearing this damned cast? I can’t believe I look incredible right now, it’s weighing me down Harry, literally.” you huff. This cast is a curse, and it does nothing good to promote any sexiness.

“Oh, I think you’re doing pretty well at looking incredible anyways love. Trust me. For all I know you could wear a trash bag and it wouldn’t change a thing.” He smiles down at you, meaning every word he says, and you can’t help but laugh. He’s ridiculous. He suddenly gets a more serious look in his eyes again.

“As long as it doesn’t hurt, okay? If your arm starts to hurt, then tell me alright? I don’t want you damaging it any further.” you nod at him, completely compelled by how much he cares. It’s endearing. But he is not satisfied with your response. In no time he is leaned back over you again, the familiar feeling of his hand pressing against your throat teasing lightly.

“Words pet. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” you sigh, and feel the heat spreading through your body all over again.

“Lift your arms for me Darling,” And you do, as he grips the ends of your t-shirt, slowly pulling it over your body, revealing your bare chest to him, and he groans as soon as he sees it. He quickly, but carefully gets the shirt over the cast, and throws it away in the darkness. He kisses you, small kisses first, but they get more intense along with his grinding against you, making you feel how hard he is. His hand travels down, cupping your breast and begins to massage it. His mouth also travels further down, not leaving an inch unnoticed, until he gets to your left breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, biting it gently. You gasp at the sensation, and he looks up at you with a smirk in his eyes, loving the reactions you’re giving him. You drown in the feeling of his tender fingertips sliding down your soft body, caressing every inch within his reach. It’s an indescribable euphoria, and you find it quite unfair that you’ve never experienced this before.

“I can’t wait anymore love, let’s see if you’re ready for me,” Harry whispered, dragging his hand down to your inner thigh, agonizingly slow, his long fingers finding your dripping pussy. He sighs immediately and smirks up at you. “You’re soaking darling,”

“Yeah, tell me about it” you remark sarcastically, tired of his endless teasing.

“Hmm let’s see if I can fuck some of that attitude out of you.”

You look at him as he drags his boxers down his thighs, revealing his huge erection to you for the first time. You nearly drool at the sight. When they’re off and thrown away to lay somewhere along with the other scattered pieces of clothes, he gets a funny look on his face, and then quickly stands up, looking around the room for a minute.

“What is it?” you ask, kind of nervous about if he’s changed his mind. But then he walks over next to the window, picks up is jeans from the floor, and takes out his wallet from one of the pockets.

“Condom.” He grins, as he holds up a square, golden package. After having put it on, he leans back over you, kissing you softly on the lips. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you breath, and he slowly slips into you. The feeling is indescribable. He feels so good, and you can’t help but arch your back, pressing your chest into his.

“God you feel so good,” he whispers as he rocks back and forth getting further into you every time and hitting the same perfect spot. All you can do is whine in response. You can already feel your orgasm approaching again, the euphoria taking over your body.

“Do I feel good huh?” You can’t form any words, and you just nod, but he doesn’t like that, as you’ve already learned. His hand finds your jaw again, holding your head still so you have no other choice than to look at him.

“Tell me, Y/N, tell me how good I make you feel.” He hisses.

“So good,” He grabs your jaw tighter.

“Come on pet, you can do better than that,” you can see the overwhelming lust filling his eyes, a look you’ve never seen before on anyone.

“Come on tell me, or you don’t get to come, and I know that’s all you can think about right now isn’t it? Coming around my big cock huh?” you nod eagerly at his words, scared of being robbed of another orgasm, and he smiles at your reaction.

“I’ve never felt like this before Harry, you feel so good, it’s indescribable I swear – oh god!” you breath out, not even comprehending what you’re actually saying. He quickens his pace with every word that leaves your mouth, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. You moan and writhe beneath him, and he can without a doubt feel your legs begin to shake, as they’re wrapped around his waist.

“Yeah, that’s it, come on darling, come for me.” He whispers comfortingly in your ear, and you do. You come. Hard. You’re out of breath, sweat covering both your bodies, and every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire. He pumps into you a few more times, releasing himself and sighing heavily, hiding his face in your neck.

“That was amazing.” He mutters, but it sounds like it was more to himself, than to you.

“Nah I’ve had better,” you grin, watching his head shoot up to look at you, seeing if you were being serious. But when he captures the look on your face, relief becomes clear in his eyes.

“Oh really?” he smirks, instantly changing his attitude back to a more playful one. “That’s not what you were telling me two minutes ago, you should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“Have you ever heard of faking it, Harry?” you tease, clearly touching a soft spot in his ego. But it’s very amusing. He looks a bid irritated with your statement though.

“You know I’m teasing you right?” you laugh, stroking one of his curls away from his face.

“You’re unbelievable” He mutters and stands up, taking the condom off and going into the bathroom to throw it out.

“Well, when that bloody cast comes off, I’ll give it to you so damn good, that faking it is not an option!” He yells to you. “I was being gentle Y/N, just you wait and see what I can really do.” You can feel yourself heating up again just at the thought of it. You have no doubt in your mind about what he can really do.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #one direction smut #one direction #oneshot #harry styles fanfiction #one direction fanfiction

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anarchiststories · 3 years

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❝ 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦. ❞

CHAPTER 1 - BRUISED HEARTS & BRUISED LIPS c!technoblade x reader

summary: you visited dream in prison, and your lover isn't exactly ecstatic about it. warningsL yelling, possessive behavior, cursing wordcount: 2.9K notes: if youre rereading this, it's been rewritten, so don't freak out. it's still the same story as before haha masterlist bruised hearts & bruised lips masterlist

The slam of the spruce door rang heavy throughout the winter home. His footsteps were like claps of thunder as he marched to the ladder, climbing up it to your shared bedroom. He tore off his netherite helmet, tossing it beside the bed as he glared at you. In his blind, mad fit of rage, he hadn’t noticed the fact that his face wasn’t the one you more used to seeing in the shared space of your home; it was his true face, the piglin.

You were calming folding clothes, on the other hand, and placing them into the backpack that sat beside you before turning to look him in the eyes. Your anger only rivaled his, a heartbroken and malicious look in your eyes. He took a deep breath before looking back at you, trying to start the conversation calmly.

“What were you doing at the prison?”

“Visiting.”

His fist clenched around nothing as he stared down at you, taking deep breaths to avoid yelling. “You know I don’t like you visiting him. I don’t even like you going into the remains of L’Manburg – or Badlands – or whatever the hell it’s called now.” He took another deep breath, calming himself. You stared back up at him for a moment, your eyes dull with a soft sorrow before turning back to the bag.

“I’m leaving.”

He scoffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Of course you are. That’s all you know how to do.”

You clenched the backpack with a fist, taking a breath before you looked to Techno. I’ll be back in… let’s say two weeks. I just can’t be around someone who can’t seem to care for how I feel.” You were biting back tears, he noted. Tears that he was the cause of.

He swore to keep you happy the moment he fell in love with you, and now tears tainted your eyes, and it was his fault.

The hybrids mouth opened to say something to calm you, relieve you, change your mind – but it was too late. You were already descending the ladder, texting someone on your transponder, opening the door, and slamming it shut with the same strength he had just moments ago. Returning the oh so loving greeting he’d greeted you with, he assumed.

He stood there, staring at the formation your backpack had made. He dropped to his knees, reaching a hand towards the spot. His cheek felt war – he was crying.

Techno wiped his face off, standing up. He tore off the rest of his armor, tossing it all into a pile in the corner of the room. He glared at it before throwing himself onto the bed. The man wrapped himself in the blankets, taking the deepest breath he could manage as if it would make you reappear – to get you back and keep you here. He thought you’d been for just a few minutes, that he had just blinked and you were gone. He looked to the clock.

You’d been gone for two hours.

His heart hurt with a foreign ache, one with which he wasn’t familiar with. After laying on his bed – oh. It was his bed for the next two weeks. Not your bed, not our bed. His bed. He let that sit in for a moment before pushing himself up and making his way downstairs. He pulled back the wooden hair, ignoring the loud screech of wood against wood as he sat down. He took out a yellowed piece of paper, rolling it out and pulling out a raven’s quill. He dipped it in ink, beginning to write his letter.

Techno only used this paper for special occurrences, like important moments, journeys, or emergencies. The man receiving the letter would know exactly what the contents entailed due to the black seal that wore a boars face, painted gently with silver dust.

He stood, walking to the window and whistling. Not even a moment later, a raven flew down, landing on the windowsill and staring up at Techno. He placed the letter snugly into the birds backpack, closing the latch and stroking the birds head.

“Take it to him.” With a squawk, the bird was off.

Techno slammed the window, just like he had done with the door.

------

You stood outside the duos home, holding your arms together as you stared at the husbands. You wholeheartedly expected them to decline you and request go somewhere else, but instead they welcomed you inside. Michael stared up at you, confused on who you were. Tubbo leaned down, picking him up and introducing you to his son.

“Y/n, this is Michael. He’s our son. Michael, meet Y/n.”

The baby piglin stared up at you before snorting, reaching his hands out to touch your face. With a sniffle, you laughed softly, letting the child grab at your face and feel you. Tubbo smiled softly, readjusting his grip on Michael.

Ranboo held the door open, offering to let you come inside. You gladly accepted, quickly shuffling inside and placing your backpack beside your feet. You tried to keep yourself to one spot, not wanting to overtake to much room. Tubbo stepped inside, inviting you to come upstairs with him and the piglin child.

You sat in Michaels room, holding your legs against your chest. Ranboo sat beside you and Michael sat in front of you, offering toys with a smile. You wiped your face, sniffling. “I’m so sorry for randomly appearing like this, we- Techno and I got into a big fight and I- I didn’t know what to do- I’m so sorry-“ Ranboo shook his head, rubbing his hand against your back. “You’re more than welcome to stay here, Y/n. You can stay with us for as long as you need to.”

Tubbo appeared from the ladder, holding a cup of water and a freshly baked cinnamon twist doughnut. You mumbled a thank you to the goat hybrid, taking a bite from the doughnut. It was so warm and sweet; you swore it had come from heaven. “You’re more than welcome to stay here, just like Ranboo said.”

“Thank you, really. I am sorry about this- just crashing in, it’s not something I want to-“

“Shut up.”

Tubbo crossed his arms, shaking his head. “You need to stop apologizing before I stuff a sock in your mouth. You’re in need of a place to stay, and you have a place with us.” Your gaze drifted back to the doughnut, taking another bite silently as you let Tubbos words sink in.

The enderman hybrid glanced to his family before pushed himself to stand.

“Take your time, Y/n. Tubbo and I are here if you need to talk. Give us a holler if anything’s wrong.”

-----

The raven Techno had sent made it to Phil, perching on the mans knee. Phil pet the back of the birds head with a knuckle, flicking open the backpack and pulling out the letter the piglin had sent. The winged man rolled out the letter, brow furrowing as he read through it. He sat forward, alerting the crows and ravens that lazed about him.

Phil shot up, packing his bag as quickly as he could. The trip he was about to embark upon was going to have to be postponed; right now, he had to hurry home to prevent a certain piglin from going off on a rampage.

He hadn’t flown this hard or fast since he’d heard he had a grandson, but if it meant preventing multiple innocent people’s deaths, he’d fly faster than any falcon ever recorded. He squinted, trying to avoid the aggressive incoming from flying into his eyes.

He skidded to a stop into the snow, rushing up the spruce stairs. He slammed the door open, tossing his bag to the side as he heaved. “Techno, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t fucking do it.” Techno scoffed, looking away from Phil. “I wasn’t gonna do anything. At least, not right now.”

Techno sighed, running a hand through his locks of hair. “I’m… I don’t know what I am right now, Phil. But I’ll tell you something: I really don’t like this feeling.” Phil hummed, motioning for Techno to continue as he sat, shutting the door.

“I- I don’t like the feeling of not knowing where they are, or how they are, or who they’re with, or not being able to see them when I need to. It’s anxiety provoking, and it’s only been-“ He leaned back, checking the clock that hung over the fireplace. “-eight hours! And they said they’re gonna be gone for two weeks – two weeks!” He groaned, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

The older man nodded along, listening to his best friend vent. He watched the piglin tug his hair, driving himself mad with angry groans. “I wish I could help you, mate, I really do. But this is something that only the two of you can work through. I can empathize with you, but that’s the limit. When they get back, talk to them. Work this out.”

Phil pat Technos shoulder a few times, standing up beside him silently. He thought for a moment before speaking. “I was about to go on a quick adventure – care to join me, old friend? Might help clear up your mind.” Techno glanced to him before standing, shrugging. “Sure. Let me just- just pack a few things.”

“Take your time, mate.”

Techno sat as Phil left, putting his head back into his hands before sighing heavily. He wanted – no – needed you back home but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He fucked up. Big time. If he wanted you back, he knew that he’d have to prove to you that he wasn’t just an overprotective psychoneurotic creature from the literal Hell below your feet.

He swore to you silently that he’d make you proud. Proud to be with him.

Proud enough to stand beside him.

Maybe even proud enough to marry him.

------

The first week you were away felt like a year, dragging on and on endlessly. Michael kept you company most of the time, playing with his toys and showing you around his room. He seemed very proud of how it was decorated, as if the boy had taken time and crafted everything inside as well as hung it all up. He also even let you hold his prized chicken – which Ranboo filled you in on the fact that it was actually how they found Michael in the Nether. It was a cute story, you did have to admit that.

The second week went by like a blink. One day you were listening to Michael talk your ear off with piglin babble, the next you were woken up by loud knocking from the downstairs from the front door. You hold onto Michael and his chicken, following the orders that the husbands had given you.

The couple ascended the ladder with a third face: Phil. He stared at you before nodding to Tubbo and Ranboo. You gathered your possessions, saying a silent goodbye to Michael with a warm, enveloping hug. You thanked Ranboo and Tubbo for letting you stay in their home before following Phil out.

You followed Phil out like a beaten puppy, head low with shame. The winged man said nothing for a majority of the ride back home, barely sparing you a glance before speaking up.

“He missed you. A lot.”

Well, thank you, Phil. What a lovely and nice way to start a conversation. You hummed, throat and tongue dry from nervousness. “I miss him too. It’s just- he- he acts like he can control our house- like he can control me! Like I’m some lost puppy that follows him around because he fed me one time!” With a sigh, you shook your head and sat back. “I love him, Phil. I really do. I just hope he reciprocates those feelings genuinely.”

Phil said nothing else as the two of you neared the snowy home you shared with the piglin. He hopped off his horse, putting his arms out for you. You nearly fell into his arms, hugging him tightly with a soft sigh. He felt like a real father at that point, rubbing your sides and whispering into your ear. “He cares about you, and I promise you everything’ll go back to normal eventually – just go talk to him.”

You nodded, pulling away from Phil and walking up the stairs. Your hand dragged against the railing, admiring the woodwork that Techno had put into it. You had always admired his craftsmanship with buildings, even if it was just a basic build. He was always able to do something that made it feel special. He was always able to make it so precise and fit every little thing together.

As if your brain was on autopilot, your hand went to the doorknob before pulling back. You’d bee gone only two weeks, and you doubted that Phil just walked inside the house. Instead, you knocked on the door a few times, raspning your knuckles against the strong spruce door, immediate regret washing over you.

It was silent for a moment or two before you heard him shuffling towards the door, the muffled pitter-patter of his feet against the wooden floor. “For the last time Phil, I’m fine, I’m not gonna go on a blind ramp- darlin’?” You waved awkwardly, not knowing what to do with your hands. Instead, you focused on what he looked like, and boy oh boy, he looked worse than you’d ever seen him.

His hair, typically kept in a well-maintained braid, was unkempt and still had its rubber band lost inside of it somewhere. You guessed that he had tried to brush it, but you’d have to ask later. His eyes had bags that were the same color as the shade beneath a dark oak forest and hung lower then you thought they could. He also hadn’t slept much, that was quite obvious. He continued to carry around the old cape that he gave you around his shoulders, presumably trying to preserve your scent.

Well, he clearly missed you.

His eyes widened from their usual monotone and reserved look as he held out his hands, as if he didn’t believe that you were actually here, in front of him. You pressed your face into one of his palms, taking the other in your hand and placing a gentle kiss against his palm. Logically, you shouldn’t lean back into his embrace immediately, you knew that very well, but your heart still longed for him.

“I’m home, Techno.”

He let out some noises that you could only assume were pleased piglin sounds before he lifted you up, twirling you against him happily. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so, so sorry, I swear I’ll never react like that again- I love you so much- I promise I’ll never do-“ You cut him off, cupping his cheeks and kissing him square on the lips.

Tera flowed down your cheeks freely as he kissed you back, pulling you tightly against him. He tasted exactly like he always had: vanilla, coffee, and cinnamon. There were some other things, including a strength potion he must’ve tested, the slightest bit of beer, and the steak he’d eaten for dinner.

You pulled away, placing a hand on his chest. “Hold- hold on, Techno. We still have to talk things out.” The expression on his face broke your heart, but you knew this was the right thing to do. Stepping back, you wiped your face off and then wiped them on your pants as you stared up at him.

“I’m an adult, and so are you. So we’re gonna talk this out like adults.” Techno nodded along as you spoke, watching you as if you’d dash off with a wrong word. Taking a deep breath, you began describing how he’d made you feel with the way he reacted to you visiting Dream.

Techno sat there and listened to every word that came out of your mouth. Some would’ve viewed it as him listening way too intensely, but you viewed it as him actually taking in every word you were saying. He reached forward, taking one of your hands and you finished speaking and kissed it softly.

“I hear you, darlin’, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry that I reacted like that, and I’d redo it in a heartbeat if I could. I promise to never treat you like that again, and don’t ever think for a second that I don’t love you more than anything else on this Earth. I’d fight a thousand- no, a million withers for your smile and I’d slay a billion dragons to hear your laugh. I love you so much, pumpkin.”

You laughed softly at his words, smiling at his gentle expression. His nicknames were always so gentle and were a way for him to express his love without having to say everything. The piglin pulled you closer, pecking your cheek softly and caressing it with his thumb.

“I love you, and I really am sorry.”

“Techno, stop apologizing, I forgive you. I love you too.”

You smiled, pressing your head against his as you stared into his eyes. He laughed softly, pulling the cape that sat around his shoulders to sit around yours. You leaning into it, giggling as he pulled you into his lap and a hug.

Interrupting your loving reunion was a loud crash, followed by the most maniacal laughter you’d ever heard. A flash of dust and smoke clouded your gaze until a giant, mocking smile sat in front of you. The voice that followed the smile was taunting, as if trying to mock the reunion between you and your lover.

The body wasn’t visible, but you knew who it was. You both did.

The voice that followed was just the confirmation.

“Miss me, doll?”

#stories by soup #c!technoblade #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #c!techno fanfic #dream smp

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 3 years

Note

Hello dear, I am another anon and I feel curious about the memory for fondness level 40, can you translate if you are not busy of course?.

Hello there! ( ´ ∀｀) Of course! ♡

✧ Translation is under the cut ✧

—

Remember to read the memories prior to this, since there are multiple references to them: ♡

I’d highly recommend following it along with the video, as it’s necessary to understand the mood: ♡

And please don’t ask me what’s happening here, cause this is just drama for no reason LOL. I guess this kind of stuffs are common in a couple’s life and Victor’s mini house stories are focused on troubles in daily life, and this would definitely help with their tacit understanding in the future. But I would have wished for a follow up story with this, rather than ending it here though. xD

—

|| Fondness Level 40: Stubbornness Definition ||

For a while afterwards, Victor and I seemed to have forgotten about the little episode that happened in the study, thinking that that the bad feelings were behind us.

Until that day.

The terrace has been decided to be made into a swimming pool a long time ago as Victor wished, but I have chosen the overhead lighting in the pool lounge area only a short time ago.

Although I quite liked this flush-mounted ceiling lamp, but Victor said it was “flashy.” I also remember him saying when we bought the lamp, “When the time comes, don’t cry and ask me to change the lamp.”

MC: I can’t believe his words came out to be true so soon. It’s only been a week, huh....

Holding the replacement bulb in my hand, which has just been delivered by the courier, I feel somewhat embarrassed.

Should I get Victor to help change the light bulb or not.... Although as hard as it is for me to imagine him changing a light bulb, I really don’t know how to do it myself either.

MC: Vi....

I push open the closed door to the study, wanting to ask Victor for help. But just as the word “Vi” has left my mouth, I catch the sight of that man’s figure from behind, standing in front of the French window while talking on the phone.

Victor is clearly not wearing a three-pieced suit, and the floor tiles under his feet is also of the study at our home. But....

But the moment I see that figure from behind, I actually have some kind of illusion that I’m at LFG.

His tone sounds pretty stern.... is that a call from work?

Then I’d better not bother Victor for now....

I originally wanted to wait until he was free to talk, but then I have a second thought. Didn’t I manage to successfully hang a painting climbing on a ladder before? It’s just changing a light bulb, which shouldn’t be too difficult.

MC: So it’s decided then. I will do it myself!

After really trying it, I realize that changing the light bulb is far less difficult than the rumors go.

MC: Isn’t it just a light bulb? Who said that it wouldn’t be easy to change?

As I stand on the ladder and admire my finished product, I can’t help feeling a little proud of myself.

Just then....

Victor: Come down.

MC: Eh....?

Hearing the tone of a cold statement coming from the door, I feel startled. Then I carefully search my brain for my most recent actions.

I haven’t done anything recently that could upset him....

Victor: Do you not want to come down on your own or want me to carry you down?

There’s not the least bit hint of a laughter in what was supposed to be a teasing remark, and the face that was often unsmiling is a bit cold at the moment.

MC: Eh....?

Seeing that I’m not moving, Victor walks over step by step with a calm and collected face.

Every time he takes a step, I feel that the temperature in the room is dropping by a degree.

MC: I-I’ll be right—

Just as the first reaction of a herbivorous animal at the sight of a lion is to run away, I reflexively take half a step backwards while responding.

As a consequence of my thoughtless action, I completely forget that I’m standing on a ladder, half of my feet in the air.

Victor: Dummy!

At this moment, the voice I hear, which was a little distant even a second ago, is now suddenly brimming with emotions.

As I soon lose my balance and my entire body is about to fall off the ladder, at this moment of life and death....

Time freezes.

I watch closely as Victor walks behind me step by step, catches me as I was about to fall, carrying me down from the ladder.

The hands around me carry their familiar warmth, but for some reason, I suddenly feel a little cold.

Victor sits on the sofa while carrying me in his arms like this. As his body sinks into the sofa, his legs become my “sofa”....

Victor’s eyes burn with a rage that he has no intention of concealing.

Victor: Care to explain yourself.

It’s only when these four words land does time return to its normal flow. But I’m still firmly held in Victor’s embrace, unable to move.

This hug that has caused my heartbeat to spiral out of control countless times, doesn’t give me any sweetness or warmth at this very moment, and rather makes me feel inexplicably guilty.

MC: ....explain what?

Victor doesn’t seem to have expected that I’d ask him such a question back. A momentary astonishment flashes across his face.

Victor: ....

Victor draws in a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

With a blank face, I watch his slightly furrowed eyebrows, and his delicate, distinct eyelashes, not knowing what to do.

When he opens his eyes again, Victor no longer has the previous expression of obvious anger. But the calm and clear expression in his eyes still gives me the feeling that storm clouds are approaching.

MC: Vi....

Victor: Why didn’t you come to me for help? I was obviously at home!

Victor: Is it just because I said earlier that don’t come crying to me and ask about changing the light bulb?

Victor: Even a dummy has to know that there are particular occasions for displaying the bravery!

MC: I....

When was the last time I’ve seen Victor losing his temper like this?

If I were to go back in time and return to the day I first entered into the LFG building, I��d have absolutely roared at such a Victor. But now....

The tender expression in his eyes, and calling me dummy in a teasing manner with a smile on his face– keep constantly coming back to me.

MC: I wasn’t trying to display bravery.... I!

Grievance, sadness, anger– all the negative emotions well up in this instant.

You were busy when I went to find you. And didn’t I come down safe and sound when I hung the painting earlier.

Looking into his eyes, I don’t know why but I’m actually unable to utter any of these reasons.

Victor: If I hadn’t get here in time, you....

MC: Then I wouldn’t have tripped and fallen either!

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret it.

I open my mouth to say something, but when I look into Victor’s eyes, it seems as if I’m suffering from aphasia, unable to say a single word.

The air seems to have come to a standstill. But my undulating chest and Victor’s slightly trembling eyelashes are the proofs that time is still passing by.

Victor is clearly angry, but I’m not in my usual good temperament either.

Victor: Could you repeat what you said.

Victor’s questioning tone makes me feel increasingly aggrieved, and all those irrational and thoughtless accusations just blurt out in one sentence.

MC: Why are you getting macho.

From his always taking his own initiative style of actions, to the unpredictable points of anger, to those little frictions in life....

No one can clearly tell whether this is a quarrel or just an unilateral accusation.

In the process of saying everything that’s on my mind, most of my anger has actually already subsided. But my emotions are like snowballs. Not only am I unable to control them, but they even keep rolling bigger and bigger.

Then I don’t know how I get to this sentence.

MC: You haven’t gone so far before....

Victor: ....you think I’m overdoing it?

It’s simply the momentary heat in my brain that made me say this. As a result, when I hear Victor’s rhetorical question, I can’t help being at a loss for words.

Victor.... has he ever gone far?

He lost his temper at me without knowing the reason. Before, he took it upon himself to turn off my alarm, and interfered with the children’s day gift I prepared for him....

But.... he did these because he cares for me. And he is angry now because he is worried about me.

I don’t remember if Victor has said anything else after this, except for knowing that this farce has ultimately ended in bad terms.

As I watch Victor’s silhouette turning his back and leaving the terrace, I realize for the first time, how his appearance turns out to be so much in pain when he is alone and sulking, causing one to feel anxious.

This uncomfortable and unsettling feeling is like a large, tightly-knitted net in which the whole of me is caged in layers, suffocating me as the net gradually tightens.

—

#pardon if there is any awkward wording :<#I’m honestly typing with half-asleep brain and drooping eyes :'(#ask

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wreckofawriter · 3 years

Text

Magnolia Final Part

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of blood and death

Summary: idk dude just read the other chapters first or this is gonna make no sense

A/n: I did this instead of studying for my finals, also it could probably use a neither round of editing but I was anxious to post it. And I really don't give a fuck if this is historically inacurate all research done for this was from Pirate of the Caribbean.

Part 1 Part 2

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~

You considered the stars your friends, their predictability and reserve made them easy to get along with. You had been taught to read their language from your early days of ships and oceans. As a child, you would speak to them, whispering secrets from your bedroom window. Your young nights had been filled with time spent stretching from the top of your magnolia tree to try and grasp their beauty. Even now as you stared up at the heavens you wished to cradle them like priceless jewels, their wonder never faded. But you supposed their mystery is what made them so appealing, everyone wanted something they could never quite reach.

The news of your captured prince had spread like fire in a dry wind, the letters you had sent to Aldir and their neighboring kingdoms throwing many into action. Sirius’s kingdom was large, powerful, and merciless. Some wanted the prince for leverage, many others wanted blood; revenge driving them to empty treasuries and sharpen swords. At first, you had been sitting pretty, letters of bids coming to you at every stop you made. Eventually, prices got too high and kingdoms decided it would be easier to take than to pay.

Ash burned in the back of your throat, you stared at your feet as the second ship that week crumbled into the ocean. Its flames were heavy on your back, reflecting in the greys of the sea. A particularly large crack of the fire made the breath catch in your throat. Your fear of the element had persisted for years filling your nightmares with smoke and screams.

As the distance between you and the defeated ship lengthened your heart began to calm. The air was thick with moisture, purple clouds bruising the dull sky. The ocean was frothy, waves lapping tirelessly at the sides of your ship.

Your mind felt dizzy, the taste of blood still thick in your mouth. Two more men had been lost in the fight which had taken place just minutes ago. One flung into the ocean and the other struck by a bullet. That was six bodies that you had been forced to dump into the sea the past month.

You had to get rid of Sirius before more corpses were to be fed to the sharks. This had never been so strikingly obvious before yet, you hesitated. Nails dug into your palms, the voices in your head fighting a clamoring war. Your feelings were illegible, their messy colors smeared together in an uninterpretable painting. So you threw them away, ignoring the throb in your chest and taking a breath. Sirius was to be sold to the highest bidder and that was that. You felt your past’s grip on your throat loosening. There was only one way to get rid of what used to be, you had to kill it.

Sirius had never been so bewildered before. His life had been a book that was written a thousand times over. The prince falls in love, the queen doesn’t approve, the love runs off, the prince finds the love, and then happily ever after. But life wasn’t as sweet nor simple as a children’s story and this may be the first time that he had ever truly realized that. All it took was the prince to be tied in the love’s basement ready to be sold to his death.

Sirius woke with a start as metal clattered inches from his face. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as his breath slowly returned to his lungs. He stared at the plate which had woken him, it was piled higher than normal with two rolls dropped next to it. He peered up at the giver of this gift.

He recognized the small blonde as the one he had threatened a few weeks before, the fear he had seen in her eyes that moment now replaced with pity, bitter and soft like rotten fruit.

“I wanna talk.” She said plainly, toeing the plate towards him like a bribe, he supposed that’s exactly what it was.

Sirius sat up ignoring the hammer of his head. His hair stuck to his cheek, slick with sweat. The woman whose name he never learned dropped to a squat beside him, a small knife held in her hand. His eyes widened as it glinted in the small gas lamp hanging above his head.

“Relax.” She sighed cutting the rope that tethered his hands behind his back.

Sirius felt his shoulders groan in protest as they fell forward, his wrists aching and rubbed red. Hot pin pricks filled his fingers as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

When he looked back up Adrie was now seated in front of him, her legs crossed. She glanced down at the food and then back up at him, “You can eat if you agree to answer some questions.” Her demands were simple.

He let silence settle for just a moment, “Fine.” After all, what did he have to lose? His dignity? His pride? They had been sleeping with the fishes for ages.

She pushed the plate towards him, watching him quietly as he began to eat, “You don’t look like much of a prince to me.” She hummed after a moment.

Sirius swallowed, licking his lips, “Does anyone after two weeks locked in the bottom of a ship full of scum?"

Adrie cracked a smile, “I suppose not.”

She stared at him still, she was lying a bit. Years held prisoner couldn’t erase the royalty he was raised with, it stuck to him like wet stuck to water. Nothing and everything proved him a prince, you could take his crown but you could never take his title.

“How do you know y/n?”

Sirius was startled by the suddenness of the question but not remotely surprised it was asked, “She hasn’t told you?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if she had,” Adire responded, her tone was blunt.

He bit into a roll thoughtfully taking his time to chew slowly, she was patient, her blank expression, not faltering.

“I thought you were friends.” He mumbled with a full mouth.

Her jaw tightened, “Y/n doesn’t speak of her past.”

“So you’ve come to me for information?” Sirius said mild mockery in his voice.

“Obviously.”

He eyed the woman curiously, she was not what he had expected of your right hand man. Sirius smiled loosely, “You sure you wanna disobey Captain’s orders?”

“Start talking or I take the food and hang you by your ankles.”

Sirius huffed glancing between her and his food, “Fine, you win.”

“Good. Tell me everything.” She demanded.

Sirius felt his throat tighten around the potatoes he had swallowed, his mind ached with hazy memories of summer days and speeding hearts, “There isn’t much to tell.”

“You’re a bad lair.” Adire hummed.

Sirius sighed, eyes falling to the bright white scars which laced his hands. He wasn’t sure where else to start but the beginning. He told of a loud baker girl who snuck over the walls into his garden and brought him pastries and friendship. He continued with vague details, of growing up together with swords and stars, reliving each moment he shared.

He felt his words stiffen as he spoke of falling in love with you. Part of him felt like he was talking of someone completely different. Someone who had burnt up with her parents in a small bakery a million miles away. What was left, muffling cries above him, was a shell of that girl her soul replaced with seaweed and smoke. He pushed the thought away, swallowing it with the lump in his throat as he continued to speak of a proposal he regretted and the consequences of disobeying his mother.

The broken fairytale cut his tongue filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He attempted to wash it down with the rum his listener had brought to him but its flavor was just as bad, it's only redemption was the warmth that filled his stomach.

Adrie looked at him blankly, "I don't blame her for wanting you dead."

Sirius wished she had stayed silent.

"But I pity you, you don't deserve death."

He didn't look up and instead finished his drink, "Your pity means nothing to me."

She sighed standing to her feet, "I never thought it did."

When her boots disappeared up the ladder he let his cup drop to the ground, it rolled knocking into his heel as tears dripped from his chin.

By the time you had dropped anchor just off of Haran, the moisture had dropped from the air. Dry winds and clear skies greeted your crew.

Rowboats were dropped in the water quickly, the sun was setting fast and a night of cheap ale and cheaper women were in the forefront of many a man's heads.

You were tired, the happiness of your crewmates falling short at your feet. Exhaustion had replaced all anger and sadness you had harbored for the past weeks making your eyes grow dull as the bags beneath them. The satchel burned under your arms had a note you had written agreeing to the Yerith King’s price. You had singed your finger on the wax used to seal the envelope, it still throbbed a bit with the unsteady beat of your heart. You tried not to think about much on your way to land instead filling your head with that faint burn and fog of the setting sun.

Adrie watched as you played with the diamond strung around your neck, a new piece she had only seen in recent days. She assumed you had taken it from one of the ships which had recently burnt into the sea. The bright stone was so different from the rest of your jewelry she was surprised you wore it all. Obnoxious gems had never been your type.

She was wrong on this thought, large jewels used to be what you would stare at as you passed shop windows, wishing you had the money to clutch one in your hand. They used to be a dream and a wish, now they were just things you stole and sold to the highest bidder.

Sirius had been briefly told of the plans for the evening. Two men whom he had become somewhat accustomed to during his stay had tied him up. The knots were tighter than usual as they were to be gone for the night. In his usual nature, Sirius complained about the ache of his wrists and the cramps in his legs. His grievances went unheard and his company disappeared from sight. The boat was quiet within the hour, nothing but the creak of old boards and calls of gulls far above his head breaking the silence.

He drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours, time passing in its usual way, slowly. Finally, a clear thought came to Sirius’s head, he had the whole boat to himself. That meant there was no one to stop him from escaping his certain and quickly approaching death.

Sirius tried to twist his hands out of the rope for what must have been an hour and only resulted in drawing blood from his wrists. Switching tactics he began to slowly shuffle and roll around the cabin he was in, searching for anything that could cut rope. As the sun’s light began to fade his task was growing difficult. Just before he gave in to his exhaustion Sirius found a bent nail sticking about a centimeter out of the ladder that led to the upper deck. The next two hours were spent rubbing his binds against the dull metal until they finally snapped.

After a month of being held prisoner, freedom left him stunned. He stumbled up the ladder until he reached the ship’s deck. The warm breeze which washed over him felt like a gift from the gods. A smile stretched his aching cheeks and for the first time in a while Sirius Black let out a genuine laugh.

He quickly found a small boat which he could lower to the water. He could be miles away before the sun rose and you found his binds cut. Judging by the port you had stopped at he was only a few days' row from neutral lands. There he could gather himself and write for help. He was saved.

Sirius’s glee was cut short as he realized that he was missing one vital thing; you. The only reason he was out here in the first place was for you. He had spent years following rumors across the sea, he had given up his place as king, he had spent hundreds of thousands on supplies. But the truth was even if he hadn’t done all that, even if he had stumbled across you within a week and spent no more than ten doubloons he still wouldn’t leave this ship alive unless you were by his side.

Sirius cursed, slamming his fist into the deck. His eyes darted around in what felt like panic. He was trapped between your love and his life and while he had chosen the former weeks ago he had no way of securing it.

In the dark, a glint of light was seen. A crate of liquor stowed next to the captain’s quarters revealed itself to the pale moon. The man's mind buzzed, he realized quickly that he would need to act fast, the hours of the dark he had left must be well used.

The deal had been easy, one glance at the large gem and you had a buyer offering hundreds. You walked away with 400 doubloons knowing it was worth much more. Not that you cared, you had been hours from chucking the necklace into the sea.

It was late at night now, the golden light of pubs and brothels spilling onto the gravel road you walked. Your legs still felt weak, they were accustomed to the sway of boats on sloshing waves not the strange sturdiness of the ground. You hadn’t been able to sleep well on land since you had stepped off it, you had always opted for a swinging hammock over a still cot.

You swung your bag of coins round in circles as you made your way to the beach. The water was smooth save the ripple of waves drawn by the full moon. Sand glistened silver under your boots, the light crash of water on rocks echoing around you.

You had never intended to spend the full night on land, your crew was well aware of this fact and none would be surprised to find you gone in the morning. You shoved one of your beached row boats back into the water, splashing about ankle deep before leaping into it.

When you reached your ship, you sensed something was wrong immediately. The small voice which you tended to ignore was screaming in the back of your head. As you climbed onto the deck the strong scent of liquor overwhelmed you. You heard a soft splash and glanced down to look at the puddle you had stepped into. Swiping two fingers through the fluid and plopping them into your mouth you hummed. There was no mistaking the sharp taste of gin. You looked around to find the leak and instead locked eyes with a figure who stood about 20 meters in front of you.

“Sirius?” You asked though you already knew it was him, you didn’t think you would ever forget his face, even if it was obscured by the shadows of the moon.

He gapped at you, unsure of what to say.

You took a step closer and caught a glance of the bottle he held in his hand. Its thin neck was stuffed with a piece of cloth, the soft glow of a gas lamp flickering behind him. The second you realized what he had planned your gun was pointed at his chest.

“Drop the bottle Black.” you hissed with a steady voice despite the fact that your gun was rattling in your hands. Your thoughts were now fogged with fear, plagued by smoke and flames.

Sirius had suddenly found his voice, “I know you’re not stupid enough to fire that. One spark and we’ll both go up in flames.”

Your breaths quickened, vision blurring as tears welled in your eyes. “Why are you doing this?” You croaked. “Why do you want to ruin everything I’ve built for myself?”

“I’m not leaving without you y/n.” He shouted, “I can’t live without you. Just come with me. Please. Just come with me and it will all be fine.”

You shook your head, “No.”

“Please, please! I need you y/n, I can’t go back without you!” He begged, snatching the lamp from behind him, “I won’t be able to live.”

It was in that moment that you understood he was just as desperate as you, just as lost and hopeless. You dropped your gun to your side, tears sliding slowly down your cheeks. Your throat tightened holding back a sob, “Okay.” You said with a broken voice.

Sirius cracked a small smile, “I knew it.” He sighed, “I knew you still loved me.” Setting down the lamp he opened his arms walking towards you. You met him halfway burying your face into his rough jacket.

“God I missed you y/n,” he whispered as you slipped a knife from under your sleeve.

“I’m so sorry Siri.” You mumbled in response before plunging the blade into his back.

You held him as he collapsed forward, choking back on his own blood. You had begun to sob, hand still clutching the hilt of the blade which was lodged into him. Eventually his weight became too much to bear and you both fell to the ground. Sirius rolled off next to you, his hand still clasped around your own. The two of you started up at the stars listening as his breaths slowed. Just before they stopped completely you felt a small squeeze of your hand and for just a moment you saw the soft pink of a petal floating towards you.

You weren't sure how long you lay there, staring up at the sky but it was long enough for you to finally realize that you were the villain of your story. It was an odd thing to recognize considering in all of the books you had carried as a child you took the place of the protagonist; the one who swung the sword to save the kingdom You had always been the one to end your life with a happily ever after.

Now you had realized that you had never been a hero. You had spent your life as a villain in the making, each step you had taken leading you closer and closer to your undeniable fate of evil. You had your chance to be the princess trapped in the tower, but you had ignored the prince and now took the shape of a witch. A witch who stole and killed and burned all that she hated. Some had to do it after all, we can’t all be heroes. There is no story without a villain, at least not one worth reading.

As much as the small baker girl who rested amongst the magnolia tree would have hated you, the woman you saw when you looked in the mirror was okay with who you had become. And if she was okay with it, then why did it matter what the past would have thought? You had been running from it for years and now you would never have to again. Because now your past ran from you.

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so many of u changed ur urls so if I have the wrong person tagged or the wrong username let me know

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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home for christmas | mitch rapp

word count; 10,665

summary; mitch is happy to settle down with the simple life, and he just wants to celebrate christmas with his fiancée, for the first christmas he’s had home since before he joined the army.

notes; I know this isn’t stan’s farmhouse in the movies, but this is the kind of farmhouse I picture them having, so you’re just gonna’ have to use your imaginations!

warnings; smut, thats about it.

“Mornin’, soldier.”

Mitch simply huffed, a smirk forming on his face as he rolled over, raising his brows a little, sleep still evident across his face, the crease from a pillow being pressed into his cheek, the red mark disappearing into the dark stubble-smattering on his jaw, and you reached out a hand, rubbing over it as he blinked himself a little further awake. “Not anymore, sweetheart. You think if I was still a soldier I’d be getting to sleep in this late with a pretty woman by my side?”

“I should hope not, you were with me for the most part, so if you had another pretty woman in your bed, you should fess up now. I’d hate for that to come out on the altar.”

He growled, rolling you over until you were pressed back into the bedding, nipping a little at your shoulder as you broke out in a fit of giggles, albeit strained as the weight of his frame pressed into you, 200lb of solid muscle crushing you lovingly. “Don’t even insinuate it.”

“Yeah, I know.” You mumbled, a hand threading into his hair, and the teasing nips became soft kisses pressed to your bare skin, and he eventually gave up, rolling onto his side, and letting you cuddle up into his side a little, exhaustion no longer claiming either of you, but laziness in the bliss of the morning was. “Merry Christmas, Mitch.”

“Merry Boxing Day.”

“Technicalities.” You whispered, pecking at his cheek, the closest spot you could reach, before you were pushing yourself to it up a little more, legs crossing on the mattress, and stretching your arms up above your head to loosen the muscles.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” You repeated, head rolling from side to side, before you were shaking yourself down slightly and revelling in the numbness slipping out of your bones and muscles as energy surged through you instead.

“That pathetic excuse for a good morning kiss.” He tapped at his lips, pouting them slightly, brows raising as he watched you move to press your feet to the cold floors, standing up only a moment later. “Where do you think you’re going? Get back here and kiss me!”

“Nope. If you want kisses, you can come and get them.”

He gaped, watching you disappear into the bathroom, and you ginned to yourself, hearing the floorboards of the bedroom creak from a room over, running your toothbrush under the tap as you squeezed a dollop of the paste onto the bristles, raising your eyebrows at the man behind you. He had braced himself on either side of the doorframe, large shoulders and tall stature all but filling it, messy bedhead and unshaven jaw making him a vision of morning laziness, and he raised his brows at you as he returned your stare, a smile on his face as you scrubbed at your teeth.

Pacing across the bathroom, he pressed you up against the counter from behind, hands finding the edges of the sink as your hips pushed up to the cold porcelain, and he hooked a chin over your shoulder. One hand came up, on the other side of your jaw, twisting your face towards him, and you lifted your brush down long enough to press your lips against his, hearing him hum happily finally got what he was after. Your lips moved softly against his, a slight foam build-up getting stuck in his stubble as your mouths worked together, but neither of you could find it within yourselves to care, the first kiss of the day still feeling just as special as it had the first night you’d stayed a night together, all those years ago.

When he pulled back, he licked at his lips, wiping away the froth stuck on the spiky hairs around his face, grinning a little, and pecking a kiss to your temple. “You taste minty.”

“Of’ious’y.” You mumbled, the word getting confused in translation through the workings you were doing, but he raised his brows at the sass, gasping slightly, and you grinned, spitting and rinsing, before turning to look at him “Captain Obvious over here.”

“You’re sassy this morning.” He teased, pinching at your ass and snickering as you yelped, smacking away his hand and fixing him with a false glare. “Don’t be so sassy on Christmas.”

“I thought it was Boxing Day?” You retorted, watching him roll his eyes fondly, and as you wandered back into the bedroom, you noticed that he’d made the bed, blankets pulled straight, and you appreciated the gesture

“It’s our Christmas Day. Is that really what your Christmases were like these last few years?” His hand found yours from the second you had a jumper pulled on over your shoulders, tugging you toward the staircase and down the rickety steps that were in urgent need of repair, but those weren’t on the list yet.

So far, the two of you had made some pretty grand progress on the house that you were now calling your own. Your father had returned to duty, and you were in charge of renovating an old farmhouse, and making it truly liveable once again. The broken pipes, squeaky doors and splintering panels were no longer cutting it, and in the couple of short months since your lover had returned from the front lines, and stayed here with you.

The first week after your father had left, had been entirely spent in bed, properly celebrating the engagement you’d made, the way it should be celebrated when you were young and in love. The following month and a half leading you up to where you were now had been spent planning, clearing out the junk of old furniture and stripping the insides of the house, all the work you couldn't do alone, finding yourself now with a partner.

The porch was being extended into a wrap-around, and the outside had been stripped. The flaking paint had been sanded off, the wood underneath smoothed and repainted, before the weather had turned too cold and wet, glazed over and perfected, an off-white colour that complimented the darks of the landscape around it. Mitch had spent almost a week straight fixing broken and cracking tiles on the roof, a week when your heart had leapt into your throat every time he went up the ladder, fearing that he’d fall or injure himself, and yet the real injured had come inside.

As the final fall warmth had slipped away and the bitter and biting cold had started to come in, you’d thrown out all the moth-bitten and broken furniture inside, plans to replace it all, and sell what you deemed worthy, raising funds for the major project you’d undertaken. Splinters, torn nails, and grazes from tripping over and scraping your knees and elbows on rough flooring. However, it had all been worth it, and you shivered a little as you stepped into the kitchen, feeling the squeeze on your hand, before looking up to the man standing behind you.

“Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts. What dd you say?”

“I said, is this how you always spent your Christmases for these last few years?” The sounds of the kettle filling up as it sat on the top of the old gas stove sounded the metal clanging a little as it filled, the two of you waiting patiently over the racket, before settling it over the flame to begin heating. “Y’know, celebrating late, the video calls, all that?”

He was referring to the real Christmas Day, yesterday, having been spent waiting for the time when you’d get to talk to your father over a somewhat glitchy video chat call for your twenty-minute slot, having no idea when it would actually be. “Yeah, pretty much. Except, for the last few years, I had to do it twice.” You poked at his stomach as he stood before you, a grin on his lips, before he was catching your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss over the ring shining on your finger.

“Funny, to think that for years, I’ve been excitedly waiting to facetime my superior’s daughter, just to get a Merry Christmas and a kiss through the screen while I was out in the middle of God knows where, defending our country, and we never even knew.” His arms looped your waist, pulling you in close against the cold of the late December chill in the air, and your own arms wrapped around his neck. You leaned in, enough that he thought you were going to press a kiss to his lips, before you were lifting yourself up, and standing on his feet, grinning when he grunted, before he was looking at your curiously. “What’cha doing, kitten?”

“The floor is cold. I don’t want to stand on it.”

“Well, it would be considerably less cold if someone had just picked which tiles they wanted before the store closed over Christmas, I could be getting on with installing them, and we would’ve had heated kitchen flooring by New Years.” He tutted, lifting you to sit on the counter as the kettle began to whistle, and he worked around you to fill up the teapot on the side with the perfect brew, two mugs being gathered from one of the cupboards, before it was being pressed into your hands.

“I wanted real stone! All the samples of tiles just didn’t seem right, and-”

“And you want to have a rustic and authentic farmhouse feel, I know.” He finished your sentence for you, heat flushing your face at just how many times you must’ve said it for I’m to have memorised the statement, and he chuckled, letting you hope down and back onto the cold and stripped flooring of the kitchen to make your way to the table. The scraping of the wooden chairs over the flooring rang out, and you sat in beside him, blowing the steam away, and picking up one of the catalogues that were stacked up, opening it up to the last dog-eared page and taking a look at it all. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Despite asking the question, Mitch was already rattling around in the drawers for a frying pan, seeming to have made up his mind on what he was going to eat, and so you hummed a little, sipping at the herbal mix in your mug. “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Eggs and bacon it is, then.”

You only nodded, unsure whether or not he could see you, but you weren’t looking at him, falling into a comfortable science together as you examined the conversions and extensions laid out on the glossy pages before you. The sizzling and popping of the eggs and bacon faded into the background, ideas swirling in your mind as he worked, the cogs brushing off the dust as you took in what you were seeing.

Most of them were small conversations, sheds and garages, all with ideas on how to save heating and conserve energy, but your mind was wandering your own home. You’d already done so much, knocking through the wall of the small guest bedroom beside your own to turn it into a closet, and tearing up the flooring in the downstairs of the house, to replace it with newer and polished solid oak slats. How much harder could be building a wall, and converting something a little bigger than a shed?

A plate landed in front of you, making you jump in shock, before the magazine was being pulled away from you, and the smell of the meal was enticing you in. “Should I be concerned that you spend more time looking at renovation magazines than wedding ones?”

He was smiling as he spoke, no heat to his words, but you scoffed nonetheless, tapping your finger against another pile of magazines, and you felt as though your entire house was spilling over with them, filling the house in piles from top to bottom. You had more magazines than yo id furniture at this stage, the small and slightly dull Christmas tree in the corner being a sad excuse, an old TV propped up on cardboard boxes and cushions along the floor with a blanket put down, the rest of your ‘living room; being barren, waiting for its decorating to be complete.

“Have you even chosen a dress, yet? I already have my suit.”

“I’m excited to marry you, Mitch, I really am. I couldn't imagine anything that would make me happier, but that is one day of our lives. The best day, but just one day. This house is where we’re going to live, it’s the future you want, and where we’ll grow old. If something goes wrong on our wedding day, that sucks, but we’ll fix it.” He paused his chewing, staring at you with wide eyes across the table, before swallowing his mouthful thickly and reaching out with one hand to lace your fingers together to sit atop the wood. “I want our home to be perfect.”

“It will be, we’ll take our time.”

You smiled, letting him mirror the action, squeezing his hand in your own, before pulling your hand back to pick up your cutlery, and beginning into the meal he had made. “For the record, I have a few dress ideas.” You tapped the cover of one of the furthest magazines from yourself, the pages worn and folded, evidently having been used, and his brows shut up, a grin on his face as he ate.

“Can I see?” A few crumbs flew from his mouth as he spoke through the food stuffed between his cheeks, and you tried to hold in your chuckle at the sight.

“Please don’t do that at our wedding.” You grimaced, and he swallowed his mouthful, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, the playful manner between you both being more than comfortable, it was perfect, and you kicked at his shin under the table as he wiggled his brows cheekily. “No, you can’t look at them, it’s bad luck.”

“Don’t be superstitious.” He scoffed, pulling the magazine over to himself, and holding it out of your reach when you leaned across the table to snatch it back. “Besides, it’s bad luck to see the bride in the dress before the day, not to see some random model in a dress.”

“Yeah, well, don’t you want it to be a surprise?”

His eyes flicked down, smirking a little at the swell of your breasts hanging from the robe your wore that was falling open the more you reached to get the brochure back, and you gave up on that tactic, rounding the table instead to try and grab it from him. He scooted back, the chair legs scraping against the bare concrete floor, a loud laugh on his lips to match the giggles you were letting out as the war became a game.

“Mitch! If you keep this up, I’ll purposefully buy a really awful dress! Something from the eighteen hundreds with frills and layers, and I’ll look like Little Bo Peep!”

“Baby, I’d marry you even if you were wearing a potato sack.” As you reached for the folds of paper, he snatched your wrist in his other hand, tugging you into him until you were perched across his lap, a leg dangling on either side of his on the chair, and he wrapped that same arm around your waist, connecting them behind your back to hold you securely, and your own looped his neck. “But, please don’t wear something with frills and layers and a thousand buttons, because it’ll make it way harder to have our first dance if I can barely reach you over a puffy gown.”

“I’ll wear something a little bit more modern, then. I’d hate to miss our first dance.”

You brushed the tip of your nose against his, lips brushing together as he smiled, and you heard the magazine drop away to the ground, before both hands were splaying out over your back, and pushing you closer, until your chest was pressed to his, and you were looking down at him, sharing a breath. “Besides, kitten, don’t you think you should wear something that I’ll be able to get you out of easily when we get to be alone, afterwards?”

“Well, I think I should get something cheap, because I have a feeling you’re going to rip it.”

He growled under his breath, catching your lip with his teeth and tugging gently, before pressing a kiss to the edge of your mouth, hands moving down to sit on your ass, as he pressed another kiss to your jaw, and then your cheek. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Not tempting, I just know you too well. If previous experience in pretty gowns is anything to go on.”

He chuckled, nodding his head, before wrapping his arms around you fully, face resting in your neck as he settled in to hug you, prompting you to squeeze yourself a little more firmly around him in response, a hand coming up to brush through the long and messy tendrils of hair on his head. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mitch.”

Your food was growing cold, half-eaten and still sitting out, but you were much more invested in soaking up every second of the loving embrace he was offering you, and so you were more than happy to remain this way, wrapped up in his arms, for as long as he would take it.

The time slipped by, mumbled conversations taking place, and the hands on the clock ticking over the o’clock marker and beginning the afternoon, the late lay in that the two of you had indulged in giving a glorious delay to the day. Lazy and relaxed, it was exactly how you wanted to spend your late-Christmas, and when he finally shifted to check the clock himself, he merely huffed, the hot breath fanning over your neck and making you twitch a little as it tickled, and he loosened his hold on you to let you go.

“Do you still want to have a Christmas lunch? I can set everything off, but it’ll be more like dinner with this timing.”

“I think it’ll be fun to have it later, we can eat while watching movies. We can drag all the blankets and cushion we still have down onto the floors and make it cosy.” He merely nodded, before standing with you still in his arms, stealing a final kiss from your lips as you giggled, the grip on your thighs loosening as you sank to the ground, finding him now looking down at you, lips pressing to your forehead once he let you go. “Go light the fire in the living room, it’s a little cooler today. We should get the heating going earlier.”

“You got it, soldier.”

He smiled bashfully, nudging you towards the empty doorway, knocked through to make it all more open plan, and you could feel his eyes still lingering on you a little as you wandered through to the main room. Settling before the cold fireplace in a comfortable position, you assessed what you were seeing before you, noting that it was filled with old ash, days having passed since the two of you had emptied it. Dragging out the collecting tray underneath, you tipped it into the bucket, the edges stained, trying not to let the dust escape into the room too much, and tipping it carefully so that it didn’t cloud in the air.

While the house did have heating, it had all been disassembled and the heaters taken from the walls for the renovations, the two of you seeming to have missed that when planning your work to take place inside over the Christmas period, leaving the house cold unless you lit the fire.

When the grates were clear once again, You began to scrunch up the pages of the old newspapers and letters that were no longer in use, creating a range of tight and loose balls of paper form them, and beginning to stack them in the fire. Small kindling followed, twigs and little chunks of wood, coal to follow, to keep the heat going for longer, burning quietly. It didn’t take much longer of patting around yourself and searching to find the matches, the almost empty box being revealed to you, and with a single strike, a flame was taking up at the end, and you buried it within the pile. The newspapers took a light quickly, flames roaring up within seconds as they burned brightly, the paper becoming ash after only a minute or two, but it had been long enough for the smaller wood to catch.

The flames were duller, but the heat was already beginning to pour off of the fireplace as the smaller wood caught fire, crackling a little as it went, the black chunks of coal starting to smoke slightly, turning ashy grey where flames touched, and there was no way it would go out now. Adding some logs on top for a longer burn and more enjoyable smell, you deemed it a job well done, wiping your hands clean on the rag hanging beside the fireplace, and placing the grate over the front, hauling yourself up to stand.

Eyes closing in on the ash bucket, you were tempted to leave it there, but foreseeing the accident of tripping over it and spending house cleaning up ash was more than enough to motivate you, the images flashing behind your lids when you closed them. Mitch was tinkering in the kitchen, the dull clashes of pots and pans, the sink occasionally switching on and off, hearing him shuffle around and chop as he prepared you both a meal, and you moved across the room, swapping your robe out for one of his hoodies and a coat to combat the cold air.

Grabbing the bucket and taking it with you, a shiver ran down your spine at the cold air that swept over you from the second that you stepped out and onto the porch, the swing bench squeaking as it rocked in the slight breeze, and you looked around for a pair of boots. Tugging on wellies for the trek through the slippery mud and frosty grasses to the compost pile at the end of the first field, you set off towards it, arms tightly wrapped to your body to seal out the heat.

A short walk all things considered, but it felt like miles in the biting cold, and your fingers were trembling against the cold metal of the bucket as you tipped it all out, stomping it down a little with your foot and covering the dry dust over so that it wouldn't blow away all over the place, knowing just how good it all was for the fields.

The two of you hadn't quite decided what you wanted to do with the land yet, but you still had plenty of time to make up your minds. Mitch wanted to go for the full traditional farm life, with animals and agriculture and the whole shebang. You wanted to take a more modern turn, with pretty gardens and orchards, maybe grow fruits and vegetables, something simpler but not requiring the work that potatoes and pigs would take. After all, it was just the two of you, right now. That little collection of books and leaflets was still sitting unopened, the two of you having agreed to leave that decision until after your house was finished, and everything else was settled, instead of burdening yourselves with too much at once.

As you made your way back, you took in everything around you. While the area may look a little barren and empty right now, you had big plans for it all, the house being the main feature, standing out like a sore thumb as it looked beautiful and prominent with all it’s redecorating in opposition to the abandoned and somewhat desolate landscape around it, even the barn still needing redoing.

Placing to bucket down on the edge of the porch, you spun, hands tucked into your pockets as you considered the tall wooden structure.

It hadn't been used much since your grandparents had owned the farm and all of the land around it, keeping it traditional, back when there had been a tractor and plough that would park inside with hay bales and spare supplies, all of which would contribute or the farm, but had eventually broken or been sued up, never replaced. You could barely remember what it was like inside now, not having been in there since you were a child, your father telling you all about how he’d play and hide in here when he was a child, but your memory was fuzzy.

As you approached it, you found chains locked tightly through the weakened handles on the chipping wood, a large coded padlock keeping them closed, and you smirked to yourself a little, lifting the freezing metal up to examine it. The numbers were almost worn away, yet still just enough visible for you to work with, and you tried your birthday on it, finding that the lock didn’t budge. Your birthday had always been your father’s passcodes and passwords, a fact you’d discovered when you were twelve and never told him about, so you had unimpeded access to everything, but clearly not this.

Despite your peaked curiosity, you had almost given up, before remembering that this was your grandparents’ barn, and likely still had their code on it unchanged from when they realised their son was going into the army, and wouldn't run their farm. Trying your dad’s birthday, the lock popped loose, enabling you to untangle the chains and leave them hanging open as a muffled ‘aha!’ fell from you. The doors were heavy as you pulled on them, large wooden frames that were stiff from years of disuse. The hinges were rusted, and so you were just about able to get one open enough to slip inside, the musty smell of farms and equipment overwhelming your senses, bringing back memories you didn’t know you had forgotten from when you were a child.

There was lighting, but you didn’t think it would still work, flicking your hand over the switch, and as expected, they didn’t light up. The stairs were damaged, floor was strewn with old hay and broken equipment, useless bits of equipment, and you could see just enough of it all from the gaps in the wood that served as windows. It was large, even larger than you’d remembered, the wooden framework appearing smaller on the outside than it was on the inside, and the pipes along the walls were broken.

Following the trail along, they met at a sink in the corner of one room, a large bathtub that was caked in mud, and you assumed that it had always been the place where your grandparents would wash up after a hard day’s work, before going back up to the little farmhouse, as not to trail mud through the home. The wood of the walls rattled slightly, doing nothing to keep out the cold as some wood even began to give way, looking as though it was in desperate need of repair, but a little TLC would go a long way into transforming the space.

Upstairs was far more exciting, or it had been, when you were younger. The balcony overlooked the lower floor, a higher platform where the centre missing to look down on the main floor, and you’d loved to play hide and seek up here when you were barely above hip-height on your father, feeling like an adventure just for going up the steps. The bannisters and barricades were snapped and broken now, years of misfortune taking them, but it was a simple fix. The space would be infinitely better once all the leftover crap had been hauled out of it, and it was stripped bare for renovations.

You were wound up in your thoughts, jumping a little as the main door scraped some more, your lover squeezing his way inside, looking around the lower floor, before dragging his gaze up to find you at the top of the steps. A warm coat wrapped around him, feet shoved into wellies like your own, pyjamas pants ruffled from the action and he looked adorable, a grin taking over his face as he looked at you.

“Thought you’d be up in your closet sorting out our clothes and keeping warm, or something. Didn’t expect to have to hunt you down in a barn when the temperatures are dipping so low.”

“It’s freezing out here, right? There’s absolutely no insulation in here.” He chuckled, unsure of where that statement was going but watching as you came darting down the steps, and meeting you halfway, producing a hand from his pocket to take your own, fingers weaving together, before he was hiding them both back in the warmth it had once been, holding you tight to his side and following your gaze to look around. “It would be better, with some insulation and panelling.”

“Much better, I agree.”

“If we did it up real nice, painted it like the main house, it’d make a pretty great living space, don’t you think?” He hummed, eyes narrowing as he looked around, clearly not seeing the same thing you are but not wanting to voice it, and you grinned, the hand that wasn’t joined with his and tucked in his pocket waving in front of yourselves. “It has a water supply, so there could be a kitchen and bathroom down here, in the far corner, and some couches. A TV set up, a little coffee table, a whole load of nice rugs to keep the floors warm. Upstairs, a bed, and all the storage, a simple but effective living space.”

“I guess so, but we don’t really need it.”

“Of course, we don’t.” You bumped your shoulder against his, and he lifted his arm up, keeping his hand held with yours but letting you snuggle under his arm, instead, drawn close to his body for warmth. “But, it would be great for dad. He’s not home a lot, but it would be a great place for him to know he can come back to when he’s not on deployment, and inevitably retire to.”

A warm laugh bubbled up beside you, the man shaking a little as the sound rumbled from him, and you turned to face him, quirking a brow. “We’re kicking your dad out of the farmhouse, now? He’s not gonna’ like that.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to need privacy when he’s home.” You poked his side lightly, watching a cheeky expression filter over his features as he stared out at the barn, cogs working inside his mind as he began to picture it like you were, and you turned to look at it all yourself, mentally constructing the perfect home for your father. “Besides, his room and the guest rooms might want to be something else, someday.”

You heard his breathing hitch, his gaze locking not you, and two fingers hooking under your chin to turn your gaze back to him. He choked down the lump in his throat, seeming a little nervous, nibbling on his lower lip before finding the words. “Do you mean as, like, baby rooms? Nurseries and kids rooms?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He let out a shaky laugh, sniffling a little as tears lined his eyes, your brows furrowing as you twisted to face him, bringing your hands up to his cheeks and cupping them, using your thumb to wipe away the first tear that fell. “We’re going to have our own little family? I get to have that, with you?”

“Oh, ‘course you do, honey.” His vulnerability was making you emotional yourself, tears burning in your eyes at the bright expression on his face, and he pressed a series of needy and quick kisses to your lips, between short gasps of breath, wet cheeks and lashes sticking together as he did, unable to contain his smile.

“I’ve always wanted kids, my own family, to be a dad.”

“I know.” You whispered, fingers stroking delicately over his skin as he still trembled a little under your touch. “You okay?”

“I’m so much better than ‘okay’. Every moment with you just gets better and better, I’ve never been this happy before.” You stood for a few moments longer, before the chill was becoming too much, and he was dragging you back to the main house, pausing only to redo the lock and chains on the rickety barn doors. It had a lot of work to do, but you had more than enough time, not planning to have a baby any time too soon, too much for the pair of you yet to do, but the day would come along one day, and now, you had a plan.

As you reached the door, kicking off your boots together and standing them up neatly, he took your coat for you, hanging it up inside and sealing the door against the cold, your skin tingling ad the warmth of the house embraced you, and he rubbed his hands up and down your arms, pressing a kiss to your head as he stood behind you, warming you up a little, and you wiggled your toes in your socks as you regained the feeling within them.

“We have a couple of hours to kill before dinner is ready.” He mumbled, the feeling of his voice vibrating along your skin making you grin a little, ticklish assault drawing giggles out of you as you tipped your head back a little further for him. He took the access granted to him, wet mouth closing further over soft and exposed flesh, his teeth beginning to join the mix, scraping enough to make you shiver. “Any ideas on what we could do?”

“Yeah, I have a few..”

He hummed happily, hands on your hips to turn you around, until your nose was bumping against his, and he could flick his tongue out just enough to tease at your lips, a smirk forming on his face. “What did you have in mind, kitten?”

“Something dirty, we haven’t done it in a while. We can get all the stuff out.”

“I like where this is going.” He whispered, leaning down to catch your lips with his, whining when you pulled back enough to keep him chasing, puckered lips forming a growl as you denied him affection. You gave in, leaning in enough to peck at his lips, dragging your kisses along his cheeks as you cupped his face in your hands, and he let out a soft and breathy laugh as you did.

“Is that a yes?”

Your lips were brushing the shell of his ear, and you flicked your tongue out a little, just over the shell, feeling him tremble slightly underneath you in response, fingers flexing against your hips. “Absolutely it is.”

“So, you agree? We should do some cleaning?”

He huffed, pulling back, an unamused look on his face as he stared down at you, and you beamed up at him, thoroughly entertained by the way a moody was look was flashing over his features, and he pouted, not wanting kisses but instead wanting attention instead, and his hands pulled away, dropping down to his sides as you laughed at him.

“Oh, c’mon, baby. I’m just messing with you.”

“It’s Christmas.” He mumbled, grouchy as he tried to readjust himself through his pants, an uncomfortable look passing over his face as he did, and it only made you giggle more. “You’re not supposed to be a tease at Christmas.” You dragged your hands over his chest, pushing one up until it was tangling in the grown-out hairs that were deeply in need of some brushing and cutting, nails scratching at his scalp. Despite how much he wanted to keep up this act, he was already beginning to crumble, head leaning a little to press into your touch, and features softening the more you soothed him.

“It’s always a good time to be a tease, I have to keep you on your toes. Keep it exciting!”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes and bringing his hands up to find your cheeks, pulling your mouth up to his. It wasn’t the kiss you were expecting, it was a lot softer, more romantic and passionate, his tongue never dipping out to find yours, but simply your mouths working together in sweet and delicate exchanges. Thumbs were brushing over your skin, rubbing calming patterns and you sighed out happily against his mouth, stepping in closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from him, barely an inch between your bodies, and you wondered how it was possible that after all the time you’d been together, he still managed to make your heart race like this.

“I love you, Mitch Rapp.” Your words were whispered into his mouth, and he nodded his head, not breaking away long enough to return the words, before everything about the moment was changing. Sweet and romantic was crashing into a burning inferno of passion and need, teeth nibbling at your lower lip as he tempted them apart, wet articles tangling together as the desperation between you arose.

Hands were circling around to your back, lower and lower along your body, until he was taking handfuls of the fleshy mounds of your ass, pulling you in so close that your breath was knocked from your lungs at the impact of colliding, arching up into his chest with each drag of blunt nails over your covered skin. His bruisingly tight grip was making you whimper just at the touch, and his mouth continued to dominate over yours, a delicious attack that was leaving your lips stinging and raw as you kissed him back with equal force.

The moment that his hands slipped to your thighs, his legs bending as he braced himself, you took your queue, familiar with the unspoken signals between you both by now, and your legs wrapped around his waist as he lifted you into his arms, your own looping his neck. He was able to navigate the home expertly by now, knowing his way around without even a single hitch, and the first you knew of it was when your back was meeting cold sheets.

You gasped, arching up into him, and with the break in the frantic kisses came hickies along your neck. A wet mouth, descending along your skin to suck at your neck, teeth teasing and lips sucking until you were so tightly wound up with need that you thought you may burst at any moment.

He took his time, marking you up as though the two of you had all the time in the world, and while technically you did, you wanted to rush through to the main event, the drawn-out build-up making your head spin as it drove you wild, needing to feel him more than you wanted to simply imagine it. There were times when the foreplay excited you, when you’d spent hours kissing him, teasing him, rocking your hips down into his lips he was doing to you now until every part of you was sparking with excitement, making every touch he gave you even more thrilling.

This wasn’t one of the times, though. This was a time when you needed him now, when you needed to be joined to him in the most intimate way that you possibly could. You weren’t sure why, maybe it was just because it was the most wonderful time of the year, festive activities and jovial emotions heightening everything. Or, maybe it was the revelations that had come to you today, the two of you planning for your future always made you overflow with adoration for him, because he was committing himself to you in every possible way he could.

Every inch of your skin felt itchy, like you craved to be connected to him with every fibre, each cell in your body lighting up with the need to connect, and with your legs locking around his hips, you flipped him over, until he was staring up at you through wide eyes, cheeks flushed and a smirk painted in place of his usual endearing smile.

Your hands found the hem of your jumper, tugging it up and over your head, throwing it away to the floor as you felt like you were burning up with heat, and he sat up quickly enough to be able to help you with your t-shirt as that was next, lifting over your arms once you had it over your head.

“Y’know, I usually like to be the one getting to undress you.”

“You were taking too long.” You retorted, your hands dragging along his stomach, finding the hem of his shirt, and he raised his arms up over his head to let you peel it from his skin, hot to the touch as your fingertips as you traced the faint scars and hairs littered along and between his pecs. The muscles jumped under your touch, and you pushed him back down into the bedding, a breathless chuckle sounding from him, and he bent his arms, propping them under his head. The veins along his biceps made your mouth feel dry, and you leaned down, the tip of your tongue tracing along one until it disappeared at his shoulder, and you placed a kiss there, feeling him twitch a little at the featherlight touches.

“Forgive me, darling. I was trying to make it romantic.”

“No, you are getting back at me for being a tease.” You whispered, using one finger to push his head to the side, and he growled a little as you did, the sound cracking and breaking off as you sucked against the pulse point on his neck. His heartbeat was racing, the patch of skin throbbing as you worked to leave a large mark on his skin that would glow dark purple for days to come, and his breathing went shallow as you worked at the patch.

It was rare that ever let you have control enough to leave lovebites on him, the marks you littered on his skin were usually red marks along the skin of his back or nail prints on his shoulders, bite marks littered along his flesh as you tried to quiet yourself. It was the same way he would to you when you got so desperate that he’d fuck you wherever you were the honeymoon phase of your relationship lasting right up to your actual honeymoon, the two of you still driving one another crazy by a single lingering glance.

It was exactly how you knew that he was the one, that he meant the world to you and would always be your other half, because no matter what, the love and passion between you never dulled.

“Maybe I was getting back at you a little bit, but does that make you think you can take over?”

“Maybe it does.” His hands found your hips, and you rocked in his touch, grinding yourself back along the strained length that was tenting his sweatpants, and he bucked up into you as you did. Every roll you made back along his length, he met you with an equally forceful thrust, moans beginning to leave you as the pace picked up, and your fingers were curling into fists within the bedsheets as you simply tried to control yourself. “Fuck, Mitch..”

“Well, that’s exactly what we could be doing.”

He flipped you back over, and undignified and unaccepting sound on your lips as he took the power once again, the battle between you both becoming more erotic with every twist and turn of your bodies. He kissed all the way along your chest until he could sip his tongue below the hem of your pyjama pants, hot breath fanning over your skin, before he was peeling those down your legs.

You stood, sinking to your knees slowly as you dragged his sweatpants and boxers down his body, hands massaging your way back up his legs, fistfuls of his round ass making him jump, groaning under his breath and cheeks flushing pink at the attention that you gave to his body, the blush spreading right along to his chest. Kissing along his hips, he tangled a hand into your hair, stealing your thunder because as the strands were tugged, stinging against your scalp, you were putty in his hands once again.

Instinctually, your mouth fell open, a wicked look flashing across his features as he pushed the head of his cock between your lips, that dripping tip being all he let you have to begin with. Sealing your mouth around him, he let out a string of appreciative noises in the forms of curses praise, your tongue dragging over his slit, a moan rippling through you at the salty taste of his precum spreading through your mouth.

You focused your attention there, tongue swiping and circling him, making sure his skin was soaked, and as you made to sink down further, he pulled away, wet cock smearing across your cheek and his thumb slipping into your mouth instead.

As you suckled on the digit, his fingers spread out over your neck, tips digging into the flesh, and your thighs clenched together, rubbing needily to try and quell some of the fire threatening to burn you up.

“You horny, baby? You need my cock, hm?”

You nodded, knowing he didn’t want you to use your words to reply, and he let out an approving sound as you did, pulling his thumb back, and sinking his index finger between your cheeks. This time, as you lapped at the finger, he continued to go, prodding back until you were gagging around him, tears lining your eyes and you were certain that the panties you were wearing would be ruined, because the feeling of being so completely and utterly under his control was something that always made you crazy.

He cared for you, he was dedicated to you, and every single time that the two of you had been together, he’d given you his sole focus, making you the most important thing in the world to him at that time, giving you everything you wanted, and now, you wanted to care for him.

“Want t’ make y’ feel goo’.” Your words were muffled, his brows raising, and he pulled the wet finger back, trailing over your skin and leaving it wet as he tipped your head up to look at him. He was prompting you to repeat yourself, and you licked at your lips, smiling at him a little as you tried to steady yourself. “I wasn't to make you feel good.”

“Trust me, kitten, I always feel good.” There was a smirk on his face, and despite having no instruction to do so, you scratched your way lightly up his thigh until you were taking his cock in your hand, pumping him slowly. His jaw dropped, eyes fluttering to half-lidded when you squeezed, and he thrust lightly up into your hand to meet you. “Mhm, good girl, just like that.”

You grinned, hand shifting further down, and you took him back into your mouth. The hand in your hair loosened a little, going lax as he relaxed under your touch, eyes sliding closed as your mouth worked along his length, sinking further and further down with every bob of your head. When you no longer needed to pump him, reducing him to a grunting and moaning mess above you, your hands were finding his thighs, gripping on tightly enough to leave imprints of your nails in the solid muscle.

Your cheeks hollow, sucking along his length tightly, and the vein along the underside of his cock throbbed along your tongue as you flattened against hit, a moan echoing through you and vibrating along is length, the fingers in your hair twitching. “Touch yourself, baby.”

Your eyes snapped up, finding that at some point he had lifted his head to look down at you, brows raised, and he lifted one heavy arm to brush the hair back out of your face, gathering a more competent ponytail out of your hair, a firmer grip, and he began to control the speeds of your movements once again. You adjusted yourself, legs widening when his foot tapped against the insides of your knees, and your hand slipped down to prod at your folds.

You moaned around him once again as your fingers brushed over your swollen clit, his hips bucked up and into your face and making you gag around his length, and he nodded approvingly as he watched you begin to please yourself. Working slow circles over the nub, electricity shot through your body, and you let him guide your head slurping and sucking at his cock, wet and filthy as you pleasured him, and the sounds he was making above you were enough to fuel your own bliss.

Working your fingers in tandem with the pace of his bobbing, the feelings racing through your veins was enough to dull the ache in your jaw and hide the tears beginning to spill down your cheeks as he tapped continuously at the back of your throat. Wetness was building up, slick pools within the cotton of your panties that were making it hard for you to move as the material restricted you, and you whined at the lack of available options, wanting more but unable to obtain it.

“As much as I love getting to watch you swallow everything I give you, that’s not right now. I want to fuck you first, kitten. Get up here.”

As he pulled you off of his cock, your head tipped back to face upwards, strings of saliva snapping as his shining cock pointed upwards, angry and red and needy for a climax, and you took gasping breaths, clambering to your feet on shaking legs as he supported you. Hooking his fingers into your panties, he snapped the elastic against your skin, and you grinned, turning in his hold and ignoring the huff he made, because he was moaning loudly a second later.

Pressing up and into him, you bent at the waist as you dragged them down your legs, wet core rubbing along the length of his cock, and he gripped at your hips, one hand smoothing across your back halfway through standing up, keeping you bent over. “Y’know, I was going to do this romantically. Fuck you real good, wrap you around me, kiss you while you came. But now, I think I want you on your hands and knees.”

He placed a rough spank to both sides of your ass, a cry sounding from you before he was pushing you toward the bed, and you stumbled a little, kicking off the panties wrapped around your ankles to be able to crawl back onto the bed. The mattress dipped underneath his weight as he crawled up onto the space behind you, groping at your ass, the head of his cock sliding through your folds and gathering in your wetness.

He lined himself up, cock stretching your entrance as he sank into you, and your forehead dropped down to your folded arms, a loud whine of his name being all that sounded out into the room to accompany the dragged out sound he was making, pleasure surging through him.

As soon as he was fully encased within your walls, he gave you a moment to adjust, and when you were ready, you began to rock your hips back into him. It was slow movements at first, rocking your hips into him, small circles as you adjusted. His large girth always required you having a minute to acclimate, and he was more than happy to waist, but by the flexing of his hands on your waist, you could tell he was scarcely holding himself back from going wild.

“You can go. Please, Mitch, I need it.”

He chuckled, pulling back almost entirely out of you, setting a slow and steady rhythm. “I know you do, sweetheart, I can feel it. You’re clenching around me so tight.” Your walls fluttered at his swords, the raspy voice in which he praised you was enough to make you whimper, sounds muffled as you bit down on your lower lip, and he tutted. “Did I tell you to be quiet? You know how much I love to hear all those pretty noises you make.”

He pinched your side, making you squeak a little, before a hand was wrapping around your middle, and pulling you up until your back was pressed to his chest. Fingers spreading out wide over your stomach, the other slipped up to your throat, pressure being applied lightly, and the rhythm of his hips was becoming more aggressive and deep with every second that passed. You were squeezing around him, every roll of his hips that slammed into you with enough force to drag against your sweet spot made broken calls of his name sound out.

“If you want to be quiet, though, maybe I’ll keep you quiet, huh?” His fingers tightened, squeezing enough to make your vision spot, and you cried out his name, but it was barely a whisper when it was voiced.

You tried to move back into him, meet his pace, but he was slamming his length in and out of you with motions that you couldn't keep up with. Your eyes were rolling back in your head, no thoughts able to be processed as the inside of your head was chanting a mantra of his name, alongside begs and please that you weren't even sure what for.

Reaching a hand up behind you, you held onto him, hand in his hair and tugging, until you could twist your head to catch his lips. It was a messy and rough kiss, all tongues and teeth, pent-up need and pure love shining through as the two of you fucked your way right through your connection. You almost missed the hand on your stomach slipping lower, until he was rubbing uneven and jagged patterns onto your clit, your entire body jerking as you crashed into your orgasm.

He choked on his breath, biting down roughly on your lip as you clamped around him, and the peak caught you both off-guard. You Cried out, both in pleasure and pain, and he released your lip from his touch, licking soothingly over the patch and whispering an apology into your mouth while his eyes rolled in his head. Your foreheads were pressed together, and when you became too weak to hold yourself up anymore, your body dropped forwards.

Your cheek pressed to the mattress, and he followed after you, one hand beside your head curling in the sheets as the other held onto you with a vice-like grip, sloppy pounding and erratic thrusts making you claw at the bedding. The overstimulation was too much, and tears were once again finding your eyes. Those screams you’d denied yourself earlier were coming to claim you in full ails now, his name a loud sob on your lips as the coil in your stomach continued to wind up, fire burning over you.

Your entire body was sparking with energy, and as he stiffened above you, pulling himself out, you collapsed down into the bed. You were still twitching, body hanging on the precipice of your second climax, and you were granted it only moments later.

Two fingers, slamming into you without warning, pumping so quickly that stars flashed behind your eyes, and your throat was raw with the sudden scream that you let out. Our legs thrashed, arms cramping and knuckles aching with how hard you gripped into the bedding, riding through your peak on his hand.

“Mitch! Hold on!”

“Again.” He hissed, giving you only a seconds reprieve as he flipped you over, a hand on your stomach to hold your hips down, wet fingers finding your weeping hole again, and your cheeks were stinging with tears as a pleasure so strong began to wash over you that you forgot how to even breathe. “Are you going to come? You are, I can feel it, walls like velvet grippin’ me so tight.”

“Please!”

“Please what, kitten? You want my cock, that how you want to come? Want me to fill you up, fuck this pretty little pussy full of cum, huh?” You let out a ragged moan at his words, barely able to nod your head, and he pulled his fingers back, hands spreading over your thighs to push our legs apart, settled back into the dip and sinking his cock back inside of you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his hand trapped between your body as his fingers, soaked with your arousal stayed nestled against your bud, rubbing frantic circles onto it as you ascended into the clouds.

“Oh, fuck, Mitch!” With a final shout, you came, the bedsheets around you soaking as you gushed, hips bucking up wildly and body spasming in the bed, his form crushing you as he found his own high. Bliss was encasing you both, a bubble that only the pair of you existed within, and as ropes of hot cum filled you, he collapsed down on top of you.

He licked at your earlobe, lips brushing your ear and you shuddered, whimpering at the electric racing through your body from the action, your fingertips tingling, and he was still sitting snugly within your walls, throbbing and leaking with the aftermath. “I love you too, kitten.”

Your heart beat strongly, arms wrapping around him as you laughed weakly, catching his lips in a light kiss. It was gentle, just enough to confirm everything that had been shared between you both, before the sticky and wet feelings around you both were growing uncomfortable. He lifted you up, your body shaking as he slipped out of you, an ache that you were accustomed to taking place, and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before standing up. He offered you his hands, helping you to stand too, and your knees almost gave out on you as you peeled yourself away from the sodden covers, the remnants of your final orgasm still dripping down your thighs.

“Go clean yourself up, baby doll, I’ll grab you some clothes.” Heat flushed along your body as something thicker than your own cum was leaking along your skin, smearing between your thighs with every small step you took, and you could hear mitch shuffling in the bedroom. The wooden floors were cold under your foot, every foot chilling you back down a little more, shivering a little with goosebumps, and your body was relieved to sit back down as you reached for the paper roll, cleaning yourself up and slumping into the seat.

Washing your hands and smoothing down your hair, you felt considerably cleaner, almost as though you were drunk as you continued to float through the skies on the high that being with your fiancé had given you. When you returned, still a little wobbly but much more stable, he had stripped the bedding and replaced it, a more Christmassy set than before laid out in its place, and he had pulled on some clothes.

Padding his way over to you, you raised your arms lazily, letting him pull on a fresh set of clothes, before shimmying you into some pants, giggles and laughs muffled between kisses and gasps when you stumbled, before finally, you were cosy and dressed again.

“That was awesome.”

“Bet your cute little ass it was.” His hand found yours, tugging you along behind him and into the corridors, the smell of the meal that was being made for the two of you floating around, and you let out a groan as yous stomach rumbled. The scent grew stronger as you moved through the house, enticing you deeper and deeper, and you stood beside him as he began to check everything over, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I had a thought about the wedding.”

“You could sound more optimistic about that.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and pecking your lips in confirmation. “I can’t wait to marry you, love. You know that, I’m just not sure how you’ll react. I know you’ve been looking into places for the wedding, and we’ve gone to look at a few venues, but none of them really felt right. Right?” You hummed, eyes narrowing to him a little, and he busied himself with poking at the turkey to check whether it was done, nudging the over door closed again. “Well, what if we had it here?”

“Like, the farmhouse here? Because it’s kinda’ in shambles at the moment. A lot of work left to be done.”

“Well, yes and no.” He sighed, still avoiding your eye a little, and you tried to shuffle a little closer towards him as he worked. “Not in the farmhouse, but what if we had a summer wedding? Something simple. We could have it outside, picnic benches in the fields when they fill up with daisies and dandelions. You’ve sent me some pretty pictures of those fields before. We could do it picnic style.”

His voice trailed off a little as he spoke, and you could tell he was beginning to doubt himself, and so you pressed up behind him, arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the patch between his shoulder blades, feeling him relax a little under your hold. “I love it.”

“You do?”

“You’ve let me make every decision about our wedding, our house, and our future so far. You deserve an equal say, and if you want a picnic-style wedding on the farm, then that's what we’ll do. I think it sounds lovely.” He twisted to face you, hands holding onto your cheeks and thumb smoothing over your skin, a stare fixed on you that felt as though he was boring into your soul.

“I just want us both to be happy. I don’t have an opinion on a lot of it, my interior design choices are limited to bunk beds and camo.” His joke made you scoff out a laugh, brushing your lips against his.

“That’s okay, soldier, I can make the tough choices on paint colours.” He rolled his eyes, closing the gap for only a moment, and you relished in the loving touch he held you with. “Oh, my bad. You’re my farmer, now.”

“That I am.” He mumbled, a few more shirt kisses pressed to your lips, before he was pushing you backwards. “Go choose a movie, I’ll plate us up some dinner.”

You lit up, and he seemed to see it sparkling in your eyes as his lips pursed. “No.”

“You said choose a movie!”

“I meant a Christmas movie! I’m not watching ‘The Mummy’ again this week.” Your arms folded over your chest at his words, a pout on your lips and he frowned, holding sting for only a few seconds before he was whining, turning away from you to reach for plates. “I know the whole script by heart now. I’m growing to hate that film.”

“Yeah, but you love me!” Your words were sung a little as you made your way through to the living room to load up the television, hearing him mumble his reply, words you couldn't really hear, but you knew he was only confirming your sentiments. As the Christmas lights twinkled, the fire still burning and in need of new logs, the television flickering to life as your soon-to-be husband served up dinner in the farmhouse kitchen, you knew there was no place you could possibly be that would make you any happier than right here.

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