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youtube has caught onto the fact that im in a shizaya phase and is now recommending me the good shit, such as this interview:
youtube
which doesnt actually give us a huge insight into their relationship other than the basic "izaya prevents me from having a peaceful life so i hate him" "shizu-chan is a monster i hate him"
but we DO get funny tidbits like the fact that izaya claims he would absolutely attack shizuo while shizuo was sleeping BUT also admits that he's seen shizuo's "cute sleeping face" before and doesn't mention attacking him?????
and shizuo wasn't aware izaya had seen him which is odd because you'd expect izaya to have messed with him or something right?? and izaya would probably do something to make shizuo automatically know it was izaya upon waking up, like idk drawing something on his face or dunking him into a fountain or smth but there was just nothing. huh.
pathetic man walks past sleeping and vulnerable arch-nemesis, calls him cute and walks away alright
not to mention one of his ideas for messing with shizuo would for him to "wake up on 60th avenue and find himself naked" like izaya?? you know you'd have to make him naked yourself????
and i already knew that shizuo knows where izaya lives but like. why. what possible reason could he have. like maybe he tracked izaya there one day but you'd think he would have killed him at that point because izaya has nowhere to run inside his apartment right?? and shizuo talks like he's never considered attacking izaya while he's asleep ("I know where he lives, so I can if I want t- ...maybe not.") but wouldnt you consider that if you've known where he lives for god knows how long???
does izaya know that shizuo knows where he lives?? and obviously izaya would know where shizuo lives because he's just Like That but i think it's interesting that for however many years they've been beefing they've never tried to just end it until ketsu
maybe because it wouldn't be satisfying/fun in izaya's case or would feel underhanded in shizuo's case or something but still...
anyway they've totally fucked at each other's houses HAHA i fooled you into thinking you were reading coherent serious thoughts when in actuality-
#shizaya#durarara#im actutally going insane over them#i fell asleep writing this long post about two fanfiction for them ive read#shizaya fanfics are genuinely built different#maybe cuz their relationship is built off so much more hate than im used to in my enemies to lovers??#like there's no real hero/villain sides or anything like shuake or dabihawks it's just them and their beef#or maybe that's not the right way to put it because while shizuo isn't a shining moral standard he definitely falls more under 'hero'#but like. you get what i mean?? there's no luring them from one side to the other because their 'sides' are just them#there's the same magnetic attraction and 'you understand me' but it's so buried under like a million layers of fuck you#that even they dont realize it's there#god they're so stupid i love shizaya#i will be talking more about this interview btw. probably. maybe#izaya orihara#shizuo heiwajima#Youtube
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shaken (loki x reader, smut)
Summary : Your date didn’t show up, but a stranger did and you willing to be his for the night.
Pairing : Loki Laufeyson x female reader.
Words : 1,597.
TW : Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk, (small) praise kink.
Note : Sometimes, I just miss Loki. (•◡•)
I’m open for request, just check the requests page. ♡
“I’ll take a Vodka Martini. Shaken, not stirred.“ Sitting at the counter of the bar you decided to spend the night in, you giggled at the demand of the man that was now standing next to you and sat where you date was supposed to be. “Like James Bond.“ You said, as you saw his inquiring gaze. It didn’t seem to answer his questions, as he frowned, eyes still looking at you. “I beg you pardon?“ He asked, tilting his head to the side.
“James Bond. The secret agent.“ There was no way he didn’t know who you were talking about, especially considering his condescending tone and accent that directly made you believed he was, just like the fictional character, coming directly from England. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about.“ You giggled again, shaking your head, which seemed to both confuse and amuse him. Focusing your attention to your drink, you tried to avoid thinking about the stranger sitting next to you, yet everything in you was attracted to him. He was good looking, for sure. But he had this little something, a part of mystery you wanted to discover while chatting over a drink, spending the night getting to know him only to end up under his sheets screaming his name until next morning. You shook your head to clean your mind from this fantasy, taking another sip from your cocktail. “Are you here alone?“ You heard the familiar voice say, and after wondering if you should look at him or not, you turned around to see he was indeed talking to you, again. “Yes, I am. My date bailed out on me.“ “What a shame.“ He grabbed his drink as soon as it arrived, taking a sip from it. “No one should ever stand up a woman like you.“ Your face flushed, realizing the man was possibly flirting with you — or just being nice. Yes, he was probably just being nice. “Well, if you’re here alone too, maybe you can be my new date.“ Expecting him to talk about the person he was probably waiting for, you were surprised to hear his answer. “I would absolutely love to.“ “Then we should try to get to know each other and make it fun. Like, playing truth or dare.“ Once again, he looked confused, and he took a few seconds before letting you know. “I do not know this game.“ “For real? You never played it?“ You asked, surprised. The man shook his head, and you proceeded into telling him the basic rules of the game. Taking another sip from your drink, you let him reflect on all the informations he just got. “All right. So, will you tell me the truth or accept to let me dare you?“ He asked, and you chuckled at the way each of his sentences seemed so well made. “I’ll start with truth.“ “Why would you want to go on a date with someone stupid enough to stand you up?“ Another giggle, and you shook your head as your cheeks turned read. “Actually, I don’t know him. It’s just some guy from a dating app.“ “Dating app.“ He repeated, perplexed. “Yes. We were supposed to meet for the first time tonight, but he didn’t come. It happens all the time, it’s fine.“ You looked at him again, and the way his eyes seemed to be taking in anything you said, as if he was learning, in a way. The more time you spent by his side, the more you needed to know more about him. “Truth or dare?“ You finally asked, hoping he would still be up to play. “Truth.“ For a while, you thought about asking about him. His name, his age, his job, where he was coming from — but you were positive he was British. Yet, your body kept being attracted to him like a magnet, and you just needed to make sure this wasn’t only going one way. “Do you think I’m attractive?“ You asked, leaning a little closer to him. The cocktails were making you bolder than you usually were. “Anyone would be an idiot to not see that you are a gorgeous woman.“ He didn’t even hesitate, or stutter, or blushed. He even leaned closer to you, both your body slowly making their way to one another. “Truth or..—“ “Truth.“ You cut him off with a smile, earning a soft chuckle from the man. “Is it true you’re already fantasizing about me?“ You straightened up, face blushing again as you frowned. He seemed to be so serious that the question unsettled you. “How would you know?“ “Well, I see things.“ He started to explain, not wanting to worry you. “I see the way your cheeks are a little more bright red each time we talk, and the way your hands are fidgeting. I see how you looked away after the first time we talked, but can’t seem to look away, now. Not to mention the fact that your entire body seems to be leaning closer after each question, for the same reason.“ His smile was something between a cocky smirk and a genuinely kind grin. Keeping quiet, you tried to find something to shoot back. He was right, and from the way he was looking at you, he knew it. Shaking your head, you decided that answering the question would be the only way to get done with the awkwardness of the moment. “Yes, I guess I did fantasize about you for a minute. I am alone and you are gorgeous.“ But you didn’t let him answer to you. “Truth or dare?“ “Dare.“ You had to think for a minute, his eyes hadn’t looked away from your face for the whole time. Something in you was screaming at you to stop this little game right now, but each time you looked into his eyes, you just needed to take it a bit further. “I dare you to make my fantasies come true, then.“ It was only after boldly speaking out that your cheeks turned this familiar bright color, which made his grin widen. Without a word, he stood up from the seat, catching your hand so you imitated him. You followed him all the way to the back of the bar and inside the women’s bathroom, that he locked behind you. “I am going to need you to tell me a little more about what this sweet mind of yours is fantasizing about.“ He grabbed your hips, pushing you against the wall as he pressed his body against you. Truth was, you weren’t expecting him to be this strong, and it turned you on more than you were before. “I just want you to fuck me all night long.“ You said, incapable of controlling yourself around him for reasons that you couldn’t understand. His fingers undid the button in the front of your dress only to allow your chest to be visible, and as he was kissing down your neck and collarbone, you arched against him, sighs filled with lust and pleasure. “You’re such a dirty woman, about to get fucked in the bathroom by a stranger. Does it arouse you, love?“ And as if he was trying to get an answered, he slid two fingers inside your panties, teasing your slit. “All wet and ready for me, I knew it.“ You moaned, biting down at your lips, as you tried to get your underwear off to give him a better access. The stranger undid his pants, pushing it under his ass only to let his hard cock out. “Fuck.“ You let out, seeing how big he was. Your fingers slowly grazed the length, getting him to groan softly. “Sir, I think you’re just as aroused as I am.“ He looked serious but still let out a chuckle at your comment, grabbing your thighs to push you up against the wall, giving him access to your pussy. He asked permission with a gaze, and you nodded to give it to him. “Oh god—“ You moaned when he entered you, not letting you time to adjust before he was trusting inside you. “You’re so big.“ It seemed to please him, making him push harder inside you as you wrapped his body with your legs to keep him close, hands buried in his hair. “You’re fucking me so good, keep going!“ Again, he seemed to enjoy your words, moaning as his move began to be more frenetic, which caused you to moan louder. His hips met yours faster and harder, his pelvis stimulating your clit as your breasts kept grazing against the fabric of his shirt. “Tell me you like it.“ He groaned, hitting your g-spot almost every time he was thrusting back in. “I fucking love it. Ah, you’re gonna make me cum already!“ The familiar feeling in between your legs made you tighten your grip, keeping his body close as you neared your orgasm. One of his hand grabbed your breast as his lips finally connected with yours, and he gave you a hot and passionate kiss, massaging your breast over the lace of your bra to get you off. It was enough for you to climax, crying out in pleasure against his mouth as you started shaking against him. Walls clenching around his cock, it tipped him over the edge. Giving you one last thrust, he emptied himself deep inside you, hot seed filling you up as you rode out your orgasm.
“Fuck,“ he cursed for the first time, cock still pulsating inside you. “You were amazing, love.“ It took you a minute to catch your breath, putting your underwear back on as the man was buttoning his pants again, as if he hadn’t just fucked you against the wall. “Do you want to come get another drink in my hotel room?“ He asked, turning around to face you as you were adjusting your dress and your hair. “By the way, my name is Loki. It is very nice to meet you.“
#loki#loki x reader#loki x you#loki smut#loki imagine#loki laufeyson#loki laufeyson x reader#loki laufeyson x you#loki laufeyson smut#loki laufeyson imagine#tom hiddleston smut#tom hiddleston imagine#avengers#avengers smut#avengers imagine#marvel#marvel smut#marvel imagine
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MONSTERS
👹 Yandere Ryomen Sukuna x Reader
👹Summary: Monsters aren’t born they're made, but Sukuna stumbles across the rare exception...
👹Warning: dehumanization, mention of gore, blood, slight dub-con mentioned in passing, death, past trauma, and abuse
👹 Edited: By the lovely @tealyjade-libran !
👹 Wordcount: 2,480
👹Alternative Tittle : If Roxanne ( from the Police song) lived in ancient Japan.
👹First Jujutsu kaisen fic! I hope you guys like it, please let me know your thoughts! Likes and reblogs appreciated!
Monsters were made.
Slowly created as once blazing ideals, withered and died under harsh strokes of reality. Stitched together with broken promises and the ashes of rotting memories.
Monsters were made
whisked into a role they once dreaded, once feared. Beaten into the role of the villain, the reprobate, the sinner.
If anyone ever asked Sukuna when was the exact moment he turned his back on the laws of "good" and "evil", shedding his human skin to regrow a pelt of hate and destruction,
He would simply answer, "Never".
Because skin is skin no matter how much it decays. Even if the epidermis turns into a rotting orange shade, littered with eyeballs and teeth that shouldn't grow there.Even if the blood from all those he's slain has finally stained his dermis, tainting it in a permanent crimson that all the waters of Lake Biwa could never wash off. Even if his hypodermis is no longer made of fatty tissue but rather spiritual energy sucked from the atmosphere. It's still skin, the same old skin he was born with.
Sukuna had never shed his skin, he'd only perfected it, enhanced it, molded it into its perfect form, until he was no longer held back by foolish human limitations.
He'd never been "reborn" only recreated; only perfected.
Spike, talon and teeth covered arms sprouting from oozing, bleeding scars, charred over by begriming infections that burned worse than the strikes he'd endured as a child. Knuckles and bones cracking over and over and over again until they grew as solid as the rocks that were thrown at him when he was all too little to understand the malice behind the insults and threats. Breaking until they could break no more, until they'd become strong enough to split a boulder with a mere flick.
There had come a time when he'd given up licking his wounds, leaving them to be kissed by the mold-covered worms who left an urticating sensation he'd soon come to associate with victory. Rotting flesh growing covered in thick layers of black tar tattoos that hid every cut he'd endured when he'd once been too weak.
Monsters were created from quarter truths buried neck-deep in fables that snipped like red-eyed scorpions.
Until the blood dancing through their veins was as black as the void they now called home.
Sukuna knew the exact moment he realized he was a monster. The day he realized he liked the crunch of skulls beneath his feet, the pitiful spark in mortified eyes staring at the heavens for a scrap of mercy. Mangled mouths barely held together by fractured jaw bones, uttering prayers and pleas that died in the scorching air.
Sukuna knew he was an abnormality, patched together by broken heirlooms and shattered family traditions. Sitting on a throne made from skulls of those who thought they could ever kill him.
You can't kill a monster, for you can not kill that which was never born.
You can't slay something made from good intentions with malevolent methods, something so vile that it might actually be pure. At the end of the day, no monster really admits that it is a monster, a nightmare that should have never existed.
Yet...
Tattered hearts and cruel orbs are never quite enough. No monster is complete until they dive off that last edge, plummet into the sea of nothingness, and finally, finally break their souls on the spiked soil. Monsters, spirits, curses any malicious being that had been mended together like a half-done ragdoll was not complete until they truly let go. Until they erased all the former humanity that they had been born with. Until their eyes reflected nothing, no emotions, no malice, no want, no need. Just the absolute emptiness.
The void in all its glory.
that was the symbol, the true markings of a real monstrosity. The void that took over their existence, that had replaced every inch of their former self. Only then could it be said that you were above all other beings, the true perfection of this world.
There are worse things created than monsters, things that are made from nothing and everything. Things above "Yin" and "Yang". Things that have no scrap of humanity, monstrosity, or anything in them.
Things that are just empty.
So maybe -just maybe- that's why when Sukuna's rotting orange eyes landed on the epitome of emptiness, a...girl, whose face was sculpted to disreflect emotions and intents. Someone who was the void of darkness itself. The true personification of nothingness.
His heart -for the first time in countless centuries- began to throb.
a truly dead face swarmed by a sea of buzzing ants, chasing their routine happiness. Smiles of delight and carelessness carved on their aging faces with sunlight knives and the melody of golden coins. The lust for life leaking from every pore of their bodies.
With every face being a carbon copy of each other it was no wonder yours stood out.
There was a silver chain of attraction, dragging Sukuna towards the village girl. Not love, never love, the king of curses was beyond certain, that neither you nor he could feel such a honey-laced sensation. It was more like....something. Something paranormal, inexpiable. Some magnetic force outside of everything's control.
It was easy enough to explain why he liked you. Why you stood out from the other insects of this middle-of-nowhere-village.
You had dark matter for blood and dead seas for brains.
Your eyes radiated an endless abyss. Making others shy away from your lifeless gaze. Scared to look into the void in fear that it may respond.
You were a thrown away doll,
A living dead,
A dying star,
You were the daughter of the number zero,
The monster that had no maker nor mother.
Something not born nor created.
Just an entity that roamed the earth, with no desire nor hope, no wish nor dream. Not leaving, not dying, just existing in the space between today and tomorrow.
There'd been no need for pleasantries, for hiding behind ghostly tree branches and frozen windows. There'd been no need to kill or ravage for you. No competition to eliminate, because no one ever came near you. Humans don't like what they can't explain, Sukuna knew that all too well.
Sukuna watched from a close enough distance to almost touch. Lingering around like a phantom begging to be noticed. Orbs trailing over you, but never approaching. Until one day he'd just stood still. Waited for you to turn your head just a fraction to the left, just to see him in all his menacing terror. To finally notice the clawing, crawling sensation that had been creeping up your spine like a hoard of spiders.
And when your dead eyes did finally land on him. Sukuna could swear that his breath hitched in his throat for the first time in his seemingly endless life.
You weren't human. Humans didn't have hollow faces or marbles for lips.
You weren't a curse. Curses didn't lack venom dripping from their souls.
You were something better than a monster. You were the divinity of monstrosity, the void itself. Black holes for eyes, answerless paradoxes for hands, and an endless maze where your torso should have been.
Exploding suns danced around you, burning, burning, till they died out, leaving behind no trace that they once lit up the universe.
The space after the end, that's what you were.
Perfect, to Sukuna you were perfect.
You hadn't run, hadn't screamed, hadn't even bothered to talk. You didn't care about him, couldn't care about him. That's what made him want you, made his mouth salivate with the thought of your flesh between his teeth.
That night the world stood still, as Sukuna's claws penetrated your flesh like twirling needles. You were as light as a feather. You weighed nothing, were nothing. All so easy to pluck and throw about. You never made a noise when your body collided with the bamboo walls, just letting gravity and Sukuna play a twisted ball game with your lump of a body.
You hadn't protested when he violated you. As his lips bit every inch of your body raw. For some unearthly reason that even the gods couldn't understand, would never want to understand, you had found the Curse's violent actions rather...adoring. Taking every slap and slash with the earnest pride of a small child getting praised for a day of relentless chores. letting the dawn-tinted-haired monster adorn your body in blue and purple jewels. It felt right, in a pathetically, nauseating, twisted way...it just felt right.
It was disastrous, sure, but it was right. Like two universes crashing. Destroying each other with every kiss and every bruise.
But...
For the first time in your meaningless life, you had truly understood what "happiness" felt like.
For the first time in his endless life, Sukuna had truly understood what "intimacy" felt like.
///
Was it wrong to kiss you? For a fraction of a second Sukuna hesitated, blood tinged lips hovering millimeters away from your own stone-set ones. The moon's cursed rays acting like an unnoticed barrier, keeping two things out of each other's grasp. His lips curled back revealing two rows of knife-like teeth. The last resort, a final hope that you'd run away, that you'd act somewhat normal. The king of curses, the evil among men, didn't mind your lack of regularity. He didn't mind how you leaned into every bitter strike, every painful display of fading affection . He adored how you merely giggled as he slashed open your uncharged skin, creating slits for your blood to spill through, onto his waiting tongue. He admired your lifelessness, the way you radiated death.
Oh, how you filled him with a startling aftershock every time he touched you. Every time his tongue lapped at your bleeding skin he'd feel the sort of electric shocks that came after the storms had passed. Your body had no shape, it molded to his touch, turning his favorite shades of red, with just a little pressure.
But sometimes, in fleeting, endless seconds. He wished he had a name for what you two were. You weren't his per se, you could never be his. Being his would indicate that he cared about you, or heck even loved you and that could never be true. The king of curses did not love, nor care. He merely tolerated you; you fascinated him, that's all.
It had been many moons since he first found you in that no-name village. Months upon months since you'd been by his side. You'd watched as he'd destroyed cities, helped him even. Eyes never shedding a single tear. Mouth never uttering a single protest.
The two of you had become the best, the King of curses and the Queen of nothingness. With the dying speed of laboring bees, Sukuna had carved himself inside of you. Twisted emptiness into flower-covered destruction. Into molten gold lava.
Leaving you with wounds that were stuck in a cycle of healing and opening. Until they began to harden like his. Until the need for spilled blood lingered on your tongue like the burn of boiled tea. Until under your nails were coated in a decaying crust of dried blood. Sukuna hadn't turned you into a monster, he'd simply showed you the powers that came with your apathy. With a heart as torn and cold as yours, it was a shame to let it go to waste.
"You're not half bad," his tone is never approving. It's always laced with a strictness that keeps you nailed into place. His words are oxymorons sounding like praise, but once you peel back the lather layers they're just taunts in disguise.
You don't answer, words die on your tongue as quickly as they are born. Sukuna can't even remember what your voice sounds like outside of small whispers in heat filled nights.
However, to the two of you, things like that didn't matter. Your lack of being even semi-alive and Sukuna's endless abuse had become a norm for the two of you. Where else were a two-faced monster and a lifeless girl going to find love anyway?
Sukuna was all you had, all you ever had. You'd die for him, kill for him, turn into anything for him. Because he gave you life.
A purpose to life, made out of raging fires and endless screams. A life fabricated from the pain and suffering of others. That was what the king of curses had given you, all wrapped in a human skin parchment. Maybe that's why all logic withered away the first night he kissed you, maybe from the first second that you sensed his presence you had finally gained a reason to be alive.
///
Whoever said the end of the world was beautiful? Whoever said the final days would be bright and glowing and pure?
It's just a blaze of stray flames and red crystal droplets that may or may not be your blood. Funny, Sukuna had always thought that your blood would be as black as the moonless sky, not a mundane red like everyone else's. He'd expected a grander death from you. Some sort of black hole opening to swallow the world whole. Not just another corpse motionless in a pool of their own blood.
Although he's not one to talk. His own 'death' is lingering on the horizon. Sukuna's head tilts back looking for the flashing jujutsu sorcerers.
"S-sukun-a..."
He smirks, fangs sticking out at odd angles. Your voice is sweet, for the first time in forever he'd even dare say it held some semblance of emotion.
What that emotion is, he doubts he knows or even really cares. He'd long since stopped trying to identify all those "feelings" and their associated names.
His orange eyes lock with your fading orbs, one last time. No, not the last time, just the final time in this lifetime. He's sure he's going to see you again. In any other life, Sukuna knows he'll be able to recognize you despite whatever flesh suit you'd be wearing.
"Shh little one," he's halfway gone before he finishes his sentence, leaving you to relish in his memory in your final moments. "We'll see each other once more, someday in another life..."
His four eyes lock on the approaching sorcerers. He finds it humorous how desperate they look. How alive and ready they seem, such a stark contrast to your ever lifeless face and dead eyes, it repulses him.
"Or maybe in one of the circles of hell."
The flames encircling his fingers remind him of the heat your body radiated in the dead of night. The crack from bones hum as they meet his knuckles, flash memories of your days wasted together doing nothing and everything.
The two of you will meet once more, he's sure of it. After all...
Monsters never die.
How could something that was never even born in the first place, ever die?
#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#yandere Jujutsu kaisen#Jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#yandere sukuna#jjk#jjk x reader#jjk sukuna#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen imagines#ryomen sukuna imagine#ryomen sukuna x reader#yandere ryomen sukuna#yandere ryomen sukuna x reader#yandere ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x you#yandere sukuna x reader#yandere sukuna x you#sukuna imagines#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yancore#yandere imagines#Yandere aesthetic#yandere anime
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okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)
HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here
Akashi x Reader
[Teiko!manager Headcanons]
you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints
basically you have crackhands
in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely
you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself
your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder
no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health
Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)
when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.
both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands
both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass
you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support
Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is
you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you
even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces
talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular
you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??
to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball
so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine
picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight
your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive
you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand
Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else
“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes, Kise?”
“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”
“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”
“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”
“H-How did you know?!”
“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”
“N-No way!!”
“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”
spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you
one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:
“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”
“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”
“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”
“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”
Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”
and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills
her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills
you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised
it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you
these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer
there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters
after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?
there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory
the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars
Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym
Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)
Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”
Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking
now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well
Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…
Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them
the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder
oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you
you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi
and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi
it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently
so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted
at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)
not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess
Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door
you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart
POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic
that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you
chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions
at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint
Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”
when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion
to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)
they still scolded your ears off:
“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”
“That’s…”
“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”
“Er, no, that’s…”
you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress
you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were
they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)
HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss
especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next
Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later
End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT
#kuroko no basket#knb x reader#knb#knb fic#knb fics#knb headcanons#knb teiko#teiko middle school#kuroko tetsuya#kurokocchi#kise ryota#kise ryouta#akashi seijuro#akashi x reader#akashi seijuro x reader#knb headcanon#midorima shintarou#midorima shintaro#momoi satsuki#aomine daiki#murasakibara atsushi
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you feel like home - part eight
It seems that Harry feels the same, because she can hear him replying, “Of course I didn’t forget your birthday! How about you turn the telly on and wait for me, yeah? I’ll cook you my famous eggy bread and we’ll kick off your big day properly.”
Ryan hears Jackson squeal excitedly and she almost wishes she wasn’t buried underneath Harry’s duvet so that she could see his gleaming grin. And just before she can hear the door shut, Jackson asks, “Can we still invite Ryan and Luna to my party?”
story page // read on wattpad // join the taglist // banner credit
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*** In Which Five is a Big Number
“Oh my god, Ryan.”
Ryan’s almost positive there’s no better sound than Harry groaning her name. It’s somehow scratchy yet completely audible, and Ryan can hear the little breathy sounds in between each syllable. It’s a juxtaposition of breathlessness and clear-cut clarity, and when her name falls off his lips like a secret, she feels special that it’s only for her ears to hear.
The tip of her nose tickles the thin patch of hair at the bottom of his naval, and when she feels him hit the back of her throat and tears start to spring from her eyes, he lets out another guttural “Christ, Ryan,” and she knows he’s very close to falling apart.
They’ve spent the past two months getting acquainted with each other’s bodies. After Harry finally kissed Ryan in her living room, he carried her over to the couch and they snogged like teenagers—all bitten lips and roaming tongues, knocking teeth and wandering hands. When Ryan started rutting against his thigh and the tightness in Harry’s pants became unbearable, they separated and decided to take things slow.
But that was two months ago. Now, if things went any slower, they’d be stagnant.
Those first three weeks they kissed so much that Ryan’s jaw ached and Harry’s lips were permanently raw. He wanted to take things slow because he assumed Ryan would grow overwhelmed with each next step they took. But one night after Ryan came over for dinner and pretended to say goodnight to Jackson, she waited in the hallway until Harry was certain Jackson was down for the night, and when his front door ripped open and his hands grasped her arms, he dragged her onto his couch and kissed her like he did every other night before that.
But Ryan was growing restless, and while she thought it was admirable the way Harry wanted to be patient with her, she was practically losing her mind with the way his hands stayed planted on her ass and never went anywhere else, the way his lips kissed every inch of her skin above the neckline of her shirt, the way she would be begging for more and Harry wouldn’t oblige.
Even though Ryan could barely look at Harry those first two months they were tiptoeing around each other, she knew that right now—with his mouth licking at the underside of her jaw and his hands squeezing the thick fleshy parts of her ass—she was going to fucking lose it if he didn’t do anything more.
Because they’ve finally figured it out. The unanswered questions that were plaguing them in the beginning have slowly been answered with every moment she spends with him. The lingering gazes and unknown feelings finally meant something to both of them. But now—now that she’s had a taste and gotten a glimpse of what Harry could do to her, she’s practically gone crazy thinking about it all.
Ryan’s never been more sure of one thing in her entire life. And it’s that if she and Harry go any slower, she’ll burst.
So in a blind moment of bravery, Ryan reached down between the pair of them and palmed the growing bulge in his trousers. His mouth ripped from her skin and his head fell back against the armrest of his leather couch, a deep moan working its way through his throat. And when it finally exploded from his parted cherry lips, Ryan could feel herself freefalling, losing sight of everything in front of her and crashing aimlessly below.
“Shit, Ryan.” His voice was strained and Ryan loved every second of it, and before she could have a conscious thought of what she was actually doing, her hands undid the black button with ease and her tiny fingers worked their way through his zipper, and suddenly she was reaching into his briefs and feeling him completely.
That was the first time she ever heard Harry groan like that, and Ryan’s almost positive she’s been addicted to the sound ever since.
That first night on Harry’s brown leather couch started a series of sneaking in and out of each other’s flats during all hours of the day just to get a piece of the other. Harry would slip out of his own when Jackson was down for his afternoon kip, opening Ryan’s front door and tasting her until he heard his mobile buzz with the sounds of Jackson’s stirrings. He’d sneak out just as quickly as he came, leaving her with a mouth-tingling kiss and the overwhelming urge of wanting more more more.
Ryan would come over for dinner almost every other night, keeping the hidden touches and stolen kisses between the two of them without Jackson truly understanding what was happening. And when it was time for Jackson to go to bed, she’d say her goodbyes and wait for Harry in the hallway until his grabby hands were on her own, dragging her back inside. They’d fool around in Harry’s bedroom quietly, swallowing each other’s giggles and grinning whenever stars exploded behind their eyelids.
Harry knew that if he dragged his teeth around Ryan’s earlobe she’d practically become a writhing mess below him. Ryan knew that if she wrapped a dainty hand around the column of Harry’s neck and licked at the piece of skin where his collarbone met his shoulder, his eyes would roll in the back of his head. Harry knew that Ryan was shy whenever he’d start kissing at the skin just underneath her belly button, simultaneously making sure that his green eyes never left her brown ones—because direct eye contact while he was lapping at the most sensitive parts of her body made her want to look at the ceiling or close her eyes tightly. But when they would switch positions and Ryan was the one in between Harry’s legs, she knew that sneaking a glance up at him while her mouth was around him was the exact thing that would bring him over the edge.
And she loved every second of it. She loved being the person bringing somebody like Harry to his end, watching the way his cheeks flushed a deep red color and his mouth opened widely, the way his chest would constrict and his hands would grip the closest thing to him—which most of the time was Ryan’s hips that she happily allowed him to bruise—the way his eyes would shut at the actual last moment, making sure to remember the way everything looked around him before his vision blurred with desire and his body vibrated, completely spent. And when it was all over and he would breathe deeply, a quiet hum resonated through his body that made Ryan’s heart flutter and her body wrap around his own like two magnets with opposite polarities.
Harry loved how confident Ryan grew around him in these moments. While her cheeks still tinged pink whenever he would compliment her as she removed a layer of clothing, she knew exactly what she wanted and felt comfortable enough to tell him. She would tell him that she liked when he gripped her hair, she would tell him that she liked when he ran his tongue down the front of her body, she would tell him that when he gripped her too hard at times that she didn’t really mind it—in fact, she enjoyed it, she wanted it. And with each time they explored a new part of one another, she would grow much more at ease, until she was the one encouraging him to try new things.
And he was fucking addicted.
Ryan tried not to make a habit out of staying over, because explaining to Jackson what was going on while she was trying to sneak out of Harry’s bedroom wearing one of his obnoxious graphic tees was completely mind-boggling to her. She didn’t want to make Jackson feel uncomfortable—and while Harry and Ryan both knew that they had to eventually tell Jackson about their relationship, sneaking around and keeping things just between the two of them has made everything that much easier. Because everything felt new and different, and bursting that bubble just as they were exploring one another seemed a bit disheartening.
Which is why when Ryan feels Harry’s hands gripping the base of her neck while he tries his hardest to subdue another groan, she’s immediately brought back to the present. The present— which consists of her sucking Harry off under the covers of his charcoal-colored duvet in the early hours of the morning, wearing nothing except one of his bright jumpers with vibrant lettering and images of kittens littering the front.
And just before he grips her hair harder and is practically careening towards his end, she’s surprised when she can hear the excited pitter-patter of bare feet slapping against hardwood over Harry’s strangled moans.
Before she can even scold herself for accidentally spending another night in Harry’s sheets, his gold bedroom doorknob begins to wiggle. All at once, Ryan tears her mouth away from Harry’s twitching length, muttering a frantic “shit!” from her position underneath the duvet cover. The door springs open before she can even contemplate hiding inside the attached en-suite, and suddenly Ryan finds herself in a position that’s possibly more humiliating than getting rug burn in front of her attractive neighbor almost four months ago—face squished against Harry’s bare stomach, chest flat against his thighs, and legs stretched out around his own, completely buried underneath the duvet.
Harry sits up gently, making sure Ryan’s body is flat against his own and hidden underneath the darkness of his room. “Hey—hi! Bubs, uh, what’s up?” His voice comes out extremely high pitched, and Ryan can’t tell if it’s from the fact that they were nearly caught in a compromising position by his four-year-old son, or from the fact that he was seconds away from an orgasm that never came.
“Daddy! It’s my birthday! Why are you still in bed? We have to celebrate me!”
Scratch that. Five-year-old son.
Without thinking, Ryan pinches the extra skin around Harry’s waist, causing him to jolt upwards in shock. Her brain instantly starts whirring, working in overdrive to try and remember if Harry had mentioned his son’s fifth birthday to her at all during these past few weeks. And when she can’t think of anything, Ryan feels herself frowning against the rigid muscles of Harry’s abdominals, immediately feeling bad about overlooking this important occasion.
It seems that Harry feels the same, because she can hear him replying, “Of course I didn’t forget your birthday! How about you turn the telly on and wait for me, yeah? I’ll cook you my famous eggy bread and we’ll kick off your celebration properly.”
Ryan hears Jackson squeal excitedly and she almost wishes she wasn’t buried underneath Harry’s duvet so that she could see his gleaming grin. And just before she can hear the door shut, Jackson asks, “Can we still invite Ryan and Luna to my party?”
Ryan bites her lower lip to try and hide the smile stretching across her face. She wishes that Jackson already knew about their relationship, because if he did, she’d rip the duvet off of the bed and scoop him up in the biggest hug she could muster, tickling his sides until his arms were wrapped around her neck and she could carry him into the kitchen, waiting patiently for Harry to cook them both his famous eggy bread.
But unfortunately, she’s supposed to be hidden, and that looming thought turns her concealed smile into a heavy frown. Somehow Harry can sense it, and before their cover gets blown, he tells Jackson, “Of course they can come. Why don’t you grab the invitation we started yesterday and finish decorating it. We can drop it off after brekkie, sound good, Bubs?”
Jackson must have nodded appreciatively, because suddenly Harry’s bedroom door clicks shut and the charcoal-colored duvet is thrown to the bottom of his mattress. Ryan looks up at him with wide eyes, her lower lip bitten and her eyes tinged with sadness.
“We’re dickheads, huh?” Ryan offers, clambering off the bed and trying to locate her joggers on his carpeted flooring.
Harry watches her, tucking his erection uncomfortably into his tight briefs and selfishly wishing his son had better timing.
“Don’t say that. Just got carried away, is all,” Harry offers lamely, running an exasperated hand through his messy hair when he notices Ryan practically fully dressed in front of him.
“We need to tell him, Harry. He’s got to know something, considering I’ve been going to the park with you guys and joining you for dinner almost every other evening.” Ryan keeps her voice down as she exchanges Harry’s obnoxious jumper for her cardigan and vest combination she showed up here in the night before.
Harry nods, offering, “We’ll tell him. Tonight, I promise. Can you just—just come here, please?” He’s growing dizzy watching her run around his bedroom grabbing her discarded items, and all he wants is to have her close to him so that they can potentially finish what they started moments ago.
Ryan can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s desperate for her touch. And when she rejoins him on the bed, straddling his thin waist and wrapping her arms around his neck in a quick cuddle, her chest completely flat against his own, she wishes now more than ever that they could wake up every morning just like this.
She lifts her head from the crook of his neck and plants a quick kiss to his temple, before untangling herself from his body and slipping her trainers on her feet. “You’ve got a birthday boy to entertain,” Ryan mutters with a wink.
Harry rolls his eyes from his position on the bed, moaning in frustration when the sudden shift of his body makes his length twitch unforgivably. “How am I supposed to cook with a full stiffy? I’m in pain here, babe.”
Ryan just snickers before throwing Harry the shorts and hoodie he wore last night. “Have a quick wank in the shower, you’ll be sorted in no time.”
“You’re cruel,” Harry complains, slipping the clothes on and adjusting his shorts so that his erection wasn’t so painfully obvious.
“I’ll see you later, okay? We’ll finish this properly,” Ryan offers, snaking her arms around his waist when she notices the smirk threaten to break across his face. His strong arms wrap around her middle, and Harry brings his hand up to wrap his long pointer finger around a stray piece of Ryan’s hair that fell in front of her line of vision.
“Properly, yeah?” He teases, bringing her closer so that the tips of their noses are brushing against one another.
Ryan nods with a pretty smirk covering her lips. “Maybe daddy will get a present, too.” Harry drops his forehead against hers, puffing out a frustrated breath that fans against her cheeks.
“You’re killing me, baby,” he whispers against her mouth, before pressing his lips against hers with a forceful kiss. Ryan’s arms tighten around his body, and when she feels his tongue prod against her lower lip, she backs away, knowing they need to reign it in before they get too lost in one another.
“Later, I promise,” Ryan says, hinting at the one barrier that they haven’t crossed yet, praying that Harry understands what she’s implying.
And when his eyes light up wickedly and he gives her one last toe-curling kiss, she’s almost certain that he knows exactly what she’s talking about.
He opens his bedroom door and heads out into the hallway first, making sure Jackson isn’t lingering in the bathroom or kitchen as they pass. When they encroach upon his position in the living room—telly blasting Paw Patrol as he lays on the rug with his tummy on the shag carpeting, flannel-clad feet bent behind him as his chin rests against his opened palms comfortably—Ryan gives Harry’s waist one last squeeze before she slips out of the entranceway and into the hallway undetected.
When Ryan enters her own flat and greets Luna with a sleepy smile, she immediately heads to her bathroom and turns the shower on. As she’s undressing, Ryan peeks at her reflection in the mirror and almost doesn’t recognize the woman looking back at her.
This version has messy hair tangled at the back of her neck from greedy hands knotting themselves through the tendrils. This version has flushed cheeks—but not in the way she’s grown accustomed to. No, this version’s cheeks are flushed because she’s excited, she’s thrilled, she’s exerted her sexual prowess on a deserving man and she’s in awe of the way she can make him practically fall to his knees in front of her, begging for more more more.
This version has love bites littering the swells of her breast. And if she squints hard enough, she can make out the dents carved by fingertips across her hips and along her sides, permanent reminders of the way someone else could want her. Could need her.
And when she looks at this version’s face and takes in her swollen lips from overuse, the bags under her eyes from choosing to stay awake and fool around with her boyfriend instead of choosing to sleep, the smile that seems to constantly grace her lips whenever she leaves Harry’s presence—Ryan finds that she doesn’t want to look away.
She wants to stare at it. She wants to remember it. She wants it to consume her.
Comfortableness is a look Ryan never thought would suit her, and with each day she lets her walls fall down, she falls more in love with the person she’s becoming. Someone who is confident, someone who no longer lets her social anxiety rule her life, someone who is finally happy with where she is at.
Because falling in love and feeling free somehow coincide with one another. And as Ryan lets the hot water seep into her skin, she knows now that this is where she’s meant to be.
***
“Fiona, for the hundredth time, I’m not describing Harry’s dick to you over the phone,” Ryan harrumphs through her mobile, reaching for the emerald green wrapping paper and unrolling a significant portion to begin wrapping Jackson’s birthday present.
“That’s not fair, Ry! I’ve gone into exquisite detail about Roger’s!” Fiona exclaims back, pouting dramatically from her position leaned up on the coffee table of Ryan’s mobile.
Ryan rolls her eyes before reaching for the scissors. “Once again, that information was unsolicited.”
“Ugh!” Ryan giggles from her position on the floor of her living room, folding up the edges and covering her gift with the wrapping paper. “I can’t wait until this lockdown is over so I can come by and slap you upside the head.”
“Since when have you become so violent?” Ryan asks, securing the wrapping paper with scotch tape.
“Since my best mate won’t tell me about her apparent dazzling sex life!”
Ryan puts the wrapped gift to the side and rests both elbows on the coffee table with her back to the juniper couch. Her arms cross at the middle so she can rest her chin on her wrists, giving Fiona her full attention.
“Well, we haven’t really—um, you know,” Ryan begins, her voice nearly a whisper as her cheeks flame in embarrassment.
“Haven’t really what, Ry?” Fiona presses, always the over-eager one.
Ryan gulps. “Done that.”
Fiona pauses for a moment, observing Ryan through the FaceTime call as she patiently tries to read her friend’s emotions. “You haven’t shagged him yet?” It’s not asked in an accusatory tone, or even a shocked one at that—just complete and utter curiosity.
Ryan knows Fiona’s testing the waters to see how she feels about it all, and she’s a bit grateful to her friend for not being so glaringly obvious. “Uh, yeah. Haven’t really gotten there yet.”
“Well, do you want to?” Fiona asks.
Ryan looks at her with a dumbfounded expression. “Of course I do, Fee. He’s my bloody boyfriend!”
“So what’s the problem here, Ry?” Her prodding is nothing but gentle and calculated.
“There’s no problem. It’s just—” Ryan takes a deep breath and sits up straight. “It’s just that I don’t want to muck this up, Fiona. He’s great and he’s kind and he’s so patient with me, it’s incredible. I’ve never had that before. And I love that he’s taking his time—that we’re taking our time. But I just want to be at that next step with him. I want to be able to spend the night without having to sneak out the next morning. I want to feel so comfortable around him that having sex is just easy, and natural, and just—I don’t know if I’m making sense.”
Fiona blinks a few times with a gentle smile on her face, and suddenly Ryan is nervous about her response.
“I’m proud of you, Ryan.” It’s simple, somehow profound in a way, and Ryan just cocks her head to the side in confusion. “Stop looking at me like that, you twit!”
A smile breaks out across Ryan’s face, a laugh ripping through her throat. “You’re just so happy, Ry, and I think a lot of that has come from Harry. Because not only did you find someone who wants to be with you, but you found someone who wants you to be yourself.” Fiona pauses, leaning a bit closer to her screen. “And I think you just need to tell Jackson the truth. It’s not like he’s going to be upset—from what I’ve heard, that boy is already in love with you.”
Before Ryan can reply, she hears the sound of paper scraping against hardwood flooring from the entranceway of her flat, followed by a familiar high-pitched giggle echoing through the hallway.
She waits a moment before grabbing her mobile and heading towards her front door, bending at the knees when she scoops up the hand-drawn folded invitation on the floor.
“Should I be concerned?” Fiona asks surreptitiously.
Ryan smiles and shakes her head. “No, no. Luna and I have been formally invited to a very important five-year-old’s birthday party next door.”
She holds up the paper, smiling when she notices the capitalized scrawl at the top of the page, clearly done by somebody who can spell Quarantine Birthday Party without hiccups. Surrounding the handwriting are various images drawn by a five-year-old: a picture of Luna sleeping on Harry’s brown leather couch, two Nerf blasters along the bottom, a pizza with orange squiggles that Ryan can only assume to be bell peppers in the top right corner, and finally Harry Potter along the top.
Ryan turns on her heel, heading into her kitchen and hanging the invitation up on her refrigerator with a magnet.
“I’ve got to go, Fee,” Ryan says, slipping her Reebok’s on and gathering Jackson’s presents.
“Alright, alright. But seriously, everything’s going to be alright, you hear me?” Fiona’s yellow-painted pointer finger is extended to the camera, and Ryan smiles at the sight of her mate trying to be stern.
“Yes, Fee. I know. I’m going to be okay.” Ryan responds, meaning every word.
Fiona nods and drops her finger, before adding, “And when you finally do shag, I would love a full synopsis on how Harry—”
Ryan hangs up before the blush could coat her cheeks.
Scooping Luna up in one arm and balancing her two gifts in the other, Ryan makes sure the lights are off before slipping out into the hallway and knocking thrice on 4G’s heavy oak door.
Not even a minute goes by before the door is being ripped open, revealing a sight that still manages to bring a smile to Ryan’s face.
It’s Harry—dressed down in a casual pair of brown corduroy trousers paired with a yellow Swim Deep graphic tee that Ryan can’t wait to wear to bed later on in the evening. His hair is held back by a clip, somewhat familiar to the way he wore it the first time they met in the ghastly hallway. And when her eyes finally land on him and he’s grinning like a fool, Ryan can’t help but mirror it, wondering if they’ll always feel like this whenever they see each other.
“Hi,” he says softly, reaching out and grabbing the two wrapped gifts from her hands.
“Hi,” Ryan responds, hoisting Luna further up in her arm so that she’s resting against her chest.
“You look pretty,” Harry says, and when he reaches down to plant his lips on hers, he’s halted in his movements when Jackson appears, practically bubbling with excitement.
“Ryan! Luna! Hi! I’m five!” His chocolate brown curls are in small cloisters framing his face, making his almond-shaped sage eyes twinkle in the light. He’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that Ryan can only assume was gifted to him by his father, and when he skirts by Harry’s leg and stands right before Ryan, she can only grin right back.
“I heard! Happy birthday, champ. How do you feel?” Ryan asks, squatting down on her toes so that she’s eye level with Jackson.
She watches as he contemplates his answer, rubbing a small hand against the fur on Luna’s head. “I feel the same but bigger. I’m happy now that you guys are here, too. Do you think I could show Luna the toys daddy and Auntie Gemma got me? I’ll be quick.”
Ryan nods, handing Luna over to Jackson and watching as he holds her gently and carries her through the living room and down the hallway into his bedroom, chatting with her softly along the way.
When she stands up, Harry’s mouth is on hers greedily, pulling kisses from her lips and wrapping his arms securely around her body as if he was scared she was going to disappear.
“Mmm, missed you,” he mumbles once they’ve parted.
“You just saw me a few hours ago, crazy boy,” Ryan responds, tickling her fingers through the curls resting against the nape of his neck.
With one last kiss, he drops his arms. “Miss you whenever you’re not here.”
Ryan smiles shyly, taking a half-step back before Jackson can catch them. “I want to tell him today, Harry. Think he’ll be okay with it?”
Harry looks at Ryan with wide eyes, wondering how she could even fathom Jackson disliking that she was going to be a part of their lives. “Of course he’ll be fine with it. In what world wouldn’t he be?”
Ryan sighs. “I know.”
With one last look, Harry wraps his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her body against his side, cuddling her closely until the tip of her nose was bushing against the veins pulsing in his neck. “I’m gonna miss having you all to myself, though.”
Ryan giggles loudly, hugging Harry closer to her body. “You’ll learn to be a good sharer.”
He pouts dramatically before dragging her into the kitchen, her body still tucked into his side. When she enters the threshold she notices the island countertop is covered with flour—three evenly spherical doughs spread out over top, with ceramic bowls filled with toppings littering the outskirts.
Ryan leaves his side and looks at him with a quizzical look. “Pizzas on a non-Friday?”
Harry grins. “The birthday boy demanded it! How am I supposed to say no?”
Ryan just smiles before heading over to the sink and washing her hands. When she turns around after drying them on a tea towel, she notices a matching set of white feeding bowls on the tiled flooring to the right of the sink counter. And when she squints, she can make out LUNA etched in black writing along the front.
“Is this…?”
Before she can get a conscious sentence out, Harry rounds the island countertop and meets her in the middle of the kitchen. When he notices the look on her face is a mixture of complete shock and adoration, he shrugs shyly at her and rubs his sweaty palm against the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Figured if you were going to start spending the night here, Luna could come too so you wouldn’t have to worry about feeding her.”
It’s amazing how a simple notion of purchasing cat feeding bowls for your girlfriend’s kitten can somehow make Ryan’s heart beat wildly against her chest. But it does—and she’s left looking at Harry fondly, wondering if the wicked thumping of her heart and her shortness of breath and the deep look in her eyes can equate to something like love.
“You didn’t have to,” she offers lamely.
Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I wanted to.”
The sudden sound of a phone ringing from the living room interrupts Harry and Ryan, and when he cranes his neck and notices the noise coming from the iPad strewn across the brown leather couch, he steps back from Ryan and starts following the ringing.
“It’s probably Rachel calling from New York. Wants to wish Jackson a happy birthday,” Harry explains as he grabs the device and answers the call with a simple greeting.
Ryan backs away and heads down the hallway into Jackson’s room, knocking on the opened door and crossing her arms against her chest when she notices him and Luna sprawled out on his rug as he attempts to build his brand new Lego set.
“Hey, champ. Your mum’s on the phone,” Ryan says from her position leaned against the doorframe.
“Really? All the way from New York?” Jackson asks, standing up quickly and grabbing Luna so she’s securely nestled under his armpit.
Ryan nods. “Yeah, go say hi, okay? She wants to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Okay, Ryan,” Jackson obliges, hobbling past her figure and heading into the living room to grab the iPad from Harry. Making sure not to eavesdrop, Ryan returns back to the kitchen where Harry is spreading red sauce on all three pizza doughs.
She watches him, taking in the way his arms strain against the thin material of his shirt deliciously. When he bites his lower lip as he makes a spiral with the tomato sauce, making sure each pizza dough has the same amount, ensuring he left space for the crust to lift at the edges, Ryan tries her hardest to keep her giggles at bay. She finds it incredibly adorable that Harry is such a perfectionist, even without an audience to watch him.
When he lifts his head up after feeling her hot gaze on him, he smiles at her bashfully before cocking his head to the side, gesticulating that he wants her near him. “C’mere and pick your toppings,” he says slowly, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head when she’s settled against his side.
They work together in comfortable silence, working around each other in grabbing handfuls of cheese, chopped up pieces of vegetables, scattered slices of pepperoni. When Ryan grabs the bowl of pepperoni slices from Harry’s hand, he chuckles to himself before opening his mouth wide, waiting for her to feed him. She giggles at his immaturity, but eventually obliges, popping a slice into his mouth and letting the tips of her fingers graze his lips until he’s left shivering in his place.
Once their pizzas are finished, Harry starts spreading cheese on Jackson’s, before asking Ryan offhandedly, “Do you mind asking him what else he wants on his pizza? I want to pop these into the oven.”
Ryan nods, trying her hardest not to be difficult. But when she cleans off her hands and pops her head into the living room, she’s suddenly flushed with nerves. She feels bad interrupting Jackson’s conversation with his mum, especially on his birthday when she’s practically an entire world away.
When there’s an appropriate lull in the conversation, Ryan clears her throat and calls out, “Hey, champ? Daddy wants to know what toppings you want for your pizza.”
She watches Jackson’s neck snap in her direction, an excited smile plastering his face. “Ok! Tell him I’ll pick them myself! Here, Ryan,” and with that he jumps off the couch, thrusting the iPad into Ryan’s hands without ending the call or saying goodbye to Rachel on the other end.
“Jackson, wait! Say goodbye to your mum!” After waiting a few seconds and hearing nothing but silence, Ryan sighs to herself before looking down at Rachel’s patient gaze on the screen. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for him to run off like that.”
When Ryan looks at the screen, she’s a bit astonished when she sees Rachel’s mouth begin to form a laugh. It’s the same expression as the photograph of her in Jackson’s room—full lips parted, mouth hanging open slightly, tongue resting against her bottom layer of teeth. She looks pretty with her straight hair clipped against her shoulders, and when Ryan takes in her bare face and fluffy white robe, she suddenly doesn’t feel as nervous around Rachel as she was in the past.
Because for once, she seems like a normal girl. And when her smile doesn’t break and she’s looking at Ryan without dark eyes filled with anger, Ryan’s not quite sure what to make out of it all.
“It’s okay, pizza is probably infinitely more interesting than speaking to his mum at the moment,” Rachel jokes, her laughter floating through the speakers in a way that makes Ryan crack a grin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ryan offers, trying to figure out how to end this conversation without making their already awkward relationship any worse.
“That’s nice of you to say,” Rachel responds quietly, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “I’m glad you’re there, by the way. You mean more to them than you could ever imagine.”
It’s quiet for a moment as Ryan takes in Rachel’s words. Her simple comment of approval somehow makes the nervous pit in Ryan’s stomach unravel, and suddenly she starts seeing Rachel in a different light. Maybe in the past, she was the villain in Harry’s story, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be that way. Because Ryan finally sees Rachel for who she is—a mum who simply is trying to do her best, no matter how many mistakes she’d made.
“Thanks, Rachel. That means a lot,” Ryan says with a smile.
“No problem. I should probably go, I’ve got a Zoom meeting in an hour. Tell Jackson I said goodbye?” Rachel asks softly.
“Of course. Bye, Rachel,” Ryan says, smiling when Rachel waves just before ending the call.
Ryan locks the device and places it on the end table before rejoining Harry and Jackson in the kitchen. When she pokes her head in and watches Harry appropriately place the pepperoni slices wherever Jackson wants them, she can’t help but smile like a fool at the sight of it all.
And just before Harry asks if Jackson was happy with his pizza, his son quickly adds, “Daddy, can I add bell peppers too? The green and orange ones, like Ryan has,” and Ryan tries her hardest not to gasp.
Harry grins before sprinkling the same amount on Jackson’s pizza, before popping all three into the oven. Ryan decides then to enter the kitchen completely, leaning her torso over the island countertop across from Jackson who’s happily munching on a stay pepperoni slice from his position perched on the leather barstool.
With a quick look at Harry, Ryan wordlessly tells him that now is the best time to tell his son about their relationship. Harry nods before sidling up to Ryan’s side across the counter from Jackson, looking at his son once he’s finished swallowing his snack.
“Hey, Bubs, Ryan and I have something we want to tell you,” Harry starts, watching his son nod happily on the barstool.
“Okay, daddy,” Jackson says easily, looking between the two adults across from him with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Harry looks at Ryan before speaking. “You know how we’ve been spending a lot of time with each other lately?” Harry starts, pausing until Jackson’s head starts bobbing up and down.
“Right, well we’ve decided that we really like each other. And that we want to keep spending time with each other, if that’s okay with you?” It’s quiet as Jackson mulls this over, his hand resting on his chin as he tries to wrap his five-year-old brain around what his father just explained to him.
“Of course that’s okay with me. I like Ryan too, daddy,” Jackson says, his green eyes squinting in confusion as he struggles to understand what Harry is trying to tell him.
“I know that, Bubs. But I like Ryan the way adults like each other, do you know what I’m trying to say to you?” Ryan can tell that Harry is struggling, because his palm flies up to the back of his neck as he rubs it awkwardly, beginning to stumble over his words as his brain begins to work in overdrive.
“I think so,” Jackson starts, placing both palms down on the counter as he cocks his head to the side and looks at both of them from across the counter. “So you like her. And you kiss her, too? The way you used to kiss mummy?”
Ryan looks at Harry with wide eyes, hoping he can salvage the rest of this conversion before it implodes right in front of their faces.
“Yes, but I kiss Ryan because she is daddy’s girlfriend. Do you understand now?” Harry asks.
Jackson nods, looking down at the countertop before lifting his eyes to meet Harry’s. “Yeah, I get it. What does that make mummy, then?”
Ryan blushes, looking at Harry nervously. She can tell that he’s thinking, because how do you explain the difference between a mother and a girlfriend to a five-year-old?
After a minute passes in silence, Harry clears his throat and says, “Mummy is still your mummy. And well, Ryan is, uh. Ryan is your—”
“—Your friend. Your very best friend, who cares about you and will always be here for you whenever you need me,” Ryan says, interrupting Harry before he stutters all over his words.
Without thinking, she reaches her hand across the counter and grabs Jackson’s smaller ones in her own, the same way he did to her the first day they met four months ago in the hallway. And once his eyes are locked on hers firmly, she adds, “Think of it as having two women in your life that care about you very much. Do you think that’s something you’d be okay with?”
Jackson squeezes Ryan’s hands tightly in his own before a ginormous grin breaks across his face. Harry can feel his shoulders slump in relief, and when he brings his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and brings her against his side, Jackson just giggles loudly across from them, happily wiggling in his barstool.
“I think that’s just the bestest news ever!” Jackson exclaims, smiling so big that the tiny dimples carved into his cheeks deepen.
The timer goes off, indicating that their pizzas are complete. Harry rounds the counter and begins pulling them from the oven. Ryan walks over to the barstool and lifts Jackson up from underneath his armpits, placing him on the ground so that he can settle into his spot in the breakfast nook.
After Harry places the pizzas on the table and grabs their beers and Jackson’s juice from the counter, the three of them sit around the table while Ryan cuts small pieces for Jackson’s little hands to grab.
Once she’s made sure that Jackson’s completely settled, Ryan reaches for her own beer and begins cutting her into her pizza. The domesticity of it all no longer makes Harry or Ryan uncomfortable. Instead, they welcome the feeling with open arms, no longer batting an eye whenever Ryan wipes tomato sauce from Jackson’s grabby hands, no longer falling slack-jawed when Jackson asks for a piece of Ryan’s pizza instead of his own, no longer growing red in the face when Jackson grabs Ryan’s hand when she’s done eating her dinner.
Ryan offers to help Harry clean up, but once Jackson notices the two emerald wrapped presents in the corner of the living room, Ryan’s practically dragged into the living room so that he can excitedly rip open his gifts.
“How about we wait for daddy, champ?” Ryan asks, sitting cross-legged against the floor with Luna in her lap and her back against the couch while Jackson begins strategizing how he should rip open the wrapping paper.
“I’m too excited I don’t know if I can wait!” Jackson squeals, reaching for the smaller box below to try and guess what’s hiding underneath.
After a few minutes of painfully waiting for Harry, he finally emerges and sits behind Ryan on the couch, caging his legs around her frame. When she feels him settle in behind her, Ryan leans back so that her head is closer to his lap, and Harry begins rubbing at her shoulders comfortingly while they both watch Jackson tear into the larger package.
“You didn’t have to get him anything, you know,” Harry whispers into Ryan’s ear.
Ryan turns so that she’s looking at him over her shoulder, rolling her eyes amusedly and repeating his words from earlier. “I wanted to.”
Jackson’s excited shriek causes both Harry and Ryan to look at him, and when he holds up the brand new Nerf blaster that he tested out with Ryan almost two months ago, she can’t help but grin wickedly back at him.
“No way! This is so great, Ryan! Thank you!” The fluorescent orange plastic gun sits on his lap as he begins pulling the trigger and watching the empty ammunition compartment spin clockwise.
“Should I be worried?” Harry asks ominously from behind Ryan, causing Jackson to look from his father to Ryan with nervous eyes.
With a subtle wink, reminding him to keep their secret between each other, Jackson giggles quietly before placing the gun back on the floor beside him. “Nothing to worry about, daddy,” he says, reaching for the smaller yet heavier wrapped package in front of him.
As he begins tearing at the paper, Ryan grows more alert, sitting up straight so that she can see the expression on Jackson’s face when he finally reveals the contents of his present. When the paper is finally removed from the top part of the gift, Jackson gasps when he notices seven varying sizes of books all with the words Harry Potter inscribed on the spine.
“Whoa.” It’s the first time Jackson’s ever struggled with finding words, and when he turns the books over that are tied together with white tinsel, so that he can see each book separately, Ryan almost swears she can see his mouth open and close repeatedly.
“Figured you should have your own,” Ryan says quietly, reaching over to untie the string so that he can thumb through the brand new pages of his own books.
“This is the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten,” Jackson whispers, dropping the books to the floor so that he can scramble up to his knees and wrap his arms around Ryan’s neck, engulfing her in a tight hug.
Ryan tries her hardest not to cry with happiness, because out of all of the hugs she’s ever received in her entire lifetime (including the warm embraces Harry has gifted her in the past two months) this hug from Jackson beats them all. His tiny fists knot together at the nape of her neck, and she can feel him squeezing her tighter when her own arms fall around his torso, bringing him closer to her.
“Thank you so much,” he whispers into her shoulder, letting her go and sitting back on the floor so that he can look at his brand new presents.
When Ryan sits back, she turns around so that she can see the look Harry gives her. She’s almost certain that it could be love, but when he leans down and kisses her on the cheek, thanking her profusely, she’s not sure if she’s overthinking it all.
After the excitement of the party dwindles down and Jackson’s muffling yawns into the crook of his elbow, Harry decides that it’s time for bed. Jackson doesn’t put up a fight, and when he gets up and begins heading into the bathroom to start his nighttime routine, he turns around before Harry can get up from the couch and follow him.
“Ryan? Can you put me to bed tonight?”
His question makes the warmth she feels whenever he looks at her flush through her insides, and when his sleepy green eyes twinkle and he holds a hand out waiting for her to hold, she’s up and by his side without a second to spare.
She lets Jackson pick out his pajamas, and when he’s too tired to put his head through his blue sleep shirt, Ryan holds it over his body so that he can stick his arms through the holes and she can push it down appropriately. She pulls out the stool for him in the bathroom so that he can step up and brush his teeth, making sure to reach the deep corner of his mouth and swipe his toothbrush over his tongue until his breath is minty fresh. And once he’s finished, she walks him into his bedroom and pulls down his covers, letting him slide in so that she can tuck him in tightly.
“Hey, Ryan?” Jackson asks sleepily, tucking his chin over the folded duvet against his chest.
“Yeah, champ?” Ryan asks, swiping a stray curl off of his forehead.
“Does this mean Luna gets to have a bed here, too? So she doesn’t feel alone in your home whenever you're here?” His question is a simple one, but somehow Ryan can’t find the words to answer. Because she’s spent a lot of time feeling alone in her own home, and in the past two months she hasn’t felt that feeling at all. She’s wondering what it all means.
Before she can answer, Harry pops his head in from the hallway. “Ready for bed?”
Jackson nods, yawning one last time before snuggling deeper into his pillow. “Mhm. Night daddy. Night Ryan.”
“Night, champ. Hope you had a great birthday.” Ryan doesn’t wait for him to respond, instead, she switches off his bedside lamp and flicks on the nightlight against the wall, shuffling across the room to meet Harry’s waiting arms.
But before the door can fully close, they hear Jackson call out, “Love you both!” and Ryan halts in her steps.
It falls out of his mouth so easily, without question, as if it was something she should already know. And when Harry responds and Ryan’s left staring dumbly at the wall, she’s wondering if it really is that easy to fall in love with somebody else.
She’s thinking about this while getting ready for bed with Harry later that night, exchanging her jeans and jumper for the yellow shirt he wore all day. It smells like him—hints of vanilla and sandalwood, all citrusy shampoo and that distinguishable smell that follows him around. They work in comfortable silence in his en suite, sharing the one sink as best they can. Harry waits while Ryan washes her face, and when she’s hidden behind a face towel, Harry pinches her bum underneath the hem of his shirt and reaches for the toothpaste. Ryan squeals, and once Harry’s begun brushing she does the same, smacking his hands away whenever he tries to bring her backside against his front, dribbling blue foamy toothpaste onto her shoulder. And when they both spit into the sink and head towards the mattress, her mind is still reeling.
It’s no secret that Ryan’s never grasped the concept of having a home. Growing up, she had two homes with two sets of parents in two different places. And when she became an adult, Ryan moved around more than anybody else—perfecting the ability to live out of cardboard boxes in different flats with different postal codes.
But now, she’s actively thinking about what Jackson said about Luna having a home here in their flat. Because home isn’t a physical place—it’s a feeling. It’s that warmth, that feeling of wrapping yourself in a heavy duvet on your mum’s couch. It’s mixing up parcels on purpose with the perfect excuse to knock on their door and see them again. It’s that giddy feeling you get when you notice the other person’s tea mug resting on your drying rack, a piece of them seemingly interwoven with your own life. It’s reading a book you’ve read hundreds of times over again to somebody who’s never experienced it before, saying each word as if it were the first time you’ve ever seen them. It’s having matching food bowls for your kitten and a second bed for her in a place where she can make her own home.
Home is having two separate flats but feeling completely safe wrapped around each other on a juniper couch or in a king-sized mattress with grey sheets.
And when they’re settled in these sheets, Ryan’s legs wrapped securely around Harry’s waist, Harry’s hands crawling further down her body until the tips of his fingers skim the hem of his shirt resting on her thighs, they both know that this is it. This feeling they’ve been running from suddenly makes sense—suddenly makes loneliness feel like the stupidest thing in the world.
Just before Harry can rip the shirt off of Ryan’s body, they hear his doorknob begin to wiggle for the second time that day. Harry groans frustratedly underneath his breath, allowing his head to fall against Ryan’s shoulder before the door falls open. Jackson stands in the doorway, clad in the same blue flannel pajamas Ryan had just helped him put on, holding a red and orange book cover in his small hands.
“Everything all right, Bubs?” Harry asks once Ryan’s unwrapped her legs from his waist and rolled over so that they’re lying side by side.
Jackson nods, shuffling into the bedroom inch by inch. “Since it’s my birthday and stuff, do you think Ryan could read to me a little?”
It’s timid and adorable and Ryan can’t help but start to smile, already knowing that she’s going to say yes without even acknowledging that his birthday is almost over as soon as the clock changes from eleven thirty to midnight.
“C’mere, champ,” Ryan says, patting the mattress happily.
Harry tries to argue, but when he sees his son’s sleepy grin and his girlfriend’s matching one, he knows there’s no use. So once Jackson reaches their bedside, he grabs him from underneath his armpits and plops him comfortably in the space between him and Ryan.
Jackson shuffles under the covers, dropping the brand new hardcover into Ryan’s lap. Harry flicks the lamp on the nightstand before turning on his left side, releasing his head on his waiting palm with his elbows bent so that he can watch both of them.
“Where’d we leave off?” Ryan asks even though she already knows from the dog-eared page in her own copy that Jackson clumsily marked off the last time they read together.
“The map! Harry has the Marauder’s Map!” he squeals, turning his head so that he’s practically cuddling into her chest.
Ryan giggles and Harry feels himself melting into his mattress. “Oh that’s right. Okay, here we go.”
Before she can let the first word on the page fall past her lips, Harry interrupts, “Does this mean I finally get to hear the Hagrid voice?”
She looks over and rolls her eyes, ignoring the amused twinkle in his own.
Once she’s finished the first page, she can feel Harry’s arm extend over Jackson’s head and reach towards the messy plait falling past her shoulder. With steady hands, he removes the hair bobble and starts untangling the strands, wrapping a wavy tendril around his finger and letting out a quiet but relaxing breath that makes her feel more at home than ever before.
And with Jackson curling further into her chest and Harry running soothing fingers down her scalp, Ryan should be feeling the complete opposite.
But when she sneaks a look at Harry as she’s turning the page, she notices that he’s been looking at her instead of the black text carved into the book. And when their eyes lock for a brief moment, she feels time stand still. Her heart lets out a strong string of heavy thumps, her skin feels just the right amount of warmth, and she’s never been more sure of her place in the world.
She thinks back to Fiona’s declaration of love at first sight, and wonders if the glimmer in Harry’s green eyes and the soft smile on his face is the same expression Roger wore the first time they met in that overcrowded club all those months ago.
And when Harry scrunches his face, wrinkling his nose adorably and squinting his eyes, Ryan knows for sure that Fiona’s right.
It’s love. It’s always been love.
***
A/N: And just like that, we’ve reached the end of YFLH. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! I never thought Ryan and Harry’s story would go past a oneshot, and I’m so happy that you all have grown to love them as much as I have. I want to thank all of you who have reached out to tell me your thoughts, to those who have liked or reblogged, to those who have recommended this story to somebody else--I truly owe you the biggest thanks. You’ve made this process so easy and fun, and I’m so grateful to you all!
Don’t hesitate to reach out and let me know your thoughts about part eight or everything and anything in between. This story was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! Hope you all have a safe and happy Holiday season, and I’ll see you all soon! x
(In the meantime if you’re looking to do some more reading, you can click here for my masterlist!)
taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris @niallgolden @mellamolayla
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry x reader#harry x ofc#1dff#1dffupdates#onedirectionfanfiction#1dffquarantine
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Frozen Wounds | The Mandalorian x Reader pt. 5
Things are gonna go downhill today, guess what chapter we're on 😈 I believe there are only two chapters after this one. Also butterflies are called flutterbyes in the Star Wars universe now, I don't make the rules 😝😂 Enjoy!
Series Masterlist
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: angst, sad times, fluff, mild nudity, canon violence, torture
•••
Tython was in the middle of nowhere in space, Din happened to notice as he input the coordinates into the nav computer. It had taken him several minutes just to find it in the star charts, let alone set a course for it. Just after they left Corvus they had stopped at a nearby planet for fuel and resources, that had been when he realized Y/N was wearing his clothes. He had given her credits to go buy some that actually fit her, as well as more ammo for her pistol.
He had asked her how she knew how to fight and she told him that her husband taught her. Some part of him didn’t think that was true. He was getting more in tune with her and could tell when she was lying. When he thought about it, he actually didn’t know much about Y/N, he assumed she had been born and raised on Tatooine, but what if she wasn’t? Who knew what kind of life she’d had.
Din eased the Crest into hyperspace and planned to go down into the hull and see what Y/N was up to. He’d been in the cockpit for almost an hour, by now the kid- Grogu. He had to remember that, his child had a name now. Grogu was fast asleep in his passenger seat and Din was content to leave him right there. He watched Grogu for a few minutes, smiling beneath his helmet. He double checked that the autopilot was on and quietly climbed down the ladder so as to not wake anyone. He turned and looked to his left, expecting to see the ship empty or perhaps Y/N sitting on the floor with Mandi.
Instead he saw Y/N in the middle of undressing. He couldn’t help but stare at her as she tugged her new pair of pants on and shucked off his shirt that she had been wearing, oblivious. His eyes wandered her exposed upper body, surprised to see scars here and there. His face was heating up, along with another part of his body, as his eyes roamed over her covered breasts. She turned around looking to see where she had put her shirt when she saw him. She squeaked in shock and covered her chest with her arms, Din shook himself out of his stupor and looked away, slapping his hand over his visor.
“Sorry, I didn’t-didn’t know you were….uh...occupied,” he stuttered out, once again thankful for his helmet as it covered his flustered expression. He heard her shuffling about trying to get dressed, her small grunts of effort suggesting she was having trouble. The sound of her knocking on some part of the ship got his attention but he didn’t look up. “Psst,” she tried to get his attention again. “Are you..covered? C-can I look?” He asked. She knocked twice again and Din slowly raised his head and lowered his hand from his helmet. She was holding his shirt over her chest to cover herself.
I can’t reach the clasp, can you get it for me?
Din saw the flushed and embarrassed expression she wore on her face, she didn’t want to ask him to do this. He saw a new bra laying on the crate beside her and his mind connected the dots. Maker, help him. She turned around and demonstrated, her arms couldn’t quite bend that much and her fingers came close to the clasp but couldn’t reach it. Din gulped and walked towards her, at least she was turned around and couldn’t see the predicament that was starting to make itself known on the front of Din’s trousers.
She signed a sorry to him as he fumbled with the challenging and tiny clasp, his leather gloves making it difficult. After a tense minute he got frustrated and took his gloves off. He hesitated and held his breath as his bare skin touched hers. He was able to undo the clasp with ease, his fingers gliding along her skin, feeling the softness. He let out a shaky breath as he gently pushed the straps off her shoulders. Her skin was so soft and warm and he could feel the muscles tense under her skin. He couldn’t help but rest his hands on her bare shoulders and hold them there.
Din could hear her slow breathing and see her breasts rise and fall, covered only by a small part of his shirt. She was able to slip the bra off without exposing herself. Din didn’t want to take his hands off her, he loved the feeling of her skin. What he wanted to do was turn her around to face him. He didn’t though, he just held her, content.
“You’re beautiful…”
The words were out before he could stop them. Y/N turned her head so she could see him. He thought she looked confused, maybe transfixed, like she was experiencing the same emotions as he was. Confusion. Attraction. Love? It was like a magnetic force was pulling them together. Her nose bumped his visor, his helmet the only thing separating them. Her lips skimmed over the Beskar as though she was wishing it wasn’t there. Her eyes found his through the blackened visor; this time Din didn’t feel vulnerable. He felt safe, comforted.
Y/N felt much the same way he did. The original feelings of shame and embarrassment had faded. Deep down she felt at peace, a realization hitting her. Her husband would want this for her, he would want her to be happy. Her mind was made up now, she loved this Mandalorian and his child. Now she had to wait for him to accept that he was too.
Their moment was interrupted by Mandi crying. “I, I’ll go get her…” he whispered. Din broke away and let Y/N get dressed while he checked on the baby and calmed himself down.
~~~~
It was finally in sight after a few hours in hyperspace, they were now approaching Tython. Grogu had woken up and was playing with the metal knob while Din watched him. Y/N had finished feeding Mandi and was going to head up into the cockpit when she heard Mando laugh. It made her smile, she’d never heard him laugh before. She stood at the bottom of the ladder listening to him talk to Grogu. What he said made her sad.
“But you have to agree to go with them if they want you to,” he spoke. “Plus, I can’t train you, you’re too..powerful..”
“I agreed to take you back to your own kind, so that’s what I need to do. You understand right?”
It sounded to her like he was more trying to persuade himself rather than inform Grogu. Y/N didn’t want anything to tear them apart. Especially that criminal Moff Gideon that Mando had told her about. The Crest entered the atmosphere of the hilly, rock covered planet. Din quickly spotted the temple Ahsoka told him about, or at least what little of it there was.
After circling the area on top of the hill, Din knew it was too small to land the ship. He would have to use his jetpack to go the rest of the way. That in itself presented an issue, how was he going to bring Y/N with? Previously he would have asked her to stay on the Crest, but now knowing she was a skilled and capable fighter he wanted her with him. For more reasons besides just having an extra pair of eyes.
Y/N exited the Crest with Mandi on her chest, stepping onto the grass and breathing in the fresh air. She saw Din standing a few feet away, his jetpack was attached to his back and he was tying a better and stronger leather strap onto his pulse rifle. He looked up and saw Y/N walking over to him.
What are you up to?
She asked with a smile, looking down at Grogu who was playing in the grass at his father’s feet. Din finished the new strap on the rifle, much more secure and nicer than the one Y/N had on it before. “I can’t carry these both, you want to use this?” He asked, holding the rifle out to her. “You seem to know your way around one.” She took the weapon in her hands and looked it over, nodding a thank you to him.
My husband had one he insisted I know how to use. He trained me until I was an expert with it, it was the exact same model as this one.
“Then whenever I’m not using it, it’s yours,” he said. She smiled and swung it onto her back, making sure the strap wasn’t across Mandi on her front. Din produced a thick leather belt with extra ammunition on it, also including her DT-22 in a holster. “I figured you could use one of these too,” he said. Y/N smiled and allowed Din to strap it to her waist. Now she had her blaster pistol and the pulse rifle she could use, as well as extra ammo for both. Din also let her keep the vibroblade she took. “Are you afraid of heights?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow and smirked, knowing there was another part to his question.
Not yet.
He beckoned her closer, bending down to pick up Grogu. “She secured tight?” He nodded to Mandi. Y/N nodded, asking him why. “We have to get up there,” he explained, “and I’m not going to make you walk.” She looked at him suspiciously and he asked her to hold Grogu. Din went to put his arm around her but figured he should ask first. “Can I…?”
Of course.
Din put his arm around her back and the other under her knees and swept her into his arms. She let out a small squeal before giggling. Mandi was secured to her chest and Grogu was held tight in her other arm, leaving Y/N to put her other arm around Din’s shoulders. “Hang on tight,” he told her, “I won’t drop you.”
How comforting.
She laughed at her own comment and held both children tight to her chest, her other hand gripping his cape. “Don’t worry, it’s not far,” he reassured. Din tightened his grip on her and powered up his jetpack, shooting into the sky. Y/N buried her face into his neck and he couldn’t help but smirk as he flew. It didn’t take long with how fast his jetpack was, a few minutes maybe, then Din was setting her down on solid ground. “You alright?” He asked. He held onto her, making sure she had her balance.
That was fun.
She answered with a smile. Din smiled back at her, though she couldn’t see it, and took Grogu from her arms. They approached the so-called Temple, and looked around. Din walked into the center and Y/N walked around the circular base, just inside the pillars. “I guess you sit here,” Din assumed, setting Grogu on the round stone. The child watched as his father expected something to happen immediately. Din activated the sensors inside his helmet and searched around for something he might be missing. He heard Y/N laugh and looked over at where she stood in the shade of one of the pillars.
Not everything the Jedi did was obvious. Just be patient.
Din sighed. He didn’t have patience right now. Grogu wasn’t doing anything special, just sitting and looking around, reaching for a flutterbye as it flew over his head. Din wanted to roll his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, kid.” He said exasperated. “Ahsoka told me all I had to do was get you here and you’d do the rest.” Din perked up at the sound of something coming closer, he looked up and saw a strange looking ship flying quite close to where they were. He jogged outside the circle to get a better view and Y/N joined him. Neither of them noticing the kid was starting to sense something.
The ship landed and Din made the assumption that whoever it was, they were looking for trouble. He couldn’t take any chances. “Times up, kid. We’ve gotta get out of here.” The pair turned around to see a transparent pillar of blue energy emitting from the stone and surrounding Grogu. The little one himself was sitting still with his eyes closed in concentration, he was definitely doing something now. Din approached the stone. “We don’t have time for this, we gotta get-”
The second he touched the field of energy he was violently thrown backwards a few yards. Y/N gasped and ran to help him up, asking if he was ok. He just nodded. “Hey, snap out of it, kid. We gotta get out of here!” He urged. The duo just stared at Grogu, he seemed perfectly safe and calm inside his little energy field. Din didn’t know what to do. He walked to the edge of the temple and realized he could see the other ship from there. He zoomed in on it and saw a robed, hooded figure exit the ship. Bad news, no matter who it was. Din drew his blaster and Y/N grabbed his arm, shaking her head.
“I have to go see what they want, they could be Jedi,” he told her. She looked nervous and he assumed she was scared for him. He took her other hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll come back, don’t worry,” he said. She wiggled her hand out of his and put it on the side of his helmet, drawing him closer to her. She pecked a kiss on his visor where she imagined his lips would be, leaving Din stunned.
I’ll keep Grogu safe, and watch your back from up here. Please be careful.
All Din could do was nod before taking off down the hill, blaster in hand. Y/N took point from just behind a pillar of the temple, watching Din as he moved and surveying the area. A reign of bullets shot at the ground in front of him and Din took cover behind a boulder, he peeked out from behind it and heard a voice address him.
“I’ve been tracking you, Mandalorian.”
Din watched as the hooded figure came to a stop on some rocks several yards away from him. He could see vague features of a man under the hood, he was older but still armed to the teeth. His expression was stern and his face was weathered, like he’d spent too many years on an unforgiving planet. Din spoke: “are you Jedi?”
Y/N watched through the scope as Din and the man talked, she wished she knew what they were saying. She had already picked out the sniper that the other man had positioned at a vantage point on the rock ledge above where Din and him were talking. She was easy to spot, her black and orange getup didn’t exactly blend in with the beige and green surroundings. The woman had her blaster rifle trained on Grogu, but Y/N knew the energy field would protect him. Any blaster bullets would either ricochet or be absorbed by it. Y/N herself was half hidden behind one of the pillars of the temple, she doubted the sniper could see her. She had the pulse rifle set directly on the other woman’s body, one misstep and she would be reduced to ash.
Meanwhile, Din was listening as the man explained that he had a sharpshooter on the ridge above them, who’s sights were locked onto Grogu. The shooter spoke and Din recognized her voice. Fennec Shand, he thought that other kid had killed her. Guess not. “Yeah? I have my own sniper, back up there, guarding the child and aiming at both of you. One wrong move and you’re both dead.” Din threatened. The man’s eyes shifted up to the rock where his companion was. “Shand.” “I got her, she’s not hiding as well as she thinks she is,” Fennec replied. Din shuddered at her words. The man suggested a peaceful interaction and Din reluctantly deactivated his whistling birds and removed his jetpack.
Y/N watched as the sniper got up and walked down by the other two men. Y/N checked behind her to see that Grogu was still… whatever he was doing he was keeping it up. She wanted to believe that these people were friendly now but she couldn't let her guard down. As Fennec explained how she was still alive, Din learned the name of the man.
Boba Fett.
He was claiming, and demanding, the armor Din had acquired from the Marshal on Tatooine, saying it was his. Din had a hard time believing that and he wasn't about to hand over precious Mandalorian armor to a man he didn't know. They were on the verge of coming to an agreement when the sound of another ship could be heard. Everyone looked to the noise and saw it was coming from a troop transport. Imperials.
The trio split up and Din began running back up to get the kid. Y/N stepped out from behind the pillar when he got close.
What's happening?
"The Imps are here, they want the kid," he explained quickly. Din once again tried to walk through the force field to get Grogu, but it was even harder this time. Din had to use a lot of his strength just to walk to the middle; only to get flung backwards again. He didn't understand what was really going on. He went to try and get through again, but before he could take a step Y/N stopped him with a hand on his chest.
The energy field is protecting him, you won't be able to get through it. We have to help them.
She motioned to the strangers who were currently holding back the waves of stormtroopers and making it look easy. Y/N didn't know who either of them were, but she wasn't about to let them take on all the troopers on their own.
All we can do is protect him until he's done doing whatever it is he's doing.
Din sighed. He didn't like the situation but what choice did he have. Plus, Y/N would be guarding the child and could grab him whenever he was free of the energy field. "Keep an eye on him. The second that field is down, grab him and get to the Crest," he instructed. Y/N nodded, she looked frightened again and Din wished he could think of some way to comfort her.
"We'll be ok," he told her. Those small words seemed to calm and focus her enough to smile at him.
I've got your back.
Din nodded and looked at Mandi, who seemed oblivious in her wrap. The little girl appeared content if not alert. "Keep them safe," he said before dashing down the hill to aid Shand who was surrounded by stormtroopers. Din braced himself against a boulder and fired his whistling birds.
Y/N picked off troopers with the pulse rifle, leaving piles of white armor behind. The second transport landed and she noticed that the older robed man wasn't anywhere in sight. A large explosion drew Y/N's eyes away from the scope. The sudden lack of blaster fire and noise, made her realize that it was quiet from behind her as well. She turned around and saw that the energy field was gone and Grogu was laying on the stone exhausted. She glimpsed through the scope once more to see the robed man annihilating troopers with a suit of armor similar to Din's. He was commanding all the attention and Y/N took her chance.
She slung the rifle onto her back and ran to Grogu, picking him up and holding him close to her. She made her way down the hill as fast as she could heading towards the Crest as the troop transports took off and tried to escape. Grogu, who was facing outwards and right beside Mandi, began reaching for the little girl’s hand. Y/N was getting down the hill at a decent pace. The Razor Crest was in her sights, even the noise of the transports exploding couldn’t distract her.
With her eyes set on the ship, Y/N noticed it was starting to rattle. She watched as it shook more violently, as if there was a quake happening only below it. She continued to run while watching and soon the Crest was lifted off the ground into the air. Y/N was stopped dead in her tracks and the sound of metal creaking drew the attention of the other three. Everyone was stunned as the Crest was lifted into the air and moved. It was almost like-
Y/N looked down at the children in her arms, Grogu and Mandi were holding hands while each of their other hands was outstretched towards the Crest. Din looked up the hill and saw Y/N and the children. He was in awe. The kids moved the ship far away from where it had been and set it down in a completely different spot. They both gasped in exhaustion from the effort they had just put in. Y/N was beginning to wonder why they did that when a blast as big as a meteor came down from the atmosphere, blowing a massive hole in the ground where the Crest had previously been.
Din was shocked motionless. How had the kids known that would happen? More importantly, who had shot? Din bolted to the Crest as Y/N once again started down the hill. She was about halfway down when she began hearing a sound similar to Din’s jetpack, only louder. She looked behind her and saw several dark figures descending from the sky. Those couldn’t be good. The two strangers began firing at the objects but their bullets only bounced off. Y/N knew they were after the child and as they drew closer she could see they were heavily armored droids. She had a split second decision to make.
Y/N curved her path, ducking behind a large boulder, out of sight from the droids. She unwrapped the cloth hood from her head and wrapped Grogu in it completely, leaving a small hole for him to breathe. She held him for a second and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Take care of Mando, little Grogu.” With that Y/N set him on the ground in the safe shelter of the strong boulder, wrapped in her shawl that blended in with the ground. Clutching Mandi to her chest she emerged and began running back down the hill as fast as she could.
Din had started up the Crest and prepped it so he could take off at any second. He ran back outside, hoping Y/N was closer. He saw Boba take off, heading to his ship. Din ran to try and get to her, with Fennec right behind him. The droids were getting closer and Y/N moved her legs as fast as she could, jumping over and dodging around rocks. She shed the pulse rifle, running faster. She could hear them. The jets were so loud. She wasn’t going to make it.
One of the droids landed with a loud crash right in front of her, Y/N skidded to a stop and tried a different direction. There was a droid blocking her way, she went the opposite way, one there too. She was surrounded and the droids closed in. She could barely hear Din calling her name, he sounded so desperate. She hoped what she did had worked, the droids wouldn’t know which child they were taking. She held Mandi tight to her chest and stood still, waiting for the droid’s cold hands to grab her. Y/N closed her eyes.
The metal hands clamped down on her waist tight and secure and she was pulled against a metal body. Her eyes opened as her feet lifted off the ground, seeing Din and the sniper come within a few yards short of reaching her. She looked into his visor mouthing the words ‘I love you’ as the droids ascended and took her with. Mandi was now crying and Y/N sheltered her daughter’s head from the high winds, planting a kiss on her forehead and nestling her into her chest.
Din felt like his heart had gotten ripped out of his chest. He had gotten so close to reaching her and he fell short. He stared up at her as the droids carried her away, he read her lips. I love you. Din clenched his fists, why hadn’t he told her! He realized now that he felt the same way. He was in love with this woman and now she was gone, ripped from his hands, taken. Like everything else he loved in his life, it had been taken. He hadn’t even told her he felt the same way. He saw Fett’s ship following and told Fennec to get him to stand down. He watched in horror as the other man's words came through the comlink.
"They're back….the Empire…"
Din had gone from upset to angry. Scratch that, he was enraged. He knew who was on the bridge of the cruiser Fett was describing. And Din wanted to wring his neck. Fett came back and landed his ship, telling them that the droids had taken the woman into the ship and disappeared into hyperspace. Fett had just finished showing Din the chain code in the armor that proved it was his when all three of them heard a soft whining.
Din looked around and saw Grogu waddling towards them, dragging Y/N’s shawl wrap behind him with a little hand. He whined and lifted that hand into the air, as if showing them that she was gone. Din swooped the kid into his arms and held him, the realization of what Y/N had done entering his mind, making him want to scream and cry at the same time.
She had hidden Grogu and let the droids take her and Mandi, to protect Din and his child. She’d sacrificed herself and her baby to those monsters to make sure that Grogu and Din weren’t separated. She had known what she was doing. Din took her shawl from Grogu and held it in his free hand. He could still see the faint darker patch on it where she hadn’t gotten all the blood off from when he used it to clean her wound not long after they first met.
He turned and looked at the other two, not knowing what to say. “Thank you for your help, I’ll...figure it out from here….” Fett stopped him by saying that he had promised the protection of his entire group, not just Din and the child and would therefore help get the woman back. Din gathered up his pulse rifle and jetpack. “Meet me on Navarro, we’ll go from there,” he told the other two. Din boarded the Crest and set Grogu in his seat before taking off. Moff Gideon would pay for everything he had done to Grogu and everything he was going to do to the woman and child Din loved.
~~~~
Y/N woke up in a dark and cold room which she could only assume was a holding cell. It had been awhile since she was in one of these. As she gained her senses she touched her chest and found that Mandi was gone, she looked around the room, but she was alone. Y/N had lost consciousness when the droids flew too high and she couldn’t get enough oxygen. Whatever happened between then and now included them taking Mandi away from her, taking Y/N's weapons away, and throwing her into a cell. She hoped they had been more gentle with her baby. She registered the feeling of something colder around her neck and reached up, her fingers touching cold metal that she only assumed was...yep, shock collar. Was she really seen as that much of a threat?
Just as Y/N got to her feet the door to her cell opened and a man clad in all black with a flowing cape and an imposing attitude entered with a couple stormtroopers behind him. She glared at him with as much hate as she could muster. He just stared back, unamused and undeterred. “I wasn’t aware we had such an influential figure on board,” he spoke. His voice was unnerving, scarily calm and composed.
What have you done with my daughter, you asshole?
She signed snappily and with attitude, knowing he couldn’t understand her. “Are you going to speak or do I have to make you?” He threatened. She saw the troopers fidget with their blasters, probably getting ready to shoot her. She cursed at him in sign, asking again where Mandi was. The man sighed almost unnoticeably. “Do you know where the Mandalorian and the child are?” He asked. Y/N didn’t answer, he wasn’t going to make her speak. She only swore at him more in sign. The man rolled his eyes.
Are you going to keep cussing at me, or actually answer my questions?
Y/N’s eyes widened and the man chuckled at the fear in her eyes as she realized he could sign, and understand her every word. “Now that I’ve got your attention, do you know where they are?” She just stared menacingly at him, not saying or signing a word. “I would think such an important New Republic asset would want to do anything to protect the ones they love,” the man taunted, walking closer to her. He drew a hilt from his belt and with the press of a button a black, shimmering blade emerged from it. He held it inches away from her neck and she could feel the heat radiating off of the weapon.
I don’t know, but you’ll never find them.
The man turned the blade off and clipped it back on his belt. “Not to worry, I have a locator placed inside the Razor Crest. I’ll have them soon.” With that he turned to leave and she charged at his back. Y/N didn’t get very far as her collar was activated and she dropped to the floor, seizing from the electricity. The shocks turned off after a few seconds that felt more like minutes. The man knelt down next to her. “Don’t worry about your daughter, we have supplements to keep her alive for as long as we need,” the man said. Y/N looked up at him and growled. “You on the other hand, we have no use for. Thank you for your specimen.” He said before exiting the room, leaving the distraught mother on the floor, hoping her baby would survive.
#star wars#star wars fanfiction#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin#din djarin x reader#Grogu#frozen series
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Marichat May Day 7 prompt: Secrets.
I think we can all agree that we were robbed in Shanghai. So I’m rewriting it because I can. This time though, the Shanghai special takes place somewhere in the middle of season 4 (probably after Guiltrip because that’s the episode I just watched) So there’s that.
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Marinette was so excited to go to Shanghai about a day ago. She had taken to reading more about her Chinese heritage and, having learned that her parents wanted to surprise her with a trip to Shanghai, she was ecstatic to go. Her uncle happily provided his home for the visit and, to her great surprise, Adrien had come to Shanghai too. His father had coincidentally had business here.
She had worked hard to get over Adrien and at this point in time, it had nearly worked. She had taken down the pictures and erased his activities on her calendar. Unfortunately, the sight of him still sent her heart racing and made her tongue tied, but she stopped losing her head whenever he was around, which made conversation much easier.
She had strolled around Shanghai earlier in the day. Her uncle was concerned for her safety of course but she promised she would stay on the same street. She had looked in shop windows at the gorgeous antiques, clothes, and even more. Her sketch book was soon filled with new inspiration for her designs. When she turned to head home, she spotted a familiar mop of blonde hair and waved to Adrien. He didn’t seem to notice her though.
All these events felt like they happened years ago now as she stood a top a building with a distraught Fei. The sounds of Chat Noir taking great swings at the akuma rang loudly in her ears. Fei was the only one who could defeat them and she knew it deep down, but she still couldn’t bring herself to.
The next moment, she was falling. The events of a few minutes previous had quickly left her mind. She remembered learning to crawl, and falling off her bike, and drawing her first every design, matching t-shirts that said “Paris’ Greatest Parents”. She remembered capturing Tikki in a glass cup the first time they met, and standing under an umbrella that Adrien was holding. Master Fu was making her the new Guardian and Alya held her when she found out she was Ladybug.
“Marinette!” A desperate cry came from above her and she saw her partner. Was this another flashback? Without control of her body, her hand reached up to touch him, she wanted to hug him and thank him for everything. His hand latched around hers and pulled her flush towards him, then they weren’t falling anymore. She snapped out of it when she felt a shudder come from him. He picked his head up off of her shoulder, his face was stained with dried tears as more threatened to spill
“I finally found you.”
Fei, being fuelled by rage that Marinette had almost been killed, had become a dragon at last and easily defeated the akuma. She bounded towards Chat Noir once the pair of them had reached ground level. In the mouth of the bear form she had taken, was the butterfly. “Excellent job Fei, you really saved us.” Chat sniffed. His eyes were slightly puffy, which could have been from falling head first about 20 feet. “Marinette,” he turned to face her, his eyes watered almost instantly, “I need you to go and hide for now, Hawkmoth was taken by the akuma and I don’t want you to be anywhere near him when he reappears.” Marinette, thinking that it would be better to just follow instructions, began to walk away. Chat caught her hand.
“Just wait for me to come get you alright? I’ll bring you to your u- uh wherever you’re staying.” She looked at him puzzled. “But,” he waved a finger at her. “No buts, I’m making sure you get back safely. And don’t even try to leave without me, I will know.” She nodded and walked away towards a nearby, deserted alleyway.
“Marinette, what’s that on your shoulder?” Tikki flew from her purse. Marinette felt behind her with her arm before her fingers closed around a small disc. She pulled it off.
“That cat put a tracker on me. What a sly little,” Marinette recited but Tikki cut in. “He’s worried Marinette. You heard and saw how he reacted when you were falling.”
“No I didn’t, I just remember one minute I was with Fei, the next me and Chat were dangling from his baton in midair and he was crying.” Tikki smiled. “Yes he was crying, he screamed in terror when he saw you fall. It was quite frightening actually, that’s probably why Fei didn’t say anything.”
Marinette thought about this for a moment before realizing that she had somewhere to be. “We’ve got to go meet Chat and Fei now, there’s an akuma to cleanse and hopefully a Hawkmoth to catch. Tikki, Spots On!”
As she made her way to the alley where Chat thought she was, she couldn’t help feeling satisfied. She sent Chat to get Hawkmoth and although he didn’t catch him, she was still glad to see that the run had calmed him down a little. That was until he realized that Marinette was still alone in that alleyway. She was able to persuade him to wait and calm down before going to get her though, which gave her time to get back to her hiding spot and, with Tikki’s help, put the tracking device back where it had been moments ago.
A soft thump was heard beside her before she was being suffocated under arms that were magically stronger than the average person. “You’re alright, you’re alright.” He chanted over and over again before realizing that Marinette couldn’t breathe. He released her almost immediately and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. Marinette who wanted to comfort him, wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head and his chest. She could hear his heartbeat steadily speed up as he hugged her back and rested his head on hers.
“I was so worried when I found out you were missing. I thought maybe you had lost track of things, being how clumsy you are.” Marinette looked up at him and pouted. How long had he been searching for her exactly? Because it was about 9 pm now and she had started running around with Fei at about noon. He chuckled sadly and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Then you were missing for hours and I didn’t know what to think. I was scared you were robbed or kidnapped.” She smiled.
“The first answer was right. Fei stole my purse and I had the location of my uncle’s house on there. So I got scared that the thief might try to rob him later so I chased her down the street and got lost.” He gapped at her. “Are you crazy? You should had gone to your uncles and tried to contact me! That was so reckless and careless and-“
“What like how you throw your life away for Ladybug?” She didn’t have to say this loudly to have an effect. He immediately stopped and stared wide-eyed at her. Against her will, her vision started to blur. “You really need to stop doing that you know. I hate it when you do.” A tear ran down her cheek but Chat brushed it away and held her again. “Well I don’t think I ever want to see you fall off a building again so I’ll try to stop if you do.” She chuckled and buried her face in his shoulder.
“Hey, do you mind if we take a detour home?” He broke the silence a few minutes later and she nodded, allowing him to pick her up and carry her towards a darker part of the city. Unfortunately, Shanghai being as bright as it was, they couldn’t see many stars but all the same, they lay down on a rooftop and tried to find some.
“I like being Chat much better than my civilian life.” The comment came out of nowhere but Marinette still turned to listen.
“One of the many joys of being me, is a tightly packed schedule and endless amounts of responsibility. Many people regard me as this kind of statue that has to stay highly polished at all times. I think I’m too good at leaving that impression on people, my first girlfriend had flat out rejected me when I showed her my silly side. She said I was acting like a clown and that it wasn’t who I really was.” He had never told Ladybug any of this, she hoped that he wouldn’t hit too close to home.
“Sometimes I think that I don’t know who I am anymore. I know that I feel happy being funny and when I protect people, but,” he turned to look at her. His face was soft. “Right now is different.” She was confused. “Different how?” She questioned.
“It’s a good different. I know it’s kind of random but I just wanted you to know that, I feel like myself right now, which isn’t something I get to feel often. So thank you.” He smiled.
She would be lying if she said that her heart wasn’t doing backflips right now. “That sounds nice, but, why me? I mean, I’m not really anything special or different. I thought that you would be happiest with Ladybug.” He smiled. “I don’t get to hang out Ladybug very often, and when we do hang out, it’s more of a patrol. Everything is work with her, being with her is easy but we don’t really get the chance to just relax and be in each other’s company like this.” He frowned slightly.
“And don’t say you’re nothing special. I don’t really understand it but you have this magnetism that I can’t explain. I’ve seen it before. People are just naturally attracted towards you, I myself feel more attached to you than any other civilian I’ve met, and yes that includes the other superheroes.”
She gaped at him. She never knew how much influence she had on Chat Noir. I mean they’ve only met a few times. “I just, how? We aren’t around each other often. I mean sure you’ve saved me a number of times but other than that one time, we haven’t spent time together.” He shrugged, “I don’t know either. I just get the feeling that you’re someone who I can be myself with.” She smiled. “Well since we’re sharing secrets I might as well share one of mine.
He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, smiling down at her expectantly. “Well, there was a boy.” He tilted his head in confusion. “Was a boy?” She nodded. “I’ve liked him for forever but I could never get the words out. I stammer in front of him so much that he thinks everything I say doesn’t make sense.” He smiled. “Well you make sense to me.” She grinned. “Yes well I’ve been trying to get over him for a while now, but every time I see his face I just melt all over again. Not that I don’t want to love him, because I do. He’s one of the best people I know, but I know he’ll never feel the same.”
Chat looked confused again. “How do you know he won’t feel the same way?” She frowned. “Because I’ve always been just a friend to him. He makes that very clear.” Chat’s eyes went wide, but Marinette didn’t know why. “It wouldn’t happen to be Adrien Agreste would it?” Now it was her turn to go wide eyed. “How did you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh lucky guess I suppose.” A tinge of pink was prominent under his mask. They needed a change of subject. She sat up and put on her best smile.
“Can I draw you?” His ears perked up. “Uh what?” He blushed again. “Can I draw you?” In what seemed to be a great effort, he screwed up his face and looked at her in a teasing sort of way. “Draw me? Or paint me,” he threw an arm over his forehead and posed in a, supposed to be seductive pose. “Like one of your french girls.” He swooned. She burst out laughing which, she noticed, created a sort of twinkle in his eye. “I mean we are french but I meant just draw you. You know, you pose and I draw you. I could even give you a cool outfit to wear.” He stood up and walked around so he was in front of her.
She crossed her legs and rested the sketch book against her knee. “Ok now strike a pose kitty!” He looked suddenly sheepish but posed like a model worthy of a magazine. She went to work drawing him out in a messy sketch that she could tidy up after. They went through a few poses before she stopped him.
“Hmm yes yes these are great model poses. Now how about a different kind of pose.” His face went ridged. She panicked and waves her arms in front of her. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just want to try to express a different part of your personality.” He walked over and sat down in front of her confused.
“A different part of my personality?” She blinked. “Well yeah, you’re not just some perfect statue are you? Your also a silly cat, and a protective superhero, and a caring person, and a flirt.” He blushed then laughed. “Nice way to end it princess.” She crossed her arms. “Well it’s true, you’re a flirty person. You flirt with people all the time, whether it’s on purpose or not.” He blushed. “Do I really flirt with a lot of people.” She nodded.
He fidgeted a little. “Come on Chat, strike a pose, but not one worthy of fashion weekly.” He screwed up his face in contemplation before standing and apparently coming to a decision. “Ok then, how about the cat!” Then he struck a goofy pose. She laughed and he looked crest fallen for a second before she said, “Yes kitty that’s purrfect.” She started sketching away.
Little did she know. Chat Noir was displaying the biggest grin he had ever produced. A smile so bright, it could rival the blinding lights of Shanghai.
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Thanks for reading.
#miraculous ladybug#marichat#miraculous ladybug tales of ladybug and chat noir#ladybug and chat noir#chat noir#cat noir#marichatmay2021#marinette dupain cheng#miraculous marinette
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Shadows and thorns.
Part III
‘Let them talk’ Those were the words that echoed in her mind, over and over, and in many different ways. In panic, fear, delight, thrill, in many others she couldn't put a finger on. When she reached the castle, panting, she took a deep breath and tried to find composure. ‘Let them talk’, with his his deep, smooth voice her mind screamed, and she closed her eyes tight to expel the thought.
As a daughter of Azarath, Rhachel has been told all her life she must do everything to fulfill her duties. Including marrying a High Lord or Prince and bear his children. It also meant leaving her homeland, wed a man she did not know, she may not even like. That was her destiny. Wed Wallace West that was the arrangement. Not Prince Damian Al Ghul. Never in her six and ten years of life she had experienced so many emotions in a short period of time. She closes her eyes, telling herself to get a grip. No matter her name, her title, she will always be a Roth, brave, noble and true. There’s no reason to be afraid.
“I was growing concerned about your absence.” Constantine muttered quietly, his blue eyes asking silently for the reason behind her noticeable absence. His presence had caught her asleep at the wheel. She couldn’t tell him the truth.
“You worry too much. I was at the stables with Melchior.” she replied, unable to control her shaky voice, her bottom lip quivers as she tries to force a smile. She wasn't fine. She was struck to the bone with a feeling, the very same one that she felt when she first laid eyes on the prince. It burned and delighted her all at once. She was filled with breathless wonder and overwhelming sorrow that both brought tightness to her chest and a lump in her throat. “I thought he might be agitated in this foreign land.”
Constantine raised a brow in disbelief. “Be mindful of your words and actions. This place is a bloody pit of vipers.” John breathed to her ear, only she could hear his voice, firm and wary. It took her several minutes to tranquilize herself. Entering the grand dining hall, the guests were engaged in raucous conversations, men laughing and drinking wine of the finest quality, couples dancing. She finally found a place to sit with other noble ladies, as far as possible from the royal family’s table. Away from him.
Rhachel averted her gaze to look at Wallace a few tables over, drinking and laughing with his friends. He hadn't spoken to her since the feast started, she couldn’t blame him, though she may have purposely made herself unavailable. She observed him, everything about him emanated masculinity, strength and youthful arrogance. Prince Damian though was completely...no. Those intrusive thoughts again.
Damian was gentle, alluring, tempting. Yes, he was all that and much more. His hair shone softly with the color of the night sky. It was shorter and not nearly as curly as Wallace’s red locks. He had prominent cheekbones, high on his face, and lips as inviting as any Rhachel had ever seen. Lips that could that make her soar the sky, with the lightest brush against her skin, whispered kind and inviting words. Perhaps the most striking of all his features were his eyes. They were a vivid shade of green, resembling emeralds, that sparkled with intelligence and depth and darkened with desire and mischief.
~~~
Damian sat gracefully with his face leaning against his hand as he tried not to look as bored as he felt. He just came back more than a couple of minutes ago yet, he was already bored, which made his mind wander to Rhachel Roth. He closed his eyes, remembering, feeling the sudden urge to see her and hear her daring, charming voice. The white Raven soon to be his if her guardian agreed to break off the betrothal to the West heir. His eager eyes searched for her in the dining hall, until they found her.
She was staggeringly beautiful in her long gown, a lovely garment of lavender silk whose bodice was chased with dainty silver filigree and some precious stones. The neckline was low enough to bare the swell of her cleavage, and it hugged the deep curve of her waist so that every man, lady could see her body had developed, completely, wonderfully. She was only sixteen he had heard, but she had already possessed a woman's figure. His thoughts already ran wild with what that young figure may look like under all those silks.
A bold idea emerged in his mind, as a boyish smirk appeared on his face. Impatiently he rose from the table, not caring to give a proper explanation to his grandfather or Lady mother. He walked confidently across the dinning hall, towards a corner of it, where she was sitting with other ladies he couldn’t identify for the time being. His mind deliberately set on asking the Azarathian princess for a dance.
The white haired girl was too occupied, thinking of ways to avoid the audacious prince when she heard the ladies at the table tattling, ‘he’s coming’, sighing in awe. She didn’t have to look up, she felt his peculiar and magnetic presence. She silently prayed for Azar to give her strength to remain collected. She raised her head to meet his gaze.
"Lady Roth.” Damian said expectantly, voice rolling over the words like silk. “Would you honor me with a dance?” He bowed gallantly and stretched his right arm to her.
Her eyelashes fluttered as nervousness seeped through her veins. The table went silent, numerous sets of eyes focused on her. She had to reply. She couldn’t decline his offer, it could be seen as an offense. She nodded faintly. “Of course, Your Grace.” she whispered weakly. She hesitated for a minute, but reached for the hand he offered to her cordially, letting his wrap his warm fingers around hers and draw her into the dancing crowd.
“Your Grace. I do not understand your intentions.” She cleared her throat and spoke nervously, gazing at him as she frowned.
He surprised her, when his other hand, found her waist, bringing her body closer to his. He started to twirl them gently around the room, attracting the attention of other couples dancing. Rhachel had tried to shut down her heart. Explaining the feelings Damian Al Ghul had awakened within her with that one single heavy word that filled her with anxiety and dread. No, she wouldn’t dare pronounce it.
"I cannot help but feel that we are fated to meet more than once, my princess of thorns.” He confessed solemnly and Rhachel flinched. "When I first laid eyes on you. I wished to speak to you. The gods allowed me that moments ago at the royal stables, but I fear I cannot get enough now.” His words knocked down her walls, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. "Rhachel, May I call you by your name?" He breathed urgently and huskily close to her ear, she went weak at her knees and could barely remain standing.
“It’s not appropriate, Your Grace.” She breathed, turning her head away slightly. Her name sounded so poetic on his tongue. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had to swallow in order to wet her lips.
Damian ran fingers ran through her moonlight hair, feeling it soft as silk against his calloused fingers. He bent forward, taking a deep breath of the lavender she seemed to have bathed in. The touch was electric, sending a warm tingle coursing through her frame. A fluttering sensation which spread its wings like a butterfly, journeying in a flight until it settled somewhere in the lower part of her belly.
“They say that before the tournament ends. The King will announce your betrothal to Lady Troy.” The words slipped out of her mouth unconsciously. It was not something she had intended on bringing up. It was not her concern who the prince married, shared his bed with, fathered children or anything he did. Yet the thought of the distinguished Amazonian princess on Damian’s arm or any woman, made her stomach clench.
“They don’t get a say in my betrothal. It is for me to decide who will be my bride.” He raised his voice, declaring indignantly, resolutely, with an air of authority he wore like a second skin. His face had hardened. Certainly, she could see Damian Al Ghul becoming a wise, righteous and admirable ruler of Nanda Parbat.
“Besides, I already have another lady in mind. She’s thoughtful, assertive, bewildering as lovely. She has brought indescribably joy into my life.” He looked at her with a playful, confident smirk, as he spun her in an exhilarating waltz.
She cleared her throat. “This all sounds scandalous, Your Grace. It seems to me you wish to kiss this lady.” she had whispered, feeling emboldened by his words. The suffocating feeling grew strongly inside her, constricting her chest tightly. All she wanted to do was to push him away, right there, in the middle of the hall. Run away from him.
“Rhachel.” He pronounced her name slowly, tenderly, pressing his body against hers. "Did you feel it too? When you first saw me, were you struck breathless, as I was?" He was dangerously too close. She could perceive his fervent and overwhelming desire emanating from his figure. Yes, she wanted to say. A million times, yes. Yet, she buried her yearning for him. It was forbidden, even if they wanted to cancel the betrothal. She can’t.
He expertly twirled her across the room. To describe Damian as ordinary would be a terrible injustice. He was holding her steady, knowing exactly when to turn and when to slow down. He was in complete control, he has mastered the art of dancing.
She then closed her eyes, and breathed in deep. When she opened them, she looked down at her feet, gathering courage before saying. “I cannot give you the answer you wish to hear, your Grace.” Delight and sorrow seemed to blend together in her heart, brewing a poisonous mixture.
“You can’t or is it fear stopping you?” He grasped her tiny wrist carefully, calculating his force, he did not want to hurt her, his brows knitted questioningly.
Rhachel smiled at Damian, beginning to take a liking to this enigmatic prince, but her smile faded as he stopped dancing and she broke away from his arms. It felt strange to suddenly be separate from his body despite only embracing for a short while. Rhachel shook her head, denying her own feelings. Her dream was, she knew deep down, a mere fancy, a remnant of a desire that would forever remain unspoken. “I have to retire to my chamber, Your Grace.” She muttered quietly, broken. A lump forming in her throat, teary eyed.
“Call me Damian. At least grant me that wish.” Damian didn’t want let her go. He debate to take her in his arms, keep her close and safe, taste those pink lips. Her soft pearl like skin. The scent of her essence, it was mysterious, floral and pleasant. He wanted her urgently. His desire for the princess went beyond reason. “Please” he never pleaded but for her, he’d put his pride aside, just to hear articulate his name with her melodious, soft voice. “Good night, Damian.” She whispered only to him, dropping into a curtsy, unable to hold his gaze, before leaving for her chambers.
“Rhachel Roth, I will make you the next Queen of Nanda Parbat.” Damian promised to himself, he clenched his fists and remained where he was. Determination and fire running through his veins.
New update sorry it’s so slow. 😭😭😭😭 @lunastar92 @xxitzmikoxx @chromium7sky @quoth--the--raven 💜💜💜❤️❤️
#shadows and thorns#arranged marriage au#damirae#demon birds#damian al ghul#damian wayne#damian x raven#raven roth#teen titans#alternative universe#john constantine#dick grayson#talia al ghul#ras al ghul#league of assassins#batfamily#donna troy#wally west#writing#dc fandom#dc universe#robrae
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Jamil x Terra: Study Date
Author’s Note: Something different from my usual writing. I wanted to explore some side pairings with Terra so It’s a bit more romantic in nature. If you aren’t into that, feel free to ignore this.
~~~
Terra: sorry for being late! track and field practice lasted longer than I expected. Terra: the library is probably closed now. should we postpone our study session? Jamil: No worries. Want to come over to Scarabia? We can find a quiet place to study there. Terra: sounds good! I’ll be there soon.
Terra squinted up at the building before her as she wiped the sweat that had gathered on her forehead from the blistering heat of the desert sun. She was no stranger to this environment. After all, she had spent time at the Scarabia dorm on several occasions, mostly for Kalim’s boisterous parties or peaceful dinner nights with Jamil, but she’s still awestruck by the size and luxuriousness of the main building every time she sees it. To her, it looked more like a royal palace than a college dorm. As she made her way through the courtyard with a few textbooks tucked under her arm, she spotted Jamil waiting by the large fountain at the front. He was wearing a loose black tank top and gray sweatpants, and the light of the setting sun seemed to glimmer against his copper toned skin. Terra tried not to stare too long and waved at him to get his attention. When he spotted her, he waved back with a small smile. “Let’s head over to the lounge.” Jamil suggested. Terra nodded in agreement. A comfortable silence settled between the two of them as they made their way through the glamorous and gilded hallways. Terra enjoyed taking in the sights whenever she was here. After all, the Savanaclaw dorm she was familiar with gave off a rather different vibe. When they made it to the lounge, Terra was a bit surprised to see how crowded it was. It seems like half of Scarabia’s students were just hanging out there, drinking, laughing, and singing. This... really wasn’t the best atmosphere for studying. Terra glanced over at Jamil, giving him a small look of concern. “Hmm. This won’t do.” Jamil crossed his arms and thought for a second. “Terra, do you mind if we studied in my room instead? It’s much more quiet there, as long as Kalim doesn’t come in anyway.” “Oh!” She was surprised that he’d offer that suggestion so casually. ‘It probably doesn’t mean anything though’ “I don’t mind at all. Lead the way.” She replied with a smile.
---
“My room is a bit small so I hope you don’t mind the clutter.” Jamil said as he opened the door. Terra followed him in timidly, closing the door behind her while taking in her new surroundings. He wasn’t wrong when he said his room was small, but it was definitely far from “cluttered”, ‘especially in comparison to Leona’s room.’ she thought. Jamil’s room had a “lived in” feeling to it, and aside from a few colorful pillows strewn about, it was rather organized and clean. Jamil grabbed a spare cushion and placed it down in front of his wooden desk so that Terra had a place to sit before he sat himself down. As she took her place next to him, her eyes spotted the headphones and boombox resting on top of his bookshelf. Her tail swished around in curiosity. “What kind of music do you like, Jamil?” “Hmm, whatever fits my mood, I guess.” he replied nonchalantly. “I like music I can dance to though.” She had seen Jamil break dance a few times, and it was pretty impressive to her since, despite her natural athleticism, she wasn’t much of a dancer herself. Terra placed the textbooks down on his desk and tried her hardest not to think about how their shoulders were slightly touching. “Well? What do you need help with?” Jamil inquired, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Terra turned her head to stare into his steel gray eyes and grew shy, but pushed on anyway. “Um... I need help with ancient incantations. The latest lesson has been a bit difficult for me.” “I see.” He paused. “Isn’t Leona quite good at ancient incantations? Why didn’t you ask him?” The look he had on his face was unreadable. “I... I tried to ask him but...” Terra scratched the back of her neck sheepishly. “I can’t say he’s the best teacher.” Jamil dropped his serious expression and chuckled a little, seemingly amused by her response. “I understand. Just show me the parts you need help with and I’ll do my best.” She opened up her textbook and flipped a few pages before she found the passage she was having trouble with. Despite her best attempts, the flowing characters still looked like absolute gibberish to her “This one. Thee I cast unto...?” Jamil leaned in closer to look at the passage Terra was pointing at. “Ah, it’s I cast unto thee this spell...” Jamil recited the rest of the passage and Terra repeated after him, trying to follow his perfect pronunciation and intonation. She was putting as much effort into it as possible, but she could feel herself getting distracted by how nice his voice sounded and how mesmerizing the ancient languages sounded coming from his lips. “Did you get all of that? I can repeat it, if you want.” Jamil said. “Uh, yeah I think I got it.” Terra muttered. To be honest, she probably picked up at least half of the passage before her attention drifted to something else. When they both looked up from the textbook, the tip of their noses were touching each other and the room became silent, with only the hushed sounds of the desert breeze floating in. Terra’s warm, golden yellow eyes met the cool, silver gray of his as an overwhelming magnetism rushed between them like an unrelenting tide; the ebb and flow of unspoken feelings. It would be a blatant lie if she said that she didn’t, at the very least, find Jamil attractive. Terra wondered if he felt the same way about her. Without another thought, their faces moved towards each other until their lips touched, sweetly, tenderly, fearful that any force would pull them out of this dream. Terra closed her eyes, enjoying the softness of his lips on hers as she pressed closer to him. What was he feeling right now? Can he hear how loud her heart is beating? Jamil’s true emotions were as mystifying as the ancient incantations he recites; she couldn’t decipher him sometimes. It was a brief, chaste kiss, ephemeral as spring blossoms. He pulled away and her eyes fluttered open to look at him, her cheeks turning a bright red color like the curtains on his windows. “I...” Jamil began, his voice earnest. “JAMIL!!!!” He was cut off by the sound of someone shouting his name and slamming his bedroom door open. “Help!! One of the students fell into th— oh, Terra is here!” “Kalim...” Jamil growled. Anger flashed across his beautiful features, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. He sighed. “Sorry, Terra. I’m going to help Kalim... I’ll be back soon.” He said as he stood up. “I-it’s fine. There’s no rush!” Terra tried to lighten the mood and watched as Jamil hurried off, dragging his troublesome dorm leader out with him. Once he was gone, Terra buried her face in her hands, tumultuous feelings stirring within her heart like a brewing storm.
#writing#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#terra knightsbane#jamil viper#this is very self-indulgent don't mind me lol
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A Double Act [Part 1]
It had been a long day. The finitely recorded seconds down to the decimal seemed stretched to impossible lengths, from the moment the Inkcarnival had opened that morning to now, with the sun close to setting and the evening's crowd beginning to disperse. Tartar had spent most of the morning begrudgingly humoring their bandmate to his thrill seeking and ""fun"". While the afternoon was spent wandering the amusements' layout up and down the streets of Inkopolis (to avoid him, mostly). The socially exhausted machine was more than ready to draw what they considered a waste of a day to a close. They'd rather have been working in the comforting solitude of their office.
They had considered sneaking off to do just that in Octavio's absence, but their one pause, or more accurately many haltings, had come from who all they had encountered around the carnival. A good handful of alternates-- once again, more multi-dimensional interaction they hadn't calculated for, and once again, it had left them with a lot to process. So they stayed, wandered around some more, tried not to think of what they usually cared little for and hated themself for doing it anyways.
From what the android had heard, however, the circus was due to close for the night within the hour, and they considered it more than fair enough to begin the war of an argument with their partner that it was time to leave. Tartar could only hope he wasn't in a mood for after-hours mischief, which to their misfortune, wasn't unusual. They probably could have just left him there if he desired to cause trouble strongly enough, but then again; potentially having to bail him out of said trouble for getting caught did not sound like an ideal late-night-to-early-morning endeavor… if he got to drag them there in the first place, they could drag him home just as well.
They relocated the DJ easily enough, somewhat near where they had originally slithered away for some time to themself, and approached stoically. They'd run out of motivation to lace the usual oversaturated disdain into their tone, and inquired simply, "Have you finally wore yourself out? The carnival is closing soon, and I've been ready to go since we got here."
Octavio took in a deep breath, the evening breeze scented with fried foods wafting cool through his mask. He was returning from playing carnival games with an inkling he met earlier that day. After stashing his prize in a locker, Octavio had left to search for his partner. “Sure thing, T. I’m ready ta go.” He paused, feeling the AI relax slightly. “But-” He added quickly, “After we do one more thing.” He pointed towards a glimmering ring in the distance, looming above most of the other attractions. “We gotta ride the ferris wheel.”
The gathering dusk allowed the carnival its full splendor, rides twinkled festively, lights flickering in patterns and arcs along steel supports. His request certainly wasn't as severe as they had worried it might be, though they still weren't thrilled to participate. Octavio would take no kind of denial as an answer-- even a solid, “I'll wait for you at the bottom.” On their part was met with an even more insistent, “You have to come with me.”
Perhaps, when they asked why, it didn't sound genuine enough to warrant his explanation; for he simply dragged them off for the umpteenth time that day without giving one. Worn down from the morning's bout of stubbornness, and distracted by the afternoon's reflection, they put up very little fight.
Once boarded upon the ferris wheel, the attraction in question began its slow rotation, sending the two drifting into the air-- and Tartar finally received their excuse; "You never haveta do it again." Octavio assured his partner, "But ya gotta ride a ferris wheel at least once 'n ya lifetime."
They exhaled at this, having already spun around the same conversation with him countless times earlier that day and unsure how they could word it yet again: machines are not people, they don't need fun, I am not entertained by this.
But the point seemed to be lost on the Octarian, he appeared convinced they'd find some attraction or another in the carnival that would pique their interest. They'd only managed to become more confused as the day progressed, clearly being amused by none. But he hadn't relented even after this fact became apparent. Why was that?
"I scarcely find myself applicable to the concept." Was their response after a long enough pause, moving to prop their arm under their chin and lean slightly over the side of the ferris wheel's booth. The android stared out to the sky, towards the receding blacktop beneath them, anywhere but at their bandmate. Maybe he'd stay quiet and they could pretend he wasn't there.
They still felt the urge to ask the questions that had been on their mind all afternoon, their inability to create a solid analysis of the point of it all was building an insufferable pressure on their processors. It certainly wasn't a conversation they wanted to get into here of all places, let alone discuss it at all-- sitting next to their confrontational companion without an exit was the least enticing situation to question why they were spending time on this in the first place.
They stressfully ran a thumb over their artificial eyebrow, resting it above the outer edge to hold down the twitch that had developed from a fluctuating magnetic field. They knew they needed to calm down, but, feeling helpless to their current position did very little to ease them-- they inhaled deeply, internal fans purring audibly with the strain of keeping their core at a safe temperature.
After getting far enough up in the air, people milling about on the ground below looked small. Distant. The amount of space it illusioned was moderately calming to the reclusive AI, the brief comfort of solitude perhaps just enough to get them through the simplistic but ever-dragging action of a ferris wheel ride. Allowing themself to relax somewhat, closing their eyes and burying their forehead into their palm, the most pressing question on their mainframe passed their vocal hardware before they could silence it, "Why did you bring me here…?"
Only after their own voice passed their ears did they remember, Octavio was still in fact sitting right next to them, and they were not speaking to the air. . . . A flit of static choked their quiet expression after the first letter, a habit that had become an apparent censorship of one swear or another. They hoped he would ignore their question, "Nevermind."
Unblinking, he answered sardonically, “Because. You need to get outta the apartment once in a while, or ya joints will rust together.” He clicked his tongue. ‘For all ya artificial divinity, you sure can be thick.’ “I want you to be happy--” The words escaped prematurely and he lurched forward a fraction of an inch as if to catch them back.
Despite having over 100 years of experience in politics, he still hated lying.
He was tired of faking the part of the indifferent band member, pretending that Tartar’s insults never found their mark. Together they ran but not in unison, parallel lines that would never touch. Anger swept through his body, but he kept his eyes level, lazy. He cooly undid his facemask from around his ears, crushed the fabric into a ball in his fist and with all the strength in his arm, threw it as far away from the carriage as he could manage.
Tartar uttered a rueful laugh at his reply, of course he replied, and watched just out of range of their optic as he angrily, but calmly, threw away his mask. They found it foolish, but said nothing; he would inevitably need it again by the end of the night. They refused to follow his gesture. Octavio settled back into his seat, turned away from them and resuming his observance of the shrinking landscape. His eyes flecked with color from the strobing bulbs that rose up on either side of the ferris wheel.
Perhaps, if they had a little more self control, they'd have left the exchange at that. Yet, they still wanted to know why, why Octavio cared so much about the way they reacted to these attractions, why he kept bothering to try. They weren't sure how to ask anymore, each answer was more confusing than the last. "I have no reason to currently emulate 'happiness', you know. Not while this world continues to sleep, breathe, live in it's own filth every day." They processed as they spoke, yet again making some appeal that he might finally understand the reasoning of a machine, "Petty amusements like these are just distractions from my purpose for existing. They hold no value to me-- they're not supposed to."
The AI looked back to the ground, still wholly unmotivated to look their partner in the eye as they continued without restraint, "My motivation belongs only to cleansing this poor excuse of a sentient species as soon as possible. And you. You're upset that my resolve doesn't meet your expectations of how I should behave, then? Is that it?"
Expressions melted into each other, first Octavio pursed his mouth in a grimace, then pulled his lips tight over uneven fangs, his head still turned away. He finally settled back into a placid scowl.
"No--!" He cried sullenly, "I don't want ya ta be someone you’re not." He gnawed at the knuckle of his forefinger, one of his nervous habits.
Another bout of silence as the wheel climbed, stopping at intervals to let people on or off the carriages. "I'm sorry." He murmured finally, turning towards them, "I didn't mean to try and... Well, T, if I may, that's a bunch of bull. Squit. I know ya can be happy. Talkin about humans makes ya happy, listenin to retro. Shell, cleaning makes ya happy. I guess, I just can't tell what's you and what's…" he pointed to the black speck of his mask on the pavement below, "A front, a mask, 'ye old silicone imitation.'" Octavio leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran his hands over his face. His eyes were glassy with surfacing emotion. "Cod knows I want the inks gone as much as you. But it's not a waste to enjoy tha time you got, ‘specially after a hard day's work." He wondered if the beauty of the dusk had seized him, or if it was the security of knowing they had no other choice but to listen to him that made him so bold.
"What I want, is for you to realize there's more to life than obsessin' over a goal or a dream. You think you'll only find happiness when you get this or that, but it's a lie, T. Your life is now, however artificial you insist it is. You have a s--" he stopped himself, not willing to argue on the philosophical. He bowed his head and laced his fingers together over his knees "I know this cause I've lived it."
"You know?" They repeated him, their tone floating with a sarcastic awe, "You don't k n o w anything about me, be honest-- We are two entirely different kinds of creatures. I am aware organics like you need rest and distractions to relieve yourselves, but I do not operate on the same necessity."
Tartar's eyes searched the ground fervently as they suppressed the urge to squirm in their seat. Though everything Octavio had claimed about their nature could only be assumptions, it was more accurate than they cared to acknowledge. Did he really think they were so transparent? He couldn't possibly have a clue, they kept their personality under calculated restriction at all times-- at least, they felt sure they did.
"Why does it matter so much to you?" They finally blurted, turning fully to face him with a stern expression, "I do everything in my ability to hold up my end of our agreement, which should be your only concern towards me. Why are you bothered with anything else? With how I f e e l ?"
Afraid that continuing on the defensive side of the debate would inevitability expose information they strained to keep hidden away, they instead posed him a more burning question about his continued insistence that they must be able to enjoy the situation they were currently in, somehow. Why would he care? At the current moment, they felt quite the opposite of enjoyment of the ferris wheel, and especially the conversation at hand. Their only solace was in the recognition that their cart of the ferris wheel had finally crawled its way to the peak of the mechanical circle. Soon enough, they'd be descending, and Tartar could finally get away from both the physical and metaphorical ride they had been forced onto-- regardless of whatever conclusion Octavio was attempting to reach with them.
Wild fervor rose, red-hot in his throat, but the Octarian kept the fire subdued until they had finished. He gave himself a few moments to calm the desire to throttle some sense into them.
“Why shouldn’t it matter to me.” The question was a whisper, his eyes locked with their optics. “Would it surprise you—” a pause, “Would it shock ya to know sometimes I forget you’re a robot.” His voice rose slightly, indignation and passion beginning to color his face. “Why d’ya get so offended when I try ta treat ya with respect, when I extend ya common decency. Answer this T, why can’tcha wrap your head around the idea that I want to get to know you. Frill the Cod clam contract.”
The AI exhaled with a glitch-like halt, holding Octavio's stare with increasing difficulty as his expression began to speak more for him than words ever could. An error code appeared for a malfunctioning swirl of ink within their core-- a feeling they couldn't place, refused to, shoved back into its rhythmic flow through their systems.
Octavio curled his bottom lip under his teeth, “S’ much as I would like ta be a heartless bastard, I can’t help but be bothered with how ya feel.” With a shaky exhale he leaned his head over the back of the chair, staring blankly up at the darkening sky. They had finally reached the apex of the ride when it halted again, doubtless to allow more passengers off. Through his raging thoughts, Octavio noted that the ferris wheel’s turbo bulbs flickered out of sync.
>Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
#hypnothesis#inkcarnival#commander tartar#dj octavio#t-vax#wasa-b#writing#IF YOU THOUGHT THIS BLOG WAS GOING TO TELL A STORY WITHOUT HEFTY DOSES OF FANFICTION#YOU THOUGHT WRONG#AND I KNOW WHAT YOURE ALL THINKING#FEEL FREE TO SCREAM AT US AS MUCH AS YOU DESIRE#happy october#its been real
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Don’t Give Me Flannel (Cherik Ficlet)
[AO3 Version]
“You’re my roommate who’s super cute and it’s the middle of the night and you’re cramming for your exams in your flannel pajamas and disheveled hair and it’s becoming increasingly hard for me not to kiss you” AU
So, yeah, here we are. It was supposed to be a shorter one-shot, around 1,000 words or so, but I sort of took that prompt and ran with it, because apparently I cannot write something without any world-building in it. But it was a pure pleasure to write, even if I should've been working on my other WIPs. *sigh*
Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this short—yet still somehow almost four times longer than intended—ficlet.
It's not beta-ed, just edited and proofread by myself, so you know the drill—and I'll be really grateful for any valuable remarks!
“Can you finally go to bed?”
Although Erik’s voice is hoarse, his annoyance seeps through very clearly. As a result, the question sounds more like an order, despite it not really being Erik’s intention. Nonetheless, he’s too groggy to care.
Generally, Erik Lehnsherr has always prided himself in being quite a heavy sleeper, capable of sleeping through anything and everything ever since he remembers. Even when he was just a few years old, he would occasionally wake up to hear about the storm roaring through the night, which did little to disrupt his sleep. His mother used to joke that the bomb blowing up nearby wouldn’t manage to jolt him awake. The manifestation of his powers in the early teenage years disrupted his routine for a while, but he managed to go back to it by the time he started university, and this time he hasn’t let anything get in the way of getting a healthy amount of sleep.
Willing himself to fall asleep has never been problematic either, even with a lot of background noise. Unfortunately, it seems like the light is his ultimate weakness. He’s been struggling to doze off for quite a while now, but a small lamp still kept alight turns it into a truly challenging feat. Facing the wall that his bed was pushed to, his eyes closed shut, he’s desperately trying to force his mind to finally shut down, having already given a shot to counting sheep and focusing on his breathing. Sadly, without the comforting darkness to drown out any unwanted late-night thoughts, he is unable to succumb to sleep. The worst thing is, he’s slowly growing more and more desperate and the thought to just ask Charles—the very culprit behind his current predicament—to do this for him keeps lingering at the forefront of his mind.
A quiet groan escapes his lips as Erik turns around, towards the rustle of paper behind him. Charles Xavier, his roommate, the fellow student who also happens to be a mutant, is sitting on the carpet between their two beds, surrounded by an array of textbooks and notes. He is, by far, one of the very few people whom Erik tolerates and who somehow tolerate him in return, which is still somewhat unbelievable to Erik—how such a person as Charles, so unbearably idealistic and impossibly kind, would like to as much as simply be in his presence continues to escape his comprehension.
Nevertheless, here they are, Charles spread on the floor and Erik failing to fall asleep. Overall, Charles is quite a nice roommate, certainly much better than the previous ones that Erik was unlucky to live with. (Or maybe it was them who were unlucky enough to cross his path, Erik wonders sometimes.) Although a chatter, Charles doesn’t bother with meaningless conversations and he has a quick wit, which is even more prominent over the chessboard that they sometimes use to play, all of which make him a pleasant enough companion even on the worst of days. His bright big eyes, with their remarkable blueness only accentuated by the flannel pajamas he is currently wearing and with his floppy hair falling over them, make him look rather appealing, as a quite impressive group of both male and female students can corroborate. Despite that, Charles’s favourable looks are no more than a pleasant addition, or so Erik tries to convince himself of.
He cuts that train of thought short, though. They are friends, even though this label hardly conveys the depth of their bond. Charles may be the closest person Erik has ever been to, other than his parents, which makes him just about the only family Erik has left. To ruin the most meaningful friendship in Erik’s life due to his irrational sexual urges is just unthinkable. So he proceeds to do what he’s been doing for weeks now, burying the budding attraction deep enough that the telepath won’t see it.
“I can’t fall asleep with the light on,” he grumbles, seeing that Charles has hardly reacted to his previous question. When that doesn’t work either, Erik continues, his brows furrowing, “I have an exam tomorrow, too, you know.”
Charles finally looks up at him, and his eyes are sparkling in the warm light of his bedside lamp, his liveliness evident despite the dark circles under them. Erik shouldn’t find that sight so endearing, and yet, he’s mesmerised all the same, almost forgetting his own annoyance.
“Yeah, sorry,” Charles says apologetically, gazing down at the notebook he’s just been leafing through. His lips, even redder than usual, what with the way Charles continues to chew at them, curl into a little self-deprecating smile. Erik can’t help but trace their movements when his friend adds, “Just… five more minutes.”
It’s clear how tired Charles is, leaning on his hand which is perched up on his lap and visibly fighting off the urge to let his head drop on his notes. Erik rolls his eyes, irritated with Charles’s insistence even more so now that he sees his exhaustion. It may even explain why Erik’s own tiredness feels so profound; if Charles is on the verge of falling asleep, his shields are prone to get weaker and sometimes he starts projecting his feelings, as if his mind was trying to get rid of the sense of fatigue simply by pushing it away.
In truth, Erik doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. He minds feeling more tired than he actually is, that is, but not the mental contact itself. It never fails to surprise him, how much he actually enjoys having someone brushing against his thoughts. Of course, he believes that all mutants should be treated equally, regardless of the nature of their mutation; and yet, telepaths are often facing quite a lot of resentment, even within the mutant community itself. For many, it is one thing to pass someone with a tail or a pair of wings on the street without batting an eye, and something else entirely to have a stranger overhear your thoughts—something intimate and meant to exist only for you to listen.
Erik can understand where such reservations might come from, even though he himself doesn’t view telepathy as so problematic. In fact, the anti-psionic bias seems to be chiefly the product of ignorance—there aren’t that many telepaths, most of whom not even powerful enough to fully enter someone’s mind without touching that person or at least being in a very close proximity to them, but people nevertheless are afraid of feeling so exposed, with more than unfavourable portrayal of telepathy in the media as manipulative and exploitative only feeding their fear.
Not that telepaths are actually interested in reading or controlling everyone’s minds; the fact that is obvious to anyone who has actually met a telepath. It would be exhausting, after all, to listen closely to every thought that comes your way. Not even mentioning the fact that a lot of people think they’re incredibly interesting and worthy of attention, while, in actuality, their thoughts are mundane and their secrets nonsignificant.
Erik has crossed paths with enough telepaths to know that. Besides, if telepaths truly did always listen to one’s every thought, Charles would already bloody well know how annoyed Erik has been for quite a while now.
“You’ve been cramming it for—” Erik reaches out with his power, tugging at the magnetic lines surrounding him, and feels the hands of Charles’s watch which is still wrapped around his wrist.
The soft hum of its metal is pleasantly familiar. Charles takes it off only to sleep, and its constant presence allows Erik to sense him, even if his friend is out of sight. It never ceases to surprise Erik how comforting he finds it, the possibility to feel Charles’s warm skin against the stainless steel of the watch anytime he wishes, wherever he is.
Erik reads the hour and groans resignedly, “—for six hours straight. You know everything that you need already.”
“I have to ace it,” Charles mutters, his gaze fixed back on his notes.
He bites his lower lip, again, and it’s truly infuriating how captivating it is. Erik spends entirely too much time looking at those plush red lips of Charles’s, wondering distantly if they’re as soft as they look and if their redness would be even more intense after a thorough kiss…
It’s getting ridiculous. He shouldn’t allow himself to think such things, especially not about a telepath.
“Did you even touch the tea I made you?,” Erik demands instead, resisting the temptation to ask another question that sits at the tip of his tongue, one that is as improper as it is stupid.
A quick glance at Charles’s nightstand confirms what Erik has already suspected. The green mug with a cat and a silly chemistry pun printed on it is standing exactly where Erik put it three hours ago.
Charles looks up once again, his lips rounding in a way that is both adorable and infuriating. What’s more, the sudden movement makes his hair, ruffled from the way Charles runs his hands through them every now and then, fall down his forehead, and Erik barely battles the urge to reach out and gently brush them away.
“Oh,” Charles breathes, his wide eyes making him look like a puppy whose owner has just scolded them for something that they are absolutely guilty of. “I’m terribly sorry, my friend,” he says sheepishly, averting his gaze. “I’ve got too immersed in all of this.” His hand flies around over all the books, the sleeve of his slightly too big flannel pyjamas tumbling down his forearm and falling over his wrist.
Why Charles insists on sleeping in that atrocious thing, whose only saving grace is its nice blue colour, remains a mystery to Erik. Their dorm room is relatively warm, even in winter, and yet Charles seems to be perpetually cold at night, sleeping under a pile of blankets all year long. Erik is reluctant to admit it, but it worries him that although the summer is about to start, Charles’ nightwear hasn’t yet changed. If he’s so cold, perhaps there could be a way to warm him up a bit. Which is hardly the best line of thinking for now, because the only solutions Erik can think of involve things that he’s pretty sure Charles wouldn’t want.
A small shudder runs down his spine, and Erik has to clear his suddenly dry throat, forcing his mind to think about something else—anything else, really. He ends up recalling the details of a few cases which will most probably prove to be useful during tomorrow’s exam, trying not to wonder how it would be to wrap his arms around Charles and pull him under the covers.
Frustratingly, even repeating in his head what he already knows by heart isn’t tedious enough to put his mind to sleep.
“You can’t keep doing that.” Erik’s voice sounds annoyed even to his own ears, more so than before.
“I know, I know…,” Charles says under his breath, clearly having completely recovered from his previous mortification.
“You should’ve started earlier.” Erik’s tone might be a bit too harsh, certainly more than he intended. He can’t help himself but be frustrated, though, what with everything that watching Charles raise his hand and gently tap his fingers against his lips does to Erik’s insides.
Charles sighs, burying his face in his hands. “I know that too.” Erik can barely hear him, his voice muffled by his fingers, but he can tell that Charles must be annoyed with himself too. “Just… this isn’t half as interesting as the project I’m working on,” he explains, with an edge to his tone.
Erik rolls his eyes, though there’s hardly any malice behind the gesture. “I can believe that, but it’s getting annoying,” he says a little less sternly, despite his patience seriously dwindling.
“Sorry.” But Charles doesn’t look so sorry as he grabs one of the textbooks and opens it, back in that study mode of his.
Taking a deep breath, Erik barely refrains from raising his voice, his irritation only worsened by the worry about Charles’s awful sleeping habits. “You know all of that. Go to bed already.”
Charles’s thoughts are clearly far away from their conversation when he mumbles, “Just… let me finish—”
“Charles, you’re overtaxing yourself.” Erik’s tone is yet again harsh, though this time he can’t keep worry out of his voice.
The telepath doesn’t even respond, his whole attention at the textbook on his lap. Despite his immersion in the text, Charles’s head continues to be drooping, his back leaning heavily on the frame of his bed, and Erik doesn’t know what to do anymore to make this man finally get some sleep.
It’s still somewhat bewildering to him, to care for another person’s well-being so much that he starts completely brushing aside his own. It’s not like he is uncaring, but ever since his parents passed away Erik hasn’t allowed himself to get too close to other people. His wounds haven’t properly healed yet, and the thought of losing anyone else is so unbearable that he’d rather isolate himself than face the prospect of going through that again. Yet, he finds himself growing more and more fond of Charles with every passing day.
Although everyone seems to love Charles—that goes without question—Erik isn’t like everyone and a creature of very little trust, so he can’t be easily swayed into liking someone, even if confronted with the smoothest of flattery. But Charles isn’t like anyone else either and hardly an overconfident and snobbish smooth talker that Erik thought he was upon their first meeting. It took more than a couple of heated discussions during quite a few classes and the mutant rights club meetings and one memorable party, however, for Erik to start appreciating Charles’s seemingly endless enthusiasm, his infuriating idealism and the admirable faithfulness to his own ideals, and, most of all, his unconditional kindness.
As a cynic and a firm believer in the need for separation between baseline humans and mutants, Erik naturally would never agree with Charles’s integrationist ideas, though deep down he has to begrudgingly admit that such an approach might be beneficial in some instances. Besides, it’s not his fault, really, that Erik can’t resist that warm laughter, the playful quirk of that red mouth, and the mischievous glint in those hauntingly blue eyes. If he didn’t know much about telepathy, he’d think that this endearing charm is just a trick, but he knows better. Charles really happens to be just as charming, as if having the magnetic personality of an opposite pole, whose call is quite hard for Erik to resist.
Which doesn’t make Charles’s late-night study sessions any less irritating.
Erik must do something to make Charles finally go to sleep, and if the Charles way of talking and negotiating doesn’t work, it’s time for the Erik way. He slips from under the covers and jumps to the floor.
“Erik, give it back!,” Charles shrieks the second Erik snatches the book away from his hands, though his protests are much weaker than usual.
“I need sleep and so do you,” Erik says stubbornly, hugging the book to his chest. “So, just put it all away, or I’ll do that for you.”
Charles looks at him for a long moment, the exasperation in his expression mixed with something else, something odd. There’s a heaviness to his gaze that makes Erik shift minutely, slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of those brilliant eyes.
“You’re insufferable sometimes,” Charles says eventually, although he doesn’t sound resigned, only mildly amused.
“You’re the one to talk,” Erik snaps back, albeit good-naturedly.
Signing once again, Charles just shakes his head, a small smile creeping on his lips. Then, he fixes Erik with a stern gaze.
“I’ll go to sleep when I finish this chapter,” he says seriously, and the determination that is colouring his eyes suggests that he won’t step down this time.
Erik purses his lips and regards him for a moment, contemplating the offer. The chances for negotiating conditions more favourable for Erik are scarce, and now is not a good time to pick up a fight. It seems best to relent.
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” Erik decides, slowly releasing the book from his grasp.
Charles quickly goes to grab it before he can even let go of it, the telepath’s fingers brushing against Erik’s forearms and leaving a trail of the pleasant tingling sensation behind. Erik can’t help but sit here transfixed, the plush carpet soft against the bare skin of his shins, as Charles goes back to studying. There’s something enthralling in watching him in his element—because as exhausted as Charles is, there’s still so much passion in the way he’s practically devouring what is written on the pages before him. His eyes are alight again, and his lips are moving—lightly, captivatingly—as he’s quietly repeating the crucial tidbits of information.
Erik has never wanted to kiss someone so much in his entire life.
Although the book is once again laying open on his lap and stealing all his attention, Charles looks up from it, apparently having noticed Erik’s dumbfounded expression. “You can go back to bed now,” he points out lightly, his brows drawn in mild confusion.
“Not until I tuck you in first,” Erik responds before he has time to think much about his words.
He doesn’t even get a chance to start feeling self-conscious, however, as Charles is seemingly taking it all in stride. “That won’t be necessary, my friend,” he says, giving Erik an amused look, the corner of his lips—so distractingly red—rising in a half smile, and Erik finds it hard not to stare at them.
Instead, he narrows his eyes. “We’ll see.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Charles snorts and glances down at the book, his fingers finding their way back to his mouth.
The tip of his thumb begins to slowly trace the outline of his lower lip, back and forth, drawing all of Erik’s attention to that one delicate motion. He cannot help but be hypnotised, wishing against his better judgement that he could reach out and replace Charles’s fingers with his own. To map those lips with his touch, to explore the softness against his fingertips…
Erik looks up abruptly, his eyes boring in the ceiling. Breathing out, he almost groans, but refrains from doing so not to distract Charles. It’s really of no use, allowing himself for such mental escapades. This absurd infatuation has already made Erik’s life miserable enough, there is really no need to add fuel to the flames.
Except, he finds himself unable to stop. Everytime he sees Charles, hears his warm laughter, feels his fingers brushing against his own arm, is confronted with a clever and spot-on counterargument during their arguments, or witnesses a particularly cunning move during the game of chess, Erik can’t stop his mind from being consumed yet again by the thoughts of his best friend. It’s truly a miracle that Charles hasn’t picked up on those thoughts yet, and for once Erik is grateful for Charles’s strict moral code.
Nonetheless, Erik knows he has to put an end to it. It’s just a silly crush, after all, nothing worth putting their friendship on the line. No more foolishness from now on—he’ll just focus on getting through his studies, pushing all the other matters aside.
After some time, which seems to have stretched from mere minutes to long hours, Erik abruptly hears Charles close the book. He drops his gaze in time to see his friend put it down and then proceed to gather all the rest of the study materials into a pile.
“Okay, I’ve finished, happy?,” Charles says, pushing the pile closer to his bed. “You can tuck me in now.” He looks up and momentarily furrows his eyebrows. “Erik?”
Somehow, the earnest look of those beautifully blue eyes makes Erik’s resolve snap. So much for an end to all the silliness. Before he can stop his traitorous lips from moving, the question is already leaving his mouth, the one he’s been longing to ask for so long.
“Can I kiss you?”
There’s a moment of stunned silence, as Charles’s eyebrows slowly rise, disappearing underneath his dishevelled hair. He’s still for what feels like an eternity, and Erik can feel the tendrils of the telepath’s thoughts retreating from his mind, folding in on themselves, which can’t possibly bode well.
Panic begins to rise in Erik’s chest. With his breath quickening, he does his best to slip on a mask of indifference over his face, hoping against hope that Charles hasn’t seen anything damning in his mind, especially not any of those lewd thoughts he’s been having lately. But before dread can consume his mind like a wildfire, Erik sees Charles’s expression soften and then the telepath is leaning in, stopping only when his face is a few mere inches from Erik’s.
He’s so close that Erik nearly goes cross-eyed, Charles’s breath ghosting over his lips. Erik remains frozen, waiting for his friend’s response, anticipating and dreading it in equal measure. He sees that Charles’s eyes are flickering all over his face, filled with… Is it excitement, or rather nervousness? Regardless, his look is clearly inviting, so Erik lets himself hope that maybe his friend does want the same thing.
“Yes.”
For a second, Erik isn’t sure if he has heard it correctly. It was barely a whisper, and Charles agreeing to such a ridiculous request sounds too good to be true. It soon becomes clear, however, that Erik’s ears were not playing tricks on him when Charles gives him one last smile and leans in farther to close the distance between them.
Erik’s eyes close on their own accord, and it takes a heartbeat for their lips to meet. It doesn’t feel like a particularly world-changing moment—or maybe it does, just not in the way Erik expected. It’s not like a lighting strike, turning his world upside down and igniting a raging fire inside of him, but it rather feels as if long-lost puzzle pieces finally fell in their proper places.
Kissing Charles feels like coming home.
His lips are just so soft, pliable against Erik’s, the warmth of their gentle touch spreading through Erik’s whole body like little electric shocks. The kiss is rather chaste, close-mouthed; even so, Erik can feel the air between them slowly changing and starting to crackle with the kind of tension that has barely reached the surface before. The wave of excitement mixed with lust that swiftly encompasses his mind proves that he’s not the only one who notices it.
Erik senses something else, however, something much deeper and warmer, as his hands find their way to Charles’s face. He runs his fingertips over the expanse of smooth skin, gently stroking Charles’s cheeks, and he can feel the warmth rising there. He can’t help but smile against his friend’s lips, feeling an affectionate nudge in his mind in return.
And then Erik hears it, a soft murmur permeating his thoughts.
I thought you’d never ask.
If anyone's interested, here's the mug Erik was reffering to (I found it funny, don't at me ^^').
And I'm considering perhaps writing more in that 'verse, so if any of you has any ideas, prompts, or requests, I'll be more than happy to oblige ;)
(Generally, I have more in store for Cherik, especially after Dark Phoenix (we'll always have Paris, after all), but those works are also getting longer than expected. Still, I'm cautiously optimistic about finishing them in August.)
#cherik#erik lehnsherr#charles xavier#x men#xmcu#x men: dark phoenix#xmdp#fluff#fluff with traces of plot#kissing#cherik au#cherik college au#cherik fanfic#my fanfiction#my writing#hanshaped writes#and mumbles
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the beauty with venus square ascendant natives? I feel like a lot of us don't realize how beautiful we truly are physically.
OOF hey there! 💕 thanks for sending this in!! 💕💕
[Below Cut: How to Help Venus-Square-ASC]
I’m going to touch on how to help them if that’s ok?? I think it will encompass the ‘beauty with venus-square-asc’ part, but this will also provide a way to identity the problem and ways to help themselves as well 💕
First thing first is other people’s perspective and identifying the main thing about this aspect
Y know, cause the main thing about Venus-Square-ASC is that they tend to be in their head alot, so gaining different perspective might help with restructuring/reclaiming themselves too
It’s just that Venus-Square-Asc may tend to see things from their own perspectives, be in their mind, can be quite stubborn or ‘feel’ like other people’s perspective/ideas/philosophy doesn’t apply to themselves for some reason
It be like ‘yeah I see with what you’re saying, but I can’t bring myself to be that way’ because they’re?? stubborn and subconsciously torture themselves without realizing that they don’t have to
Ya’ll being too ‘practical’ (or emotional depending on where you are on the spectrum) for your own good.
Anything not validated/supported by the material world isn’t something you could do? or pursue?
Sometimes they be having the hardest problems with accepting other people’s opinions and perspective on beauty, understanding how to accept compliments from others without judging or learning new things through others (socially)
They may sometimes be trying really hard (maybe consciously or subconsciously) to separate the ‘self’ (ASC) away from what they’ve learnt through others (Venus)— like ‘thats not me’ without seeing the values/lessons they could gain from actually putting the ‘self’ into the ‘others’ instead
(Taking the first step to just– try out/really try to integrate what others are saying without judging it first or declining it immediately in regards to self-love/care/help)
Anyways, all this leads to stagnancy/stubbornness. Friction between the two causes the person to perhaps undervalue themselves, or feel like they have to go about achieving/over-coming it in a different way than the conventional.
Catch themselves how ‘physical’ beauty becomes a thing they fear to acknowledge, or thinking about how they come across to others in a certain way (one-way) leaves them to feel discomfort– always striving to be ‘more’ than just that, more than just what people see on first impression
Their energy is focused on just being ‘more’ than a pretty face, more than who others say they are. This may lead them to be critical of other’s opinions/philosophies as well, acts like a barrier now. Making a name/being confident in themselves/building up their ego— comes with a territory of defensiveness and unwillingness to accept any other perspective besides their own (*if they’re really on that path, depends on the person)
The problem here is that they’re not confronting the core of the problem. Which is their dissatisfaction with the ASC/Venus. Everything becomes retaliation instead of accepting help/support/constructive criticism. Why are they dissatisfied? Do they not think they’re conventionally beautiful? Do they think it’ll not last? Do they undervalue themselves and try to compensate for it in other areas?
Confronting the issue is key to dealing with it in a better way, because if left untouched they could lean too much on one side and see the other as a ‘weakness’— a vulnerability they’re trying to make up for, over-compensate for without actually trying to resolve the problem until it eats them up inside and become a falling tower.
So yeah, please make sure to think about how this Venus-ASC is happening for you— sometimes it can just be an inability to accept other people’s advice and integrate it fully in relation to the self.
Sometimes it’s to do with the inner-core: not realizing their beauty and thus focusing so much on other aspects of their personality/traits that they try to ‘bury’ the problem under something else (to make up for it).
In both cases, Venus-ASC people would learn a lot by really trying to understand/integrate other people’s responses/philosophy to themselves. Really just actively try. Mars kind of trying (action, not thinking so much about it/trying to figure it all out, but instead just putting it there and then rolling with it. Test it out.)
Imagine Venus-ASC as like a Capricorn or Aquarius– not that they have to be in those placements, but they sure as hell be acting like one underneath it all.
Stubborn, ambitious, hard-working and doesn’t like to lose ‘stability’. Well that ‘stability’ of the ‘self’ is going to topple if they don’t realize how to really listen to other people y know.
There’s always this thing where they’re there for others, but don’t let others be there for them. They’re ready to provide, loyal to the core, proves their strength when others vulnerable right now (to protect them).
But Venus-ASC people– just like Capricorn/Aquarius placements– have to learn how to even out the load. How to actually let others help them, or grow into learning ‘other’ ways of self-love/self-care for themselves as well.
Their ‘one-way’ isn’t always the only ‘right’ way. It’s only going to leave them ‘stranded’ if they don’t learn how to integrate and become ‘more’ than just themselves (through nurture/growth)
So for those who has Venus-ASC aspect, here’s a list of things that will help them with their pursuit of happiness/beauty/love:
Don’t suppress, confront the core of the problem. What’s the thing you feel is the weakness? Is it to do with your behaviour? Is it to do with physicality? What do you really think is the core of it all?
Not everything is ‘my way or no way’ – let others guide you, be there for you. Let them prove themselves to be worthy of supporting you. If you can’t see beyond the dark tunnel, let someone else be the light that guides you.
Sometimes, taking a break and just learning from other areas of life tends to help. Take a breather, learn how to get in touch with your emotionality, learn how to emphasize/really be emotional– instead of letting others be emotional and you having to stay strong (or vice versa). You don’t have to be anything – those are just guidelines you’ve set for yourself, and it’s not always good for you.
If you identify too much with one thing, make sure to get to know the other as well. A person can emphasize a lot with their ASC and not so much with their Venus or vice versa (within this aspect). What the core of the problem is, is that they may ‘miss’ important details about the thing they identify with most because they’re blinded by their pride/dependency on it instead.
Your social identity/self-confidence isn’t the be all in all for you. Other people can appreciate so much more than that. Being known for being ‘that one friend/person’ who is a certain ‘something’ for others isn’t going to be fair to you.
You’re trying to control how people see you by setting the ‘dimension’ to something else you prefer to be seen as/have control over. That’s not fair to you, who is worthy of getting praised for so many different areas of life if you just let them surprise/appreciate you for other things you may not realize yourself as well.
Being vulnerable, as honest and truthful as you are to yourself, is going to help you love/appreciate yourself more as well. There’s no shame in showing others that you’re a whole person who deserves more than what you’ve constructed.
If you let yourself see this, others will come to help you.
For those who don’t have the same problem, or have worked to overcome them. Trying to find balance between not pushing too much weight on your Venus or ASC might be the key. Try to balance them, pull back and see how they’re working together– instead of separately as well.
Venus-ASC people have alot of purpose to them, alot of charm that they don’t tend to realize they exert strongly. It’s a magnetism that square aspect brings, that other people are attracted by. However, they only primarily notice their ambition, their goals, their method and motive.
Allow yourself to see other people’s perspective, learn how to ask people to explain their compliment/praises if you want. Really try to get a better idea of how people see you, and that will help you see less of a ‘my way no way’ perspective as well. 💕
I hope this helps 💕💕 Sorry this isn’t like, a list of good things about them. Mostly I was more concerned with how to get to that for the Venus-ASC person who might be having a hard time, without soft-balling them/distracting from the problem they need to address anyways. 💕 I hope this helps! 💕
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Christmas For A Lifetime
Here we go for another request for my winter event! Thank you for your request, anon, I hope you enjoy this!
The following prompts have been asked for our dear Ben Barnes:
22. "Are you trying to kiss me?"
27. "We should bake more cookies."
43. "Let's spend Christmas together, and New Year's Eve… actually… actually let's spend every single evening together for the rest of our lives."
53. "Can I have a hug? And a cookie? I'd really need a cookie right now."
Hope you all like this little fic! There is nothing but pure fluff in here. So much cute shit, guys, even I am blushing!
Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader
Word count : 1840
Carols were shaking the air around your home in a soft melody. Something sweet and warm that never failed to make you feel peaceful. Next to you, your Christmas tree stood proudly, now fully decorated with garlands and baubles and blinking lights. It was the first time that Ben and you decorated a tree together, and it just felt so good to do so…
Ben and you had met three years before, but at the time he was about to leave for six months to shoot a movie. You had exchanged your phone numbers anyway, but without much hope that two strangers who barely felt attracted to each other would be able to make any kind of feeling grow while thousands of miles separated the them.
You couldn't have been more wrong.
Long conversations through entire nights had become a repetitive pattern that coloured your whole life. You loved to listen to all the stories from the set he told you, you adored the way he listened to you complain about your day or laugh at something good that had happened to you, his humour never failed to make you smile. He was kind and sweet and smart, and all of a sudden, all you could see was how happy you were whenever the two of you talked, and not the many miles that kept you apart.
You had fallen for him way before he was back to your hometown. You had fallen for his sweet nature way before you two shared your first kiss under a lamppost while it rained.
He had fallen for you way before he could hold your hand across that restaurant table. He was already in love with you when that shy smile on your lips had made his heart swell with joy and fondness.
Some of your friends described your relationship with Ben as a 'friends to lovers' kind of relation. But you were not certain that it was true. Yes, you had learnt to know him through a cell phone, but it didn't mean that the feelings you had developed for him during that time had ever been friendly. And he had confessed to you a while back that he had never seen a friend in you either. He had leapt from stranger to love without taking a step through friendship, and you had done just the same.
And now, there you were, decorating your Christmas tree in this flat you both lived in.
You heard Ben humming along to the Christmas song, and you couldn't help but feel tenderness invade your whole body at the sound. His voice was always so warm and soothing…
You saw him take a step back away from the tree, a focused expression upon his face.
"Hmm… I think this tree looks fabulous! Not to over-compliment us but… we did a very good job!" he grinned.
You laughed at him, before joining him further away from the tree. And you had to admit that the colourful tree looked very good.
"It does look quite good," you admitted.
"It's a masterpiece, Y/N!"
"If you say so," you laughed at him again.
"But now, I'm afraid, we'll have to clean up all this mess," he sighed at the sight of all the boxes and other stuff randomly thrown across the room.
You moaned at his remark, wincing.
"No… let's take a break!"
"It isn't going to be more pleasant after a break."
"It can't be less pleasant," you fired back. "I need to find back my strengths anyway after all that energy spent on decorating that tree."
Ben merely laughed at you.
"And what would you need to get your strengths back then?" he inquired.
"Hmm…" you thought for a moment before opening your arms wide. "Can I have a hug? And a cookie? I'd really need a cookie right now."
Ben laughed at you again, before stepping into your embrace and holding you close to him as well.
"I think we still have a couple of cookies in the kitchen," he mumbled, burying his face in the crook of your neck while you ran your fingers through his dark hair.
You took a sharp intake of breath as he dropped sweet kisses up from your neck to your ear, his stubble leaving a tickling feeling all across your skin.
"Sounds good," you breathed, and he chuckled at the low sound of your voice.
"Good to hear that I still make you feel this way," he smirked.
He leaned towards you to drop a kiss on your lips, but you playfully pulled away.
"Are you trying to kiss me?" you teased him, making his eyes turn darker than before.
"I was… but clearly you've decided to torture me."
"Aww… poor Ben…"
You pushed him away, laughing, and walked to the kitchen to eat these cookies you yearned for.
But you found out that there were only two cookies left, one for you, and you gave the second to Ben.
"I want more," you declared, your words distorted as you were still chewing on your food. "We should bake more cookies."
Ben exploded with laughter.
"So, you are too lazy to clean up the mess in our living room for now, but you are up to make a mess in the kitchen as well?"
You shrugged.
"It's easier to make the mess than it is to clean it up," you fought back.
"You do know that we will have to clean everything up after we're done baking, right? So it means more efforts in the end."
"But I want cookies."
And the look you gave him told him that your decision was final. You wanted cookies, and you would have cookies.
He merely laughed, looking at you with amused eyes shining with tenderness, before he would help you to bake. And eventually, after traces of flours decorated both yours and Ben's cheeks and several chocolate chips had been eaten instead of being put in the cookies, you placed your food in the oven.
You cleaned up the living room while the cookies were being cooked, and eventually, you both settled with your freshly baked cookies and some warm tea on the sofa, your Christmas tree shining nearby. The smell of chocolate and sugar filled the room. The shushed melody of Carols was still playing. You cuddled in Ben's arms, your eyes drifting towards the decoration you had scattered across the room to enlighten the furniture. And you smiled at the sight, warmth spreading through your body because of the happiness that oozed from them.
You felt Ben shift under you though, and you recognized the nervous gesture immediately. A frown crossed your brow, and you looked up at him as he lied on the sofa with you.
"Ben? Is everything okay, love?"
He nodded, giving you a smile.
"Of course, why?"
"I don't know… you seem a bit… off…" you answered cautiously, taking care in your choice of words.
"I'm fine. I just… I was just thinking…"
He heaved a frustrated sigh. He wasn't sure how to find the right words, and now he needed them so desperately.
He looked for them, the fickle things, for a moment. But as he could only admit that they seemed to slip through his fingers instead of lingering on his tongue, he decided to speak his mind bluntly. If he couldn't say all that he had to say with delicacy, at least he would do so with honesty.
"What about we celebrate Christmas together?" he asked quietly.
You frowned a little at his question.
"I thought that you were going to your parents' with your brother."
"I'd rather be with you."
You stared in his dark eyes, but could only see truth in these two orbs you adored.
"I just…" he went on, stuttering in this adorable way he always did when he was nervous, and you couldn't refrain a smile at the sight of his cheeks reddening slightly as he blushed. "I love you, you know I do. And I… I want to spend Christmas with the person I love the most on this Earth."
You grinned at his words. You knew that Ben loved you, and you often told him about the way you felt for him as well. But this was another kind of declaration, and you knew it.
"Actually… I've been thinking about us, for a while now and I think… I think what we have is… it's bigger than us. I mean… It's not the kind of thing that we could live without. At least, I couldn’t. And I just want…"
He raised his hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheekbone in a soft caress and his eyes intensely staring at you. His gaze was too magnetic for you to have the slightest hope to look away, your very soul seemed trapped into the two brown orbs that were fixed on you.
"I want to spend all my time with you," he went on in a whisper shaken by emotions, tears wetting his eyes." So let's… Let's spend Christmas together, and New Year's Eve… actually… actually let's spend every single evening together for the rest of our lives. What do you say? A lifetime coming home to see me? A lifetime spent cuddling together under the covers after a rough day? A lifetime spent fighting over which Hamilton song is the best. A lifetime spent decorating Christmas trees and getting too lazy to clean up the mess. A lifetime… a lifetime together… Wouldn't you like that?"
He stopped, waiting for a response. But your brain couldn’t fully understand what was going on just yet...
"Are you… what are you asking exactly, Ben?" you asked back in such a fragile whisper that your words barely passed your lips, and Ella Fitzgerald's warm voice singing a merry Christmas almost swallowed them whole.
He reached for something in the back pocket of his black jeans. A tiny velvety box. And you knew what was inside before he opened it to reveal the delicate circle of gold hidden inside.
"Would you marry me?" he whispered in your ear while your eyes couldn’t be torn away from the ring Ben was offering you.
A million emotions coursed through your heart and blood, and a thousand thoughts passed through your mind, but there was only one truth in all of this, and you didn't hesitate when you spoke it out loud.
"Yes, Ben. Yes…"
You both started to cry out of joy, your lips forming grins bright enough to lighten a whole galaxy, and when he slipped the ring around your finger, you realized that he was right.
You knew then, as he pulled you down to him to press his lips against yours, that it would always feel this way… warm, safe, peaceful, happy… you knew that he would make sure that your life would always be that way, for as long as you were with him.
You guessed that it would feel a bit as if Christmas lasted for a lifetime…
******************************
Tag list : @geeksareunique @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @alinnamslow @madamrogers @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @wearetalkingtoyou @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse @newtstarmander @iammadeofstarsandlazyness @presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0 @ponycake27 @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @daynight-dramer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit
#ben barnes#ben barnes imagine#ben barnes x reader#ben barnes fic#writing#fanfic#imagine#winter event#event#prompts#writing prompt
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Guess What? I’m Not a Robot RC Ch13
Chapter Warning: Nothing I can think of
Word count: 1,866
Masterlist
Previous
Next
8.30AM Thursday 11th November 2038
Paul, Nathan and Ivy got out of the van in a side street near the centre of Detroit, while the supplies team drove further into the city to find some bulk stores. Paul pulled his beanie lower down his face and teased out some red hair over his eyes. He hadn’t ignored Megan, and was going to make sure he didn’t take unnecessary risks.
It was early enough that the stores weren’t open, but late enough that people were trying to get to work. So no one really noticed as the trio walked through the shopping district all wrapped up against the cold.
The three of them split up in the scattered crowd and made their way to the shattered CyberLife store. That was their first stop, since it was easier to get into, given that it was definitely closed and if you removed the cardboard you could easily get in.
They staggered their entrances, Paul going first. The glass was completely shattered behind the cardboard, so it only took a little manoeuvring to get in.
Paul looked around a little while he waited for the other two to get in. The front at least was completely devoid of androids, that he could tell. The cardboard also blocked a lot of the light.
Ivy slipped in quickly, and the two waiting in silence for Nathan to stumble his way in.
“Do you have any grace?” Ivy hissed.
“Nope,” Nathan pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on. “It is creepy AF in here.”
“AF?” Ivy asked. “How old are you? No one’s used that since the 2010’s.”
“I think it sums up things quite well!” Nathan shot back, and Ivy rolled her eyes.
“Alright old man, let’s check out the back.”
The three of them spread across the back of the store, looking behind pedestals and moving aside computers.
Paul was the one who found it, the door was almost exactly the same shade as the rest of the wall. There was a keypad next to it, but the display was dark, so Paul gently pushed the door. To his surprise, it opened.
“Guys,” he hissed, “I’ve found something.”
Ivy and Nathan came over and Nathan shone his flashlight on the door.
“Did you hack that open?” he asked.
“No, the power must be completely out,” Paul guessed. “Let’s go.”
It was somewhere even darker in the back than it was at the front. Even with Nathan’s light Ivy stumbled into tables and metal shelves.
“Why is there so much shit back here?” she asked, irritated. “and why aren’t you two walking into it?”
“There really isn’t that much,” Paul responded, although he lacked night vision, so he couldn’t see much either.
“You’re just a magnet,” Nathan decided, sweeping his flashlight around. “See anything you need Paul?”
“Not yet,” the glimpse he got in Nathan’s flashlight was worrying, the place seemed to be empty.
“Ivy, can’t you use the torch on your phone?” Nathan asked. “We need all the light we can get.”
“Give me a minute, it’s buried under about three layers.”
“You found it that cold?” Paul asked.
“It was more for bullet protection,” Ivy admitted. “I know it wouldn’t have done much, but it was the best we had.”
“You’re all insane,” Paul declared. “You went to go liberate a military camp with layers instead of bullet proof vests, and the only weapons you had were rolling pins and kitchen knives.”
“I had a taser,” Nathan offered.
“You had the only taser,” Ivy corrected. “And Megan had that first.”
“And you all thought this was a good idea?” Paul asked.
“Dude, you’re one of us,” Ivy shrugged. “We weren’t going to leave you behind. Simple as that.”
“Even though,” Paul paused, not sure exactly where his train of thought was going. “Even though I never told you I was an android?”
“Doesn’t make a difference,” Nathan was also looking for his phone now. “You’re stuck with us, and frankly, we missed your level headedness.”
“Yeah, you’d have been the first person to tell us that we did was a dumb idea,” Ivy was smirking as she found her phone and turned on the flashlight. “But since you weren’t there to tell us how stupid we are, we had to cope.”
Something warm was blooming in Paul’s chest and he let out an uncomfortable cough as Nathan handed him the flashlight.
“Thanks,” he said, and it wasn’t just for the flashlight, “Just, er...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ivy brushed off. “Now, you know we’re looking for.”
“Right, yes,” the extra two flashlights made it a lot easier to see. “There’s not a lot here,” he realised.
The back room was tiny and didn’t seem to branch off anywhere. It was clearly set up to handle android repairs, metal tables, re-assembling and resetting machines were crammed into the space.
And not a single tool.
“There’s fuck all here,” Ivy clarified. “You said the stuff you needed was small, so unless we’re taking some of this apart...”
“We’re not,” Paul declared. “Nathan have you found anything?”
“There’s some blue blood bags in here,” the musician was crouched down by some open cupboards. “I don’t know how much we need.”
“Take all of it,” Ivy advised.
“There are other Cyberlife stores,” Paul started, but Ivy shook her head.
“There are, but they’ll probably be the same as this,” she sighed.
“Well, what other options do we have?” Nathan asked, filling his bag with pouches of Thirum.
“Android Zone,” Paul snapped his fingers as he remembered. “I had to get repaired at a branch once, they’re known for repairs and second hand androids.”
“Then why are we still here?” Ivy asked. “Let’s go!”
“I’m still filling my bag with blue blood here!” protested Nathan. “Give me a minute!”
9.30AM Thursday 11th November 2038
It took them a while to find an Android Zone, and when they did, it was closed.
“Did we expect them to be open?” Nathan asked, adjusting his now heavy backpack.
“Not really, it just makes things awkward,” Ivy sighed. “Paul, can you hack the security system? Then I’ll break a window.”
Paul looked at her despairingly. “How good do you think I am?”
“Pretty good, why?”
Paul looked through the glass in the door. “Because the alarm system is in there.”
“You can’t do it remotely?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so, and do you want to waste time for me finding out?”
“Alright, I break the window, then you deal with the security system.”
“You really want to break a window,” Nathan observed.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly,” Paul hissed. “Before we attract attention.”
Ivy took a moment to consider, before smashing the glass in the door with her forearm. The alarm instantly started shrieking as she shoved her arm through and fiddled with the door handle on the inside.
“Open, sesame!” she declared as the door clicked open.
Nathan was cursing as Paul shoved past, making a beeline for the security system. He reached the keypad and his skin retreated so he could deal with it. The pealing alarms shut off and Ivy and Nathan came in, shutting the door behind them.
The interior of the shop was similar to style to the Cyberlife Store, just smaller and with bright red and blue sale signs. The podiums where androids were sold and held were empty, much to Paul’s relief.
“Score!” Ivy was already clearing out the Thirium pouches on sale in the front.
“I’m going to head to the back,” Paul announced, and his memory told him roughly where it was. It was actually behind the counter to his right, so not the back at all. The point still stood.
The repair area back here took up what must have been half the building, and motion sensitive lighting flickered on as he entered.
There were no whole androids here either, but Paul had to turn away for a second, nausea churning in his non-existent gut.
He felt like he’d walked in Dr Frankenstein’s lab.
Bits of android were scattered everywhere in an organised chaos manner. Arms, legs, heads, bio components.
Paul managed to compose himself, but tried not to look too hard at any of them as she looked around for the tools he needed.
Thankfully for his sanity, an employee had spent time organising the tools into logical places, and he started stuffing them in his bag. Mini blow torches, wrenches, drills, saws, syringes for Thirium took up most of it.
“Whoa,” Nathan had entered behind him. “Pretty grim huh?”
“Let’s just grab everything and go,” Paul couldn’t fit everything and was having trouble doing up his bag. “Get over here.”
Nathan quickly came over and started putting in the last of the tools.
“Are you okay?” he asked as Paul seemed to be staring in one place.
“Imagine those were human limbs.”
“Gotcha,” Nathan swallowed. “Let’s get out of here.”
Paul went to the front while Nathan raided the back for Thirium packets. Ivy was done, so the two waited, keeping an eye on the street outside in case someone decided to actually pay attention to what was happening.
Nathan was out quickly and the three of them slipped out, walking down the street. Paul itched to run, but Ivy put her hand on his arm, as if she knew what he was thinking.
“Walking attracts less attention.”
“I know,” Paul assured. “I’m just, antsy.”
“That’s understandable,” Ivy nodded. “Do we have everything?”
“We have all the tools. I don’t think we should risk going for more Thirium, the last one was dicey.”
“I hear you,” Nathan was fiddling with his gloves fingers. “Let’s just get back to the van. I wonder if the others are finished yet?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Paul considered calling them on the radio, but figured they might be in a shop. “How are you guys coping with all this by the way?”
“Scared out of my mind,” Nathan admitted, grinning nervously. “It’s getting better, but, phew, I am freaking out a little.”
A quick check of his vitals did reveal a higher heart rate and increased perspiration than normal.
“Ivy?”
“I’m cool,” she shrugged. “I mean, yeah, there’s parts where I’m shitting myself, but, this is kind of, exhilarating, you know?”
“No, I really don’t,” Nathan shook his head. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy, just, trying to find some fun in this, otherwise I might go crazy.”
Paul walked quietly. Of course this was going to affect them badly. He was surprised so many of them had gotten this far, they students, not soldiers!
“No need to look so down,” Ivy nudged him. “We wanted to do this, and it beats sitting around doing nothing and being scared.”
“Yeah, now we’re running around and being scared,” Nathan added, and Ivy pretended to clock him on the head.
“Team bonding! Am I right?”
“If you insist,” Paul chuckled. “I still think you’re all crazy.”
“Well, you chose to hang out with us dude. That makes you crazy too.”
“True, I must be to do this,” Paul agreed, and they continued good naturedly to the van.
Team bonding! As much as I love Megan and Paul bouncing of each other, Paul bouncing off everyone else is also fun. Android Zone if you don't remember, is a canon shop in Detroit Become Human. It's where Kara wakes up at the beginning of her chapter. Also, haven't had a Paul centric chapter for a while. Other Options Flowchart
(Paul) QTEs to get through the shattered glass
(Paul) Try the keypad
(Paul) Say nothing. Ask how none of them died.
(Paul) Ask further on their thoughts on him being an android
(Paul) Agree to tear Cyberlife apart
(Paul) Persuade Ivy to not break the window. Attempt to hack remotely
(Paul) Find another way into Android Zone
(Paul) Leave the backroom to Nathan
Tags @nightmarejim @septicart-appreciation
#Guess What? I'm Not a Robot#Guess What? I'm Not a Robot RC#Guess What? I'm Not a Robot RC Ch13#Android Allies#Alternate Routes#Recycling Centre#Detroit: Become Human#Detroit Become Human#Detroit Become Human OC#Detroit Become Human Fanfic#Detroit: Become Human OC#Detroit: Become Human fanfic#DBHOC#DBHfanfic#D:BHOC#D:BH fanfic#TheShapeshifter100 writes
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I can’t put into words how pleased and flattered I am whenever people notice things in my writing and then even let me know. You got it almost right, anon! ❤❤ I was craving early Protection Mountain and so I wrote two snippets to set up said photos for later - but since I deem both parts too short to post by themselves, I’ll post them together. They’re set at different times but it should become clear from the snippets themselves. (1st: Rating T, hurt/comfort, ~1k words, 2nd: Rating M, sorta explicit, ~1.7k words)
Warning: the second part is technically dubcon since Monty’s sleeping but as the author I can assure everyone that he wouldn’t have a problem with any of it and there’s not much being done to him. If it’s not your cup of tea though, please don’t read it!
The other parts of Protection Mountain can be found via tags or here on my Masterpost! (Mobile version here)
.
It’s dumb. It’s just an arm. Not only that, it’s a fucking cliché gesture, overdone and cheesy and would usually make him roll his eyes if he saw it on screen and produce gagging noises if he saw it in real life. One of the oldest ways to show possessiveness, always leaving an unpleasant aftertaste in his mouth whenever anyone just assumed they could put an arm around his shoulders, even more so when his superiors did it. It was rare but it happened and he felt like shaking himself like a dog afterwards, just to get rid of this I own you feeling.
And yet, here he sits, Montagne’s arm around him, and has vowed to never move again. They’re watching some film or other, something stupid and filled with action he’s not following because he’s too busy having an internal crisis over the limb draped over him, weighing him down slightly, giving off a reassuring warmth. It shouldn’t feel this elating and yet it does, funnels all his attention towards the fingers he feels curled around his upper arm even through the blanket in which he’s wrapped. The thumb is stroking up and down, a soothing motion though it does nothing to calm Bandit’s nerves. Nothing at all.
His back is killing him, he really needs to adjust his position but worries the arm will disappear if he moves despite knowing it’s not the first time they’ve sat like this. Despite knowing Montagne usually subtly invites him in. They barely talk and this, too, makes him anxious – he has absolutely no idea what’s going on in the Frenchman’s head, whether he thinks he’s doing Bandit a favour or whether he’s taking pity on him. Maybe he doesn’t even like him. It’s a realistic possibility, they don’t really have anything in common, don’t hang out unless Bandit would otherwise spend the evening alone, and when they do they don’t communicate a lot. Montagne sometimes tries, and a few times they’ve had actual conversations, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? He just doesn’t understand why Montagne is still here, allows him to steal his warmth, when all he does is – nothing, basically, he does nothing for him, he doesn’t deserve this warmth, doesn’t deserve the peace this man brings, the inexplicable shows of affection – because you don’t just sit on a couch and cuddle with someone you don’t like, right? That’s not something people do, nothing Bandit could ever imagine doing, and yet the doubt persists and burns under his fingernails, permeates his brain at the most inopportune moments, moments in which he’s vulnerable already, open for attack by his own thoughts turning on him -
The hand lifts, comes to rest on the side of his head, right behind his ear, fingers gently stroking through his hair, over his scalp. A shiver runs down his spine from the distracted gesture; it’s so comforting that his mind comes to a grinding halt, stops right then and there to assess the situation. Now’s not the time to fret, instead he should enjoy it while it lasts, accept the lovely gesture for what it is and not second guess Montagne’s motives. He gives in and puts his head on Montagne’s shoulder. The hand follows, cards through his hair, grounds him.
“Are you comfortable?”, Montagne murmurs after a few minutes.
Bandit just nods. He knows better than to put into words just how comfortable he really is, and instead merely adjusts his position so his back isn’t killing him anymore, melts against Montagne’s side and closes his eyes when the arm is put around him: once again, a reassuring weight. Time to continue not watching this film.
.
When Bandit wakes up the next time, he’s encased in an embrace he didn’t anticipate. It takes him a few moments to figure out just what happened and how they’re arranged on the sofa until he realises Montagne is lying down, legs outstretched, and Bandit largely on top of him, back warmed by the Frenchman’s broad chest, torso hugged tightly and calm breaths tickling his hair. It seems the other man is still asleep, his regular breathing gently making Bandit rise and sink, and so he snuggles into the hug, rubs the top of his head on Montagne’s jaw, extracts one of his hands from the blanket in which he’s wrapped to stroke over Montagne’s upper arm. He’ll have to leave soon, he definitely doesn’t want Montagne to wake up like this, but he’s so warm.
It’s a mystery to him how Montagne unfailingly radiates heat as if it took no effort – the man really is an oven. Not only that, he seems to have no trouble in letting Bandit sleep on him though this implies a whole range of things Bandit is absolutely not ready to face yet. For now, he has to flee and hope no one saw -
A small noise makes his eyes fly open. He probably looks just as shocked as Rook who’s standing a few metres away and apparently froze mid-chew upon spotting the two people on the couch. For a while, neither of them moves a muscle.
“I saw nothing”, Rook then whispers, turns around on his heel and leaves without any further complications.
Okay. He really should – this needs to stop. It was the first night he slept in Montagne’s arms and he’ll make sure it’ll be the last one, too, he can’t keep doing this. He’s starting to rely on someone else and that is in no way acceptable, not when he already can’t rely on himself. It’s a burden he doesn’t want anyone else to shoulder, least this man who would probably bear anyone’s weight if they asked. No. He won’t add to it.
Carefully, he wiggles out of the tight hug and is about to throw his blanket over the large figure when he pauses. He’s seen Montagne sleep before, once or twice, but never at dawn, never bathed in golden sunlight and without worries, face smooth. On a whim, he picks up his phone from the table and takes a photo. Then he leaves.
When Blitz asks him about his red cheeks a minute later, Bandit tells him to shut up.
.
~*~
.
At this point, it’s moved long past worrying into the territory of genuinely concerning. There’s a lot of things about Montagne which frighten him, partly his urge to lay claim to him in whichever way possible, partly how deceptively easy his company is, partly the ever-present fear of losing him one way or another. He’s gotten attached and can’t deny it, but none of this is on Bandit’s mind right now, not now. Not when he’s got a half naked Montagne to admire.
What concerns him is the fact that a single kiss by this gorgeous God in front of him reduces him to a drooling mess already. It doesn’t matter what he does, he’s tried jerking off before they sleep in the same bed but all it achieved was to strengthen the desire for physical proximity, in turn prompting Montagne to be even more affectionate than usual and Bandit still ended up with a hard-on. He’s counted sheep, thought of the most revolting things yet Montagne easily penetrates his concentration by humming into his ear or, worse, spooning him, or, even worse, letting Bandit spoon him. He’s spent a few hours total with Montagne’s perfectly sculpted ass pressed against his crotch, quietly panting against this breathtaking back of his and holding on to his shapely hipbone while frantically trying not to hump him or wake him up or really just come in his underwear right then and there.
This morning seems adamant on testing his patience as well. The sun is just rising and allowing him an unobstructed view of the beauty that is Montagne, stretched out on the bed before him and blissfully sleeping despite the fact Bandit must’ve stolen the blanket some time during the night. This little detail is what allows him to marvel at perfection itself, take in the long limbs, dusting of hairs on his chest, strong muscles. If he looks closer, he can see his regular heartbeat. It hurts looking at him because Bandit now fully knows what he can’t have yet, what Montagne hasn’t graced him with. He’s received a few hand jobs so far and it pains him to call it that, it felt more like a revelation, Montagne attentive and thorough, learning quickly and reducing Bandit to a shuddering heap of want in minutes.
His prize is hidden in black briefs and it attracts his gaze like a magnet. He woke up with a boner and decided against taking care of it for exactly as long as he hadn’t yet turned around to examine the person with whom he’s sharing a bed. Now, he’s sitting upright, his own underwear pushed down and one hand lazily wandering up and down his hard shaft as he struggles with himself. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t and Montagne would be disappointed if he did and Bandit would probably also disappointed in himself but – it’s right there and it looks fucking big flaccid already and dear Lord he vividly remembers all the times he felt it against his body, not allowed to touch it.
It calls to him. With a muffled gasp, he picks up speed and prays that Montagne is as slow to wake today as he is usually. He has mornings on which he rises early and easily though they’re exceedingly rare, normally he inhales deeply, stretches his limbs and buries his head further in his pillow before he even opens his eyes. It should be enough of a warning to not get caught. Unless his hand is down Montagne’s underwear. He supposes there’s no way he can talk his way out of that one.
Maybe there’s a compromise in there somewhere. Hesitantly, he reaches out and touches his palm to it, moulds his hand around it to get a better feel and fuck, the flesh is hot and really as big as it looked and his breath hitches. This is bad. This is really bad. He needs to stop.
The head is thick already and merely imagining taking it robs him of the ability to form coherent thoughts. A quick glance, a complete stop in movement – no, Montagne is still sleeping, suspecting nothing, not reacting to the fact he’s being fondled. Bandit grows bolder, knowing full well he should be doing the opposite instead, and hooks his fingers into the waistband.
He’s going too far. It doesn’t matter that their job sometimes requires them to undress in front of each other, has had him cut open other people’s clothing several times and he probably has seen Montagne naked at some point. Still, it’s all irrelevant because it was an entirely different setting, there was nothing erotic about it, it wasn’t about being intimate with each other. It wasn’t breaking someone’s trust. His grip around his own dick tightens involuntarily. Then again, Montagne has seen him butt naked.
Carefully, he pulls the fabric down and forces himself to complete the task of hooking it under Montagne’s balls before he allows himself to take a good look. And Jesus fucking Christ. He clenches his teeth and has to convince his fist to slow down or else he’s going to come on the spot. It’s… large, first of all, yes, but even if not Bandit would call it pretty. His insides twist in an oddly pleasant way as he fantasises about swallowing it whole while smiling up at Montagne, and he can’t help but run his fingers through the dark curls. He has no preference when it comes to that, though he’s noticed shaving usually makes the cock look bigger – in Montagne’s case he assumes it won’t make a difference.
It’s beckoning him. It’d be so easy to just grab and work it gently until it starts filling with blood and swelling (though Montagne is probably a shower because holy hell) and maybe Montagne won’t be able to resist once he wakes up, so it’s possible Bandit will finally get to sit on this beautiful piece of flesh and oh God the thought alone makes him sweat. He bites his lip and cautiously begins peeling the foreskin back, exposing the head and rendering a few veins more visible, and when it twitches against his fingers, he comes without warning.
His climax takes him completely by surprise but the small jump was apparently too fucking hot for him and so he starts spurting semen accompanied by suppressed gasps, trying to be as quiet as possible while the contractions in his lower abs make him tremble and wash over him in waves of pleasure. It’s short-lived, however, because even in his immediate post-orgasmic haze, he notices one big fucking problem.
He came all over Montagne’s belly.
Panting softly, he eyes the mess with rising panic, unsure how to proceed. Another, now noticeably more scared as well as guilty glance reassures him that alright, at least he’s still asleep and hopefully will never know Bandit jerked off to his basically unconscious body because he can imagine that might be a deal breaker. It might actually be one.
And yet, there’s an entirely different urge present as well, insane and thus fitting well to the rest of his actions so far. Montagne looks stunning like this, ripe for the taking, the white drops exceedingly pretty on his skin and – he just has to. He has to.
He’s quick about it, immediately moves the photo to a folder inside a folder inside another folder, hoping Mute won’t hack into his phone any time soon or if he does, at least not dig this deeply, and hastily puts the phone back onto the bedside table. That still doesn’t solve his problem, however. He imagines wiping him off might actually wake him, the necessary friction of tissue on skin too much even for a heavy sleeper like him. He cleans himself, tucks both of them back in and then does the only thing he can think of to get rid of the evidence.
At first he’s careful not to touch Montagne’s warm skin with his lips and tries to soundlessly suck the viscous liquid in, but some of it ran down Montagne’s side and he has no other choice than to resort to properly licking it away. It doesn’t help that it spattered all over him.
And then Montagne does a deep inhale and Bandit panics. As quickly as possible, he licks up the drops he hasn’t gotten to yet, masking his actions as wet kisses, now at least not needing to be quiet. He finishes with a swirl through Montagne’s navel right as he stretches and gives his abdomen a cursory wipe to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, pretending he’s merely stroking over his skin in affection.
“Good morning”, Montagne slurs, still sleep-drunk, and rubs his eyes, as of now totally and completely oblivious of the disaster which unfolded mere seconds ago. “That’s a nice way to be woken up, you know.”
Bandit wants to scream. “Yeah”, he replies as casually as he can, “I couldn’t sleep anymore and you were there.” To support his alibi of simply wanting to rouse Montagne with his quick kisses and licks, he peppers his chest with a few more when a hand attempts to gently pull him towards Montagne and fucking hell if they make out now, there’s no way he won’t be able to taste the come on Bandit’s tongue. “Wait, I, uh, need to pee. I’ll be right back.” He ducks out of the soft grasp and jumps off the bed.
“Everything alright?”, Montagne wants to know and great, now he’s worried, probably thinks Bandit dreamt badly when all he did was to -
“Peachy”, he responds without looking back and, once he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hides his burning cheeks in his hands for a solid ten seconds before he can even consider looking himself in the eye. Cool water on his hot face helps fight down the mortification and he even remembers to wash his mouth. “This stays between us, understood?”, he addresses his mirror image quietly before daring to step back out of the bathroom.
Sinking into Montagne’s arms helps as it always does, yet it’s also an odd comfort to know that he not only got away with it but also has visual proof for the future. He’s probably going to make use of that photo during lonely nights.
#rainbow six siege#montagne#bandit#montagne/bandit#fanfic#protection mountain#I'm crying at the prospect of sorting all these for a proper upload on ao3#also bandit you better come up with a good explanation for that pic#because SOMEONE is going to find it
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Maybe I Don’t Hate You
This story is @onceuponaprincessworld ‘s fault. She said on Tumblr a while ago that she loved the "enemies to secret dating to lovers" trope and since then I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, so this is my little contribution. I don't even know if it makes any sense, because I wrote it in just a moment, but somehow I had to get it out of my head.
Summary: Emma Swan hates Killian Jones even before she meets him. But when he starts working with her, maybe her feelings change a bit. Or maybe not. At least not in front of their friends.
Also Ao3 Ffnet
@saraswans thanks for everything. This is unbeta’d so apologies for all the mistakes.
Emma Swan hates Killian Jones. She hates him even before she met him, when David, her friend and boss, informed her that his best friend from college — His I'm Mr perfect Killian Jones friend — was going to join the business as a new employee. Okay, maybe hate is a too strong word, but she can't stand him. Urg, why did David have to hire him and make her life miserable?
The reason is not that her demons in the form of insecurities begin to haunt her, screaming that he is a threat to her position — He got the record in capturing bail jumpers last year in London — No, she can’t stand his perfect face, his very blue eyes, his swaying, his continuous flirting and his accent. That's the worst of all. She can not control the reactions of her body when he is around. And she hates not being in control.
Killian Jones thinks that Emma Swan is insufferable. She hasn’t stopped pushing and teasing him since he arrived at the company, tightening the thread between them until it almost reaches its limit. He is sure that he had never had to bite his tongue so much before, roll his eyes or count to ten as with this woman. But Killian likes a challenge — and maybe the fire that emanates from her gaze and the passion she puts, even in hating him have something to do with it — that's why he not only holds up her pushes but also generates them.
Maybe Emma does not hate Killian anymore. Not when she finds every morning on her desk her favorite bear claw and a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. Not when he proves that he is really good at his work and not in the competitive sense but in the collaborative one. But that doesn't mean that she likes him. Nope. His intense gaze, his scruff, his expressive eyebrows and his perfect body are not enough either. Absolutely not.
After a few weeks, Killian no longer thinks that Emma is insufferable, quite the contrary. There is something about her that makes him feel attracted to her like a magnet, although he is still not sure what it is. Maybe her tenacity, her courage or her constant dedication to her job. Or maybe it's that lost look he sometimes catches when she's distracted, or the way her face lights up each morning when her eyes drift to her desk in search of her favorite breakfast. But she keeps pushing and he keeps challenging her, while Robin, their other coworker, rolls his eyes and David looks at the ceiling while both huff in exasperation.
They continue fighting.
"Swan! Tell me you haven't used my tickets for the football game as a notebook." "I was in an emergency and I had nothing else at hand." "The tickets were on my desk. In a drawer. Locked with a key."
She simply shrugs and rushes out mumbling an excuse, pressing her lips together in an almost unsuccessful attempt to prevent a wide smirk from appearing.
"How did you let that skip escape, Jones? It was an easy prey." "Maybe I was distracted thinking of you, love."
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, hoping for Killian not to notice the blush that has begun to creep from her neck to her cheeks.
Killian has already been working with them for a couple of months when Emma can no longer deny the evidence. Although she will never admit it out loud, she may like Killian. A tiny bit.
Killian likes Emma. A lot. He actually feels quite fascinated by that creature full of contradictions. She may be the most badass person in the world when she tries to catch one of the criminals and the next minute she is able to transform herself, offering infinite tenderness and patience to Roland, the little son of Robin.
Thanks to David, he's got some small hints into her past, which, far from pushing him away, makes him feel more and more attracted to her.
"I know Emma can be a pain in the ass sometimes, Killian, but she has had a tough past, don't go so hard with her."
Mary Margaret, David’s girlfriend, also defends her best friend. "She has her reasons for behaving that way, and you better than anyone should understand her."
He does, of course he does. He also had a hard past, full of suffering and loss, but, following the motto of his passed brother, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. There is nothing he wants more than to know Emma better, to know those little —or big— secrets from her past that make her the person she is now, to discover what makes her laugh, what makes her cheeks to flush and how could he get to her heart.
The moment Emma realizes that she likes Killian maybe too much comes unexpectedly on a day when they team up in a stakeout session. Killian is teasing her, as always. — " I'm just trying to distract you, love. " — He smirks at her after one of his usual banter when something seizes her, causing an uncontrollable desire to erase that smile with her own lips.
And she does. She pulls him and captures his lips with hers in a demanding kiss, to which, luckily, he responds with the same enthusiasm. And just like that, they start making out in his car, their lips and hands anywhere, their surveillance completely forgotten. At least on her part.
Killian, the bastard, turns out to have the ability to make her blood run hot and, at the same time, keep an eye on their target. Just as she is about to straddle his lap, he breaks the kiss and points towards the street. "What do you say, darling? Are you up for a little ride?" He suggests, his voice still heavy after their previous activities, his cheeks flushed and his eyes even more blue, watching her with intensity while his lips, those that just a few seconds ago were on hers, draw a smile that does not exactly invite to run after a guy.
But she is a professional, so after a sigh of resignation, they prepare to catch their prey. They do it in record time. Maybe the adrenaline that still runs through their veins acts as an ally to make them achieve their goal. For that reason, when they make the corresponding arrangements and deliver the guy to the police, they celebrate it with another session of making out, right in front of their office.
By the time they arrive at the office a little later, David gives them a mixed look of reproach and resignation, while addressing them in his best bossy tone. "Guys, at some point you're going to have to stop fighting."
"That's not..." Her voice trails off when her gaze drifts towards Killian. He looks wrecked and a little agitated, just as he would look after one of their fights. Emma wonders if she has the same look as she presses her lips together to avoid the laughter bubbling in her chest. An idea crosses her mind at that moment, she has no intention of stopping fighting with him at any time soon.
Luckily for him, that first kiss —several searing kisses, actually — is not a one-time thing, but a promising start. It's as if something had taken hold of them, as if the attraction between them had multiplied and once their lips came into contact they are unable to keep them apart. At least in privacy. That intimacy also allows Killian to discover that Emma's innate fire and passion while fighting intensifies when they carry out much more pleasurable activities.
The problem? That blooming relationship between them only exists when they are in private.
"It's better that we keep it a secret." Emma assures him, although he is not entirely convinced. "You already know that David doesn't approve relationships between coworkers." She insists in that stubborn way of hers. To prove her point, she reminds him of the Graham incident . He was a former co-worker who fell hard for her and went from being a competent person to a complete mess after her rejection. "Besides, it's not that we're together, or anything like that, it's just... you know what I mean."
He does. It's sex. But it is also much more than that. It's spending lazy afternoons cuddled on the couch, it's sharing their past stories under the shelter of his apartment or hers, it's sharing furtive looks and stolen kisses in the office when nobody notices. It's to continue fighting in front of everyone while he imagines the feeling of her body under his between the sheets. But he is a patient man, and he knows that Emma will realize that too sooner or later.
"I'd like to ask you a huge favor, Emma." Mary Margaret says one day while they are having lunch together. There is an apologetic expression on her face that triggers her alarms. Emma looks at her through her narrow eyes and tilts her head, waiting for her to continue. "Right now David is asking Killian to be his best man at our wedding."
"Uh huh," Emma replies, not surprised by what she has just heard. But there is something else, she can tell because Mary Margaret fidgets in her seat.
"Since you will be my maid of honor, it would be too much to ask that you bury the hatchet at least for a while, pretty please?" The voice of her friend comes almost like a plea, causing in Emma a desire to break into laughter. She quickly schools her features, though. She is not yet ready to give explanations to her friends.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah." She lets out a long sigh. "We may not get along quite well, but we'll make an effort, for you guys."
"That's wonderful, thank you, Emma." The smile that Mary Margaret gives her has the ability to warm her heart. If she only knew...
Later that day, as she lies in her bed cuddled in Killian's arms, she thinks about the wedding and in the torture that will mean having Killian so close during the whole event and not being able to interact with him the way she would like. No kisses, no hugs, no dancing. Shit ! Suddenly it no longer seems so good idea to keep the secret. "We could simply confess." He mumbles, hot puffs of air caressing her skin. Damn him and his ability to read her mind.
She doesn't feel ready yet, though. Or maybe it's the fear that everything they share now may disappear, as if being protected in their own bubble isolates them from the world. But sooner or later they have to get out of the bubble and better do it of their own free will than to wait for the bubble to explode for other circumstances. After the wedding , she promises herself in silence.
This wedding is being a bloody torture, Killian thinks as he silently watches all of Emma's movements. She is ravishing tonight, which makes it impossible for him to look away from her. Frustration creeps over him, though, since as the hours pass his need for her increases. At least he will have his reward when everything is over and he can sneak up to her hotel room and make that bloody dress disappear from his sight.
Just at that moment something catches his attention, Mary Margaret is about to throw her bridal bouquet and there is already a group of lasses gathered around her, eagerly waiting to catch the bouquet. Emma is distracted, however, chatting animatedly with Robin and Roland, without paying attention to what happens a few steps away from her.
Suddenly, it's as if he saw the scene in slow motion. Mary Margaret looks around until her gaze locates Emma. Her lips draw a wide smile then and, without even bothering to turn around, she throws the bouquet in a specific direction. The flowers reach their goal, to Mary Margaret's delight, who squeal excited, and to Emma's surprise, who looks at the bouquet as if it had appeared out of nowhere.
After her initial shock, Emma seems to react, grabbing the bouquet tightly while her gaze travels across the room to meet his. Only then does she smile, with that special smile dedicated only to him. Killian cannot resist it anymore. In only two strides he appears in front of her, and without thinking twice, he captures her lips with his in a searing kiss. Emma reacts with the same fervor while the two get lost in the feeling of being in each other's arms as if nothing else existed around them.
It's Killian who breaks the kiss to catch his breath. To his relief, Emma doesn't seem worried about having revealed the secret in this way, by sharing the kiss in front of all their friends.
"Maybe I don't hate you after all." She simply says as she arches one of her perfect eyebrows.
"And maybe I love you."
"Just maybe?"
For all answer, he kisses her again, hoping that the kiss will be promising enough of what is to come when they are in the shelter of their room and he finds infinite ways of saying I love you , both with his voice and with his actions.
A year later they keep fighting and teasing each other.
"You look horrible today, Jones. Do you think you're ready to catch the bad guy?"
"Someone kept me very busy last night, Jones." He makes an exaggerated emphasis on the name while waving his eyebrows. "And I'm always ready." He winks at her earning a roll of eyes on her part.
David huffs at his side as he throws his arms in the air in exasperation. "I don’t know if I prefer when you two fight or when you behave... that way."
Emma and Killian look at each other and, as if they read their minds, they both respond in unison. "Both."
Thanks for reading :)
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