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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

Note

and A lay B down to nurse their wounds......? 😫🥺🥰

eri my beloved tysm for the request and sending a prompt 🥺💖 ilysm and hope u enjoy some Soft royai!!!

this kind of ended up being a blend of two prompts? this one and feeling cared for one from that prompt list asdffds i hope that's ok but also it's what riza deserves <3

send me a prompt

rated: t | words: 3054 | tags: hurt/comfort, soft royai, tending to wounds, fluff

read on ao3

They are silent once the safehouse is deemed secure. The quiet is deafening as it shrouds them both. It’s almost oppressive as they take stock of what they’d just escaped from and process the fact they’d been in a shootout about an hour ago. The lack of sound is jarring, it’s such a contrast, but there is a comfort in it as well, because they’re okay. They’re safe and they’re together. Now, where there is no one shooting at them, no one chasing them, they can both finally rest and let their guard down. The adrenaline is abating, leaving muscles quivering and allowing breaths to leave their lungs much easier.

The Colonel sits heavily on the couch behind them, letting the cushions catch all of his weight as a long sigh of relief passes over his lips. He lets out a quiet hiss as he hits a sore spot, either on his legs or up his back, but apart from that he’s silent.

Riza feels the tension fizzle out of her shoulders, dragging them both downward slowly, peeling away from her ears, as she finally starts to let herself relax.

They’ve both had a rough few hours, but they made it out. There’s a few bruises and lacerations covering their skin; Riza has one on her left forearm and one on the left of her abdomen, and the Colonel has a small one on his cheek. His lip is burst as well, the result of an unsuspecting punch to the face. She’s sure he sustained more as they fought their way out to safety, but she can’t be sure. There’s no blood pooling on his clothes or saturating any of the fabric of his uniform, so that’s something. That was enough while they fought their way out.

“Lieutenant?” His call for her attention is soft so not to startle her and it’s full of concern.

She turns, wondering what he needs, to see his questioning stare as he watches her still standing in place with her hands clenched by her sides. Her fingers relax automatically, letting go of the tension, but she cannot help the wince as the muscles of her forearm contract, aggravating her injury there.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course, sir.”

He scrutinises her for a moment longer than usual. His eyes narrow slightly as he does so, indicating he doesn’t quite believe her, but she is. He lets it go with a simple nod.

“Sit,” he urges, gesturing to the cushions next to him on the couch. “Please.” He beckons her gently with a tired smile.

The Colonel’s expression mirrors her own, Riza is sure. Exhaustion has settled deep within her bones, and she knows she should stop, that she should sit down and tend to her wounds. With the adrenaline gone her side is throbbing, and both injuries need cleaned and covered as soon as possible. There’s a sharp pain in her oblique muscle as she thinks about her worst one, which makes her twitch and grimace.

“Lieutenant.” He almost breathes her rank. It catches her attention and she’s momentarily taken aback by the look on his face. It’s filled with understanding, and his concern is back. One eyebrow lifts in an enquiry, calling back to his earlier question regarding her wellbeing.

“Honestly, I’m all right,” she assures him. “It’s only a few bumps and bruises.”

The Colonel nods. “Okay. Shall we see to that wound on your side?”

Riza watches as he swallows after speaking. It wasn’t his fault or hers, it was the fault of the man who’d been wielding a knife, but as her commanding officer she knows the Colonel will hoard the responsibility for everything that happened today.

“What about the one on your cheek?” Her counter makes him smile knowingly.

“Mine feels like it’s nothing compared to that,” he replies, nodding towards her torso. His smile dies on his lips as they both look at the patch of blood seeping through her military jacket. Real worry replaces his concern and Riza nods, giving in.

“Come here,” he coaxes, speaking ever so gently.

The mood feels like it has shifted slightly but Riza dismisses it. She’s too tired and sore and will still need to see to his wounds once she’s been taken care of. There are more important things to focus on.

“Sir, I can see to it myself. I don’t mind.” Riza appreciates his offer more than he could know, but she still has to say it. She doesn’t want him to feel obligated to do so.

Realising his gentle command is going ignored, the Colonel stands to join her and slowly reaches out to catch her fingers within his own. He curls them around her digits, but his touch is light. Unrestricting, but tender. His touch is calming and welcome.

“Lieutenant.” His tone is firm, but he’s not ordering her to do anything. It’s placating and an offer. “Let’s clean up that wound. I don’t want you twisting and turning any more than is necessary, given its location, but only if you’re comfortable with that. It’s completely up to you.”

She stares at him, noting the undercurrent of worry but also taking in the care she sees in his eyes. He wants to help her. He wants to look after her, to make sure she’s patched up and all right.

The Colonel does not tug her towards him. He simply holds her hand, his own arm outstretched and waiting, giving her the freedom to pull away if she so wishes. It’s her choice; go to him and accept whatever he is willing to offer or take a step back and away. The Colonel won’t mind if she picks the latter, Riza doesn’t think. He will be mildly disappointed. He’ll probably pout at her childishly, but it will not become an issue between them… The thought of his reaction almost makes her smile fondly. The corners of her lips twitch.

She steps forwards and his smile grows wider as he smoothly guides her towards him by the hand. Before their bodies can collide, he sidesteps and lowers her hand to their sides before turning and taking a cautious step down the hall behind him, waiting for her to follow him.

Even into hell.

Of course, she follows him.

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

“How does that feel?”

“Good.” The bandage around her torso is secure and places enough pressure on her wound. The safehouse is well stocked with plenty of first aid supplies so there’s more than enough for them both.

Riza straightens in her chair at the table in the safehouse’s kitchen. She’d leant forward onto her elbows, being mindful of her injured arm, as the Colonel cleaned up her side. As he did so, she saw to her forearm, both working in tandem to patch her up. It was an arduous affair, but a necessary one. With every wince and flinch she felt him hesitate behind her. Riza could almost feel the sorrow pouring off him, but there was nothing else to be done. He knows that, but it still doesn’t mean that he likes being the cause of it for her.

She shivers as cool air washes over her exposed skin and her side twinges with pain. Reflexively a hand rises to cover the aching area.

“Still sore?”

She nods, and the Colonel sighs quietly. She knows what he’s thinking. He wants to take her pain away.

“It will be okay, sir,” she placates.

He huffs and mumbles to himself, not satisfied, which causes Riza to roll her eyes fondly at his antics.

Before she can move any further, something is draped over her shoulders. She had to remove her shirt for the Colonel to work on her properly, so she’d been left in just her sports bra, but looking down she sees the Colonel’s black overcoat covering her. She knows it’s his because she’s suddenly shrouded in the smell of him.

It makes her smile. Riza leans back in her chair and tugs the article of clothing tighter around her body, relishing in the warmth it provides and the comfort it brings, alongside the thoughtfulness of his gesture. She shoots him a grateful smile, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too focussed cleaning up after his work. Riza watches him, taking in the look of concentration on his handsome features as he carefully collects the soiled bandages and wipes. When he senses eyes on him, the Colonel glances up and looks at her so expectantly – it’s almost innocent – before his expression changes and turns perplexed.

It reminds her of the boy she grew up with. Before war and guilt and unspeakable atrocities.

“What is it?” There’s a smile tugging at his lips, and she discovers its contagious.

“Nothing,” she replies, schooling her expression and readjusting his coat.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No,” she replies. “There’s nothing wrong at all. Thank you for your coat.”

His smile is bright and pleased. “Of course, Lieutenant. You’re welcome.”

After the waste is disposed of the Colonel wipes carefully at his cheek and lip. The alcohol smarts and he hisses in pain and flinches away from it, but still powers on through. It’s a quick job, only taking about five minutes, and once he’s done, he rummages around inside the first aid kit once more.

“I could have helped you with that,” Riza offers. As she sits up in her chair she flinches as the movement jostles her side.

“And that’s precisely why I did it myself,” he chuckles quietly, eyeing her above the mirror he had propped up on the table between them. It had been fascinating to watch him work. “Here.” A small white bottle is offered to her. Painkillers. “These will help with your pain, apparently.”

“Thank you. Is there any ice for your bruises?”

The Colonel nods and collects it from the freezer. It’s pressed to his cheek, and he grumbles about the cold.

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

While the safehouse is well equipped and the perfect spot for them, they are both presented with a small issue when night falls.

Both stare at the single bed in the bedroom.

The Colonel scratches the back of his neck and fidgets on the spot, shifting his weight from one foot to the other once, then twice. Riza exhales slowly and quietly, resigning herself to their sleeping arrangements. She grips his coat tighter, so it doesn’t fall off her shoulders.

Riza could have changed into a t-shirt but she can’t quite let go of his coat just yet. The Colonel doesn’t comment on it either. He doesn’t question her choice and seems more than happy to allow her to keep it for the time being.

“I…” The Colonel clears his throat quietly. “I can take the couch.”

As he turns away Riza’s hand reaches out. She grips onto his shirt, halting him. He looks down at her hand, before his eyes jerk back up to meet hers. He knows what she’s asking of him already, but he still hesitates. He still waits for her to voice it aloud.

Like the courtesy he’d offered her earlier, he can move away if he wishes to. Her grip isn’t tight or restrictive, yet he doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t expect him to stay with her but…

She wants him to.

“What do you need, Lieutenant?” His prompt comes after they’ve been standing in silence for a beat longer than he expected.

She looks up at him, gripping onto his coat.

“You.”

The bed is a tight squeeze, but they manage. The military wouldn’t splash out for a large double bed for their officers. In all honesty, Riza is surprised there’s even a proper bed, and not just a cot. But she supposes it would have kept up appearances when they moved equipment into the neighbourhood.

Riza is pressed with her back to the wall while the Colonel faces her –

It feels wrong to refer to him as such in their current position. The mission is over. They’re laying low and off duty while the heat clears from them both after their escape. They’re not Lieutenant and Colonel right now…

She snakes her injured arm underneath his, reaching across his torso, and spreads her fingers across his lower back. Their bodies are pressed even closer together – she can feel the heat radiating off of him (which makes her smile to herself) – but he’s secure. She wants to ensure he won’t fall backwards off the bed in sleep.

“Are you comfortable?” His breath washes over Riza and her eyes flutter closed at the pleasant feeling. His voice is so low that it causes her to relax instantly. It’s such a pleasing sound as she lies there, pressed up against him.

She hums her approval. Riza tips her head forwards, causing it to brush against his chin and throat as she burrows even deeper into the warmth between them. The painkillers are kicking in and making her drowsy.

“Good.”

Her sleepy grin is hidden when she feels lips on the top of her head, but she makes a soft, pleased sound as he kisses her. When his hand runs through her short hair she’s almost lost to sleep completely.

“As much as it pains me to see you with those injuries, it has worked out quite well for us.” He laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

A frown tugs at her brow as confusion becomes prominent. “What do you mean?”

“It makes us the perfect fit,” he murmurs after a brief pause.

He’s right. Lying on his uninjured side leaves him in the perfect position to lie facing her, and Riza lying on hers leaves her able to curl into him.

“So, getting punched in the face was your plan all along? So you could cuddle me in bed at night?”

His laughter is full of joy at her joke. “Anything for you, Lieutenant,” he winks, “you know that.” His arm wraps around her shoulders and back, pulling her tighter against him.

“How’s your cheek,” she mumbles tiredly. She can no longer bring herself to keep her eyes open. She blames the comfort and care he always brings her so effortlessly.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry, Lieutenant.”

“Riza.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Pardon?”

“Riza,” she breathes.

She cannot remember who crossed the line first tonight – perhaps they both did, but it is completely muddled within her memory. She doesn’t want it there between them. Not now, when she’s so comfortable and feels so cared for. Not when Roy’s fingers are combing through her hair, and she can hear his heartbeat close to her ear and feel his pulse thrum underneath her touch.

“Of course, Riza.” He grants her request so easily and quietly as he presses another kiss to the top of her head. Riza can practically hear the pleased smile that she knows must be on his face. Roy joins her on the other side of the line willingly and without hesitation. He only wanted to make sure he heard her correctly.

“I’ll always worry about you,” she adds. She curls closer into his chest and holds onto his lower back even tighter. Her fingertips increase their pressure there.

“I’m okay,” he soothes, his voice a hum underneath her ear. “You fared far worse than me.”

Riza tips her head back, exiting the cocoon of warmth they’d made between them. Blearily, she blinks up at him and notices the strained look on his face. The arm holding onto his back moves slowly and she brings it up to cup his cheek. Her thumb caresses his cheekbone, close to underneath his eye, and Roy’s eyelids flutter closed, seemingly of their own accord. That makes her smile and leaves Riza feeling pleased with herself. She can do that to him, offer that feeling to him, like he does to her.

Roy’s head turns and she grants him the space to move. With it, he presses a kiss against her palm.

“I’ll always worry about you too,” Roy admits. His fingers ghost over the bandage on her arm. Even though his touch is barely there it still tickles her skin, lifts the hairs on her arms, and makes the base of her neck tingle.

She shivers.

Roy lowers his hand to the space between them. The muscles of her stomach become painfully aware of his hand’s proximity and start to tingle. It becomes too much and Riza has to move forward, closer to him and his hand, to rid herself of the pleasant, but overwhelming feeling. The back of his hand is now pressed against the bare flesh of her abdomen.

“We have to lay low tomorrow as well.”

Riza nods in agreement. That was their orders, after all.

“We have to rest,” he stresses, and she catches onto his meaning, “to let ourselves heal.”

She smirks up at him, knowing exactly what it is he’s proposing. He was always a crafty one.

Not moving far from this bed and nursing their wounds together sounded like a wonderful plan to Riza.

Roy runs a hand up her arm to her shoulder, the backs of his fingers trailing along her skin and igniting a trail of fire beneath them, then back down again. “If the military had provided us with the appropriate facilities, like, say, a bed each, we would be able to do it apart and by ourselves. But,” he sighs heavily, exaggerating the sound, “since the military didn’t, we must make do with what we have.”

“What a shame,” Riza smiles tiredly.

“You’re stuck with me, Riza,” he chuckles. “Sorry.”

“Darn.”

“Blame the military.”

“Don’t worry, I will. They’ll receive a stern letter about the lack of facilities provided inside their safehouses from me tomorrow.” Riza yawns loudly towards the end of her sentence but Roy is already laughing. “Or maybe it will get lost in the post.” She’s pretty sure her speech is incoherent at that point. Roy’s affection has almost lulled her completely to sleep.

“Sleep well, my Queen.” He presses his lips to her forehead. “Let me know if you need any more painkillers.”

“I will,” she mumbles tiredly. “Sleep well, Roy. Thank you,” she breathes happily.

Wrapped up in his arms, clinging onto Roy tightly, Riza falls asleep feeling completely safe and cared for, and at peace.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai oneshot #emma writes #fic request #there was only one bed #ask #firewood-figs #tysm for the prompt!!!!#miles adrift inches away

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firstbeachgoblin · 3 years

Text

Trails to The Beach

Embry x Reader

Taking the trail to First Beach is always serene but what happens when (y/n) thinks someone is following her?

A/N: Hello pal's this is my first fic on this blog! isn't that neat? If you want to suggest anything pop it in my inbox! I hope you enjoy.

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(Y/N) POV

I always found the trail that leads to First Beach to be serene, a forest trail lined with towering pines coated in moss with a light humidity laced with the fragrant scent of the ocean and forest which left an earthy scent in my nose.

I had been invited to the beach to join in on the bonfire that Quil was hosting, he asked me to come and who was I to deny him and my two other best friends, Jacob and Embry the luxury of being in my presence.

Embry’s POV

I had just pulled up to the parking lot that sits just outside of the trail leading to the Beach, hopping out of my truck I slammed the door shut and locked it. Turning towards the trail I saw (y/n) entering.

“HEY (Y/N)!” I bellowed at her but it seemed to be that she didn’t hear me or was off in her own little world, it was probably the latter.

So I decided to catch up with and get her attention.

(Y/N) POV

Usually the trail is filled with bird’s singing and squirrels chattering away, but today it was silent. I usually felt at peace but the unusual silence startled me more as it was also getting darker as the summer evening dragged on.

I quickly peeked behind my shoulder thinking I heard someone say “Ow!” but there was no one in sight, I was alone. Another thing to put me on edge which increased my heart beat to a steady pace. After hearing what I thought to be someone else the sense of being watched washed over my body and slid down my spine.

I shuddered thinking about Jake’s warnings about the increased animal sightings in the area, hopefully today was not my day to die.Today better not be the day I become a Fork’s statistic.

The further I walked the stronger my feeling of unease grew like a spreading fire, I felt exposed in the dense coverage of the trees and their foliage. So I quickened my pace to a fast walk and continued down the trail ignoring the alarm bells my brain was sending off. I couldn’t turn back because that’s where the thing igniting my fear was, I’d get lost if I went off trail so my only way was forward.

I threw another glance over my shoulder catching the sight of what seemed to be someone’s head ducking back behind a tree, maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me making me think I saw someone when I knew I was by myself.

But as I turned back around I heard the snap of a branch beneath someone or something’s foot as they pushed through the pushes causing them to rustle with their motion.

“Oh fuck.” was all I thought as I launched forward breaking into a sprint. My heart roared in my chest with fear and adrenaline, the woosh of my blood pumping through my ears was the only sound I could focus on along with the approaching steps behind me.

It felt like I was being hunted, stalked for someone’s next meal. Every time I checked behind me I saw nothing but glimpses of a head. I was petrified, yeah this is Washington but Big Foot could not possibly be planning to have me for dinner.

The beach seemed so close yet so far away as the tree’s thinned the further I ran towards safety, the voice’s of the boy’s laughing could be heard as well with my followers' steps who were still trailing behind me. The trail slowly transitioned from dirt into sand the closer the shoreline drew to me giving me the chance to see the faint glow of the fire.

But I wasn’t safe yet.

The footsteps grew closer and closer, sending my heart into overdrive and my nerves skyrocketing through the roof. My heart sank as I stepped onto the beach but my arm was caught and I was pulled back into the chest of the person following me and thrown over their shoulder.

I tried to wiggle myself out but my attempts failed due to the strength of the grip around my waist. Their shoulder’s vibrated while the person began to laugh out into the night. The laugh sounded familiar and I knew who it was immediately as they laughed harder.

“Embry! Put me down now!” I demanded placing my hands on his back trying to push myself up.

“Come on (y/n) we’re almost there!” he giggled with the sand crunching under his feet.

“You’re a real ass ya know that right?” He plunked me down next to one of the logs that encircled the fire.

This sent him into another fit along with the people who had the pleasure of watching this unfold. I heard Jacob snort with laughter and shot him a glare.

“It wasn’t funny!”

“Oh it was absolutely hilarious we could hear Embry shouting your name from here, yet somehow YOU didn’t hear!” Jacob gasped out between his laughs. I stomped my foot and turned around to punch Embry in the shoulder, he was crumpled over with his hands on his knees crying with laughter at my expense, not cool.

“Ouch, a mosquito bit my shoulder.” Embry straightened up and pulled me back into his chest ruffling my hair.

“I was yelling your name as you walked onto the trail, I even tripped over a rock and you didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t see anything! I just heard you, thought you were an animal or something that was going to kill me!”

“You’re safe now, no need to worry!” he exclaimed.

“Ugh, the only one who should be worried now is you, sleep with one eye open Call. I’m coming for you.” I grumbled taking a seat on the log, he folded his long limbs down to sit next to me.

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders he leaned his cheek against the top of my head, I wrapped my arm around his middle and leaned into the best, yet absolutely worst radiator on earth.

“I’ll make sure to yell even louder next time. I’m sorry for scaring the living daylights out of you.”

“You’re forgiven, but you better watch your back still Embry.”

He laughed at me again, “Oh I’m sure I will, you’re so scary.” I rolled my eyes and laughed along with him. I couldn’t stay upset with him for long especially when he cracks his lame jokes, I find him too funny sometimes.

#embry call #twilight embry #twilight #embry call x reader #embry call imagine #twilight wolf pack

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no-droids · 5 years

Text

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously. The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly. You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more. So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes. You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson. One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip. The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you. It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in. If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse. To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius. But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing. There could be more of his friends close by. What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before. Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position. You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips. “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting. A thud. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words. You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth. “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?” He suddenly sounds urgent. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now. “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…” You look down at the child in your arms. “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly. You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths. Another blaster shot. “We need to get out of here. Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can. You’ll see me.”

“Do I…” Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot. “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.” He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself. You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it. Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked? “Can you fly?”

You don’t respond. You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now. The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest. “You can fly. Understand? Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on. Fly out to me, right now. We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument. It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you. Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed. Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy. Sec-Sector-15.” You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again. Just. Just don’t look at the body, okay? Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body. “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats. And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding. You can do this. You can totally do this. You can walk, because you can fly. Duh. Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit. The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay. Flight check. Now. To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good. To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console. Yep, got it. Up top now, those two red ones overhead. Good. Good, you can do this. Type coordinates into the nav comp. Sector-15, locked. Easy. This is easy. That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full. Okay. Left thruster, looks good. Right looks good, too. Okay. Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on. Hatch: sealed. Shields: engaged. Flight check complete. Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you. Maker, get it the fuck together. What did Mando hire you for? You told him you were useful, didn’t you? This is what you do. You fly. So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair. Yeah, you can do this. Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls. Don’t think about the dead body in the hull. Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead. Just fly the ship. This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below. You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him. Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below. Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link. Relief pounds through you. Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand. You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts. “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime. The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again. It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished. “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly. You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet. Hyperspace is fucking quiet. You forget, sometimes. Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life. It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time. Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously. Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it. You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time. As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…” You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel. This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body. But you… you should make sure, right? “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.” Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension. He quickly makes his way around it and over to you. “It’s gone. Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see. “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve. You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you. It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding. Why can’t you feel it? Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out. Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…” You blink down at your injury. He didn’t even find the quarry? But then what was all that ruckus about? And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment? Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands? An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt. He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest. You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high. Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated. You can’t imagine how expensive it was. “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?” He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!” You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown. Maker, that needle is big. You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars. “It doesn’t even h-hurt! I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him. He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap. “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked. This’ll work fast and it won’t scar. Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable. “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip. “Listen. This isn’t a scratch. It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade. Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes. Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water? “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand. But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think. You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t. He feels… right like this. Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck. It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat. You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment. “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.” You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him. Maker, he smells good. He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good? “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?” He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back. “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him. “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away. He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless. “I was just blindsided. Tears don’t work on me, but. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in. You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect. “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you. And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw. Maker. “I see.”

What a pair you two make. Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.

Something he’s done with you twice now. Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you? Such massively different problems, different ways of life. You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share. How much the both of you could probably learn from each other. His assertiveness; your humanity. His decisiveness; your consideration. His secrets; your honesty. None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think. They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary. Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?” He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work. “Just… no. Not really. I mean. It makes sense. Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Showing my face, telling people my name. Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?” He’s quiet. You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut. “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down. “You never ask me about anything. My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off. Everyone always asks, but. You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury. He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully. Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions. “But I respect you. And your creed. I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you. And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.” You shrug once more. “Some things don’t need explanations. They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again. When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur. “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well. Fuck ‘em.” You blurt. “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right? No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes. You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours. Fundamentally. Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever. It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know. So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly. “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all. Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move. He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face. Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face. What color are his eyes? You bet they’re brown. You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel. His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him. Dark hair, wavy hair. Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly. Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.” He’s quiet for a moment. And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again. “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing. Why? Why is he asking this? He wants to give you his name? Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert. “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip. Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too. And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you. “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same. “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you. His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape. “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them. Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor. Where the fuck is he going with this? “Y-yes. I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times. “First. I’ll give you a quarter dose of this. I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better. Even good. Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second. I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches. He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you. “Only here. With me, on this ship. In front of the kid is fine. But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it. Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.” He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward. “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock. “I… won’t be gentle. But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you. Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore. Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…” You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock. His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life. “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately. “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze. “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer. He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward. “I’d be an idiot to give it up first. Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all. He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight. “It won’t… won’t work. You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths. “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?” You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off. Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you. “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me? Please? And then I’ll take your shot?” But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be. “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare. “W-what?”

“If you…” You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard. The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful. Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this. “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know. It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine. We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a. A deal, or anything. You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.” You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head. “So I’m taking it off the table. Even if you were the one who put it on there. No pressure. I’ll take the shot. And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that. Apart from that. A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you. If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost. He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit. Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself? Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work. You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you? Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever. That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it? Fuck, what have you done? Is it too late to take half of that shit back? Can you start this whole thing over real quick? How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle? You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you? No. No fucking way, you would. Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving. You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones. He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds truly mystified by you. Stumped. Reverent.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…” He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t. “You can’t—you… t—? Not just. But be—because of. On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence. He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay. You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums. “First. Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more. The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms. “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist. The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky. “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this. “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed. Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position. Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs. You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Fuck, he’s so fucking thick. Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right. The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips. It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames. He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?” He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision. His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again. “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you. And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat. Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating. “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?” He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull. His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks. “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm. Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades. “Never. Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you. “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat. You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo. “Good. Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?” His voice is tight, breathless and shaky. “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive. All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight. He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you. You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent. Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you. You try to move, but you can’t. You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something. It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?” Your muscles feel like lead. “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass. And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin. Fuck. He gave you the shot. The fucker just gave you the shot. How dare he? Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again? While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly. “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point. No flourishes. A quick, one-syllable punch of air. One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides. Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it. Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real. It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass. He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #fanfic #no-droids #smut

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milktyama · 4 years

Text

— ☕︎ IF BY CHANCE

a/n: here are the imagines that anon gave me and gave me permission to expand with my own accord!! thank you anon i love this idea (and also added the song to my playlist thank you for that) ALSO longest work ever done!

— heavy reference to if by chance by ruth b.

synopsis: "if by chance... could you forgive me?"

pairing: 3rd year/adult!kageyama tobio x reader

genre: fluff to angst, hurt little comfort, in spain w/o the s

wc: 2.3k

thank you @kohi-zeri @snoozless for beta-ing! <3

❥︎ two swear words, most obvious n smallest manga spoiler

People like to emphasize how high school will be the greatest and the wildest years of your life. And a major part of high school is exploring first loves and small infatuations. High school love is so innocent and light-hearted and sometimes awkward, but that is what makes it so charming.

That is exactly how it felt being with Kageyama Tobio after meeting him in your final year of high school. Shy confessions were exchanged on the daily, pinkies linked as the main source of public affection, anything more flustering both of your young selves.

You always thought that meeting your high school sweetheart in your last year was a sign of bad luck. It was way too late for any deep love to actually develop. It would almost feel forced or fleeting, the connection not having enough time to harvest and bloom.

Though, being with him proved that wrong.

Having him in your life was a blessing from the moment you first encountered him on a rainy spring evening during your way home. You would’ve never expected that that day to become as significant to you back then as it does now.

A small irregularity of Kageyama Tobio forgetting his umbrella when the weather forecast had explicitly predicted a 90% chance of raining during the evening. That night, you thought to yourself that he was counting on the 10% chance that it wouldn’t rain, when in reality it was simply the fact that he did not check the weather forecast daily.

Pft. You would think that being a senior in high school would mean taking up a little more responsibility, but that wasn’t the case with him. His mind still ran on the adrenaline and excitement of volleyball and volleyball alone.

You saw him attempting to take shelter under a cherry blossom tree in the nearby park. The droplets of the rain reflected the sunlight as they landed on the light pink petals of the tree, giving it a warm and peaceful glow.

Kageyama’s hair and clothes were damp from the minimal protection he had against the pouring rain. If you had not approached him that night and offered to share your umbrella, nothing would have happened between the two of you.

You two would have remained as casual classmates, having small insignificant encounters that could be easily looked over: being assigned clean up duty together, collecting tests from people in your row — simple things that no one would ever think twice about. This encounter alone could have easily been part of the list of insignificant encounters… it was just a classmate looking out for another classmate right?

But the warm kindness you showed him on that cold, rainy night had somehow reached Kageyama’s heart. What he at first thought was a mere act of kindness towards a classmate had sprouted into something a little bit more.

After that night, Kageyama found himself looking in your direction more often. His bright blueberry eyes would wander towards your figure who sat a few desks in front of him. You never caught him staring during class, but his presence was more than enough to burn through the back of your head.

It seemed his not-so-subtle glances have rubbed off onto you because you would find your eyes starting to linger on him as well. His tall and lean figure captivated you. His raven hair, his blue eyes, his indifferent voice, and infamous “resting bitch face” were triggers your brain could not miss.

The more the days pass with your attention captivated by this man, the more you realize your feelings towards him. It was a rocky but surprisingly short journey, with both parties who faced difficulties with expressing their feelings to the other, but everything eventually fell into place, leaving it up to fate to bring both of your yearning souls together.

And oh boy did fate put a strong magnetism between the two of you.

You fell in love with Kageyama Tobio through and through. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, with stiff movements and a sprinkle of miscommunication, but after speaking your hearts out, it became clear: you were in love with him just as much as he was in love with you.

At least that is how it seemed.

Even after sharing light kisses under the cherry blossom tree where you met for the first time, your hands held in his rough ones, surrounded by the smell in his clothes that you borrowed from his closet. Or passing small notes to each other during class and sleepless nights when you tried to tutor him in classes he lacked on. Or shouting from the top of your lungs whenever you attended any of his games while sporting his spare jersey.

All these memories seemingly came crashing down a week before your graduation.

Your ears rang after he utters a short phrase that had enough power to crash your world, enough power to make you feel as if everything you’ve done the past year had been a waste, enough power to leave you on your knees, helplessly clutching your chest as the pain starts to spread throughout your body.

“I’m sorry. But… I think I’m in love with someone else.”

He continued to ramble endlessly. Maybe it was more apologies, or maybe he was reasoning what he’d been doing with you this past year. Maybe he was word vomiting in order to make this impact on you less heavy. Whatever it had been, you couldn’t hear it. You lost your grasp of your senses the second those words had reached your ears.

How did you not notice this? How could you not see how his glances towards you became less frequent, how his kisses grew more reluctant, how he wouldn’t reach for your hand first, how his eyes didn’t sparkle for you? You only now realized that he fell out of love. Or maybe he loved someone else all along? Or maybe you were just a game to him? You didn’t even want to consider the latter.

Your sight was blurring with tears that you desperately tried to keep in, but they had already fallen helplessly down your face. You didn’t even notice that Kageyama was no longer in front of you.

When you finally composed yourself, you could see his retreating figure in the distance with someone else at his side. They weren’t hugging or holding hands or kissing or anything of that sort. But watching the person you thought you could love for the rest of your life walk away with someone else was just too much for your poor heart to bear.

It has been exactly 4 years since. You graduated from university and did some intern work during your summers to distract yourself. You truly believed that you have finally picked yourself up and moved one. It was only after seeing him on TV, seeing that he had achieved his dream of going pro, that all the emotions came rushing back.

You still loved him. You always have and never stopped. Your love for him was so great, so powerful, so unconditional that it never left your system, even after being broken in one of the worst ways possible.

Maybe if he had loved you then you would still be by his side, cheering him on.

He reached out to you a few months after your break up. With your wound still fresh, you had truly believed he called to get back together, only to get your hopes crushed. Well, not completely, at least. He called to apologize again, figuring that back in high school you — actually, both of you — had been too emotionally distressed to properly deal with the situation.

It was a very short call, 5 minutes at most. His apology was simple and to the point, but that was how he was. He swore he was sorry for ending things the way they did, and ended the call with a promise. He promised to never hurt you again.

Although his heart may or may not have not been occupied by someone else during your time together, he still found comfort and familiarity when he was with you. Before he could hang up, you too apologized for how you reacted and dealt with the situation, swearing the same promise.

But that promise proved harder to keep than you had thought.

You encountered Kageyama once again, but this time he was with someone else. He seemed happy. It was hard to believe that even after all these years, your heart still beat for Kageyama Tobio. It hurt your heart to see him smile for someone else, knowing those smiles used to be for you. It hurt your heart to know that you were no longer the reason for his smiles being so wide, so genuine.

You wondered if he still recalled the memories the two of you shared. If he still sang along to the song you two spent weeks choosing and claimed as “your song” or if he skipped it. If he still reacted to advertisements that featured your favorite lip balm, the one he loved tasting on your lips whenever you kissed. If he remembered the future plans you talked about, where the two of you would live in a comfortable apartment and how the interior would be decorated; how you would spend nights dancing around the living room.

Either way, you were no longer part of his life. He had found someone else to dedicate his heart to. As if to confirm the dilemma that has plagued you for so long, Kageyama leaned into a kiss to the forehead of his partner, smiling as he pulled away whilst leaning his head onto his partner.

Tears brimmed in the corners of your eyes. You ran, allowing your body to take you wherever it pleased, hot tears falling helplessly from your eyes continuously.

So much for keeping a promise.

Your feet finally stopped, tired, your eyes worn out from crying. You slowly took in your surroundings as you felt the warm breeze of a spring evening, soft petals tickling your sensitive skin. It was quite obvious where your heart belonged.

You found yourself under the tree where you first met him. Where you two would often sit and exchange fleeting kisses or a small treat, feeding each other with fond eyes. The wind blew past you as the petals from the cherry blossom tree slowly fell, surrounding you in a cozy ambiance that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

As your legs finally gave up at the memory that came rushing into your head, you heard footsteps that sounded like they were approaching your way. A piece of light blue cloth neatly folded entered your line of vision. Your eyes shot up to the tall figure that was now towering over you. His body faced you, however his eyes did not meet yours.

You hesitated before slowly reaching out for the handkerchief in his hand, avoiding his eyes as well.

“I’m sorry…” was all that came out from his lips. There was a moment of silence, disrupted every now and then by a couple of sniffles. Kageyama tried speaking again.

“I’m sorry for hurting you again, even after I promised you I wouldn’t.”

“It’s fine…” you managed to choke out, voice slightly cracking. You thought you sounded pathetic. You two broke up four years ago, for fuck’s sake! A lump formed in your throat again, a mix of the remains of old memories and your own consciousness trying to bring some sense into your pained heart.

“If by chance… could you forgive me? For breaking the promise I mean,” Kageyama asked. His words were gentle and soft, maybe a little sweet like honey, attempting to cover up any harshness. It was clear he did not want to hurt you for any longer. His blueberry eyes that you missed so much had a small sparkle to them. You wondered what that sparkle meant.

Was it because he still loved you? Did he miss you the way you missed him? Or maybe he only felt pity for you. Maybe he was hoping for something more. What could he be possibly hopeful for? Your forgiveness? It wasn’t like you were mad at him. Afterall, it was your own fault for falling so deeply in love with him. As painful and bitter as it was, you tried your best to pull your lips upwards.

It was the saddest smile he had ever seen.

Voices in your head screamed at the pain you felt in your heart, but your head reasoned that this was not his fault. You had to let go, once and for all.

“Of course I forgive you.”

The words vibrated through your skull. Your head forgave him, your self-conscious told your heart to forgive him, but in the end, it wouldn’t succumb to logic so easily. You thought with your heart rather than your head, and you absolutely hated it. You broke too easily and gave in to the way your heart beated instead of the words that were trying to break through your thick skull.

The sun sets, warm yellow tones of the fleeting rays of sunlight shone upon the pale pink petals of the cherry blossom tree. The petals turned into a light orange colour as they fell ever so elegantly from the branches above you, surrounding your figure on the ground.

You clutched your knees to your body as you watched his figure stray from you, slowly getting further and further away. Memories from the first time you met under this same tree flooded into your head as a single tear droplet slid down your right cheek.

You felt a lump at the back of your throat. It was an awfully bitter yet mildly sweet feeling. You didn’t mean to be selfish with your feelings towards Kageyama, but if by chance, things didn’t work out with his current partner, then maybe, just maybe, he could be part of your world again.

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strawberrylemonz · 4 years

Text

Tonight’s Showing

Part 1 [CURRENT]

Part 2

DT: @bargledblocks my beloved <3 and @snapdragonfirefly my beloved <3

------------The screaming and yelling tore into his mind, filling him with pain. The screams, Tommy’s screams, called out to him, begging for him to save him. He didn’t want to leave the boy there, he never even dreamed of such a thing! That stupid security issue that occured a week ago had started all this, and Sam hated every bit of it. He didn’t know what to do in the situation. What was there to do?

“SAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!”

His eyes widened at the tone of Tommy’s voice coming through to him from the communicator. Tommy sounded terrified. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t wait any longer. Rushing through the halls towards the main cell, Sam was fully prepared to get Tommy out of there. Fueled by the screams, he stumbled into the room, flipping the switch to undo the lava. His fear and adrenaline only grew the moment the screams fell silent. Why was Tommy silent? Before he could even see the lava fall, however, a bright light momentarily blinded him. Upon regaining his sight and senses, he was quick to draw his weapon, only to realize he had no weapons or armor on him. The only thing he had were his everyday clothes.

“Why am I here? Where is here?”

He quickly turned around to see that he was not alone in this confusing predicament. Everyone from the server was appearing into the strange room, all panicked and confused. Ranboo quickly rushed to check on Tubbo, who appeared to be digging around his pockets for some form of protection. Ghostbur, Techno, and Phil stuck close to each other, the latter two wary and ready to fight. Heck, even Drista was there! Everyone was the same, armorless and weaponless. Everyone, including-

SMACK!

Everyone turned to watch as Sapnap’s fist flew threw the air, connecting to a familiar mask. Dream. Dream struggled against Sapnap for a moment, his mask as crazed as his movements. Before the two could exchange any more punches, an invisible force separated the former friends. As the two regained their senses, everyone could get a good look at the freed prisoner. Whether the blood on him was from the altercation with Sapnap or not, no one knew. Standing there, mask facing mask, Drista could only stare as she questioned her older brother.

“What did you do?”

“He did something despicable and disgusting.”

The unfamiliar voice caught everyone’s attention, causing them to turn and face the direction of it. Standing there was a petite woman, watching them. Studying all their expressions, she snorted as she turned to face Dream, who was trying to walk forward.

“Don’t even try leaving that small area, Dream, you can’t. Then again, I’d enjoy seeing you struggle, Bitch Boy.”

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t Tommy tell you guys? Wait, I forgot that none of you ever took him seriously when he mentioned me. The name’s Clara, I’m the lady in the sky.”

Lani played with her fingers, unsure of what to say or do. Sticking close to her brother, she gathered her confidence before speaking to the mysterious “lady in the sky”.

“Excuse me? Clara? Did you bring us here?”

“Yes! Well, with a little help, of course.”

Clara smiled as a grand being glitched into the room, his white orb of a head spinning in delight. Stopping the orb from spinning, his shoulders shook in joy as his prominent ‘XD’ presented itself to everyone there. Techno and Phil pressed their lips together as they shared a knowing look, obviously not expecting to see the god once again.

“Oh, you make me blush, Clara.”

“I do no such thing, we both know that. Did you give unhacked access for the others to join us?”

“Yes, they should be here any moment now.”

“Wonderful.”

Just then, a dark door emerged from the ground. Watched as the knob twisted and jiggled, the residents of the server didn’t know what to expect. When the door opened, however, they could only watch in confusion. Everyone, that is, aside from Phil and Techno, who happily rushed to her side.

“Kristin!”

Said woman smiled and giggled as Phil gathered her in his arms, planting kisses on her face as his broken wings flapped in excitement. Her own wings, white and pure, happily fluttered behind her as she returned the gesture. Pulling away, she turned to face Techno, a hand on his face as she smiled.

“And how is my eldest child?”

“Eh, you know. Here and there.”

“Here and there, indeed.”

“I’m sorry, what is going on here.”

Quackity watched the scene unfold in genuine confusion. Who was this lady named Kristin? Why was she so important to both Phil and Techno? Where did she even come from? He wasn’t the only one confused, pretty much everyone in the room was. Smiling as she stood in front of both men, Kristin hummed as she extended her arms in a welcoming manner.

“My apologies, I forgot to introduce myself! Hello, my name is Kristin! I’m the wife of Phil, as well as the mother of Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy! I’m also Death itself.”

“I’m sorry, Philza Minecraft fucked death?!”

“Wait, Techno is Phil’s kid?! I thought they were just business partners!”

“Business partners? I thought they were just besties!”

“I’m still not over the fact that Techno is related to Wilbur and Tommy.”

“I knew about Tommy being brothers with those two, as well as being Phil’s son, but I didn’t know about death being his mother! You’d think he’d tell me, given that I’m his best friend!”

“You knew?!”

“Duh.”

“And you never corrected us?!”

“Thought it was just a dumb inside joke.”

Ignoring the chaos caused by those around her, Kristin made her way to Fundy, who was frozen in uncertainty. Smiling as she placed her hands on both sides of his face, Kristin gave the fox hybrid a sincere greeting.

“My my, what a lovely young man. It’s finally great to meet you, Fundy. Look at you, I’m so proud to call you my first grandchild.”

She knew that her words caused her husband to flinch, it’s what she intended. As much as she loved and adored her significant other, she did find it sad that Fundy was denied the right to be loved. He deserved to feel loved and important, because he was.

“I can’t wait to learn all about you during the free periods! Oh! Speaking of grandchildren, silly me.”

They watched as Kristin made her way back to her opened door. Peering in, she spoke out in a gentle voice.

“Twins? Can you two please come out? Grandma will make sure no one hurts you two.”

Everyone watched as two small figures made their way out of the door, tiny hands holding onto one another. Watching as the door disappeared back into the ground, the twins turned to face Kristin. Humming, she gathered the two in her arms as she presented them to the room.

“Family, not family, meet Clementine and William-”

“Hn.”

“-I’m sorry, love. Meet Clementine and Wilbur! They’re technically Tommy’s children, born from the debris of his star.”

“I’m sorry, his star?”

“That will be revealed soon enough, no worries.”

Clementine just glared at the occupants of the room, her pigtailed hair bouncing as she turned to make sure everyone saw her expression. Wilbur, on the other hand, opted to hide behind his curled hair, painted in the same blond color as his sister’s.

“Did he name his son after his dead brother? Because if so, that did not age well-”

“Fuck you!”

Everyone watched with apaled expressions as Clementine glared Dream down, flipping him off with her tiny fingers. Kristin shook her head in mock annoyance as Clara belted out in laughter, XD following in suit. Doing her best to regain her composure, Clara spoke up once again.

“Oh my Me, she certainly is Tommy’s daughter.”

“Well, as much as I don’t enjoy hearing my youngest son and my only granddaughter curse out their issues, she did do it in her brother’s and uncle’s honor, so I’ll let it slide.”

“Hehe.”

“Go on, go sit with your cousin.”

“M’kay!”

Kristin set the twins down back on the ground, smiling as Clementine immediately took her brother’s hand in her own. Pulling him along, the two happily ran up to Fundy, smiling as they did so. The moment was interrupted by Quackity, who was unsure of everything.

“As great as witnessing this family reunion was, why are we all here?”

Sam nodded as he agreed with Quackity, speaking up as he gave Dream a pointed look.

“Not to be rude, but I agree. Something happened back in the prison, and I haven’t been able to see what.”

“Ah, yes. That is exactly why we’re here. Kristin, XD, if you will.”

The two nodded at Clara before taking each other’s hands. Closing her eyes, Kristin began mumbling as XD stood there, waiting. Once Kristin finished her mumbling, XD released one of his hands from her, drawing invisible signs on the air. Once he was done, both deities gave a synchronized nod. Rumbling was heard as a tunnel emerged out of nothing. A train emerged from it, coming to a sudden stop. As the doors slowly opened, everyone froze as they watched the occupants walk out, confused and cautious.

“Wilbur?”

“Schlatt?!”

“And me, MD!”

Before anyone else could make a move or sound, Clara spoke up once more.

“As much as I want more of these sweet reunions to occur, we really do need to get a move on. Now, I am very tired of everyone treating my poor starchild with such unjust unfairness. Don’t get me wrong, Tommy does make mistakes and his narrative is in his perspective, but come on! Blaming everything on him? This is getting ridiculous at this point! Now, you are all going to sit here and feel and hear everything he did! I, alongside Kristin and XD, will be monitoring you all. And Dream? Don’t make me go over there.”

Without warning, the environment completely changed. The group suddenly found themselves in the vast emptiness of space. They didn’t know what they were looking for, no one but Kristin. Said woman could only grimace as she nodded to herself, unconsciously touching her stomach.

“I remember this.”

“Remember what-?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

The group turned to see another Kristin scream out in pain, her hand resting on the bump of the belly. They watched as she tried to take a step, only to double down in pain again.

“FUCK YOU, PHIL. HOLY SHIT, I’M GONNA PUNCH YOUR FACE SO MANY TIMES.”

Phil grimaced as he leaned away from his wife, who laughed as she kept sikeing him out with her fist. Wilbur snickered at the sight. Turning back to the scene before them, they watched as Clara quickly rushed to Kristin’s sign, obviously not enjoying her distress.

“Clara, I- Ah! I don’t think- think I can make it to the bo-OOOOOOAH! The boys! I know I promised, but I can’t.”

“Phil will understand, dear. Breathe with me, in and out, okay? I don’t know a thing about human childbirth, but I know starchildbirth. Allow me to help, okay? I don’t like to see you in pain, and neither would your husband or sons.”

“Hurry!”

Clara pulled out a small orb from her pocket, holding it in the palm of her hand. Gently holding it against Kristin’s belly. Closing her eyes, she mumbled as the dull like of the orb brightened, growing in size as it did so.

“What is she doing?”

“That orb in my hand? That’s a dying star that I collected that morning. I’m using it to dub Tommy a starchild so that Kristin wouldn’t struggle with giving birth.”

Kristin let out a sigh of relief, her screams and sobs subsiding. Taking deep breaths to try and calm herself, she rubbed her face as she tried to wipe away her tears. Mumbling out a thank you, she watched as Clara extended the bright orb to her.

“Here he is, a healthy little boy! He’ll shine brighter than the sun, I’m certain of it.”

Kristin smiled as she took the orb into her own hands, watching as the light dimmed, revealing the newly born child. Tufts of blond hair poked out of his head as she adjusted the blanket. Kristin couldn’t help but let more tears fall as she held him close, kissing his forehead.

“He already looks so much like his father. Oh, Phil will be upset that he missed this.”

“Go and see your family, I’ll cover your shift for you.”

“Thank you.”

Kristin summoned a door, adjusting her youngest son as she walked through it. Navigating through the dark void, she came across another door. Opening the door, she stepped outside into a secluded area in the woods. Walking down the path, she approached the cozy cottage that proudly stood there. Knocking on the door, she cooed at the child in her arms as she waited for the door to open.

“Kristin?”

“Meet your son, Phil. He looks so much like you.”

The group watched as Phil dropped everything in his hands, startling his sons from the other room. Holding his newborn son and wife in his arms, he wept tears of joy as a tiny Wilbur and Techno rushed in, prepared for the worst. Seeing that it was only their mother, their worried looks morphed into joyful expressions.

“Mum!”

“Mom!”

“My boys! Come, meet your new brother.”

The two boys staggered for a bit, eyes widening at the revelation of the newest addition of the family. Watching as Phil and Kristin stared down at the bundle with great love and joy, they couldn’t help but feel excited at the sight.

“Can we hold him?”

“Of course, just be gentle with him, okay boys?”

“M’kay.”

The twins carefully cradled the bundle in both their arms, working together to keep him safe and secure in their arms. Watching the sleeping child, they were in awe at the sight.’

“He has golden hair! Just like papa!”

“Gold! Gold! Gold!”

Kristin and Phil both laughed as they watched, joy and love filling them. Humming, Phil spoke up in a gentle tone.

“Well? What’re you two gonna name him?”

The twins just watched their baby brother as he slept soundly in their arms. Suddenly, startling the twins, their new brother yawned and squirmed in their arms. Rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists, he blinked his eyes open for the first time. Blinking up at them, he tilted his head as he squirmed. It wasn’t until Wilbur spoke up that he reacted.

“Tommy. Let’s call him Tommy.”

Everyone gasped as the feeling of immense love and wonder filled them, something they weren’t prepared for. Doing their best to cope with the feeling, they watched as the baby let out gurgles of giggles, reaching for his brothers. It was only then that they realized that Tommy was a very emotion-driven person, and they were going to feel every bit of that.

#The Reluctant Hero's Tale #The Reluctant Hero's Tale AU #Tommy's POV POGGGGGGGGG #He's also winginnit #And a piglin hybrid can't forget that #This is for you Mr. Danger Kraken Innit

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michals · 3 years

Note

Klaus and Luther during the time the latter is in a coma so he's kinda a semi ghost maybe?

Congrats, you get the long one!

When Luther opens his eyes it takes a moment for him to realize something’s off. Something’s…wrong. The last thing he remembers is an explosion and an intense, burning pain all over and then suddenly just, nothing. He recognizes the ceiling above him, he’s in the infirmary. So he had been hurt, but he feels fine now. Fine enough even to sit up, swing his legs over the side of the bed and get to his feet.

Only he doesn’t, he can’t have because he’s looking down at himself still on the table, asleep. That’s definitely wrong. There’s a strange prickling in the back of his mind, a thought that can’t break through the wall of cotton wool in his head. What he does register is that the him on the table’s beard is too shaggy and his hair at least an inch longer than it should be. He never lets himself go like this, he needs to ask mom for a haircut.

His skin’s different too. There’s patches of scarring across his chest, shoulders, all the way down his torso and up his neck but the texture’s not right, and it looks almost gray. And his muscles don’t really look like that do they? They look too bulky, deformed somehow.

He looks down at his hands, his hands, not this sleeping version’s. They’re too large, too blunt, too strange. He thinks he should be concerned; maybe behind the wall of wool there’s a spark of panic trying to catch but it just…doesn’t. Maybe dad’s around, he’ll know what’s happening.

The house is dark as he walks the halls, the clock in the foyer tells him it’s nearly 3 A.M. So dad’s asleep, Luther shouldn’t bother him. And mom and Pogo are sleeping too. It’s fine, he’s not worried. He doesn’t think he’s worried.

He stands in the foyer, in the spill of light from the streetlamps through the windows, when he feels a strange sensation in his chest. It’s as if something’s pulling him, not roughly but firm, like there’s a rope around his heart. It doesn’t hurt, just feels odd, but it’s the strongest thing he’s felt since he woke up. It wants him to do to the door. He’s not sure why he goes, he just knows he should. When he reaches up to turn the doorknob his hand phases through it.

Oh. That’s wrong.

The rope gives a tug, he steps through the door.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, just follows the lead, putting one foot in front of the other. He’s barefoot. He hadn’t noticed that. The ground’s wet but he doesn’t feel it. He knows that because of his powers he doesn’t get cold or hot like normal people, but he should be able to feel puddles. Concern scratches distantly at the edge of his mind, sharper now. It’ll make sense when he gets where’s he’s going, won’t it?

The streets are mostly empty, only occasionally does he pass someone waiting for a bus, a man sweeping the sidewalk, a couple of homeless people sleeping in doorways. No one notices him.

He’s got to be pretty far from the house by now. He doesn’t know the city but the pull’s getting stronger; he’s close to wherever it is he needs to be. It leads him around the corner of an alleyway, a dim lightbulb burning over a backdoor to a convenience store where a figure stands hunched over, trying to light a cigarette.

“Fucking useless thing,’” the man mutters, trying to hold the lighter still with shaking hands.

The rope drops away, a knot untied. Luther knows him.

“Klaus?”

Klaus looks up, peers at Luther from behind the greasy curls in front of his face, then turns back to the uncooperative lighter. “Sorry man, don’t have anything for you, last five bucks went to this pack.”

Luther takes a couple steps closer, hesitant. He hasn’t seen Klaus in at least…5 years? Has it been 5 years? “Klaus, what’s going on?”

Klaus looks up again, irritation on his face until he pauses and actually gets a good look at him. “Luther? That you?” Luther just nods. Klaus barks out a laugh that echoes in the alleyway.

“What in the hell are you doing here?! Didn’t figure this for your kind of scene, if I’d known you were coming I’d have cleaned up a bit.” He giggles again, high and giddy. Luther takes another step into the light and Klaus squints at him, rubs his own chin. “Looking a little scraggly there though bro.”

Luther reaches up to touch his beard. He’s surprised he can actually feel the scratchy texture of it.

“Lose your shirt too? And your shoes?” Klaus asks, then teasingly, “Aah! Have you been gambling Luther Hargreeves? What would daddy say?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Luther says. “Something else happened. I think.”

Klaus flicks the lighter again. Finally it catches and he gives a little cheer of triumph as he lights his cigarette. When he turns Luther’s way again, face now lit by the glow of the cigarette, Luther can see how his eyes are glassy, pupils wide.

“You weren’t, like, looking for me were you?” Klaus asks.

No, Luther wasn’t. Actually: “No, you were calling for me.” Because he realizes now that’s what it was, what was leading him here.

Klaus’s face scrunches in confusion. “Huh? No, don’t think I was.” He points this thumb towards the door that goes to the store, “They don’t let me use the phone in there anymore and besides, I don’t have two nickels to rub together.” He turns out the pockets on his ragged jacket to prove it.

“No, it wasn’t like that. Something pulled me, it was you-” Luther shakes his head again, wishes he could clear it of the haze inside. It’s not as bad as when he woke up, if only he could break through it, if that spark could just burn away the wool…

Klaus stills, his eyes go wide and skin paler than it already is. He holds out shaking hands. “No. No, hold on, wait. Luther – fuck – Luther what was this thing? This-this thing, the something else happening thing?”

“There was an accident,” Luther says and there’s a faint sensation of stinging across his chest, a vague memory of shocking pain. “An explosion-”

“No,” Klaus slouches like his strings have been cut, “Oh fuck no. Come on! Not you too! This is-” He clenches his hands in his hair. “This is bullshit! You can’t be…you can’t be dead too!”

Wait, no, that’s not right- “I’m not dead,” Luther says. “I- I’m pretty sure I’m not.” How can he not know?

Klaus looks at him with narrowed, cautious eyes, takes a step forward and holds a hand out in front of him. He doesn’t touch Luther, stops just a few inches away but the fear and panic washes off his face, replaced with confusion again.

“You’re not,” he says. And with that Luther knows he isn’t either. A sudden certainty.

“You’re not like the others,” Klaus continues, “I can just…tell. Also usually when I’m this far gone I can’t even see-” he stops, eyes darting around the alleyway. He shakes himself. He gestures to Luther’s chest, “What is this by the way?”

Luther looks down at his chest, at the off-color, coarse skin. “I don’t actually know.” A spike of concern, finally. Each second that passes he feels like his mind’s coming back to him.

Klaus sighs heavily, scrubs his hands across his face. “So you’re like, visiting? Or some out of body shit. Or this is a very weird trip I’m having. You came because I called for you?”

“Yeah, it was like,” Luther pauses, “like you reached out for me.” It had felt nice, actually; he woke up so confused but the pull had felt so secure.

Klaus pauses, the cigarette slowly turning to ash between his fingers. “You know, actually- come here.” He tilts his head and gives Luther a wave indicating for him to follow.

Klaus’s boots splash in the puddles pooling in the holes in the asphalt, Luther walks through them and doesn’t even create a ripple. Klaus stops at the mouth of the alleyway, points across the street.

A yellow and orange sign announces the modest little diner sitting there as ‘Griddy’s’. Luther hadn’t even realized he’d made it this far through town.

“I saw that,” Klaus says, leaning against the wall of the building, “got hit with a whole bunch of memories.”

And so does Luther now. Images of him and his siblings crowded around a box of doughnuts at a cheap laminate table, arguing over who got the last one, making up stories to the waitress about their uniforms and why they were out so late. He can even hear the chiming of the bell on the door clear as anything.

“And the one I thought of most,” Klaus says, watching Luther from the corner of his eye, “is after that fight with the Murder Magician that I fucked up. Remember? Almost got shot?”

Luther remembers. Klaus had missed his cue in the plan, a henchman got the drop on him. But Luther’d gotten there quick enough, knocked the guy across the room, but he’d rode a wave of adrenaline and dread for the rest of the night at the thought of Klaus being shot.

Klaus continues, “And dad laid into me as soon as we got home. He was so pissed.” Klaus puts on a mock Reginald accent, “He said ‘what do you have to say for yourself?’ But before I could say anything you said…‘I’ll try harder next time’.”

“Because I should have,” Luther says without even thinking, just like back then, “I didn’t explain the plan well enough, I was supposed to make sure you knew what you were supposed to do.”

Klaus tilts his head against the wall, something breaking through the mist in his eyes. “You threw him off so bad, he didn’t know what to say. So he just sent us to bed without dinner. In all the years that was the only night that it was your idea to go to Griddy’s.”

Klaus had walked next to Luther the whole way there and back, made sure Luther got first pick when the box came to the table.

A low roll of thunder comes from far off, heralding the first few drops of rain. In moments it becomes a steady drizzle. Klaus pulls his jacket up over his head, looks around for any kind of cover, makes a dash for an awning up the block. Luther follows slowly, still can’t process the fact that he can’t feel anything, the rain falling right through him.

Klaus stumbles as he hits the stoop of the building, flails unsteadily on his feet before catching himself. His head wavers dizzily. Luther almost reaches out but knows he won’t be able to help.

“Why that memory?” he asks.

Klaus gives a half-hearted laugh, waves his hand flippantly. “Oh ya know, no real reason. Not like I’m bothered when some shrink calls me ‘hopeless’ anymore.”

The rain gets stronger, louder. Luther doesn’t know what to say.

“Same old same old. Guess he got sick of me. When they kicked me out of the rehab he said, ‘what do you have to say for yourself?’” Klaus finally looks at Luther, “Then I came across Griddy’s. Guess it made me wish you were there.”

The haze in Luther’s head is turning into static now, not enough to choke his emotions anymore. When Klaus says that a stab of emotion shoots through clear and sharp. It’s something like regret. Regret that he hadn’tbeen there, but of course he couldn’t have been.

“How’d it happen?” Klaus asks, “the accident?”

Luther takes a harsh breath in, but his body tells him he doesn’t actually need to. When he speaks he’s surprised to his hear his voice is rough, “It was a mission. Chemical factory, a vat exploded. I didn’t move out of the way in time.”

Klaus’s brow furrows. “A mission? You still go on those?”

“Of course. I’m still in the Academy.” He is the Academy.

Klaus opens his mouth but stops, he sways on his feet again. After a second he comes back. “By yourself?”

Luther just nods. He looks out into the street, at the convenience store, at Griddy’s, at the way the rain hits the tops of parked cars. His mind is settling, like the rain’s washing away the rest of the static. He feels far away from the him back in the infirmary, asleep on the medical table. He rubs his thumb over his knobby knuckles, thinks again that something’s wrong.

“Well maybe next time I’ll tag along,” Klaus says, “Dad’ll let me, right?”

He absolutely wouldn’t and asking would go horribly, but still Luther feels himself smile.

Klaus sees this and grins wide, “Tell you what! We’ll do the same thing: I’ll distract the vat of acid and you take it out.”

That makes them both laugh, but Klaus’s is high and manic and he throws himself so off balance he falls back hard on the concrete stoop. Luther drops to a crouch next to him, concern replacing amusement.

It takes a minute for Klaus to settle, for his eyes to refocus. The smile he gives is loopy but there’s guilt in it. “Lu, I have to be honest with you. Just before you showed up I, eh, took something, and it’s starting to kick in. I’m probably gonna lose you here soon.”

Oh. Luther nods. He looks back out into the rain. Wishes he could walk out and feel it. He’s never stood in the rain on the street.

“Hey, hey,” Klaus says, pulling his attention back, “how about I call you for real? Like on the phone, not in my weird ghost-y way.”

Luther doesn’t know why his heart constricts so suddenly and painfully. He’d like that. A lot. “Tomorrow?”

Klaus nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, tomorrow. Dad never answers the phone anyway, mom or Pogo will definitely let me say hi.”

“Okay, yeah, tomorrow,” Luther says. His voice is shaking. Why’s his voice shaking? Why’s he so scared all of a sudden?

Klaus’s eyes are glassy again, his cheeks are red, he smiles weakly but he’s already getting further away. “Alright Lu.”

For a second the world seems to stop, Luther sees blue light at the edge of his vision.

Grace works quickly to administer the antibiotics into Luther’s IV, checking the line and the intravenous fluids. She’d noticed his blood pressure drop earlier, took care to take some tests. When they came back there was too little oxygen and too much acid in his blood. Sepsis, no doubt from the nastiest wound on the left side of his chest. She’d caught it just in time and she reassures herself that he’ll be alright, and besides the serum Reginald gave him will surely heal that completely soon. Luther doesn’t wake up tomorrow, or for four more months.

Klaus passes out on the stoop, gets woken up at dawn by an angry tenant shoving him to the ground. He’s just barely cognizant enough to find his way to a shelter down the street. Someone else shoves him into a bed. He wakes up hours and hours later to Ben berating him. He’s been on a bender, he hasn’t seen Ben in days. Klaus rolls his eyes at him, almost says something that’s on the tip of his tongue, but whatever it is he can’t grasp it.

It was a weird dream right? A weird trip? He’d been talking to someone he couldn’t possibly have been talking to, whoever it was. And there’s something he’s supposed to do. It might have been important. It bothers him for the rest of the day but he never remembers.

Neither of them ever remembers.

#the umbrella academy #tua fic #umbrella academy fic #luther hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #and the angsty one too #'long' but really it's 2600 #which is long for what was supposed to be a drabble #this was a cool prompt i hope i did it justice!#haven't forgotten the other ones in my inbox either! or the meta ask!#hope i have time this weekend to get to those #this has been fun #my fic

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2manyfandoms2count · 3 years

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Poisson d'avril

Here, have a half-baked April Fool’s Day fic my brain decided to wake me up for. For context, one of the most popular jokes for April 1st in France is taping paper fish to each other’s backs, the more original the fish the better (my childhood is filled with trying to sneak behind teachers' backs to tape one on them; they were very chill about it, tbh). Poisson d’Avril is also what you say at the end of a joke on that day (think "sike", but festive). More about this great tradition that apparently dates back to at least 1466 here.

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

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Marinette loved April Fool’s Day at Françoise Dupont. The school was always buzzing with little pranks at that time of the year, the blooming spring giving a wonderfully cheerful backdrop to the shenanigans the collégiens were up to.

These were all very light-hearted, if sometimes a little elaborate.

As usual, some students had been found early in the morning in the classrooms, thwarting their attempt to recreate the legendary horizontal fiasco of 20XX, where everything had been set up to look like the rooms had been flipped by 90°. Mr Damoclès had let them go mercifully, thankful that the students hadn’t been tempted to glue everything to the ceiling in an effort to one-up their predecessors. Somehow, he wouldn’t have put it past Kim and Alix to try and coordinate the project, as a last hurrah before heading on to lycée.

There were also seemingly well-meaning classmates offering chouquettes or donuts in the courtyard, which Marinette knew to stay well away from, knowing the former were likely sprinkled with coarse salt, and the latter filled with the likes of mayonnaise instead of jam. She’d been in their shoes a couple of years prior, building her classmates’ trust by bringing them the sweet delicacies every day for a week, and switching on April 1st as a joke.

Heading to class, she heard a lot of laughter, people telling jokes, or trying to see how far they could take a story without it being called out on it (this year, Nino had Kim panicking over a brevet exam part they supposedly had, which was a step down from the previous year, where he’d convinced him that everybody needed to come in dressed up in medieval costumes, and that he’d landed the court jester role; his friend had turned up the next day in a full outfit, complete with bells on his hat and shoes, and upon discovering the deception, had decided to make good use of them and make the joke everybody’s problem).

However much she enjoyed those kinds of pranks, though, Marinette’s favourite remained the classic poisson d’avril: taping paper fish to people’s backs. It was something anyone could take part in, as a predator or a prey, with or without premeditation. You didn’t necessarily need scissors and tape, if you managed to steal some from somebody else’s back.

Marinette liked to take it seriously. Done right, the exercise demanded stealth she’d had even as a little kid, and had honed ever since being chosen to become Ladybug, as well as creativity she had piles of. She’d stayed up the previous night, making plenty of fish varying in size and colour, some tailored to her friends, like the Rena Rouge and Carapace ones that were intended for Alya and Nino respectively. She’d of course also made the rest of the Miraculous team, as well as some other designs based on Kitty section, her classmates, or celebrities.

As always at the end of the day, Rose walked around with a whole school on her back. It wasn’t clear if she was completely oblivious to it, or if she knew what was going on but enjoyed the giddy giggles of the people who managed to add an extra fish in, or take one off.

The only person who’d managed to escape the prank so far was Adrien, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. Kim, Alix and Nino had gone to great lengths to get at least one fish on his back, even recruiting Markov to sneak behind him, but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense.

No sooner did he hear the faintest of ruffles, that his head would jerk up, eyes darting around to figure out where the sound had come from, thwarting any efforts, no matter how elaborate they’d been.

Marinette had been reluctant to target Adrien, despite having a special fish for him, complete with his stripes and an orange-tipped tail, but as the day went by and more people joined the challenge to trick him, she felt the urge to compete rise in her chest and started unwillingly tracking his every movement, trying to find a breach in his focus.

It was a fastidious process, even for someone who enjoyed watching Adrien happily live his life, but it paid off around the end of the day, just after the last bell.

Marinette noticed that Adrien’s shirt looked a little rumpled around the back as they were retrieving books from their lockers, and approached him calmly.

“Adrien?” She announced her presence when she was right behind him, surprised that he hadn’t turned around yet. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

“Marinette!” He yelped, a hand flying to his heart. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you approach.” He chuckled nervously.

“No, I’m sorry I scared you!” Marinette looked down, apparently sheepish. In truth, she was cursing inwardly at the missed easy opportunity. Adrien had been at ease with her coming closer, which she assumed was because it was the end of the day and he’d started letting his guard down; she could have gone about her business and he would’ve been none the wiser. She shook her head; it didn’t matter, she’d just go on with her original plan. “It’s just that… well, it’s stupid, but the back of your shirt is a little creased, and I know how important your appearance is to your family so… Do you mind if I fix it?”

“Thanks Marinette, that’d be awesome.” He smiled at her in a way that would have made her lose her cool, had it been any other day. But she was on a mission, and there was no way she was letting the opportunity of pranking Adrien when nobody else had managed the feat go by.

“Okay, let me just…” Marinette reached into her purse and took the first piece of paper she felt, before gently taping it to Adrien’s shirt, making sure to smooth the fabric at the same time so he wouldn’t realise what she was doing.

“There, all done!” She smiled when she was satisfied the tape had adhered well enough.

He smiled back at her, but was interrupted in his thanks by Nino and Alya calling for them to hurry up.

“Today was really fun, I’m so glad I got to experience it first hand,” Adrien beamed as the group walked out of the building, Nino and Adrien a little ahead of the girls. “And I’m really proud that I survived it without getting pranked!”

Marinette bit back a laugh, eyes darting to his back.

“I wouldn’t be so confident, Sunshine,” Alya replied, untaping the fish from his back and handing it to him.

“What…” Adrien stopped in his tracks, looking at it, and particularly Marinette’s signature on the back of the piece of paper, in disbelief. He turned around with a look of mock betrayal. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” He pouted.

“I couldn’t just let you off the hook,” she shrugged with a small smile, making a mental note to reuse the phrase with Chat Noir when she saw him later. He’d enjoy the pun.

Adrien let out a small chuckle as he turned the fish around, but the sound died as he saw the pattern. The colour drained from his face and he froze as he took in the black and green colour scheme and the fish’s whiskers.

“Adrien? Is everything okay?” Marinette frowned, noticing his change in body language.

“Yeah, um… Can I talk to you for a second?” He looked up at her.

“What a great idea!” Alya pushed Marinette towards Adrien before hooking her arm through Nino’s and starting to go down the stairs. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

Marinette thought she heard her add “Can you believe they might get together over an April Fool’s joke?”, as she waved them off absentmindedly, but her gaze met Adrien’s troubled one and she decided she’d deal with her best friend later.

“What’s up?” She asked, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks; the adrenaline from succeeding her challenge was evidently starting to wear off.

“What’s this?” Adrien asked cautiously, handing her the fish.

Marinette took it cautiously, saw the pattern, and smiled. “It’s a poisson-chat noir,” she said proudly. It was a bit of a shame she’d picked that one for Adrien, but she guessed she couldn’t have kept it for her partner anyway, given that she’d signed it. Still, she thought he would have liked the joke. Especially if it came from Ladybug.

“How did you know?” he murmured, looking at her incredulously. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows at his cryptidness. He explicited his thoughts. “I saw the fish you gave Alya and Nino, and the one you managed to pin on Chloé; they were all references to their superhero selves. And now you get this one right as well… How did you know?”

It was Marinette’s turn to freeze and feel the colour draining from her cheeks. “I… I didn’t. I picked one randomly when I saw an opening.”

“Oh.” She saw the cogs turning in Adrien’s brain while she felt her own shut down, still processing one important piece of information.

“Adrien… Are you Chat Noir?”

“Um… Poisson d’avril?” He ventured.

“Adrien.” She repeated sternly.

“Okay, fine, you got me.” Adrien huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Please, don’t tell Ladybug.” He pleaded.

“Too late, I’m afraid.” She dug out her poisson-Ladybug and taped it to herself. She saw Adrien’s eyes grow as wide as his smile before being engulfed in a hug and feeling his lips on her forehead. “Kwami, we really might get together over an April Fool’s joke,” she muttered against his chest. If the heat she felt at the tip of her ears said anything, she probably was as red as Ladybug’s costume, and it probably wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” Adrien pulled out a little from their hug to look at her.

“Nothing.” She smiled, and took his hand. “Now come on Chaton, we have some things to discuss, and we should probably go somewhere more private.”

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, my Lady.” He picked their entwined hands and kissed hers.

Really, she thought as they made their way towards her parents’ boulangerie, she loved poissons d’avril.

#i miss the simpler times where we'd get up to this kind of stuff #it's just not the same during a lockdown :')#miraculous ladybug #the miraculous tales of ladybug and cat noir #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #adrienette #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #miracuclass #april fool's day #april 1st #elle writes #i'm sorry if you clicked the link #you're allowed to yell at me

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batgurl1989 · 4 years

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A Wolf In Toussaint Chapter One

Summary: You(nin) wakes up, finding that things at the Vegelbud wedding didn’t go according to plan, but questions quickly rise about what exactly happened.

Word Count: 2558

Warnings: Spoilers for Witcher 3 DLC

A/N: Sorry this is a little longer than normal. It hasn’t been beta-ed, so all the mistakes are my own. This is the new series in the Witcher series I am writing. It follows We Meet Again and Running With The Wolf. If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek @djinny-djin-djin @seanh-boredom

Chapter One

Pain. That’s the first thing you noticed when you started to come to. Pain in your wrists that were lashed together behind your back by rope that was much too tight. Pain throbbing in your head where the hilt of the dagger had hit you, knocking you out when you put up too much of a fight. The last thing you remember was trying to call on your magic to get away from the man with the dagger pressed to your throat as Geralt came back around the corner of the hedge, alerted by your struggles.

That’s when your captor had opened a portal. You remember feeling the power vacuum form behind you as it yawned wide open. Geralt didn’t reach you in time as the man with his arms around you stepped through, closing the portal quickly behind him. A deepening fury flared through Geralt’s golden eyes as the last shred of portal closed.

Slitting your eyes open, you didn’t dare lift your head in case you weren’t alone. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. The pounding headache was certainly making any movement harder. The room was dimly lit, and you realized that the rocking you felt wasn’t because of the swimming fog in your head. You were on a boat. Now that you knew, the creaking and groaning of the timber made more sense. A lamp swung on a post nearby, causing the fire inside to flicker intensely which didn’t work well with your headache.

The good news was you were alone. The bad news was that you seemed to be in the brig, tied to a post in the middle of the cell. The stench wafting from the corner caused your stomach to churn unfavourably, and you fought hard to keep the contents down. Breathing through your mouth, you lifted your head to look around as best you could from your vantage point.

“Ah, you awaken.” A voice to your left drew your attention. Fighting off another wave of nausea at the pain in your head, you turned to investigate the darkened cell next to yours. An Ofieri slave sat, tied similarly to you to the post in the middle of the cell, but unlike you, he seemed to be fairing better. “I was wondering how long it would be.”

“How long have I been out?” You didn’t want to think about how many days had passed. Based on how cramped your muscles felt, and how raw your wrists seemed to be, it had been at least a couple of days. You ached to rub your head, wanting to ease at least some of the pain bouncing around in your skull.

“It has been 5 days. I didn’t think you would ever wake up.” The man informed you, the last part of what he said concerning you the most. He must have seen the question form on your face, because he continued. “You were bleeding a lot from your head. Eventually the guard brought you the ship’s healer. It seems that they want to keep you alive.”

“Though not comfortable.” You quip, testing your bonds, wincing at the pain that shoots up your arms from your open wounds from the ropes.

“Where would the fun be in that?” The man laughed. You squinted into the darkness, trying to see him better. The lamp light didn’t seem to touch his cell as much as yours, and you could only see a vague outline of his face. If it wasn’t for his legs sticking out into the pool of light, you would have been convinced that you were talking to yourself.

“Why are they keeping you here?” You ask, groaning as you shift, stretching your stiff legs out to sit in a similar fashion to your new companion. You were careful not to move your arms too much, not wanting to cause further damage to your wrists.

“I stole from the King.” Your ears perked up at the mention of a king. He didn’t specify which one, but not many used that title lightly. And if he was Ofieri, perhaps it was a hint at what was in store for you.

“Which king would that be?” You hesitated before asking, not wanting to seem too eager. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t fight off the suspicion that this was a trap to get more information out of you.

“The King of Beggars.” The man offered as though it was obvious.

It was as though all the air was sucked from your lungs. A man you had trusted on more than a few occasions had effectively kidnapped you after screwing over a mission he had set you and Geralt on the path to. Something wasn’t adding up for you, but your head was still foggy with pain, and you felt like you couldn’t see all the pieces laid out in front of you. There was some else at work here, but it lay just outside of what you could see.

“Do you happen to know where we are heading?” Still trying to piece together what you knew already with all sorts of possibilities, you decided it was best to gather as much information as you could from someone who might be willing to provide answers. It was unlikely you would have another opportunity like this one.

“Until you were brought in, I assumed I was being taken back to Ofir to face the crimes I committed there.” The man shrugged as best he could. “Now it is anyone’s guess.”

Ofir. That was beyond the sea. Without the help from a Sorceress, Geralt would never find you. Unless he was willing to take down one of the crime bosses of Novigrad to get answers. And that was if that was where you were even heading. As your fellow captive pointed out, neither of you could really know where you were heading. You needed to convince a guard to give you the answers, but it wasn’t like you could enchant him to do it.

The fog in your head suddenly cleared. Magic. The fools had tied you up with rope. There wasn’t a single piece of Dimeritium on you. Nothing was binding your magic. They didn’t know who or what you were. They simply thought you were important to the Witcher and to the King of Beggars, but the latter hadn’t offered up any information about you to your captors before they got their hands on you. You held in the laughter that threatened to bubble up as relief flooded you.

“What did you steal?” You weren’t about to let a known criminal walk free. Not unless the punishment outweighed the crime. “What crimes are you facing back in Ofir?”

“Horse theft.” The man stated simply. You had to assume that he had committed that crime in both Velen and in Ofir. In Ofir, where they valued horses above most else, that was a serious crime. The punishment was death. In Velen, they punished it with death, but horses were viewed more as property than as a way of life. Velen had some harsh laws involving property.

“I’m going to get us out of here, but I suggest you find somewhere other than Novigrad and Velen to make a home for yourself. The King won’t let you live if he sees you again.” You smiled at him, already drawing on the wealth of power from the water surrounding the ship you were housed in. The look of awe that spread across the man’s face was worth the nosebleed this was probably going to cost you. “Unfortunately, I can’t promise where we will land, but it will be on land and out of captivity.”

Your portalling wasn’t as precise as Yennefer’s, and you were vastly out of practice. Just yet another thing that you needed to work on, stretch that metaphorical muscle. First things first though, you had to make your bonds disappear. Not the easiest task as there was always the risk of burning the person. At this point, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t feel it if you burned yourself, but you didn’t want to burn your companion.

“This may sting.” You offered a mild warning as you pulled the magic together to create your spell. You winced as your hands relaxed apart, the tension leaving your shoulders. You were pleased to see the man in the cell next to you not show any pain as the spell displaced the ropes binding his hands.

You jumped to your feet, adrenaline taking over as you felt the vacuum of a portal you weren’t creating. You watched warily as a hole was ripped, spinning, in the space in front of your cell. Then you felt it. The signature of the Sorceress creating the portal. Every spell left a signature, but not all signatures could be traced. Only the strongest among the Lodge could do that. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t recognize it.

You immediately set to work on melting down the hinges of your cell door. It would be one last thing you needed to worry about once the portal was fully formed. There was no way the crew on the ship didn’t feel the power amassing below deck in the brig. You split your power between your door and your neighbour’s, knowing that as soon as the iron doors fell, the crew would definitely know something was going on with the prisoners.

“Younin!” Geralt rushed through the portal just as the doors fell. He pulled you to him in a tight hug, relief flooding both of you now that you were in each other’s arms again.

“We have to move. Now.” Your voice dripped with urgency as you pulled out of the all too brief hug, wishing you could do more than that. There was no time though.

“Well, if you hadn’t created such a cacophony of noise, we could have just slipped you back out.” The voice of the signature floated through the portal. You stiffened, hoping you could have avoided this encounter a little longer.

“Thank you, Yenn.” Your voice was tight as you turn to your fellow Sorceress. A slither of jealousy snaked around your spine, settling in your gut. You hated that Geralt had to turn to his old lover, even though you knew she was basically the only one who could do what he needed.

Reaching for your cell mate, you pulled him through the portal as you heard shouting and boots on the stairs leading into the brig. Geralt drew his sword but followed behind you through the portal. Yennefer quickly slammed the portal shut before anyone could follow you. As much as you didn’t like it, you knew you could never have pulled off the portal as smoothly as Yennefer did.

The danger had passed for now. There was still the issue of the King of Beggars botching the mission on purpose, but you were safe. That seemed to be all that mattered to the otherwise stoic Witcher. Geralt pulled you in for a fierce kiss, not caring about the company you were in. You clung to his armour, wishing it wasn’t in your way. After the close call you just had, you needed to feel alive, and the only way that was going to happen was if you were alone and there was nothing between you. You needed to feel his body stretched out above yours, skin to skin.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but where are we?” The Ofieri interjected. Pulling away from Geralt, making sure to check your anger at having been interrupted, you turned to look at your surroundings.

“Good question. Yennefer?” You frowned when you didn’t recognize the room you were in. A quick glance out the window didn’t offer you an answer either. Turning to the other Sorceress, you caught the look of displeasure that flitted across her face at realizing how deeply Geralt felt for you.

“Geralt wanted me to bring you to his house in Toussaint in case you were injured.” Yennefer offered, her face becoming a perfected mask of indifference. She examined her nails as though trying to prove how little interest she had in your feelings for the Witcher who once warmed her bed.

“You have a house in Toussaint?” You ignored Yenn’s antics, looking up at Geralt. The land filled with Knights-errant seemed like the last place Geralt would want to settle down.

“It was a reward for helping the Duchess. And with Kaer Morhen in ruin, it seemed as good as any place to set some roots.” Geralt guided you closer to the window with a hand on your lower back. You smiled up at him, leaning into his hold as you took in the sun dappled scene beyond the glass.

“Come, Ofieri, I think there is food in the kitchen for us.” Yennefer couldn’t stomach anymore of seeing you two together and fled the room. The man who you realized you still didn’t know his name followed quickly after her, leaving you and the Witcher alone.

“How are you really?” Geralt turned you with his hands on your shoulders. His gold eyes flicked over your body, assessing all your injuries.

He guided you to the bed, squatting in front of you when you sat down. He carefully lifted your hands up when he noticed how bad your wrists were. At the slight movement, however, the wounds opened again and began bleeding freely. You winced as sharp pain travelled up your arms again. Geralt caught the look on your face, cupping your cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. He didn’t have to say anything, you could see the concern and worry darkening his hypnotic cat eyes. His hand travelled to the back of your head, wanting to draw you to him for a kiss, but he felt the congealed blood in your hair.

“How is your head?” He asked quietly, sure your headache was pounding especially after using magic to free yourself. As uncomfortable as Yennefer’s presence was making you, you had to admit you didn’t think you could have pulled off the portal in your condition.

“It hurts.” You admitted unnecessarily. You knew he understood what a head injury felt like. One of the perks of his job. You leaned into his hand when he cupped your cheek again. “For now, I just think I need rest. I can work on healing later.”

Geralt nodded, helping you get into the decadently decorated bed. Even through your pain, you had to almost laugh at how out of place this bed seemed in Geralt’s life. The rich colours and immense comfort were a far cry from the places the Path normally took him. As your head hit the down filled pillow, all the questions you had been asking yourself came flooding back to you.

“Sleep.” Geralt gently said, his hand making the motion you had come to recognize as the Axii sign. Your questions were probably written all over your face, and he was compelling you to sleep instead of laying awake as your mind ran wild.

Your eyes slid closed shortly after. The last thing you remember is the feeling of Geralt’s warm callused hand on your forehead, followed by the soft press of his lips. And then sleep overtook you.

#Witcher Fanfic #Geralt of Rivia fanfic #Geralt x reader #Geralt Fanfic #Henry Cavill Fanfic

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

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chin fucking up, amigo.

Titans 3.02

... eh?

SPOILERS ahead.

1. you know that music video for billie jean where michael jackson would dance along the pavement and the tiles would light up under his feet in different colours? yeah? me too.

titans hasn’t met a table top or a support arch that it doesn’t want to light up in a headache-inducing blue like the world’s most boring nightlight. i mean, i’m not an expert on lighting or cinematography or just... colour by any means, and the quality of the video i’m watching is poor given that i can’t access hbo max, but all the orange and teal and neon is making it very difficult to really differentiate between say, the batcave and the gotham police department and hell, the titans tower. i feel like there’s oftentimes a gap between idea and execution with titans, with gotham being this almost otherwordly hellscape with an aesthetic pulled from a gothic horror novel, but the colours and design just... leave it flat and dark and dull.

1.5. like what really frustrates me is that titans has a delightful mix of tones--the fights often remind me of schumacher-era batman camp, with the contrived quips and the start-stop rhythm and krypto just sallying in and ending the fight with a fucking SuperBark (tm) but in the same episode you have red hood just casually pulling out severed heads out of a duffle bag and desperate people blackmailed into killing themselves out of drug overdoses. I MEAN. it’s wonderful! but it looks all the same. it sounds Absolutely Bonkers on paper but on screen both Quip and Murder happen in the same washed-out blue and i wanted to be excited about the batcave, dammit!

2. things re: red hood have happened at such a breakneck speed that it feels like there’s so much that’s happened off-screen that we’re not privy to. a real proper mystery!

things that are intriguing about the red hood arc so far:

a) what was that chemical he huffed just before going to fight the joker? is it a regular old performance/adrenaline booster or is it something more lazarus-juice adjacent? if it’s the latter, i can’t imagine he got that much information from a lone chemistry textbook. and where is he getting the resources to set up his little chemistry lab? is somebody else orchestrating things behind the scenes?

b) the red hood persona, costume and mask, plus the elaborate plan he’s putting in place to both string along gotham’s rogues and enact his revenge against the titans seems too... fully-formed and elaborate to have been concocted in just a few days. how long do you think jason’s been planning this? just... stewing in resentment and building rage, dismissed and passed around and underestimated and realising that the power he thought he would get by being robin is no power, no protection at all, but something that’s left him even more vulnerable than before?

c) do we think that the scarecrow is at least partly behind this transformation? because yes, it was batman that set up this whole hannibal lecter-esque situation with him, and he would be irresponsible enough to have jason-as-robin go talk to him regularly regarding “~profiling~” criminals. it’s not too far of a leap to assume that scarecrow could’ve been manipulating jason at a very vulnerable time, and that he could’ve passed along some of his chemistry know-how, too.

d) ... or fuck, i wouldn’t put it past titans to introduce ra’s al ghul in a fucking ten second aside

e) anyway, the thing that won’t leave me alone is jason seeking out the joker not necessarily to fight him, but to orchestrate his own death. the whole thing has to have been part of a bigger plan. he broke batman with it, after all. and he’s starting to break the titans, too.

f) i love it! i mean, it does re-tread some of the storybeats we had with deathstroke last season (turning the titans against each other as revenge, etc) but it’s... tighter, this time, and at least for now seems better-executed. and as a red hood story it’s different enough to be really interesting, and i appreciate the ways in which its reframed the revenge story to focus on the titans rather than just the batman. like fuck everything up, i say! turn it on its head! slash the innards out of that sacred cow and strew it like garlands in the path of the Story You Want To Tell!

(and yes i am fully aware that by the time i post this review, there will be a whole lot more information out but if i come across like a fool then goddammit i will be a fool!)

2. i love how every season of titans starts off with, ‘oh dick, you thought you were settling into a role and a life and a pattern of relationships? well fuck you, here’s a terrible and traumatic thing, tons more responsibility, and circumstances that will lead you to uproot your entire life and move somewhere else.’ and dick’s just like, ‘well, ok. fuck you, but all right’.

can you imagine? the man was just settling into leading a team in sf and smiling for the first time in years, and now he has to deal with jason’s death, bruce experiencing a full fledged breakdown, coming back to a city that represents more bad memories than good, red hood, and a frightening new case that seems to be targeting him and his team. it’s a testament to dick’s growth that he’s not reacting to this stress like he did last year, shutting everybody out, making irrational decisions and experiencing sharp, short bursts of anger. (not to mention a full fledged psychotic episode.)

2.5. but i’ve also talked about dick performing a fair amount of unwarranted emotional labour for his team(s) in that he just lets them take out their frustrations on him and... does nothing. be it his team exploding at him for jericho (both in flashback and present-day) or donna and hank needling him for handling deathstroke poorly or barbara berating him for not handling the bank situation as well as she thought batman would though just the previous episode she had talked about how fucked up it was that bruce just expected dick to step up and replace him in gotham without any real notice. i mean it’s all perfectly understandable and sympathetic from their end--and i’m not trying to bash them here!--but hank, my man, the same chin you’re asking your amigo to keep up is the one that you punched last year and never apologised for. just sayin’.

2.75. @superohclair did a wonderful breakdown of what the ‘fear’ contract could imply here and there’s not too much i could add to that. it’s just really interesting that fear ended up being such a defining feature of their lives, albeit it’s the fear of seeming less than invincible in the face of bigger, more tangible fears. am i making sense? dick feared loss, and abandonment, and the more existential concept of turning into something that he didn’t want to. bruce so feared being alone that he’s scouting kids to replace robin within days of jason dying.

it also goes some way in explaining the tense sort of... restraint that bruce and dick show in the wake of loss and tragedy, like anything less than complete control of your emotions can lead to tragedy. it’s conditioning that dick couldn’t shake off when he was at his lowest in detroit, hating his legacy but unable to let it go either.

2.775. but i definitely appreciate the softness that dick displays with his team now, checking on them after a mission-gone-bad, welcoming back old members with no caveats or resentments (and kory’s delight in seeing hank back! hank and dick hanging out together and hank trying to prop dick up!), and appreciating their teamwork in solving cases. that’s always been the essence of dick as a person, and the beating heart of this show: flawed and traumatised people coming together to a place that will always be open to them, where they can be their worst and be supported still, allowed to make mistakes and grow from them. that’s family.

2.8. coming back to bruce for just a sec, it’s interesting how that gotham rogue was so certain when he said that ‘batman doesn’t kill’ but it’s not a rule that either jason or dick put much store by when they were robins. the ‘no-killing’ rule clearly didn’t mitigate dick’s fears about turning into batman and jason’s never been seeing giving two shits about it. it seems to me of a piece with bruce’s distant, second-hand sort of parenting that we see in dick’s flashbacks from s1 where the fear was never about personally disappointing batman, but taking lessons from him on finding a place in gotham’s hellish ecosystem and surviving.

3. kory having waking flashbacks! i don’t buy the bullshit parasomnia episode explanation from fake!HPG (because c’mon, justin has to be some sort of tamaranean ruse) because for one, you have to be actually asleep for that diagnosis.

(and here i was, hoping against hope that HPG would actually end up as the team’s therapist)

curiouser and curiouser! i wonder if these flashbacks are from the time between kory landing on earth and the beginning of season 1, when she was completely amnesiac? it’d be cool if the show was considering repercussions from that time, and if kory hasn’t gained all her memories back.

4. i just love the vibes between gar and conner and kory. gar Having Things To Do is only one part of my wishlist for him, however: other parts include having an actual story arc, and actually bonding with members who are not conner and kory. (dick! dick! hank! dick!)

anyway. time to move on to watching ep3 and seeing this family bond and nothing terrible and tragic happening at all, nope, nosiree.

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #jason todd #red hood #koriand'r #garfield logan #bruce wayne #his name is justin.#a byronic cupcake #a tragic jalebi #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years

Text

Tell Me You Hate Me

Summary: Story contains some intense intrusive thoughts, please mind the tags. Remus always has episodes where his emotions seem to completely shut down, leaving nothing but thoughts pounding in his skull begging for a reaction. When he finally breaks down, Logan is there to hold him together.

Warnings: intrusive thought, implied self bruising, depictions of violence and death, hurt with comfort, mild swearing

Ships: Logan x Remus, Intrulogical

WC: 3, 602

General Taglist: (ask to be tagged generally or in specific writing.) @im-an-anxious-wreck

Remus huffed as he flopped over to his other side yet again, kicking his feet out from underneath them and burying his face into his pillow. Finding it still too hot he quickly picked his head up and flipped the pillow to the cooler side, flopping face first this time as he fought to quiet his groan. Squeezing his eyes shut tight did nothing unfortunately and neither did leaving indents in his palms from his fingernails. Flopping over onto his back he tried taking deep, calming breaths- something Virgil had said sometimes helped them sleep- but he gave up after a few minutes. Shadows from the corners of his room licked at the edge of the safety of his bed and a spike of anxiety in his chest forced his feet back under the covers. A stupid false sense of security that died along with the anxiety as quickly as it had made itself known. The dull buzz of his fan did nothing to drown the ringing in his ears and he wiggled a bit to get the sheets unstuck from his back as his newest position began to get uncomfortable.

He closed his eyes again and sighed deeply before throwing the blankets to the floor and hurrying to the light switch to flick it on. Eyes still shut he stumbled into the hallway running his hand along the wall for a sense of direction wanting nothing more but a spike of caffeine to jump start the day. He left the kitchen light off since he didn't actually know how early it was and didn't want to wake Logan, instead holding his hand out and shuffling forward until his toe stubbed the bottom of the cabinets. Swearing he placed his hands on the counter and felt around until he found the coffee pot, finally deciding to open his eyes to the dim room so he didn't end up smashing the pot and getting glass in his feet...again. Filling it with water and grounds was simple enough, the routine so ingrained he had to force himself to actually concentrate on the action instead of drifting off into his own head again.

Briefly he thought about wedging his head under the spout and letting the freshly brewed coffee flow down his throat but he decided he liked the new creamer they had gotten too much to attempt that this time. Idly picking at his fingertips while he waited he glanced out the window of the shared apartment and wondered how hard it would be to climb down the building from there. Realistically he could do it- just squat in the sink and back up as carefully as he could to find footholds and balance. The thought of neighbors seeing a random ass sticking out of a window, wiggling as he got into a better position brought a flicker of a grin to his face, but the thought of then someone calling the police to report a break-in and the subsequential argument hed most likely have with Logan over his reasoning it had seemed like a good idea made him dismiss the thought immediately. Things were already on the rockier side with his husband, he didn't need something else making him regret he had ever proposed to Remus.

Things weren't at all bad in their marriage, new as it was and with as small of a space they shared. Remus just went through moods- quiet ones where he was mostly lost in his head and didn't want to make things tense by finding his way out of it. Moods where everything was exhausting, even engaging in activities with someone he loved more than anything else in the world seemed dull and tiring. He'd never tell Logan that, never even think about hurting him that badly, but sometimes he got so tired it was all he could do to get out of bed. And now his emotions were broken again and that certainly didn't help anything.

It didn't happen often, but every once in a while for whatever reason his brain had thought of, he couldn't feel anything. Not even sadness. Smiles were hard, crying was harder, brief spikes of anxiety died before he could think about them and anger or irritation which he usually relied on in these states were so far away he couldn't even think of what to do to make them appear. His world was dull and heavy and numb, pressing in from all sides in a way that would have been overwhelming if he could care to put any name to it. Instead he grew quiet, filing away thoughts and feelings to deal with when he could actually grasp them. Logan noticed; of course he did he noticed everything. Usually all Remus really needed was space and a little time to get his bearings. He would stay in bed a lot, even if he didn't manage to sleep, and watch youtube videos at random for hours on end until Logan came in with water or food or a reminder to get up and stretch. Remus would get up stiffly and stretch for a moment, maybe go to the bathroom, eat, drink and then go right back to curl as tight as he could under the blankets to blankly stare at the screen. He'd hear a soft sigh and feel fingers run gently through his tangled hair before the door would shut once again and he'd be left alone to his nothing and cold and numb and thoughts.

The thoughts were the worst even if he didn’t attach anything to them. Constant and intrusive and violent as they were they didn't even make him afraid anymore. It often seemed, in whatever fucked up process his brain had made up, that if his emotions shut down the intrusive thoughts needed to step up to compensate. Usually nothing more than a suggestive buzz in the background he had long ago learned to simply brush off they became a battering ram against the inside of his skull that he had to actively reason his way through to stop the twitch in his muscles. Boiling water for tea became sticking his hands in his pocket so he didn't stick it in the pan to watch burn and stick to the bottom, flesh pulling like hot cheese until it snapped away from his muscles and left his blood to be boiled by the heat. The want to tip his chair back became his teeth frigging as a graphic image of his head cracked open like an egg and leaking through the carpet presented itself to him like a proud child with macaroni art. A constant barrage of images and impulses that left him exhausted rather than disturbed and made him simply want to sleep them all away, which of course was when the insomnia kicked in and left him making coffee at- his eyes snapped to the oven clock and he sighed tiredly- 4:30 on the morning.

Thanking whatever gods were real it was a Saturday morning he brought down a mug and filled it with coffee and an obscene amount of creamer, chugging it in seconds and ignoring the sickly sweet taste before getting a refill and shambling to the couch to turn on the news. The news always had something going on lately and he was hoping it would be enough to distract from the thoughts of smashing his head through the glass coffee table or making another pot of coffee to chug through. Granted the latter was the better option of the two should he make it a choice but he knew his limit with caffeine and wasn't keen on his heart thumping in his chest throughout the day when he had no energy to do anything with the fake adrenaline rush.

"Remus?" The man winced as he heard Logan's sleepy voice in the hallway and turned to see him walking to the couch, face pinched in concern. "Are you alright? It's nearly five in the morning."

Running his dry tongue over even drier lips Remus nodded. "I uh- I was gonna go on a run today. Get out of the house you know- and I thought an early start might be good."

Logan studied his face carefully, though thankfully not seeming to notice the deep bruises under his eyes in the shifting light of the tv. Remus offered a weak smile and gripped his mug tighter, firmly dismissing the thought to smash it over Logan's head while Logan stepped back and nodded tiredly.

"I'm going to sleep for a bit longer. Please be careful Remus, I love you."

"Love you too, Logan." Remus turned away before he could see any more puty in Logan's eyes, anger licking up from his stomach but he simply clutched his mug to dissipate it before it could take hold, not that it really could. He listened as the footsteps died and the others door was shut, bringing the mug up and chugging the rest of it. Groaning slightly he realized he'd actually have to go out now, he couldn't lie to Logan anymore than he already had. Screwing his mouth to one side he decided biking would be easier. More chances to simply coast and he could wear his headphones without risk of his phone bouncing out of his pocket. Figuring he may as well go now rather than wait, since if he did he was sure he'd simply go back to curl up in bed, he quickly tidied up the kitchen and went to throw some clothes and a helmet on. Tugging his bike out of the hall closet he found himself on the street without quite remembering how he'd gotten there but in the end he supposed it didn't matter. This early in the morning there was virtually no one on the sidewalks giving him ample space to go as fast as he wanted down the hill. Hed ride back up the hill on his way back so he'd get some actual exercise to make up for just coasting for about a quarter mile later.

The wind was on his face before he even registered he had started heartbeat picking up slightly as the buildings on his right began to whip past faster and faster. He contemplated breaking a bit to slow down but his thoughts suddenly demanding he do a hard break, making him flip over the handlebars and skid into the road made him dismiss it quickly. Hed slow down eventually and he was fine for now. The streets were quiet and dark, the air was cool but the wind was so cold it felt like needles against his face. He probably should have worn at least a jacket from the way his arms were going numb but dismissing it was so much easier than thinking about how tiring it would be to turn around, go all the way back to his building, back up the stairs and into his room to get a jacket and gloves- and by that time he'd just went to stay in bed anyway since that would be closer so there really wasn't any point. The fold felt nice, it as waking him up along with the coffee and his heart was thumping loudly in his ears drowning out any thoughts that might slip through and his hands were gripping the handle bars so tight his cold knuckles were a stark white-

Instinct swerved his bike and slammed the breaks before he even noticed the truck speeding down the road. The driver didn't even acknowledge him as his hands slipped off the handle bars and his vision grew spotty. The sudden panic felt distant, dull and unimportant even as his breathing sped up and a thought rose up that told him he could have died: images of his cold body splayed in front of a sideways truck slammed it's way through to the front of his mind, blood pooled around the driver’s feet as his panicked voice called for help. Distantly Logan's screams could be heard as footsteps ran to his unresponsive body and everything was simply white and static and cold. The sound of another car's horn snapped him back to himself suddenly, looking around in confusion as he saw how light it had gotten and the quiet streets now coming to life with people Getting off night shift or waking up for their morning shift or running to coffee shops. His sweat soaked hands were nearly frozen on the handlebars and when he tried moving his legs he felt like he was trying to tread through a thick vat of glue that threatened to pull him down and under the second he decided to stop fighting.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to collapse and hope something on his bike punctured a lung on the way down though he simply turned and started back up the hill towards home. He didn’t know how long he had been standing on the sidewalk but he judged it to have been an hour at least with how bright the sky was now. Hopefully Lgan hadn’t worried too much, the thought bringing a wave of guilt that nearly drove him to his knees with the fierceness with which it crashed onto him but just like with everything else it disappeared almost as quickly as it decided to present itself and Remus was left to simply stare blankly at the concrete before him as his stiff legs took him to Logan step by mind numbing step. He just had to make it to Logan. Logan would know what to do, what to say; Remus knew all he ever had to do was ask. Logan was getting better at asking whenever he needed help so the least Remus could do was show that same courtesy.

But then- what if he didn’t understand? What if he couldn’t? What if he thought Remus was just crazy or having a mental break or because he couldn’t feel things sometimes Logan thought that meant he didn’t love him anymore? What if he decided to leave? What if he left and Remus was alone with only his thoughts and the cold and-

“Remus?” He snapped his head up at Logan’s voice, a quick brush of panic curling around him as he saw that he was back in the apartment with again no recollection of walking the rest of the way up the block and up the stairs and through the door. Logan was looking at him, that same pitying concern wrinkling his face as he stood in front of Remus with a mug of black coffee held tightly in one hand while the other reached out to him gently. And Remus, with the overwhelming feeling of nothing, nothing, nothing and still frantically beating heart with wild eyes full of tears that hadn’t fallen in a week, couldn’t think of what to say to make anything better for either of them. So he did what he did best.

“Tell me you hate me.” The words blurted out with his characteristic impulsiveness as Logan’s eyes blew wide and he only briefly registered his own surprise before the world turned gray again. Of course, the most painful thing for him to hear is what he wanted. No amount of horror movie jump scares or gore, of late night metal blasting at full volume through his ears, pf slamming his fists repeatedly into his thighs until he could barely walk the next day would be as painful as having someone he had cared about more than anyone else for six years now telling him that they hated him. That they couldn’t stand him because he was useless and unfeeling and so, so stupid to even think someone like them could love someone like him. He needed to hear the words he knew Logan was probably itching for permission to say, and now that he had it he could go all out, and maybe then something could get through his constant swirl of thoughts.

“Please I can’t- I’m so numb Logan. I haven’t felt anything in a week I just need- this is your chance to lay it all out.” Logan considered him carefully before reaching ver and setting his coffee down on the counter and stepping towards him. Gently, so gently it almost hurt, Logan took both of his hands and tugged, walking backward and around until he could sit them both down on the couch. Squeezing his hands slightly he took them away only to place them gently on with side of Remus’ face and hold him as if he was made of fragile porcelain, thumbs caressing his cheekbones in a steady rhythm that had his heart finally calming down and body relaxing into the touch.

“I love you.”

Remus’ breath caught as he locked eyes with his husband, who was simply smiling gently as him with the same loving look he had been giving him for years. Pressure built behind his eyes suddenly and he widened them to keep it at bay, shaking his head in defiance.

“You are safe. Whatever you’re feeling or not feeling is perfectly alright. You are with your husband who cares for you very much in the apartment we’ve shared for four years. You haven’t been sleeping well which may be contributing to your mental distress but that’s okay too because we can work on fixing that. I could never tell you that I hate you. Love you more than anything, Remus.”

Remus wasn’t sure why that’s what finally broke him, but the flood of emotions that crashed over him barely gave him time to breath before he gasped out a sob and smashed his face into Logan’s chest. Steady arms wrapped around him in a tight, comforting embrace as his legs were brought over his lap, essentially making Logan cardle him like a child but Remus couldn’t bring himself to care as he gasped and shuddered out weeks worth of pent up emotions that he was just now able to feel and it was too much, too much, too much all at once. His hands came up too fist in Logan’s shirt and snot ran freely down his face and his throat began to ache form the noises desperately escaping his throat. This was too much at once, he couldn’t handle this much at once.

But all the way through it Logan rocked them back and forth, hugging him tightly and whispering how much he was loved and cared for and how much better his life was with Remus in it even if he did leave the cabinet doors open and hog the blankets when they shared a bed. Careful fingers carded through his hair as he was told that it was okay to cry, it was okay to not feel anything or to feel everything and Logan would be there regardless. Logan would be there for him through everything Remus needed as long as Remus needed him for. The rocking and whispering didn’t stop until Remus pulled away, a little ashamed and embarrassed with snot covering his face and hiccups preventing him from saying anything but it was okay because Logan only smiled as him and laid a hand on his cheek before getting up and telling him He’d be right back.

It was only a few seconds before he was back with a cool washcloth pressed to his face, carefully wiping his sore, red eyes and rubbing gently as his cheeks and nose. It ws cool and refreshing and instantly Remus felt better than he had in weeks. His wild curls were brushed out of his face and a kiss was pressed to his forehead before Logan made to leave again, making Remus let out a pathetic whine in protest.

“I’m only going to the kitchen to get you water, Remus. Did you want to come with me?”

As ridiculous as it was, he did. So he slipped his hand into Logan’s and followed him out to the small kitchen, watching as he awkwardly poured a glass of water from the fridge one handed and passed it to Remus who downed it in five seconds and handed it back sheepishly. Receiving only an encouraging smile in return the glass was filled once again before he was tugged back into the living room and sat down on the couch. Logan turned to him and squeezed his hand gently. Always so gently and lovingly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus knew they would have to eventually but he was so tired. Not the kind of tired he had been where everything was exhausting and irritating and just on the side of too much, but the kind of bone tired you can only be after having an emotional breakdown in your husband's arms at eight o’clock in the morning after only getting two hours of sleep the night before. So he shook his head, hoping against all odds Logan could read minds and understand.

To Logan’s credit he picked up that it was something best addressed at a later time, simply nodding again and reaching for the remote. “How about a movie instead then? As a distraction?”

Smiling a tired but genuine smile, Remus nodded and curled up into Logan’s side, eyes slipping shut before he could even see what Logan had picked. But that was fine. The volume was low and Logan’s arm came to wrap around Remus’ shoulder as he drifted off peacefully. He was safe and loved and right now, that was all that mattered.

I promise I write happy things sometimes XD As always, this work is available with other on AO3!

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#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #remus sanders #logan sanders #tw ts intrusive thoughts #implied self bruising #tw self harm #tw violence #tw gore #very self indulgent #intrulogical

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shadowturtlesstuff · 4 years

Text

Dress part 2

so this is dress from Audrey rose’s perspective. i loved writing this. i finished it a few weeks back and its been slowly edited. i am working on other things, but i can feel my brain slolwy stop working, and i’m failing miserably.

This party is dreadful. Beautiful, but dreadful. The only things that are interesting to me is looking at the gowns being worn and the intricate details I discovered when observing them. And Thomas. But I refuse to acknowledge the latter and fix my gaze on a pale pink dress, little gems of dark pink lining the neckline flowed down the bottom of the dress. My own was of a pale green and blue, the top being blue and slowly turning green, with gems in little pockets so that if I were to dance, to spin, there would just be a flash of colour. It is a shame I will not be dancing tonight. Originally my dress was going to be a deep purple with white pearls around the neckline but I may have overheard Thomas talking to his carriage driver about his own outfit for tonight and may have decided against the purple.

My eyes move away from the gown and find Thomas who is conversing with an old man that I assume is his father. From the scowl on Thomas's face one can assume his father must be a pleasant conversationalist. Then Thomas's gaze slides away from his father and meets mine almost immediately, as if he was waiting for my eyes to find his, or that he could feel my gaze. A smirk replaces his scowl and I try to ignore the blush creeping onto my cheeks as I look away quickly; to find my cousin’s face fixed on mine, and eyebrows raised as she took in my expresion. She took her own gaze at Thomas, then winks at me and I scowl slightly. All night I had been stealing looks at Thomas, to try and notice all the details in his suit. He looked incredibly handsome in his midnight blue and black clothing, his hair brushed back and a permanent look of boredom and contemptment on his face. Apart from when he caught me looking. Then his lips quirked up in a smirk that I wanted to smack off.

It takes all my common sense to stay rooted in my seat and not walk over and ask Thomas to dance. Yet all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipating our next encounter was starting to weigh on my chest, hoarding control over my senses. It was infuriating. My mind was still convinced I did not ever need a husband, yet my mind also wondered about a life where Thomas was by my side. Every time I did the weight would increase slightly and I had no idea how to fix this. We were not even meant to be friends, uncle had warned me a few times when I had gone to investigate something on his behalf, that Thomas was trouble. Yet it always seemed he disliked Mr.Douglas more, and was miserable about the fact we did not have Thomas's particular skill sets on our side.

“It is most important for you young girls to attend not just tea parties, but parties.” Aunt Amilia was saying to us. Liza looked exceptional tonight, her dress was golden yellow with lilac accents. She had been very excited about tonight, about the prospects of romance and the fact she did not attend such things when trapped in the countryside; even though I hadn't been looking forward to tonight, her excitement was invigorating.

I let my aunt and cousin talk as I mess with the bottom of my glass. Attending tonight meant that there was another chance for our murderer to strike, another victim to add to his growing list. I shuddered at the thought of seeing another horrific scene; a woman cut open and dispatched as though she was worth nothing. Uncle and I had conducted post mortems on all the unfortunate women, they all seemed to have similar inflicting wounds yet they were worse each time. Uncle claims our murder is getting more confident as he is taunting the Scotland Yard. As much as I enjoy the magical atmosphere the ball produced; I couldn't help but think it a waste of time. There must be more we could do to find who our perpetrator was. Thomas and I had been discussing theories over the course of the last month whenever we found ourselves together, and even with our skills combined we were no closer than when we started. It certainly didn't help that we kept getting distracted. Thomas is an excellent flirt and seems to want to do just that all the time. It did not help that my mind kept drifting back to our kiss either. I had to keep convincing myself it was the adrenaline that caused me to kiss him, not the fact I had grown to like him very much.

I kept thinking about how his hands burnt my skin, electrifying me and it made me drunk on his touch. I kept wondering what would happen to me if we were to kiss again and if I would be able to control myself. To not drown in his touch.

I caught another glance of him, but his eyes were already upon mine. I looked away just as Mr.Douglas appeared at his side. I slid my eyes back to him as he begrudgingly spoke to his boss. Thomas scowled at something he said.

“Audrey Rose, would you like another glass of champagne brought to you?” Liza asks, capturing my attention away from Thomas. I had only had one and it couldn't hurt to nurse another tonight. So I nodded and watched Aunt Amila gesture to the waiters to bring a glass for me as well as some food for Liza. My glass is replaced and I try to ignore the growing boredom I have.

“May I borrow your daughter for a dance, sir?” The smooth voice of Mr. Thomas Cresswell appears to my left. Slowly I look at him, trying to hide my confusion. And longing. I would very much like to dance with Thomas. I would like to know how it feels to dance with him, whether he can dance. Yet we were not meant to be friends, surely Uncle will notice the fact we are, and perhaps scold me for it. My father looks over at him, surly registering who he is, who his father is and the title he holds. He gives a tight smile. Father is still slowly recovering from his opium addiction. Aunt Amilia arrived so she can keep an eye on him and it makes me happier to see him be less tired. Yet it does cause problems if I need to visit my Uncle. Nathaniel narrows his eyes at Thomas, surly bemused at why his apparent robotic friend would want to dance with me. However he gives a more genuine smile than my father does. Then Uncle scowls. I would much rather face the killer's knife than be in Thomas's position right now. I look towards where Liza is trying stilfe her giggles and can't help but smile too.

“Cert-” My father begins, but does not get far before my Uncle cuts in. Of course he would. Normally he would not care. I am still shocked my Aunt managed to convince him to leave his laboratory for this.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? She's my daughter I suggest you-”

“No. Mr. Cresswell, what are you doing? You do not wish to seek out my niece for the case do you? If so, leave now.” I see Thomas wince slightly, but smile before quickly looking at me and answering:

“No sir, I can see why you'd think that but I truly wish to dance. Your daughter is captivating.” His smooth words wash over me, the honesty in his tone fills my bones, making me more light headed than the champagne ever could.

“I shall dance with you Mr. Cresswell.” I interject before anyone else can speak on my behalf. Thomas is the only one I had wanted to dance with. I make my way to the dance floor, giddy with excitement. My hands shake slightly from the need to hold him.

“I'm glad you saved me. I've been dreadfully bored.” I tell him as he places his hands on my waist, my own finding his shoulder. I forget how tall he is sometimes. I would have to go on my tiptoes if I were to kiss him and he would need to bend to find my lips. He laughs at my words and everything about him relaxes slightly as we begin to dance. Each step is filled with confidence. Of course he'd be perfect at dancing.

“I'll always be the one to save you Wadsworth. I am your Dark Prince. Be sure to think about me and my heroic nature whenever you're alone.” Once again I ignore the blush making my cheeks it’s home and focus on his smirk. His ridiculously arrogant smirk.

“Please; I have more important things to consider than you.”

“You look beautiful, Audrey Rose.The dress is magnificent, compliments you perfectly,” he must be making the connection to his own outfit and contemplating the implications behind it; “although completely unnecessary, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of rendering me speechless without a dress on at all.” Or not. The fiend just wanted to shamelessly flirt with me. To make my skin turn hot and cold all at once while I consider his implications. His eyes hold promise and he no longer wears his impenetrable mask with force. It makes him look younger, more like the man I have grown to know and not the cruel beast society believes him to be.

“You claim I render you speechless yet you still speak? Are you lying or just horribly bad at compliments? Or, you hate the dress but need to charm me nonetheless?” Despite his vaulnrability I must not allow him to have the upper hand in this conversation or I shall never live it down.

“Wadsworth, darling, please; do you really think that little of me? I'm merely stating the obvious, it's what I do best. And I don't need to charm you when you are already infatuated with me. If I were you I would be. And as much as you truly render me speechless with your brilliant mind, I adore your body too, an added bonus, but I will always be able to tell you how astonishing you look.” He looks ready to kiss me, and I know if he did I would let him. It would be quite the scandal but I do not care at this point. We flirt, tease and taunt each other endlessly but it pains me that we do not get to do it as often as we wish. That I do not get to learn each side of Thomas, like this charming man who holds me tightly, as though if he let go of me I'd disappear. I feel as though I might if he did. I search for any lie, anything but the same pain I must be showing on my face. Instead of a kiss, unfortunately, he pinches my sides lightly, as if conveying his words to me. I pinch him back and we smile, content in our own little world.

“It is a good job you are not me then isn't it?” My voice is barely above a whisper and we both know my words hold little bite. People were fools to think Thomas was anything other than lovable. He may be in pain most of the time but that was a part of his charm.

He clears his throat, attempting to control himself, “I've enjoyed the game tonight, our secret moments in this crowded room no one knows about. Each little glance at me gives my heart a rush. Makes it worth being at this blastidly boring event. I've missed you.”

‘I’ve missed you.’

The three words repeat over and over in mind. We spoke this week yet in my bones I understand what he means. We haven't truly discussed our kiss; or our feelings. We are both too wrapped up in our individual fears. Yet even with the confession we dance in comfortable silence.

“When does this get easier?” My voice is quiet for a completely different reason than before. Our eyes meet and I find myself captivated by him, the fact my best friend is not perceived as my friend. A secret that neither of us ever wanted to keep. “I want to stay with you all night, but after this we must return to our lives, I go back to being judged for my curiosity and you will go back to the animatronic villain the world thinks you are. When does it get easier Thomas?”

He contemplates for a moment, his eyes flashing all sorts of emotion before turning to that calculated gaze that feels somehow more intimate than before. If he has an idea on how to make this all better then I have no intention of stopping him.

“Wadsworth, how much does your Uncle hate me?”

“He doesn't hate you, at least I don’t think he does. He- he isn't a person who gives positive opinions on anyone. Even me. But no, I do not think he hates you, just Mr. Douglas. Oh but he doesn't like that you are working against us. For him no less.'' I have believed for some time my Uncle would like Thomas to work with us and attend his school. He never technically speaks ill of him, but of who he works for. I’m half convinced Uncle is upset Thomas did not go to him first.

“It's not ideal, I despise him, he doesn't care about the cases, but of the fame; it makes me near vomit whenever he speaks about the women- or any woman for that matter.” Uncle had said the same thing a few times to me.

“Audrey Rose, if I were to quit would your uncle offer me an apprenticeship?”

“I think so but why?”

“There are more benefits in working with your Uncle than that egotistical man. The main one being right in front of me.'' I gasp slightly and stop for a second. Once again Thomas has left me speechless at how vulnerable he is for me, at how his words caress me and hold such promises that make us both slightly afraid. There was so much wrongness in the world, so much that confused me and left me stranded. Perhaps that is why I relish science so much, in finding out facts from the deceased because they could never lie to me, never hold my brain in such misery that I feel ill. Maybe the familiar feeling of carving open a body meant that it was the only sure thing I knew. That was before Thomas.

Now I know two things for sure. For the most part. Thomas would always baffle me but in the most delightful ways.

Finally I mustered the courage to speak. “You could talk to my uncle tonight, I'm sure he'd much rather discuss the case or anything remotely close to work rather than listening to my Aunt.”

“Would you want me to work alongside you Wadsworth because if not I can-” he would always allow me a choice, but he would always doubt himself too. So I snapped my head up from where I was staring at his chest. His eyes flash as he misunderstands my movements.

“Do not finish that sentence Thomas. Of course I want you to work with me and my Uncle.”

“My brilliance is desperately needed isn't it? I mean you cannot resist my charm.” He adds a wink, lightning the tone and making me roll my eyes in the process.

“No, I'm merely the one saving you from that- that man before he rots the only decent part of your brain.” Half truth, half a lie. I relish in our easy banter.

“If you are the one saving me, will you be like the heroes in the books, because I do recall that they always give their saved maidans a kiss once they are saved?” I blush again at his words, but more so the memory of his lips on mine.

We had been investigating when two ruffians attacked, so we fled to safety in an alleyway. With one look we were both upon each other, clinging desperately as our lips met, the feeling of being lost in him, the feeling of his hair beneath my gloves. Of the sweetest kiss he added after we broke apart. Even after then Thomas had doubted his actions slightly and apologized but in that moment I didn't care about anything but him. I'd seen a new side to him that night, one I wished to witness again.

We were coming to the end of our second dance, any more would be considered improper. Thomas seemed to stumble onto that fact too as his grip tightened ever so slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I doubt even his impressive deduction skills noticed his own movement as he was too fixated on my face. It made me smile slightly. Even as I knew I'd have to break apart and return to my table. To Liza's knowing smile and teases, to the males scowling and whatever my Aunt thought.

Slowly I let go of him, the music coming back into my head, as though I had stopped paying attention to it. We walk back to my table and I take my seat, hand going onto my glass as I calm my heart. Thomas stands there awkwardly by the empty chair, so I kick it slightly with a smile playing at my lips. He scowled but sat down. I tried desperately to ignore my cousin, I knew she watched me dance and would inform me of her opinions on it and on Thomas.

Everyone at the table is silent, watching and waiting. My father orders a glass of champagne for Thomas, which indicates either he likes Thomas or the title he holds. I watch as Thomas messes with the rim of the glass. My friend has never been exactly good at social interactions and becomes restless faster than a toddler. Uncle is glaring at Thomas so my father elbows him and it seems so unlike them I smile. They are no longer close due to my mother’s death, but perhaps my Aunt can change that for the better, at least a little bit whilst she is here.

“So Mr. Cresswell, my son has been telling me a bit about you, what is it you do again?”

I've not spoken to Nathaniel about Thomas. In fact I haven't spoken to him in quite a number of days. I make a mental note to fix that.

“I'm a scientist sir.” My fathers face drops, either having that information made true or knowing Nathaniel had missed it out deliberately.

“Surely a man of your title would pursue something other than that?”

“Science isn't about titles sir, it's just the pursuit of knowledge. You must want to know how things work, how things are made. I enjoy learning about the body, the world and how it works.” My father narrows his eyes at him. He used to enjoy that sentiment before my mother died. He loved making things. It was his form of science. Perhaps if mother had not died he would be more open to my love of science. I'm filled with silence that floods my head until Thomas taps the table slightly. My attention turns to his warm smile, one that tells me everything I need.

I am not morally corrupt for liking science. I return the smile, a silent thank you.

Silence falls on our table and I find Liza watching me and Thomas with something like wonder on her face. When she notices me she smiles, then raises her eyebrows up and down and we both nearly snort with laughter. But we control ourselves as Uncle takes a seat next to Thomas. His gaze makes Thomas bounce his knee in the annoying way he does when he is nervous.

“Would it be okay for me to attend your school sir?” Thomas askes suddenly

“Yes, on one condition; you must stop working for Mr. Douglas.”

Neither of us were surprised by the condition, although I am miserable that Thomas was accepted so quickly. I had to beg my Uncle to let me join and I've only ever been once. His stipulation for me was to remain quiet. Quite a task when the ‘men’ partaking in his lesson squirmed more than I did.

“Of course.”

After a few minutes Thomas returns to his table and my Uncle stays in the seat he's in, instead of going back to the seat beside my father. My father returns to his conversation with Nathaniel, Liza and Aunt Amelia being talking again. I look to uncle in hopes he will talk to me, but he is looking at his plate of food miserably. So I sit alone silently.

“Mr. Wadsworth? May I join you this fine evening?” The voice of Mr. Blackburn pierces my thoughts. He takes the seat that was my Uncles and smiles brightly at me. “It is lovely to see you, Miss. Wadsworth. You look beautiful.”

I force a smile as my mind wanders to the words Thomas uttered to me earlier. They felt real. It leaped at me and held me tightly. Blackburns’ felt much like my smile. Forced. Polite. I had no idea what he was doing here. If he wanted to talk about the case I'm sure he'd drag Uncle somewhere.

“Thank you.” I say, turning to look at Liza and begging her to help me out. But Aunt Amelia cuts in instead.

“She looks delightful doesn't she? You must dance together.”

I try to hide my wince but it clearly doesnt work as Liza smirks at me.

“Before you do that there is something we must discuss Audrey Rose,” Blackburn states, his tone makes me squirm in my seat like a child, Uncle looks up from his food finally and they look at each other carefully, “We need you both tomorrow at the station, the Ripper has sent another letter.”

So Uncle was right when he spoke about the killer's confidence another letter surely meant he was ready to strike again. I must speak to Thomas, get him to be at the station with us, he will likely notice things we would normally miss.

“Certainly.” Was all Uncle responded with. Especially since we both noticed my father’s glare at us all.

“Both? Both? When I told you to court my daughter I didn't expect you to let her see such horrors. You were to stop her madness not help it prevail.” He snaps at Blackburn. Anger rose as I understood what my father was saying. He had graciously allowed Blackburn to court me, to marry me, without even mentioning it once to me. I was clearly too much to handle and must be doused before I dare have a life of my own choosing.

“You have been secretly courting me?” I snapped at him, rising from my seat. “Father, why on earth would you allow this? I have a right to know, to choose for myself.”

“Audrey Rose, sit down and be quiet, you're making a scene.” My Aunt snaps back. Of course, our reputation is in such jeopardy if I stand up for myself.

How had I missed Blackburns’ advances, my fathers scheme? What else were they hiding from me? My father was enraged with me, Blackburn had the guts to look sorry for me. It was utterly ridiculous. I hated him, hated my father, hated society. Myself. I'd missed it because I had convinced myself he was a friend. I was so desperate I had ignored my intuition. I was pathetic.

Instead of sitting down I pushed my chair far back and began walking out of the ballroom. I needed air. Needed control. Needed Thomas. A thought I refused to linger.

The cold air bit at my skin, seeped inside me as I walked to the edge of the garden. The darkness comforted me as tears freely slipped down my face. I was a fool. I didn't want to marry Blackburn. I wasn't sure I wanted to ever marry. I just wanted to be a scientist. I wanted-

“Miss. Wadsworth, is everything okay?” Thomas appears behind me and I find it so utterly cruel that he gets to see me so vulnerable. Not an hour ago had we danced, had we been happy and now I was apparently being courted so I spun around and let out a joyless laugh.

“Perfect, Mr. Cresswell. I am a woman in this absurd society so I must not dare think about anything remotely masculine. I must not be able to pick who I love but have my father arrange it without informing me.” I spit at the words at him, knowing he was not to blame but knowing he was the only one willing to listen to me.

“Audrey Ro-”

“Blackburn. He chose Blackburn. He was never nice to me to be my friend, but because of him and my fathers scheming. If he hadn't been he would not have been this nice to me. I know I am not exactly the nicest person and that my interests disgust society but it was nice to have a friend.” I whisper the last part as though I voice how pathetic I am.

“Am I not your friend Audrey Rose?” His voice is an attempt at a joke, I think, but it is also tinged with pain. I consider Thomas my best friend, and it hurts me he thinks otherwise.

“You are but you're different, you; I don't need to try with you Thomas. I have to try with everyone but you.” He dares a step towards our eyes finally meeting. We needn't say a thing for us to understand each other.

“Wadsworth, I find it easy with you too. More than I even understand. This world is cruel and I wish more than anything to make it better for you, for it to be better in general. I- my father long ago gave up trying to marry me off, deeming me worthless and unable to love, and I still cannot figure out which is worse.” This was another side of Thomas he was showing me, to tell me that we may not fit into society but it doesn't matter too much. The fact will always hurt us slightly but we learn to live with it. Eventually.

He takes my gloved hands and rubs small circles over my palm sending shivers over my body. “You are worth more to society than they realise, so please keep fighting for your freedom. I will forever remain your friend if that is what you wish to happen, to help you figure this world out.” His confession replaces the darkness clinging to me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a wife, but Thomas always made me doubt that. He would always give me my freedom because he understood how important it was to me. I tighten my grip and he catches his breath as I take another step closer.

“Thomas,” My voice is somewhat breathless, my own breathing failing me, “you are not unlovable, your father is a fool. An utter fool. I want you by my side always, I fear I couldn't do this without you.” I go closer, impossibly so, “What if, what if it was more than friends though?” I may have overstepped with my question, we were in such uncertain territory to what we felt and I wished I could take back the words. What if Thomas wanted nothing more than friendship? The kiss we had could have just been adrenaline for him. His flirts may be out of boredom or something else I couldn't understand.

“I- I’m sorry.” I stutter when he doesn't respond to me. I take a step back, ready to return to the line placed between us. Where I would forever remain it seems.

That is until his hand tightened on mine and brought me back forward. My face widens in shock.

“Wadsworth I'd like that too.”

There is a second of silence as it sinks in. “You would?”

“More than anything. I care deeply about you. I shall court you like a proper gentleman if that is what you wish.” We return to standing apart and I can't help but snort at his insane statement.

“You are anything but a gentleman Cresswell.” I smile brightly as we both laugh. “It may be my favourite thing about you.” He flashes me a devilish smile.

“I am fully aware, love, that you love the scandalousness of my words. Would you like to go back inside or return home, I am sure I can get us a carriage to share.”

“Us? Thomas you do not live with me.”

“Yet,” he adds. I roll my eyes at his dramatic nature despite picturing how lovely it would be to live with him. “It would be ungentlemanly to let you return home alone; and purly scandalous to be in close quarters with you.'' Once again I ignore his words and begin to walk to where the carriages await. I couldn't care less if father got mad at me for going home. I knew I had to be lectured anyway.

“Very well, you may escort me home. From a distance.” I emphasise this to make sure he understands. He merely laughs at me.

When I make nearly a quarter of the distance and do not find Thomas with me I spin around and find him watching me with a weird expression on his face. He is captivating as he stares at me, his eyes full of wonder. His perfect hair has fallen in his face slightly, disheveling him slightly. My brows burrow in confusion at what could make him look like this, but I relish the look he gives me anyway. He really is a dark prince; standing tall in his dashing suit. He blinks when he releases I've stopped then begins to follow me.

“Are you alright?” I ask as he falls into step with me.

“Yes of course, I get to leave with the most dazzling woman at the party.”

We link arms, pay for a carriage and start to head towards my home. We sit across from each other, but the carriage is small and Thomas obnoxiously spreads his legs out so they brush against me and it takes all my willpower not to just place my hand on his knee, slowly stand then lean over him and kiss him. He nudges me and I raise my gaze, he tells me something but I've no clue what.

I blink and feel the heat of my blush form on my face. Which Thomas notices and smirks wickedly at me whilst raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Wadsworth?” He asks and I hum a response and try to snap out of my indecent thoughts.

“Cresswell?” I attempt words, not sure that I can manage more than his name.

“My kiss? I am still waiting for it.”

When did I promise him a kiss? Not that I do not want to kiss him. He leans closer, knee hitting mine. I feel the heat of him envelop my senses even as I remember our dance and the words he teased me with. For a moment I see him doubt and so I lean in to make sure he doesn't regret being in here with me, regret asking to kiss me.

His lips are soft as they meet mine. I feel his hand rest on my knee as I deepen the kiss. My night has been abysmal and I do not think I would have made it if Thomas was here. I adore the feeling of his lips on me and find my hands wandering on his knees. This is so vastly different from the first kiss and it makes me wonder if our kisses will always be different. Thomas pulls back, resting his head on my forehead and searches my face. I am a complete mess as he looks me over and he smiles at the result of our kiss. He presses a lingering kiss then sits back. I return to being pressed against the back of the carriage as we regain our composure. But I feel his legs still against mine so I brush my own against him and his warm smile against his flushed face made my heart nearly burst.

“I should save you from boring events more often if it means kissing you like that.” The words hold the same promise as the kiss and I smile brightly at him. I didn't think I wanted a husband but perhaps being with Thomas my feelings would change. Even in my worst time Thomas would stand by me, and I'd stand by him. We would make mistakes, argue; but I felt the truth sink in that we would always see the truth in each other. He was my one and only lifeline and I do not think I could ever truly explain the feelings as they raced around in my body faster than I could comprehend.

@fangirling-again @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @purplecreatorhorsewagon @kittycat2187 @padfoot-sirius-black @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing @lovecakeandmore @loveyatopluto @yikesitsmaddie

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cressworth #cresswell #thomas cresswell #audrey rose wadsworth #stalking jack the ripper #hunting prince dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil #thomas and audrey rose

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theouterbankpogues · 4 years

Text

after sarah doesn’t invite kiara to her birthday party (a jj x kiara fic)

author : theouterbankpogues aka vi

fandom : jj x kie, jiara | outer banks on netflix

tags : the angst, the fluff, the hurt, the comfort y’know!!

warnings : none

i love writing for this ship bc it has a chokehold on me and i just... i’m so helpless lmao. i read this hc set by @lemon-patches (which you should definitely go and read bc it’s amazing and all the feelings) and it talked about how jj and ki were each other’s first kiss and no one else knows. this is basically how i imagine it happened. enjoy!! as always the validation feeds me so yeah if you like it pls share it and stuff (i love reading tags on reblogs so lmao do with that what u will). i imagine they are 15/16, about 6-8 months before s1 idk if that adds up but lol thats what i went with. sorry for any errors u may find xx

a little preview so u know what you’re getting into hehe: “They stood like that for a while, long and quiet breaths synced, arms entangled in waist and shoulders, hearts rhythmically beating, just enjoying the warmth of the best friend they dearly missed.”

Tears streamed down Kiara’s face. She knew that calling the cops was petty, she knew it was the worst of her manifesting itself, but tonight Ki couldn’t bring herself to care. She found herself toppling some books off of her bookshelf. She had always known that she wasn’t good enough for Sarah. The Sarah Cameron. God, she felt so stupid.

Another wave of regret coursed through her. The pit of her stomach hollowed when she re-remembered that she’d actually listened to her parents and decided to give her kook year a genuine try. She had distanced herself from the cut and the pogues, her best friends, the people that she could always count on, the people who always cared. She gave it all up for the superficial bullshit she knew would eventually fall apart.

That entire evening, the anger and regret approached her in harsh and unforgiving turns. She couldn’t escape her own thoughts, she was so mad at herself. She had let herself become vulnerable, given herself up for someone to use and dispose. She felt so weak. All she really wanted to do was fit in, to have a normal year where she wasn’t disappointing her parents, where she wasn’t out at unreasonable hours getting her friends out of messes, watching their string of luck grow thinner and thinner with every prank and practical joke. She was tired of being the middle between the kooks and pogues, she loved the latter and she could’t escape the part of her that was the former. She just wanted to resign to one side, she just wanted things to get easier. Kiara had decided to leave everything for some peace of mind, and now she knew she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t even checked in with John B, his dad was missing and she hadn’t even checked in with him. God, she felt so stupid. Her sobs overtook her as she sat at her bed.

She was so exhausted from the crying she could scream, it had been a few long hours. And Ki, in a moment of clarity, convinced herself that she was too strong for that. Even though she felt horrible, she reminded herself that she was too careful to let this anger get the best of her. Instead, she resorted to taking a few deep breaths and cleaning up the various books and stationary strewn across her bedroom floor as a remnant of her anger. What had happened had happened, she was just going to have to figure out how to cope on her own.

Yeah, I just have to figure it out on my own. I’ll be fine.

That’s when she heard it.

Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud.

‘What the-’

She realised that the sound was coming from her window. Stepping toward the side of her room facing the balcony, she realised that pebbles were currently being thrown at her window by a silhouette below it. She couldn’t tell who it was because the backdoor lights had been switched off for the night. It was well past midnight and her parents were soundly sleeping in the next room, she swore she would never forgive the person currently trying to break her window if they woke up. She didn’t want anyone to see her as the mess she was right now. So as quickly and as safely as Kiara could, she opened the balcony window, “What the actual— JJ? JJ is that you?” Kiara couldn’t really understand what was going on, she had stopped talking to the pogues months ago.

“Yeah, hey Ki! Come down!”

“What?”

“You heard me bro, get dressed and come down!”

After a curt nod, she went back into her room, changed out of her PJ’s into some joggers and a hoodie and found herself sneaking out the back door out of genuine curiosity. When she was outside, she realised that neither Pope nor John B were with JJ. Along with that, she realised that he had two boxes of pizza and some beer cans set down on the grass next to him.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was scrolling through Instagram, realised you weren’t at the party, thought you might need a pick me up,” He seemed to register her tired face and puffy eyes under the dim starlight because he continued, “guess I was right!”

And that’s how, twenty minutes later, JJ and Ki found themselves in a clearing near her house. They sat down opposite each other, the pizza boxes separating them.

“Got your favourite, double cheese, double pepperoni and half the jalapeño.”

Except for the occasional direction here and there, Ki had been quite their entire walk. She couldn’t really even process what was happening. How was JJ here? Why was he talking to her after she’d treated them him like shit the past few months? None of it made sense to her, least of all why this was all from JJ. With all of it perplexing her, the only thing she managed to say was, “You remembered.”

‘Yeah of course I did Ki, just because you stopped talking to us doesn’t mean we stopped caring about you. Come on, dig in, it’s getting cold.”

She didn’t know how to respond to him so she just followed him in picking up a slice from the box. Warm pizza , cold beer and melted cheese heavily complemented the gentle breeze that surrounded them. They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know Ki-”

“No, everything I did these past few months, the way I cut you guys off, the way I left y’all when you needed me I-”

“Ki we know-”

“God, I’ve been so stupid, I left you guys, like y’all were nothing, y’all needed me and I-”

“Ki, Ki-” Ki just continued, she felt horrible, “KIARA!” JJ saying her full name was so foreign to her, especially since he hadn’t even call her by her nickname these past few months, it undoubtably got her to stop talking.

“I know the pressure your parents put on you to start at that kook academy. Look we all know how hard it is for you to manage these two parts of your life. I know Ki, you don’t have to keep apologising, I know. We know! Why do you think we didn’t try to talk to you when you told us last summer? We want you to do what’s best for you Ki, you are better than us.” At that, Kiara got up and paced back and forth a few steps, remorse hitting her unbearably.

“I’m not better than any of you. A part of me wanted to leave you all behind.”

JJ’s response was almost instantaneous, “I don’t blame you for it!”

“Well you should! I left you and Pope. I left John B for god’s sake. His dad is most probably dead and I wasn’t theRE.... I-I’m not there.”

At this point the tears had returned to her and she broke on her last word. Her voice wasn’t steady anymore. “I left all of you... I left you.”

JJ couldn’t stand hearing Ki like this, there’s nothing he hated more than having to let down his guard and get real. But JJ, when she said that, realised that this wasn’t about him.

“Yeah Ki you did, but fuck that. We know you love us, we know that it was a difficult call! You have to forgive yourself. The reason I came tonight was to let you know that you have the people that care about you Ki.”

He stepped toward her and looked her right in the eye, Ki had never seen someone so determined with compassion before, “Whatever you do Ki - if you wanna go to the kook academy, if you wanna be friends with Sarah Cameron, if you wanna cry about how horribly she treated you, if you wanna listen to your parents and not talk to us, if you wanna leave the cut- we’re never not going to have your back. You’re a pogue. You’re our pogue! And if Sarah Cameron can’t see how kickass you are, she doesn’t deserve you and she never did. You got us Ki, we’re always right here. No matter what.”

And throughout all of that, he hadn’t stopped looking directly at her. She was enamoured to say the least, she couldn’t remember the last time JJ talked about something that real, let alone carry an entire conversation himself. Knowing her words wouldn’t suffice, she hugged him. She smelt the sea salt in his hair and pizza grease on his shirt and it was the epitome of comfort to her. JJ hugged her right back, it meant the world to him that he could make her feel at least a bit better. They stood like that for a while, long and quiet breaths synced, arms entangled in waist and shoulders, hearts rhythmically beating, just enjoying the warmth of the best friend they dearly missed.

Before they could completely untangle from the other, Ki looked back at JJ, god, how did she get so lucky to have someone like him in her life? The air lightened around them as she looked at him, his eyes regained the mischievous glint they always had. It might’ve been because she was slightly tipsy, or because he was staring so intently at her, but for some reason, it felt right. There was no waiting or thinking, she rested her hands on either side of JJ’s face and kissed him. His lips were chapped and they tasted like beer but she loved it. A rush of adrenaline ran through her, it was new and exciting.

When JJ processed her soft lips on his, and her hands caressing his face, he pulled back. Along with confusion and surprise, there was something in his eyes that Ki couldn’t recognise. But before she decided on asking him what it was about, he was already kissing her again.

And this time there seemed to be nothing holding him back. His hands were wrapped around her waist, she was grabbing fistfuls of his hair in reciprocation. They knew that they would never be able to do it again so they just gave in. His hands travelled to the small of her back and her neck and she swore that she had never felt something more intoxicating.

Ki had forgotten where they even were when they broke for air. They were both just breathing, eyes closed and foreheads touching, it was the closest thing to perfect the either of them had ever felt.

When they opened their eyes and looked back at one and other, they were surprised at how comfortable it felt. How... un-awkward, it oddly felt right. But they knew what the rules were, they knew that when Ki got home, they would never talk about it again, and they were fine with that too.

As they approached her doorstep, JJ couldn’t help himself but ask, “Was that your first-” “Yeah.” “Yeah, mine too.” “What?” Kie thought he was joking, JJ had flirted with every other tourist at the boneyard since they were like ten, “Mine, too.” He repeated. There was an honesty to his response that stopped Ki from asking any further.

She hugged him again. “Thank you for this. I missed you.” He hugged her right back.

“I missed you too. When you come back to us, more beer will be waiting for you no questions asked, don’t ever doubt it.” With that, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and left.

Ki had a small smile playing on her lips; she had never felt lighter in her life.

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

Text

A Conundrum of Crimson and Confessions | Part II

A/N: Surprise! I never do anything by halves around here, so part II it is. :) Crosshair X Reader. I intregrated two requests courtesy of @kriffingunlucky for kissing prompts #48 and #50, alongside a request from @leonidas-banana-phone for kissing prompt #7 in reference to this list: https://a-lil-perspective.tumblr.com/post/617485639804469249/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts Feel free to send in your own! [Warnings: Swearing—in-universe terms and out] @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @karpasia @everyonehasanindividuality

▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️

You had to stand on the very tips of your toes in order to greet his lips with your own, but Crosshair quickly compensated for the height difference by hoisting you up to brace you against the wall with his torso.

You bit your lip and fisted his blacks to stifle the moan rising in the back of your throat in response to the way his mouth sinfully traced your jawline before dipping into the soft curve of flesh that is your pulsating neck.

A sharp nip following the dragging of his teeth in the crook forced a startled gasp of his name to escape; and Crosshair forced himself to disregard the way your whine of pleasure left him slightly lightheaded. He moved to slip his tongue inside your mouth, relishing in your stupefaction with the way he traced over each tooth in deliberation, as if memorizing the shapes, before sucking the air right from your lungs.

His incisors tugged possessively on your bottom lip before pulling away, drifting a hand down to teasingly hook his deft fingers around your waistband while the other held you in stasis.

All comprehension crumbled under the weight of apprehension, the latter who became your only companion alongside each stroke and grinding; your credence slowly diminishing with each trailing kiss. The sniper was in the midst of the removal of your top before your hand planted firmly to his chest in halting your stupor of drunken arousal, suddenly emerging from your trance.

What was actually happening?

“Y/N—just relax, would you? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Not physically, you won’t.” You hated how vulnerable you sounded, voice barely audible and far more exposed than your body currently against the sniper.

Crosshair stiffened, intensely furrowing his brows as a frown tugged the corner of his lips. You became reacquainted with the ground, and he slowly released his grip on the hem of your top. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You set your jaw, averting his gaze. “Nothing.”

Realization quickly dawned on his features, and he suddenly gripped your chin—a little more forcefully than he intended—tilting your face to acknowledge him. “You think I just want to fuck you? Is that it?”

He looked... downright offended.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

“How else am I supposed to take this, exactly?” You finally spat, the admission spewing like pretty venom and sinking deep into the sniper’s skin.

His eyes narrowed in solemnity as he willed the surface of his most convincing demeanor and inwardly scolded himself for his piss-poor portrayal of emotions. “That’s not the only thing happening here.”

“And because you say so, that somehow makes it true? You show up all of a sudden, prowling around in looking for a release, and expect me to believe there’s actually something more going on? Are you kidding?”

“Stop. Contrary to what you claim; I’m not out to just screw you over. That is the truth.” The sniper grit his teeth, wishing he was equipped with a toothpick to distract from his growing discomfort and spiraling agitation.

“Forgive me if your ‘indifferent demeanor full of lust’ claims anything different—your apathy isn’t fooling anyone, Crosshair. Especially me.”

Your words cut right through the sniper like the bitter cold, a sharp static pushing him over the edge with anything but pleasure.

“Damn it, Y/N. It’s just a facade and you know it—the same facade I keep everyone locked out with, the one that I despise just as much as you do—so don’t even go there with me,” his voice hissed in warning, his finger jabbed menacingly. He was pissed and felt his frustration giving way to a regrettable bout of reaction. “Stop acting like I don’t care about you when you know damn well that I do.”

Deathly silence. It’s thick swirl hung stagnant in the air, pernicious, seeking to blind and destroy. The only suitors who acknowledged the enveloping chaos were the frail emotions between two people, their hearts pounding amidst the fanfare of looming war within the silence.

A stray tear suddenly trickled down to seep between his fingers still cupping your face, silently prodding at the sniper, demanding an apology; a foreign language for the man, but it’s translation long overdue. Crosshair gently brushes the tear’s salty judgement away with full realization of the way he fired off too harshly, recognizing the way he wrongly took advantage of your overwhelmed state.

“Hey... I’m sorry.”

“I’m just tired.” You quiver, shaking your head in fervent dismissal of his apology. You inhale sharply through your nose and find yourself chewing the inside of your cheek to bite down your embarrassment. Your pain was simply a reflection; of the way fatigue weakened your emotional barrier and goaded it into allowing trepidations and deep insecurities to flourish there in the dark; haunting your thoughts, corroding your senses, eating away like acid.

The truth was dangerous.

Inwardly, you knew the man gently embracing you and stroking your back in his attempt at comfort was nothing if not candidly forthright, wholly unabashed in his opinions and predilections.

So would you rather him lie to you, that you receive justification for unnecessarily wallowing in self-pity? Why can’t you just be happy? What is it that you want?

“...I know what you need, Y/N. What you actually need.”

Sleep... Rest...

Any lingering arousal dissipated as Crosshair hunched slightly to tighten his grip around your frame, commanding gently. “Jump.”

You drape your arms around the back of his neck before hesitantly obeying with a slight spring upward, wrapping your legs around his waist as you felt yourself whisked off to... your bed, you realize; your back now enveloped within the soft furniture in being gently laid down.

“Y/N. Please. Don’t give me that look.” Firm contact with his reassuring lips briefly melted your crestfallen expression before Crosshair gently nudged you. “Scoot.”

“...I know damn well you aren’t the cuddle-type.” You sourly muse.

“There are many things you don’t know about me.” He answered coolly and carefully, settling in, pulling you close.

“Ah, there it is—it’s only been five minutes in passing since your last bout of cryptic statements, I was starting to get worried.” Crosshair cast you a sideways glare before rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Your sarcasm is something else, Y/N.”

“Learned from the best.”

“Under different circumstances, I’d be flattered.” He leaned further back in taking you with him, and your rigid form became splayed atop his own. Your chin rested on his chest as he threaded his fingers through your hair. “But, I miss your smile. And I want to help.”

“Sure that’s the only thing?”

“Karking hell, I‘m not aiming to get in your pants, will you stop being so abrasive for one damn minute?”

You lift your head to meet his gaze. “Not so fun being on the receiving end, is it?”

He wasn’t even allotted time to register your derisive jab before you feign a pout and exaggeratedly roll off of him, your eyes to mimic the act of intense dramatization.

Crosshair clamped down on his inner cheek to quell a misplaced chortle threatening to effervesce at a very inappropriate time. He couldn’t help himself in finding your theatrics rather endearing.

However, in quickly moving to fully straddle you, Crosshair remembered he had far more pressing matters to attend to.

“Crosshair, kindly remove your lightweight ass off of me.”

“No.” To hell with your stubbornness. Crosshair deflected your shove by gently, but firmly, pinning both arms in place to rest on either side of your head. He gently thumbed at your soft forearms.

“Don’t shut me out.” It was both a command and a plea.

“Like you do to everyone else?”

You verbally strip the man, revealing his hypocrisy. He pursed his lips, contemplating, his form still hovering over yours while baffled on the prospect of how to obtain patience and reassure this stubborn, beautiful, resilient woman of his authenticity.

In that instant, his lips became the physical manifestation of his open invitation to you, countering your claims by lovingly radiating softness and warmth, beckoning; sucking out both your breath and the breadth of your insecurities while simultaneously smothering his own. A locked kiss, unabated, reflecting his inner passion for you where words failed to convey; signing silent confessions there within the sheets.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty—

He finally pulled away, and your gasping for air following the break of suction became the only sound echoing the ambience of the room.

Melting. That was the only word you could conjure up to describe your hazy state. Your eyes had fluttered closed as the concept of time became foreign, tightly sealed within the kiss itself, ceasing to exist once enveloped in the taste of the man’s lips. A warmth spread through your muscles like fire, coaxing them into a slackened and total state of ease with the way he held you close; yet friction coursed through and caused your nerves to buzz with the mix of adrenaline and a sparked question:

What does it mean?

Crosshair became transfixed on the way your parted lips glistened with his salivated remnants that had dotted the velvet skin. He studied you, as he always did; now coaxing you through your spout of breathlessness by way of caresses to the sides of your face and through your unbound tresses, before a hand settled back to rest against your cheek in anticipation of your pending response.

“Nice way to be suffocated... Very nice.”

Crosshair noted the way your snark became laced with the contrast of words coated in something so soft and welcoming alongside the shift in your demeanor; signifying the way you had successfully decrypted the new weight of elucidation in his kiss. You were more lenient, and dare he say, relaxed.

Mission accomplished.

He shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching before turning upward in a smile. “Isn’t it? Figured it’s only fair, with the way you constantly steal my breath.”

“That was cheesy, and I thought you didn’t play ‘fair’?”

“That was sincere, and only for you.” He paused to mirror your smirk before continuing, his gaze boring into you with emphasis in his admission. “And I don’t kiss anyone that way. That’s the first thing you should know.”

“Next thing?”

“I dream of you.”

Peculiar of him.

“And...?”

“I live for you.”

“So... what are you saying, exactly?” Your quizzical expression disguised your intuition and racing heart. You knew.

Isn’t it obvious?

Three words...

A solidification, an unspoken utterance, a profound declaration indicative of a sacredness that dared not reveal itself. Not yet.

Crosshair wordlessly answered in the form of shifting his weight off of you, finally, before guiding you onto your side and pulling you tightly to his chest. His chin nestled just above your clavicle, perfectly positioned to whisper assurances and devotions into your ear.

“I’m here. With you. Only you.” He planted a light kiss to the shell of your ear; a promise.

“But—”

“Y/N. Trust me?”

You swallowed through thick words, and you pulled your lips into a tight line of pondering before opting for a distinct nod of affirmation.

“Let me hear you say it.” He murmured the encouragement against your temple.

“I trust you, Crosshair.”

“Good girl. Rest.”

In the quietude, Crosshair tangibly discerned the way all was undisturbed: in the atmosphere, amidst the base, within the durasteel walls, and between the two bodies intertwined in the sheets. The soft puffs of your even breath, signaling to Crosshair what he perceived to be your tranquil state of dormancy, effectively eased the sniper into his own; something akin to serenity. His hands wandered, his mind became lost in a haze of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what nexts’.

“Crosshair. Stop stroking me like I’m a damn Loth-Cat.”

His hand, inadvertently trailing down the soft expanse of your thigh in his state of bliss, suddenly gained consciousness at your prodding. He reached up to sweep the hair from your face and mumbled a half-hearted apology; surprisal of your roused state evident in his voice. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”

“What are you, my Superior?” You scoff in good-nature, and a low chuckle suddenly rumbles against the crook of your neck, the vibration and sultry syllables causing your skin to shiver.

“I prefer ‘Daddy’ or ‘Sir’.”

Testing the waters.

You needn’t actually see where the harsh flick of your finger landed; Crosshair’s grunt of surprise was all the confirmation you needed.

“Don’t push your luck, Ram’ser. You won’t be hearing either proceed from my lips.”

“Not tonight, no.” He smoothly agreed while briefly grazing his fingers over his mildly injured nose. “But, for future reference.” The backside of his hand slowly caressed the length of your arm, his addition of underlying suggestiveness leaving no room to argue.

Which was absolutely fine with you.

#star wars #Crosshair X Reader #The Bad Batch #my writing #it’s a Lil thing

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