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punemy-spotted · 4 years ago

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The Price You Pay Chapter 3: Counteroffer

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements Continue; Dub-Con; Angst; Politics; Possessive/Manipulative Behavior; Spanking; Choking; Crying; The Dove is Probably Dead: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: The return of an old friend brings back the ghosts of old memories.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Notes: Shorter chapters my ass, these outlines are getting unreal. Andy Barber has arrived, Steve Rogers does not approve, the Reader bears the consequences. Things are going to be angstier from here on out and I can feel it in my bones. Please don’t yell at me — or do, your feedback is well-loved and appreciated even if it’s yelly.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

You met Andy Barber fresh from the ashes of his divorce, escaping the gossip and scandal and pain of his past life only to dive into the gossip and scandal and pain of politics. Senatorial campaign, in need of an aide and a law student desperate to do more for the people than hours in clinics and mock trials. Hungry for something grassroots, angling for the impossible.

A match. Whether made in Heaven or Hell feels irrelevant now, long ago as it was.

It was then. This… is now.

Hey Sunshine, didn’t think you’d be able to make it.

He looks the same. Keeps the same beard. Same hair. It’s uncanny and familiar and safe all at once and you slide into the booth with your purse by your side and feel genuinely smiley for the first time in a long time.

It’s been a while since I heard that name.

Yeah? It’s been a while since I got to use it.

The silence is heavy, unwelcome, unwieldy, a reminder of the space between what was and what is.

How’re you doing? Last I heard you were making a name for yourself taking down the…

He trails off, eyes fixed on the slide of your gaze, the sudden interest in a drink menu you wouldn’t normally touch, the tremor of your lips. A man doesn’t serve as Assistant District Attorney for the many years he has without picking up tells.

Sunshine.

Andy…

It’s a warning, a plea, a… confession, all at once, and all the dogged determination in the world can’t hold against the break in your voice, in your control. You’ve cried more in the past few weeks than you can recall and now here he is, soulful eyes and a worried expression and he’s never hugged you really, but suddenly you might want it just that much more.

Don’t be an idiot.

It’s dangerous, your stress, and you know it.

Dangerous enough to send you into the arms of the next safe thing — this is why you don’t do this, isn’t it, this reaching out bit, but no advocacy group on the planet is going to save you from yourself today.

I saw… I saw you win that case. Pretty brutal, standing up to the Syndicate, and getting what you did. He steamrolls past the way you wince, his thumb on that metaphorical bruise and pressing, the Prosecutor’s dogged determination demanding answers, I have a friend in the office, he was convinced you’d be climbing the ranks.

Every word is a twist of the knife, couched in quiet concern, gentle admonition, a warm hug in a smoky tenor and you want to tell him everything, you want to break down in his arms and tell him every word, every buried piece of you he never learned, everything that’s led you to this.

You don’t.

You know better than to trust him too. No one’s going to take care of you but you so instead you shake your head and wave it off and Decided going into the private sector was the better option — one big win doesn’t really make up for the stress, you know.

Private sector. That’s what you’re calling the SHIELD Syndicate now? C’mon, Sunshine…

Look. It’s the Syndicate’s New York, when he made the offer it was… safer than saying no. It’s a cushy position anyway, and I didn’t want anyth—

He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you and you’re digging a hole trying to explain your way out of it so you just… shut up, shaking your head, It’s not important. I’m fine. I’m more curious about you — what year is it now, your fourth? What are you doing in New York?

The deflection works, but the look on his face is obvious — you’re not getting out of this so easily. He gives in for now, just for now, for you.

Almost fifth, gearing up for re-election. Had a meeting up here… about the organized crime situation for both states, and I remembered you were in the area.

Oh. You… it’s been a while since we talked, you remembered?

You expect me to forget you, Sunshine?

That stops you in your tracks, or whatever road your mind had been racing on, thoroughly not enjoying the defensive you’ve been on since you met with Steve, constantly under watch and waiting for yet one more shoe to fall on you.

That’s fear, sweetness.

Andy…?

You were the best campaign aide I had — I told you then too, I would have made you Chief of Staff if you’d let me.

It’s a good save. A clever save, and you want to believe it more than anything, want to believe it was all business and no pleasure because the alternative makes your nails bite into the table and want to turn tail before he can say another word and he… sees that panic flicker over your face so keenly it’s almost embarrassing.

You’re not used to this.

You’re not used to the warmth of his eyes when he searches your face for the answers you can’t give voice to. You’re not used to the way he reaches for your hand and rests it over your fingers, curling around your palm like he might actually keep you close and keep you safe and keep you free of the demons you made a part of yourself too.

Sunshine, why does his voice have to be so soft, why does it have to sound like molten honey on your senses, why does he have to say your name like it’s the very definition of the word hope, If you’re not safe…

No. No you’re not, tell him tell him the truth, tell him you’re atoning for the girl you could not protect tell him you aren’t worth it tell him this is your penance tell him you signed a death warrant tell him tell him tell him.

Andy, really. I’m fine. It’s a good job.

It’s a shit lie.

He drops it. Drops it just long enough for a waiter to finally come by, for his hand to leave yours while he talks through the wine menu. Drops it long enough for you to check your phone, realizing with horror that you must have silenced it absentmindedly sometime on your way here.

Ten missed calls.

All from Steve.

And one text, stamped from just five minutes ago.

[SMS] Either you pick up your phone or I pick you up, Counsel.

The next one comes right before your eyes, a picture of a map and a GPS pin. Your location.

You glance up at Andy, still talking to the waiter about the small plates options, feign a smile and Go ahead and choose, you have better taste than me, and return to staring at the picture and the three dots at the bottom of your screen, waiting to see his next message.

[SMS] Make your choice.

The haptic feedback of your keyboard feels like an electric shock with every letter, hurried fingers until you manage to tap out something that won’t immediately put the man in front of you in the crosshairs of the most dangerous organization in New York.

You can’t do that to him. You can’t.

[SMS] I’m at a dinner with a friend.

[SMS] And since I know there’s no emergencies pressing, I’d like my time, thank you.

You have the good sense to set it next to you this time, watching your screen light up with whatever furious response he sends next, glancing over only occasionally every time another one comes through. Don’t let him control you. Don’t let him think you’re at his beck and call.

You’re not.

You’re free, you’re free and you’re going to prove it.

Sunshine? What’s going on?

His voice cuts through the haze of panic like a knife and you swear you don’t mean to jump but you do and there’s no denying what he notices, eyes narrow and lips turned down in a sharp scowl, Sunshine…?

You are not that girl. You cannot be that girl, never again.

Steel. Steel yourself, flash him a smile, take a sip of the ice water left in front of you while you’d been checking your phone, reset yourself. Steady. Steady on.

Don’t let them know.

Nothing, nothing, just the boss — let him know I was busy.

Why is he texting you after hours? The Syndicate can’t be that busy.

He’s too watchful for your own good. Probably just making sure I’m staying out of trouble.

Are you?

Are you calling yourself trouble, Senator?

You like this. You can handle this, the trading of jokes, the crooked way he smiles. His eyes are a little more distant than you remember but you can still see them sparkle softly when he suppresses a laugh, lighting up properly when the joy reflects in them.

Briefly, you wonder when the last time he really laughed was.

By the time dinner is over, his hand, warm and steady, is back on yours as you talk — and for a moment you almost enjoy the way he runs his thumb over your knuckles absently, like he’s making careful appraisal of each one. Could use your skills for the re-election campaign, you know.

Really? You’ve got a gorgeous approval rating, what are you afraid of?

Not having my good luck charm on the staff.

Andy…

I’m dead serious, Sunshine, you ran that ship. You were what, a 2L? Rising 3? You had canvassing down to a science. We need that energy down on the Hill.

The curve of his fingers is a little tighter now, squeezing yours, like proof of his earnestness and oh, you want to keep believing him. You need to keep believing him.

There’s so much in New York I have to get done first. And besides, you know me. I want a life on the bench.

Justice Sunshine, and it sounds absurd when he uses your nickname and it sounds so real when he uses your nickname and in the warm smoke of his voice those contradictions can live together all at once.

That’s the one. Closest you’ll see me to Washington is when I’m appointed to the Supreme Court. It’s a dumb, arrogant, silly joke but it’s the same one you used to make with him over drinks, teasing him about his political goals and making him promise to “go easy on you” at your eventual Senate confirmation hearing.

It’s the one that makes him crack that too-beautiful crooked smile while he takes a sip of his drink — hiding the curve of his lips behind the rim of a heavy glass.

Well. If you ever decide to ditch—

Ever decide to ditch what?

The world moves in slow motion: hearing the low growl from behind you; Andy Barber looking up and rising to his feet, his hand slipping from yours with just the ghost of his comfortable touch to assure you; Steve Rogers coming into view as you turn, flanked by the not-entirely-unfamiliar faces of two of his enforcers — it looked like Wilson and Banner had been selected this evening — and the sudden pressure of knowing you’ve done something terribly, terribly wrong.

You stood me up, Counsel. Steve’s voice is a threat, a half-drawl as you stand up and face him, Andy right behind you, Something wrong with taking my phone calls?

She was busy, the sound of Andy’s voice is a balm to your soul and fuel to Steve’s fire, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he grits his teeth and resists the temptation to throw the first punch — you can see the fingers of his right hand curling into a fist, can’t you? The slow curve, the watching, wondering if you’ll make the right choice now that someone has chosen to try to lead you astray.

And who the fuck are you? If he can’t get you to respond, he’ll get something from the man talking for you, eyes trained on him like he’s debating whether his own frustration will make this interloper turn to nothingness and return you to his arms where you rightfullybelong.

Do you? Rightfully belong?

Senator Andy Barber. The title practically knocks the wind out of Steve’s sails and you can see it — he may be the Captain here, King of New York, ruler of his domain but he’s not stupid enough to openly attack a man with connections beyond the Syndicate’s web of influence. It’s a comfort and it’s not, all at once.

The room is still, vibrating with tension, the two men staring daggers at one another and you caught in the middle. I worked on Senator Barber’s campaign when he first ran for election, you manage out in some vain hope it might explain and mollify, only to be thoroughly disappointed — and judging by the way Banner winces, only to dig your grave further.

We’re talking about this later, Counsel. You’re coming home.

And what gives you the right to give her orders? You really are going to have to look back at Andy and beg him to not make this worse. You really are going to have to let him see your face, see that you’re afraid, sweetness. He’s not going to let you go easy and this should not terrify you as much as it does.

Senator Barber. It’s fine. Something must have come up,turning to face his burning eyes, until his face softens like he’s seeing you for the first time. And is he? Is he seeing how you just need him to let it go, let you go, drop the protectiveness and step back?

He has to, because he does, nodding before he grabs his coat and glances to the host station. If you say so, Sunshine. Take care of yourself. He doesn’t press, not knowing when he’s beat but knowing when you don’t want him to. When you’re not safe.

And Steve Rogers offers you his hand to walk you out.

And just what the hell did you think you were doing!?

Oh, and you control my time off the clock now too?

He dragged you back home.

No. Not to your apartment, that sanctuary away from all this you’d been allowed to keep as part of the “deal.” His home, the bedroom where you signed yourself away, the space he unraveled you and left you tangled in your new life.

He dragged you back home, in the grim silence of the backseat of his car and you waited. Waited for the inevitable explosion, the one prefaced by Wilson’s nervous looks and Banner’s cautious stare.

This explosion, where he rounds in on you, where livid is still too tame a term.

Meeting with a Senator? Ignoring my calls? I told you, you were mine tonight.

And I told you I had plans.

After I told you that you were mine, Counsel.

Okay. That’s true, even if you’re loathe to admit it.

Plans adjust. Andy wanted to—

Oh, Andy now? I thought it was Senator Barber? You’re really familiar with him, aren’t you, Counsel?

Just what the fuck are you implying?

Maybe you need a reminder of who you belong to.

He loves to do this. Wrap his big hand around your throat, remind you just how easily he can impose his power onto you, watch your protests die behind your eyes when you realize how useless words are in the face of his violence.

The furious look in your eyes is something to behold, the way you embed your nails into his wrist to try and drag him off you, all soft snarls and indignant huffs, You fucking asshole…

You’re mine, Counsel, and don’t you forget it. You gave yourself to me, remember?

Like I… like I had much of a choice, breathy, furious, and clawing at him.

Doesn’t matter. You’re mine, and clearly I need to make sure you know it…

Steve—!

Captain, sweetness, Captain, and don’t you forget it.

There’s a moment, when anger becomes transcendental, when it turns into something cold and calculating and prepared, when a plan forms behind his eyes and you watch as he looks down at you, so full of fury and fear all at once and you watch as he leans in so close and you feel his hand slide until he has you by the back of the neck, until his thumb is the thing pressing under your chin to keep your eyes on him, until the heel of his hand is the thing keeping you from shouting at him further. Such a stubborn little bitch…

You can almost see the words forming in his mind, the ones his mouth won’t say, I could be so good to you, but he doesn’t say them, sliding his lips over yours instead and it is… soft. A capturing of your mouth with his, not caring that you protest, only insistent on leaving you breathless and hazy-eyed from each tug of his lips on yours and there stokes the warmth of more than your rage, a different fire rising in your core, unbidden and unwelcome but yours to own and his to play with.

He can sense it, practically feel it, that mad serum racing through his veins and making his nostrils flare as he pulls back and watches you, lets the scent of your perfume fill his senses like a drug he can’t get enough of and, I should hate you too, for this, whispered low and hushed and you barely catch it, don’t you? Barely, but enough, enough to remember it was said just before he pulls you down with him into the depths of his own lust.

And into his lap, it seems, as he drags you down, sitting on the bed with you draped over his lap, an effortless shift in his skillful hands. You can protest, and you do, even daring to try to pull away with a kick of your legs and an indignant, What the hell do you think you’re doing?But you know it’s all futile, useless as he places one heavy hand on your back and lets the other slide over the smooth chiffon of your blouse, tracing a line along your spine with careful, practiced ease.

Would have preferred this with a little more… circumstance, sweetness, but you need to learn a lesson now and drastic times call for drastic measures.

You can turn your head slightly, to look at him, that wild-eyed fury so sweet on your face and you are still a wild creature he needs to tame but he is patient and he can do this for as long as it takes.

But you’re a sight like this, draped over his lap in a pencil skirt and blouse, so put together and proper and now so prone to him, helpless under the appraisal of his hands and the way he takes no time in hiking your skirt up around your waist. Captain! Your protest is met with a low chuckle, especially as he lets his palm curve around the round swell of your ass, before leaving a light swat on the soft flesh, to draw a yelp from your furious mouth.

If that’s all it takes to get you shouting, sweetness, you’re going to hate what comes next, smug and cruel, as you try to hold yourself up enough to look at him, met with his smirk and the simmering fury still bubbling in his eyes. To say you’re in danger still is an understatement, no doubt, and you know it.

I won’t make you count this time, but piss me off again, sweetness, and we’ll just see how much you can take, you hear me?

Oh you loathe him, really and truly loathe him, hissing with anger and embarrassment, so close to twisting in his arms and clawing at him but remembering his size and just how much worse it could get — but then there lies the undercurrent.

The one you loathe too, more than you hated him, that warmth. Seeping into your core, a low heat kindled by the sly softness of his lips on yours and the sure tenor of his voice, low and soothing even as he promised damnation. The one that — just like now — leaves you flushed and writhing while he purrs threats to you, massaging the soft skin and sliding the lace of your panties down to remove all barriers to the sex he owns so surely.

You open your mouth to argue with him but as you do, you feel his hand lift from your flesh and then the resounding SMACK of palm on skin, turning words into nothing but a sharp cry of pain, surprise, and lust. The heat rises just as your body tenses, reacting to the sudden attack on your delicate form, cheeks flushed. Even as your eyes well with tears your sex strives to betray you and — Oh do you like that, sweetness? — damn him for noticing.

Let me go, Captain, the threat is shaky, your voice wavering with something like want and panic all at once, and all it does is draw another laugh as he soothes the stinging mark left on your cheek, gentle as a lover and four times as cruel.

Do you know what I think, sweetness? And another raise of his palm, to strike you once more, listening to the way that cry of pain and surprise turns into a soft, involuntary moan the moment he begins to soothe the ache, I think you need this. Always so uptight, trying to be the head bitch in charge, aren’t you? Just looking for someone to take over, take control, remind you where your place is.

His fingers slip further, more interested in exploring the soft slickness of your sex, listening to your protests die in your throat with every press of his fingers into your plush folds. That’s why I’m here, to keep you in my lap, all fucked and soft, sweetness. Don’t you worry, I’m going to take care of you. Even if I have to teach you just like this.

You should hate the way he talks, hates how he finds your center with effortless ease, like he’s known your body for years. Holding you down in his lap still as he draws mewling moans from you with every curl of his fingers, finding the proof of his accusations in the slick need coating your thighs, soaking his fingers, You’re making such a mess of me, sweetness. Are you going to be good?

Hiss at him. Snarl at him, buck your hips and twist in his arms, push him away. Do something more than what you are now, with red-rimmed eyes and tears staining your face, do more than listen to him talk, feel his cock pressing against you as you lay in his lap, I’m going to ask it one more time, sweetness. Are. You. Going. To. Be. Good?

He punctuates each word of his question with a harsh smackagainst your ass, leaving little time for you to do more than cry out, until the last spank draws something like a moan from your perfect lips and therein lies your surrender for tonight, that soft mewl of pleasure born of pain and he soothes you again with soft shushes and gentle touches, back to inspecting the renewed slickness of your cunt, back to enjoying that plump tightness wrapped around his fingers and back to trying to control the shift of his own hips and you can feel him, hard against you, needing you as much as he is compelling your body to need him.

Captain… a low, desperate sort of mewl, the squirm of your body less to escape and more to enticeand he notices. Notices the way your fingers try to cling to him, notices how you look so very sweet when you’re so very desperate and in some way this is your own game of control, a push and pull and the curl of his fingers is suddenly so much angrier, driving you to the precipice of the fall and you are tumbling, tumbling down into a darkness of want you may never recover from.

Say it again. Tell me you need me, sweetness, tell me you need me and I’ll give you everything, and there’s an edge to the way he says everything, like he might meanit, like he might give you the world if you just gave in and you hate him, sweetness, you hate him but you need the things you hate once in a while and you can’t keep bearing his fury on your body and so you sob out your surrender and whine—

I need you, Captain, please…

And that is enough.

Let him believe you.

#steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #this fic is murdering my ass

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weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

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guitar lesson (f.w.)

prompt: the band that the weasley siblings had formed brought new excitement to hogwarts. new music, new��

pairing: guitarist!fred weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusions to sex (for like one second)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is literally just pure fluff. pure cute musical fluff.

George groaned and halted his drumming, “Bloody hell, Ronald, it’s not that hard to get the chord progression right after the third time drilling the song!” he cried out before tucking a drumstick behind his ear. “We go from G to B minor to E minor back to B minor. What is so hard about that?” he scolds his brother who just rolls his eyes. “Do we want to get this right or not?” George looks to the rest of the band comprised of his other siblings.

Ron just retorted simply, “It’s the first time we’ve ran this song in weeks, George. Everyone is rusty. Just give it a rest. We’ll get it right next go. Besides, aren’t we due for a five?” he looks to his sister who gives him eager eyes and a nod, signaling they were in desperate need of a break.

George scoffs at his younger brother and says, “No, you’ll get it right the next go. Which starts now. Ginny, from the chorus. Fred, keep the chords crunchy, it sounds better that way. Ron, don’t fuck it up. Ready?” George directs the band as they all sigh.

They had only been in band practice for an hour and a half and George was already making it a living hell. Sure, it was his idea to form a band and it seemed like a great idea. It was a way to spend more time together, to make music, to meet new people, and blow off some steam. If anything, Fred was the first one to jump on the offer. He knew that it would be a way for his family to bond, but also a way for him to show off his guitar skills that he had been honing for the past few years. Fred had once said, “Ladies love musicians. Especially the guitarists.”

But now it seemed like the band, which once was a low-key, stress free environment has changed wildly. Almost overnight things took a rapid 360. George had managed to book a gig for their band, The Burrow Bangers, at Three Broomsticks for the next weekend. George had convinced Madam Rosmerta to let them have the whole building for the evening for the gig if they promised to bring in the people. Which would not be a problem. Students were itching to see the band of siblings play. But this meant high stakes for the Weasleys. A real gig, paying them real money, to play real music. All they had ever done before was fuck around and play random music that they thought was funny. But this? This was all very new and very different than what they were used to.

With a few strikes of his drumsticks, George yelled out, “A 1, 2, 3, 4!” And the band swelled with music, George keeping rhythm on the drum kit, Fred wailing on his guitar, Ron strumming on the bass, and Ginny belting into the mic.

“She’s a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, Dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind; anytime...” Ginny belted into the mic, her alto voice resonating throughout the room of requirement as Ron and Fred stared at each other, wondering when they would get a break. Fred looked concerned at Ginny who's voice was obviously getting tired from belting for an hour and a half with no water or bathroom break.

Fred drops his guitar and speaks, “Hold on, hold on!” The band fades slowly before George throws up his hands in protest, asking why they stopped. “Do you not hear Ginny’s voice? She’s tired. We’re all tired, Georgie. We’ve been working non-stop for next week’s gig. I don’t think a ten minute break is gonna kill us,” he protests.

George rolls his eyes, “None of you are taking this seriously. We are getting paid for this. People are coming to watch us. Don’t you wanna be decent?” George rises from his seat, searching the eyes of his siblings for some agreement.

Instead, he’s met with concerned eyes and tired expressions. Ginny looked absolutely exhausted, Fred looked exasperated, and Ron was flat out fed up. But all were equally concerned as to why their brother was so gassed up over this gig. George sighs, “I-” Fred gives him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we wanna be good, Georgie. But we need to balance things out. Let’s all take a break for a while. Reconvene tonight after some much needed rest and we’ll talk details of rehearsals then. Good?”

Ron eagerly nods his head before slipping the bass off from around his body. Ginny turns off the mic and starts out with Ron, talks of what was for dinner in the Great Hall. Fred approaches his twin and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s bugging you?” he asks, knowing that this behavior wasn’t typical for George. It wasn’t like George to get serious all of a sudden and push everyone to work without a break. Something was up and Fred could read it all over his brother’s face.

Defeated, George sighs. “I don’t know, Fred. I guess I’m getting myself all worked up because I invited Angelina to the show and I wanted to ask to be my girlfriend and I guess I just want things to be perfect for her in a way.” Fred gives his brother a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, shut it, you dickhead,” George laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder. “You’d do the same if you fancied someone,” he teases Fred as his twin shrugs. “Freddie...you don’t mean to tell me no girl has walked up to you and has told you how hot it was that you played lead guitar in Hogwarts’ premiere band?” he teases.

Fred laughs, “Can’t say anyone has...yet.”

This makes George laugh and shake his brother’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” George slings his arm over Fred’s shoulder. The two twins carry back their band equipment as they make their way to the Gryffindor common room. “Seriously, Freddie, I bet I can set you up with one of Angie’s friends. I’ll tell Angie to bring her to the show and she can see just how sexy you look fingering those strings,” George alludes as Fred chuckles.

“Nah, mate, I don’t wanna just have a set up of a date. I want to naturally meet a girl, you know?” Fred tells his twin as George rolls his eyes. Fred was always a hopeless romantic deep down. Although he had some flings in the past and had his fun with shagging a few girls casually here and there, Fred was looking for something more serious now. Someone he could connect with. “I’m not expecting for the perfect girl to be right around the corner, Georgie, but I’m not expecting her to be a-”

Fred stops mid sentence as he feels his body collide with another body as they walk around the corner of the hallway, making Fred and the person he had bumped into stumble back a bit. “Godric, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Fred looks around at the sheet music that was now cast about the floor. “Did I make you drop anything?” Fred asks, now looking up at a pair of eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

There you stood, a little flustered, in a hurry on your way to the library. You were late for a study group with some of your friends from your Charms class and it would be your third time late this week. If you were late again, they would surely give you shit for it. But as you took in who was causing you to run late, you suddenly didn’t mind. “Uh,” you gulp, “I’m alright, don’t worry. I should have watched where I was going. Now I’ve made quite the mess, haven’t I?” you lightly laugh as you crouch down to help him pick up the miscellaneous pieces of sheet music.

Fred joins you on the floor, picking up the scattered sheets. “It’s equally our mess,” Fred gives you a soft smile as you blush lightly.

Fred looks up at George who wiggles his brows as if to say Oh La-La! before he winks at his brother. “Oh, hey (Y/N),” George speaks before continuing to walk down the hallway, giving his dear twin some privacy. Fred shoot his brother a look to say, Mate, what the fuck?

“Hey, Georgie,” you laugh. The two of you continue to pick up the pieces of parchment as you inspect the scribbling on them to be the treble clef. “You’re a musician?” you ask him, referring to the sheets. Fred nods. “What instrument?”

“Guitar,” Fred beams as you widen your eyes and nod. “I’m actually in a band with George and my other siblings,” he tells you. “I didn’t know you were friends with George.”

You hand him a small pile of sheet music before you both rise to your feet. “Yeah, George and I have been friends for a little while. I helped tutor him in Divinations class,” you tell Fred who nods. Fred mentally yells that he wishes George would have told him that he was friends with an absolute stunner of a girl. “I didn’t know that you and George were in a band. That’s really cool,” you tell Fred with a smile.

As you stand before Fred Weasley, you hope he doesn’t know how flustered you were. You had always seen him in the halls with George and admired how charming and handsome he was from a far, but never said anything to him. You could have easily told George that you had a thing for his twin, but you were far too nervous to act on your little crush. You clutched your textbooks closer to your chest as Fred fixed the strap of his guitar on his chest, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as your eyes darting to watch them tug against the thin shirt material.

Fred spoke, “We started the band a couple of months ago. So it’s a pretty recent development.”

You nod your head and awkwardly stand before him before realizing that you were just staring at Fred’s face, admiring how his lips curled into a little smirk when he looked at you. Clearing your throat, you breathe, “Wicked.” Fred chuckles. “I’ve always been fascinated by musicians. I wanted to teach myself how to play guitar, but I’ve never gotten around to it,” you word vomit, instantly regretting the words coming out of your mouth. Damn it, (Y/N), you might as well just tell him your life story, you think to yourself.

With a cheeky smile, you watch Fred’s face light up. “I could teach you,” he suggest as your eyes widen. Fred immediately back pedals. “If you want! I mean, Godric knows that you are probably very busy, but if you ever wanted an instructor, I wouldn’t mind giving you lessons,” he retorts as you can’t help but have a lazy smile appear on your lips. Fred’s heart skips another beat as he gulps. “That’s only if you’d like me to teach you, (Y/N).”

The way he spoke your name made your stomach erupt with butterflies. His voice was like honey as words parted from his lips, the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. You watched his eyes as they looked into yours, monitoring how you reacted to his proposal.

Guitar lessons with Fred Weasley? You would have to be mental if you said no. With a meek smile and you reply, “You really don’t have to, Fred.”

“I want to,” he jumps before clearing his throat, realizing how quickly he answered, making you giggle as Fred blushes a deep red that matched his hair. “I would like to teach you, (Y/N).”

With a nod, you say, “I’d like you to teach me.”

Fred smiles widely. “Wicked,” he breathes out as you look away from his gaze to hide your rosy cheeks. “Just one catch,” he smirks as you furrow your brows. “You have to come to our show next week. At Three Broomsticks. And bring friends.”

Extending your hand, you tease him, “You’ve got a deal.” Fred shakes your hand firmly as you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Fred.”

You start down the opposite direction before Fred calls out. “First lesson is on Thursday! 4pm sharp,” Fred says as you flip around to look at him. “Tardiness is not tolerated,” he winks at you as you roll your eyes before walking away to the library.

As you walked down the corridors, you could help but smile to yourself. Your cheeks tingled from your large grin as you toyed with the edges of your books. The thought of Fred Weasley’s hands guiding yours as he taught you how to play guitar made your heart giddy. You nibbled on your bottom lip at the thought that danced around your head. Suddenly, you didn’t care how late you were to this study group.

----------------

Thursday rolled around slowly, but surely and Fred was checking himself out in the mirror, combing his fingers through his red hair, brushing the pieces out of his face. He nervously looked at himself in the mirror. Should he have shaved? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he brush his teeth for a third time?

He frantically ran around his dormitory room, thinking he should change his shirt again. Maybe you liked the color green better than blue. As if the color of his shirt would determine the outcome of this lesson/date. Fred didn’t even know if he could count this as a date.

George tapped out rhythms on his bed frame, watching Fred change his shirt for the fourth time as he shook his head. “Freddie, mate, are you really sweating that much?” he laughed.

Fred shot his twin a dirty look. “No,” he spat. “I just...I like the green better than the blue,” he lied, pulling the green shirt over his head and down his torso. Fred darted to his bed and grabbed his guitar and checked the time on his watch. He had ten minutes. “Good Godric,” he huffed.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you this shaken up since the time you thought you ate puking pastilles before your O.W.L.s,” George laughed as he tapped away on his bed frame.

Fred nervously tapped on his thighs, “I’m fine, George. I, uh, I’m giving (Y/N) a guitar lesson today,” he reveals to his twin who's eyes widen and chuckles, “It’s just a lesson. Nothing else. But I’m bloody nervous about it.”

Sitting up, George speaks, “You got nothing to worry about, mate.” He walks over to Fred and places reassuring hands on Fred’s shoulders. “(Y/N)s a great girl. She’s sweet and funny and proper fit,” George raises his brows as Fred groans. “I’m teasing you, Freddie, calm down. You’ve got nothing to lose. Now get down there and make her swoon.”

Fred was never nervous for dates or flirting with girls. All of that stuff came naturally to him. But for some reason the thought of you was enough to make his stomach do somersaults. The palms of his hands got sweaty when your name was spoken. There was something about you that made Fred Weasley lose his senses and that was hard to do.

Shaking it off, Fred huffs and leaves the dormitory making his way down to the common room. With each step he descended, his heart beat harder and faster against his rib cage. As he came down the stairs, your figure came into view which only made Fred’s mouth dry with anxiousness and excitement. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in attempt to calm himself down. I got this, she’s just a girl, he thought to himself. “4:00 on the dot,” Fred speaks, getting your attention, causing you to turn around to face him with a smile on your lips. “Very punctual, (Y/L/N).”

You take a good look at Fred and think about how effortlessly good he looked. Hunter green t-shirt hung on his tall frame perfectly as he walked over to where you sat on the couch, acoustic guitar in his hands. “Not to toot my own horn, but I was here at 3:55, Weasley,” you joke as he smiles. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

Fred chuckles, “In that case, pardon me for my tardiness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive someone as foolish as me.”

His smile made your heart flutter and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His joy was infectious. How could someone be so addictive? “Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving person.”

Fred places a hand over his heart and feigns relief. “Thank Merlin,” he fans himself as you chuckle. “Alright. You ready to get started?” he asks as you nod your head. “Brilliant, let’s start with the basics...”

After an hour of trial and error, you had managed to learned some chord progressions and strumming techniques from Fred. You had to give it to him; he was a great teacher. He was patient and smart and knowledgable. Not to mention, you loved listening to him talk about music and how passionate he was about playing. When he talked, he spoke with so much heart and life, it made you gently smile as you watched how animated he became. Fred Weasley really was one of a kind.

You were nearing the end of your lesson as Fred showed you how to play an F chord on the guitar. “Best chord,” he spoke as you looked at him quizzically. “F is for Fred, keep up (Y/N),” he teases making you scoff.

He explained the finger placements as you struggled to get it just right. “Wait, my second finger goes where?” you ask again as Fred points to the third string. You adjust and strum as an off-key chord resonates. “Now, that can’t be right,” you laugh as Fred shakes his head.

Fred gets up and moves from the chair in front of you to the seat next to you on the couch. He looks at you and asks, “May I?” He gestures to placing his hand on yours as you shake your head.

Gently, Fred places his hand on yours that holds the neck of the guitar as the other hand rests on your other elbow. Having his body is such close proximity to yours made your breath hitch in your throat as you felt his chest press against your back. Fred’s fingers adjust your placement carefully as if you were made of glass, trying his hardest not to make you break into a thousand bits. “This finger goes on the third string and this one stays on the second,” he lowly instructs. “And now, strum,” he speaks, a smile in his voice.

And so you do, a soft F chord playing as the strings underneath your fingertips hum sweetly. You two let the sound ring a little bit, either one of you not daring to breathe, scared to say or do anything. Just the position that you were in, his hands on yours, his chin resting near your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest. You gulped and exhaled softly. “Pretty,” you smiled.

Fred chuckled softly. “Yes, you are,” he spoke making your heart stop, wondering if he had just spoken those words.

You turn to face him, a questioning look in your eyes as Fred allows a small smirk to dance on his lips. Cheeky bastard, you think to yourself as you smile at him.

The two of you remain in this position, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Fred’s eyes were a rich brown, like pools of chocolate melting under the summer sun. His eyes were full of playfulness and cheer which made joy course through your veins. Fred Weasley was special.

You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in until his forehead was pressed against yours and you connected the gap between you two, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. As you kissed, he inhaled deeply, cupping your cheek with his hand, bringing you closer to him. His hands were calloused from the guitar strings as they pressed against your soft cheek. You pressed your lips onto his harder as Fred smiled gently into the kiss, enjoying every moment. You were first to pull away, but it didn’t last long, Fred’s lips following yours for another kiss as you giggled lightly. His lips were soft and tasted of sweet cinnamon and you wanted more, like your own drug.

Fred gently pulled away before speaking, “I have a confession.” You hum in response. “I was planning on kissing you this whole time. I was just trying to find a good excuse to sit next to you,” he confessed.

You smiled involuntarily and laughed. “I believe that,” you speak before placing another kiss to his lips quickly. “I also have a confession,” you bite your lip as Fred looks at you confused.

Scooting back a little, you cradle the guitar in your grasp before skillfully strumming a combination of chords that could be recognized as the beginning chords of I’m Looking Through You by The Beatles. Fred’s mouth goes agape and eyes wide as you play better than he could ever. “I lied about not knowing how to play the guitar,” you laughed. “I’ve known how to play since I was ten. I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Fred shakes his head in disbelief. “You sneak!” he exclaims. “A woman after my own heart,” he jokes as you laugh before he kisses your cheek. “Well, I guess you don’t need anymore lesson from a git like me. But I still think you should hold up your end of the deal,” he squeezes your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley,” you smile. “Although, I will be coyly judging your skills from the audience.”

Fred laughs, “I’m sure you will be, darling.”

----------------

After days of rehearsing and planning and scheduling and rehearsing some more, the gig at the Three Broomsticks rolled around. Ginny had managed to convinced the entirety of the Hogwarts quidditch league to come out which already filled the Three Broomsticks at half capacity. But getting more people to come wasn’t a problem. The promise of good music and Butterbeer was enough to have swarms of students flow into the small building.

The Three Broomsticks was soon teeming with people, chatting and drinking and laughing. The energy was high and the Weasleys could feel it from their make shift backstage (which was quite literally a curtain that Ron managed to pin up).

However, this meant that expectations were high which in turn made the band exceptionally nervous. Ginny nervously danced around, doing lip trills to warm up her voice as Ron tuned the bass. George sat at his drumming seat and ran over rhythms in his head, Fred pacing back and forth, biting on his nails.

You shuffled through the audience and found Harry and Hermione sitting at a table in the front as you approached them. You could hear Hermione gush about how hard Ron has been practicing for the gig, a rosy hue forming on her cheeks as Harry poked at her crush. As you approach, Hermione notices you and beams, “(Y/N)! Hi! Are you excited for the concert? You know Ron is playing bass?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Did you know Hermione has a big, fat cru-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Hermione quickly snaps as you laugh. “Anyway, what’s up?”

You smile, “Do you know if Fred is with the others still? I know he was nervous about tonight and I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

Harry looks at Hermione and then back at you. “Yeah, he’s back with the others,” he says as you nod, leaving. But before you can leave, Harry stops you, “Wait, hold on, I didn’t know that you and Fred were....” he looks for the words.

“We’re not officially together, but we’ve been seeing each other,” you confess with a smile. Hermione gives you a teasing glance as she sips on her Butterbeer and Harry nudges her with an ooh. “Oh please. You think you two are slick? Everyone knows Harry fancies Ginny and Hermione is practically head over heels for Ronald,” you teases as they both wear bright red cheeks. “Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you laugh. “I’ll see you both in a minute.” You make your way to the back of the Three Broomsticks, behind the curtain to find a nervous band of siblings. Ginny catches your glances first and a smirk comes onto her lips. “Oh, Freddie,” she sing songs. “You have a guest.”

Fred turns around to face you and relief washes over his face as your heart skips a beat. Fred looked good sporting dark wash jeans and a black henley. Simple, but Godric, it was enough to make you swoon. Fred grabbed your hand and walked you over to the corner for a little more privacy. “I’m glad to see your face,” he spoke before bending down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it,” you squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and gives you an awkward smile as you blurt out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he joins in. “Nervous? Excited? Weird? All three?”

You reach up and brush his hair out of his face as he relaxes under your touch. Just the simple gesture was enough to calm him down instantly. “It’s alright to feel like that. You are gonna be bloody brilliant. All of you,” you tell him sincerely. “You’ve been working so hard and you are all so talented. You’re gonna knock the audience’s socks off. I have no doubt in my mind,” you encourage him.

Fred smiles and without another word, he pulls you in by your waist to press your lips to his. You wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him sweetly. His lips are pressed against yours firmly, but sweetly with passion. His touch was enough to make your head reel. Fred pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “I’m playing for you tonight. And only you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you smile, staring into his eyes with so much adoration. It had only been a week and a half since you had started seeing each other, but you couldn’t help but have the overwhelming feeling that Fred was the one for you. He was everything you could ever ask for. Charming, kind, handsome, funny, witty. Fred Weasley was it.

“And I’ll be cheering you on the whole time,” you tell him, extending your pinky finger to him as he loops his with yours. The two of you press kisses to your thumbs, making it a pinky promise. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger,” you encourage him. As you walk away, Fred taps you bum playfully as you scurry away, back into the audience with Harry and Hermione.

The three of you buzz about the band and the atmosphere, sipping on Butterbeer before suddenly the audience starts wildly cheering. You turn your attention to the make-shift stage and see the Weasleys all enter. You immediately start clapping and cheering for the band as Ginny speaks into the mic. “Hello, Hogsmeade!” she laughs as the crowd cheers louder. “We are the Burrow Bangers and tonight we’ve got quite the show for you all!” she exclaims as the audience claps and shouts out. You look over at Harry and a wide grin is plastered on his face. “So, without further ado...”

“1, 2, 3, 4!” George bangs on his drumsticks before 80s rock blares through the small inn, the crowd immediately cheering and dancing the sound of the music.

And you had to admit it. They were damn good. They were all in synch with each other and blended so well together. The Weasleys were performers no matter how much they may hate it admit it. Not to mention, Fred looked hot wailing away on his cherry red electric guitar. His fingers skillfully strummed out chords and he musically added riffs when needed which made the crowd roar.

You were overwhelmed with pride at the boy you had taken such a keen liking to you and it was palpable. Fred would catch your eyes every now and then and drop his left eye into a wink, making you blush and cheer louder for him.

Tonight, and every night following, he played for you and you only.

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasly x reader #i know fred weasley is such a fucking angel #guitarist fred weasley #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry imagine

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beskar-cowboy · 4 years ago

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A Close Call

Part Three of The Best Things Dwell Out of Sight Series

Summary: After bounty hunting in the jungle, Mando comes back to the Crest with many pent up... feelings. (6k words) ao3 link here

Warnings: NSFW, smut, canon typical violence, descriptions of injuries, blood, yearning, mutual pining, rough sex, the helmet stays ON, breeding kink if you squint cause its Mando, also no season 2 spoilers

A/N: this series will be uploaded in a non-linear order! i realize that this way of doing things might not be everyone’s favourite so please let me know if you would like to be notified when all the parts are uploaded (which will be linearly in my masterlist) <3

The sweltering heat was heavy, drowning you in your own sweat as you walked deeper into vines, tall grass and thick foliage of the unfamiliar jungle.

The air was humid, the forest vast and dense, filled with shades of greens that you never thought you’d experience with your own eyes. You were seeing colours you had only previously dreamt of. It was such a stark contrast to the ice planet you had been on maybe a week prior to this. You weren’t sure which extreme you preferred but you were not the biggest fan of the way the humidity was making your hair puff out, curl exaggeratedly and stick to your neck and forehead with the sheen layer of sweat coated on every inch of your body. Your clothes were beginning to stick to your skin as well.

Mando was a fan of that, however. Yet the helmet gave away nothing, as always.

The moment you landed on the planet, he noticed the way your chest heaved, taking in the supple, fresh air for the first time. The look of wonder in your eyes, taking in the flora and fauna you could only have only ever dreamed of previous to this. You were very endearing, it made his heart feel heavy, tense, as if you were squeezing it in your perfect little hand, bleeding him dry.

You couldn’t believe this was your life now; travelling with a deadly bounty hunter, caring for him and his adoptive child day and night. What was even stranger, perhaps, was that you were having the time of your life.

No matter how cold Mando could be, how rude, closed off or just straight up silent he could get some days. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This was much better than your life on that dingey planet, working that dead end job in the scummiest bar in town. You tried not to think too much of your past, but you couldn’t help the few untamed thoughts that crossed your mind every now and then. You shrugged them off with relative ease, usually being whisked away in some task the Mandalorian asked you to complete, or by the cries of the Child.

No matter how hard the days could get, no matter how lonely you felt some nights, you were thankful for the loving affection of the kid, you were thankful for how much he seemed to care for you. And you cared for him in return. Not because it was what you signed up for, to more or less be his babysitter, but because you truly cared and maybe even loved the little green booger like he was your own. He was very sweet, kind, curious and reckless like Mando. You liked how they seemed so similar in some strange little ways, it made your heart feel heavy.

Heavy with some emotion you wouldn’t dare name because it would only fuck you up further, fuck up the missions, fuck up your tasks, fuck up everything. That sickening feeling you got in the pit of your stomach everytime you caught Mando talking to the Child, staring at him sweetly, catching the way he seemed to stare at you sometimes too. At least you think he was. Whatever, that helmet made it near impossible to ever tell what he was thinking, feeling or even just looking at.

No matter how little he was actually beginning to warm up to you, he was still extremely apprehensive and closed off. He had his moments of perceived kindness, gentleness or whatever it really was, but he always seemed to take five steps back when he realized he had been too vulnerable with you.

You couldn't blame him though, he was on the run from people who were trying to take the kid from him, or busy chasing after bounties himself, he didn’t have time for… whatever it was you were feeling. Whatever emotion you were terrible at suppressing, you know without a doubt that Mando didn’t have time for such trivial, childish things.

You huff and look down to your side, the Child’s pod floating seamlessly along your side, the two of you just a few steps behind Mando.

The Mandalorian was tracking a bounty and he said there was a good chance he’d be on this jungle planet seeking refuge with a friend or something like that. You had literally begged him to come along, not wanting to spend another day alone in the ship with the Child. It had taken a few days to get here, and you desperately needed to stretch your legs and breathe some fresh air. Mando was reluctant, very reluctant, but after enough begging and pouting from you he allowed for the two of you to come along, figuring it would be a pretty easy quest anyways.

Oh how he was wrong about that.

His visor display was showing multiple footsteps having walked in the same direction that the three of you were now walking. The footsteps were strange, seeming to be left by a herd of long bodied, four legged animals. Mando had no way of knowing if they were a threat or not, but he had a feeling he’d be finding out soon enough. The Child’s safety and… and yours was not something he felt like gambling with today.

Mando stopped dead in his tracks and you nearly walked right into him, having been engrossed in a more or less one-sided conversation with the Child.

“Head back to the ship.” Mando commanded, his voice trying to give the sense that there was no room for discussion. He barely even turned around to glance at you, but you noticed his hand hovering over his blaster.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Your own hand now hovers over your own blaster, technically Mando’s but he had trusted you to wield it after that one stunt back on Batuu when you saved him and the Child.

“Animals. Too many of them, you’ll be safer on the Crest.” He turns to glance at the Child who coos back up at him, his ears turning downwards as if he too knows of the animals which creep up on the three of you.

“No, I can stay and fight. I’m not leaving.” You, I’m not leaving you, you want to add. But you bite your tongue.

You can’t see because of the hemet but Mando is rolling his eyes at you, at your stubbornness but also your resilience. How eager you are to stand by and help him almost blindly. He doesn’t doubt that you judge him or criticize him in your mind, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a negative comment leave your mouth. You’re always sweet to him. Sweet girl.

“Our job is to take care of the Child, make sure he’s safe,” He huffs, pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and suddenly the Child’s pod is floating away at a leisurely pace, back in the direction you’ve just come from. “Follow it back to the ship, close the hatch and do not leave until I’ve returned.”

You glare at Mando and how he’s given you no choice but to head back to the ship. There was no way you’d leave the Child floating unattend, and without Mando’s directions, you had no way of finding the ship again on your own. You sigh but turn on your heels after the pod, following its lead through the jungle and back to the Crest like Mando had programmed it to.

It’s been hours.

Or at least it feels like it’s been hours. You aren’t aware of the planet’s day cycles so you have no idea if it's been minutes, hours or days but it was dark now and you’d been trying to keep the kid occupied, distracted from the fact that his dad wasn’t here and you had no idea when he would be.

Luckily, the Child was in an agreeable mood so he was distracted pretty easily, playing with various shiny things that he usually reached for on the ship. You made him a couple of snacks with what you managed to find stashed away, he took a nap and you cleaned up the tiny mess he made. Overall, a pretty good day for him.

You on the other hand, were fucking stressed.

It was dark, really dark, and Mando hadn’t even contacted you on the comlink, not that he even did that before but you think that if he comes back- no, when he comes back - you’re definitely going to make that a new rule.

The Child was rocking sweetly in your arms, you had been trying to get him to fall asleep for the past thirty minutes and he was finally getting a bit dopey. Those big eyes of his seeming to get heavier, his blinks growing slower. His little hand was wrapped around your thumb and you quietly hummed a random song to him, maybe it was one your mother sang to you, you’re not quite sure but it seems to be doing the trick.

You can hear small disturbances outside the hatch and you use your hand which isn’t holding the Child to hover over your- Mando’s blaster. You lean against the wall, blaster in hand, hoping, praying it’s him.

Please be him, please be him, please be him.

The hatch groans as it releases its locks and opens slowly to the ever humid jungle. That familiar beskar glints and shines in the moonlight like a precious jewel. You exhale a much needed sigh of relief, Mando was back.

You tuck the blaster back into your holster as you watch him roundup the quarry into the ship, pushing him aggressively up the inclination. He stands wide, broad and big as he does his job. He’s tired and annoyed, you can tell. You can always tell, but he’s strong too, always strong.

The quarry’s hands are shackled, his face beat up and bloodied. Mando really did a number on him…

The quarry’s eyes meet yours, take in the sight before him, a beautiful young girl cradling a strange little green baby. He seems confused, he looks back to the intimidating Mandalorian inquisitively. It’s the last thing he sees before he’s frozen into carbonite.

You say something something to him, to Mando. You sound worried, but he can barely make it out. He had seen the way the quarry’s eyes racked the length of your body, landing on the Child as well. Mando saw red, his adrenaline still pumping heavy and potent in his veins, coursing through his body from the chase, the act of hunting.

So much so, that he hadn’t even realized he had come to tower over you, caging you in against the wall which you had been leaning against.

You look up at him with wide, worried eyes, you look flustered, lips red and swollen. He wants to touch you, he… he wants to do more than touch you-

The Child’s sleepy cooing breaks him out of his wicked mind. He looks down at the kid who reaches for him sleepily with his tiny hands, eyes half closed. He takes him from you, out of your motherly hold. Your hands brush and he wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“W-What did you say?” He finally asks, remembering you had said something to him and he heard absolutely nothing.

“I said your arm is bleeding, Mando.” Voice so small, gentle.

Mando huffs, barely acknowledging it before he steps away from you, turning to the Child’s pod and placing him gently inside. It closes with a hiss. You suck in a shuddering breath.

Mando rummages around for a few moments before pulling out his tool kit, sitting down on the edge of his cot and pulling out his taser-like contraption. You watch almost dumbfounded, trying to piece together what exactly it is he’s doing. He reaches for the tear in the thick material of his sleeve, pulling on it and tearing it further to better show off his wound and his… his skin.

Flesh. Mando’s arm.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be looking, maybe you were breaking his creed by seeing part of his skin but you couldn’t look away, and he made no motion for you to do so either. So you stand transfixed as he begins to shoddily cauterize his tanned skin.

“L-Let me help you, please.” You take a step forward, towards him, hands reaching out.

“I’m fine.” He basically growls at you, his rough tone startling you, stopping you in your tracks.

So you stand by idly, watching him burn his own skin, attempting to close his open wound.

You only interject again when he starts taking longer breaks between each electrifying tase. When his hand starts to shake and his movements slow down, motivation and determination leaving him as he slowly accepts the pain of the deep gash on his arm, blood trailing down his toned bicep.

“Here…” You say quietly again, hoping he listens to you this time. You reach into the tool kit, pulling out his bacta gel before coming to stand in front of him, your knees grazing his bent one from where he sits on the edge of his cot.

He seems to have listened, his movements having stopped, the taser held weakly in his hand. You take it from him, setting it back in the metal box before zeroing in on his bleeding cut.

You shudder at the sudden proximity, his pent up adrenaline and anger palpable, intoxicating. It lays thick and heavy in the air between your two bodies. Your hands shake as you gently douse the wound with the gel, trying to stay focused, trying to get the bleeding to stop. You fingers brush gingerly along toned, scarred skin and you try, you try so fucking hard to focus. To not let your fingers linger, not let them wander to regions unknown to any other living thing.

Mando groans as it begins to seep into the wound and you wince as well, feeling his pain as your own. You mumble a quiet ‘I’m sorry’ but continue to apply the thick substance to his bicep.

His gloved hand suddenly shoots out and latches onto your hip bone, fingers grasping the clothed flesh in a deadly grip, as if trying to ground himself to you, to the ship, to ignore the throbbing pain. You didn’t realize it would hurt that bad, maybe it went deeper than you thought.

When you’re finally done with the gel, you turn slightly to get some gauze to wrap the wound in. Mando’s touch never leaves you, his hand seemingly welded into your form. His thumb begins to absentmindedly rub up and down in soothing motions, you try to ignore the way it makes your heart pound but… but it's not really a big deal is it? No, Mando’s touched you before, what's so different about it now?

The air? The tension? The way he looks up at you, through that mask, begging to be seen?

God, you wonder what colour his eyes are.

You bet they’re soft, beautiful, kind. They probably give away how secretly gentle he is, something no one else would notice or dare assume about the deadly Mandalorian, but you know. You know because he’s been touching you more lately, especially since the ice planet. Just passing touches but still, you can’t imagine how much significance a simple touch holds for a man covered head to toe in armour, and who’s never shown his face to another living being in decades.

“Who are you?”

His voice startles you. It’s dropped several octaves since he last spoke, it felt like hours had passed since he last spoke- or more, growled at you.

“What?”

“What are you? H-How do you do this to me?” He helmet tilts to the side as he gazes up at you and your heart fucking pounds in its cage, trying to escape and expose itself to this metal man, expose everything you’ve been feeling since you met him.

“Mando-” You don’t understand what he’s saying, he’s not making any sense. Could the pain really be that bad? Making him this incoherent?

“You’re not real… you’re too good, to us, too good to the child… to me-” He was rambling. Mando was rambling. When has he ever spoken this much to you before?

Never.

“You’re good to me too.” You interject meekly.

“But not as sweet… not as sweet as you.” His words make your next intake of breath sharper than usual, no doubt he catches it by the way his helmet tilts up further. You wonder if he’s looking you in the eyes. It sure feels like he is.

“I-I don’t know what I would do if, if anything happened to-” His fingers tense on your hip as he lulls over his words, tossing them around on his tongue, afraid. “The Child… or you.”

“You keep us safe Mando.” You try to reassure him, but you’re not sure if he’s listening. His left hand joins his right one, both sides of your hips now engulfed in his large, strong hands. You throb everywhere, your body pulses for him.

Mando thinks about just letting his helmet fall forward, to let it rest against the softness of your belly but.

But he can’t. He’s too fucking scared. You scare him more than anything. More than any unknown animal in an unfamiliar jungle, more than any quarry, bounty chase, Mythosaur. More than anything, you scare him more than anything because this is the only domain Mando truly always fucks up. Feelings or whatever the fuck going on in his head right now.

“You take such good care of us.” He says, deflecting your words.

He pulls on your hips and you rock forward, almost losing your balance but your hands come forward to lean against his beskar covered shoulders, dropping the gauze you held. You shudder at the cool bite of the metal on your warm, overheating palms. Mando barely budged at your added weight, and you look down at him from where you now tower over him.

Your eyes rake over the sharp edges of his helmet in the low light of the hatch, down to his wound which still needs to be wrapped up but he was... Seriously distracting you for lack of a better word. You notice the heave of his chest, the heavy fall of his breaths like he’s having trouble getting oxygen into his body. And then you notice- you notice the bulge forming underneath his thick pants.

Mando takes you in as you do the same, watching as you finally notice his state, finally notice what you do to him. What you’ve been doing to him since the moment he met you.

“Take your pants off.”

You think your brain short circuits.

Because there’s no way that’s what Mando has more or less just ordered you to do, judging by his harsh tone.

“Wha-”

“Take them off or I will.” He groans, hands squeezing your hips again.

You whimper and bite your lip, trying to see through the pitch black T of his visor, trying to find the man underneath the beskar. You remove your trembling hands from his shoulders, standing up straighter and letting them travel down, down, down towards the button and fly of your utility pants.

“M-Mando, I-”

“Don’t make me ask you again, sweet girl.” You whimper at the nickname, it wasn't the first time he used it but this was probably only the third time at this point. With his thumbs relentlessly caressing your hip bones, you shiver underneath his touch.

You had been dreaming of this for months now, dreaming of his hands on you, sexual or not, you were so deprived of intimacy, having gone months now only barely touching, grazing each other. You both needed this, both needed this more than fucking anything esle right now and you were no one to deny him of what he wanted.

Mando keeps the helmet trained on you as your nimble fingers pry the button open, admiring how easily persuaded you were by his thick, lust-laced words. He couldn’t believe he had managed to draw this out as long as he did, his urge to just tear your clothing away from your body and sink his raging cock into your tight heat the moment he entered the Crest was…. overwhelming to say the least.

But he had barely touched you up until now, and he wanted to work you up to it, no matter how much restraint that meant he had to have on his part.

The sound of your metal zipper sliding down below your belly button tests that restraint. He keeps his eyes on you even though he knows you wouldn't be able to tell where he’s looking. He knows you feel it, knows you feel the way his eyes burn holes into you, devouring you silently, pleading with you, please, please show me.

He feels your hands come to rest over top of his gently, as if you’re still nervous about touching him. You interlace your fingers with his and lower your pants, shimmying them down your hips and thighs together. It makes Mando’s breath catch in his throat and his heart pummel in his chest.

Never had he undressed someone before. Never had the patience, never cared to. But with you, oh with you.

Maker, did he care.

Maybe cared too much, but now was not the time for such ill inducing thoughts. You were becoming more and more bare to him as the seconds passed. You only let go of his hands once your pants went past your knees. Pushing them down to your ankles, you stepped out of them, kicking off your boots as well.

There you were, standing before him in a black tank top and that fucking thong of yours… of course that’s what you had decided to wear today. Mando groans as his hands come up to touch you again, tentatively this time. He can’t believe you were allowing him this, letting him touch you, letting yourself be vulnerable with him when he wasn’t sure how ready he was to be vulnerable in return.

Maybe he could learn.

His hands travel up to your hips again, toying with the thin waistband of your panties, letting his gloved hand run along your pristine flesh that was once covered in ugly bruises. He-

He thinks he wants to be the only thing to bruise you. From now on, he made a promise to himself (and to you, secretly) that he was the only thing in this galaxy that could mark you up, claim you.

Mando’s hands travel back, reaching for the supple meat of your ass, clutching it in his large hands, kneading it before he pushes you forwards again, into him. You yelp as you land in his lap, catching yourself quickly as both of your knees rest on either side of his hips. You readjust and sit back down, your minimally clothed cunt coming to land on his hard bulge, you gasp, eyes wide as you look into his visor. He was so hard, he felt big too.

“S-Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“What are you apologizing for now, hmm?” He asks tauntingly, helmet tilting slightly to the side, as if he were considering you.

His gloved hands come up your sides, going underneath your tank top and brushing along the underside of your breasts, feeling the tight skin. You unintentionally rock in his lap, creating friction on your already embarrassingly wet center. Mando’s hands tighten at your sides, groaning as he tries to still your movements but. But it feels too fucking good to stop.

He brings a gloved finger to your lips, running the worn leather over the pillowy flesh as if to let you taste it. You look at him, confused.

“Bite.” He instructs, voice clipped, sharp.

Without needing further instruction, your teeth latch onto the absolute tip of his glove, letting him slip his hand out of its leather confines, revealing to you the most precious amount of skin of his you’ve ever seen.

Tanned skin, thick fingers, large palm, perfect. Him. The urge to litter the rough calloused skin in kisses, lick his entire hand, just put the whole fucking thing in your mouth was all consuming. Yet you sat there in his lap staring at his hand like it was a vase of water and you were a flower, parched for water. He asked you to do the same with the other glove and of course, you did as he asked. You quickly found yourself wanting to please him.

You stared at his bare, rough, strong hands in awe, watched as he let them peek underneath your thin top to skim along your silky smooth flesh, an expanse unknown to him. His fingertips brush over your nipples, feeling how the pretty buds pebble for him. He twists and pulls them in between his fingers, watching the way your face contorts in pain and in pleasure. It’s his new favourite thing, he feels drunk off of you already.

“Please.” You aren’t quite sure what you’re begging for, Mando isn’t really sure either. But he knows one thing, and it's that the sweet sound of your voice, begging for him, begging for anything, just so desperate, was enough to make him cum in his pants. His fingers dig into your skin, trying to cool his overheating mind, trying to slow down a bit before he actually does cum in his pants, before he’s even properly seen you.

His bare hands come down to your panties, toying with them again between his agile fingers.

“You want this?” He asks, daringly pushing your panties to the side, getting the smallest glimpse and your slicked up and drenched pussy. He thinks he could die right now, die happy, never want anything, ask for anything again.

“Yeah, yeah I do, always- have.” You choke on a hiccup, emotions welling in your eyes already from how fucking built up all of this is. You feel like you were both about to burst at the seams. You still couldn’t believe this was happening, even if it were to stop now and not progress any further, you couldn’t believe he had allowed you this much of him.

Mando wraps his arm around you completely, gripping your waist tightly to spin you around, pinning you underneath him in the tight space of his cot. You gasp, shriek at the sensation of it all, as he comes to rut against you, grinding his thick bulge into your cunt.

You notice how his arm has begun to bleed again, the skin ripping open and the deep red liquid trickling down what little part of his bicep was exposed, further proving his humanity, exposing the man beneath the beskar. You really felt like you could cry.

Lost in your whirlwind, Mando pulls off your thong, throwing it somewhere unpreciously behind him before doing the same thing with your tank top. Completely vulnerable, you laid bare before him as he hovered above you, covered head to toe, save for his hands, in beskar. That fact alone made you throb deep inside. The sheer power and size of him enough to get you off.

You knew what little he had already decided to show you was all he could afford, you were so grateful for it anyway, that he was even willing to show you his hands, the little glimpse of his bicep. His skin was beautiful, but you couldn’t possibly grasp the words to tell him.

So you hook your legs around his backside and pull him to you, silently begging him to do something, anything. You would take anything he gave you, you’d even thank him for it at this point.

“Fuck.” Mando growls, bare hands coming to work at unbuttoning his pants, pulling them low enough to pull out his engorged, thick cock.

Mando was… he was huge.

This came hardly as a surprise to you, however. You would have had to be blind to not noticed how he walked. He walked like it was big, talked like it was big, fought like it was big. But fuck.

You were not prepared for that.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’ll-”

“It will.”

You moan and arch your back towards him, needing it now, needing that sweet burn and stretch that you know is about to come.

And oh does it come.

Mando thrusts into you without further warning, giving you no time or preparation to adjust to what he was packing.

He makes you take it. He makes it fit.

The stretch burns, it bites and it knocks every single breath and thought from your body as he nestles himself all the way up against your cervix. Your body convulses in retreat, trying to push him away from the aggressive intrusion but your mind wants more, needs more. Needs him to fucking split you in half on his cock.

You scream and Mando growls, loud, his helmet falling forward and resting in the crook of your shoulder which meets your neck. His helmet is cold and your skin is burning hot, it creates a fog on his visor and he desperately tries to wipe it off on your skin, trying to look at you so up close. The way your eyes screw shut, squeezing tears out, watching the beautiful dew drops roll down your cheek so perfectly.

It hurts. Maker, does it hurt but fuck does it feel good. The pleasure overrides the pain more than you could imagine and you find yourself begging him to give you more even though he’s already started thrusting into you like he’s on a mission, a mission to sever you in half with his cock.

He was surely succeeding.

Mando watches you cry in pleasure as he fucks into your pussy with such aggressive fervour, like someone had a gun to his head. One hand on your hip and the other around your neck, bruising your skin in that beautiful way he always wanted, how he always dreamed of. He holds you in place so that his hips don’t drive you up his cot because they surely would from how fucking deep and hard he’s pounding into you. Stars, you think you can feel him in your stomach, in your throat.

The hand on your hip travels up to one of your bouncing breasts, kneading the sotf flesh in his palm and watching you wither beneath him. So desperate -

“S-so helpless.” He moans, watching your body bend to his will beneath him.

“Mando- oh my god.” You cry, hands and arms flailing at your sides, not knowing where to put them. Mando sees your struggle and takes both of your hands into each of his, pinning them above your head and using it to drive into you even harder somehow.

Your pussy squelches obscenely, trying to suck him in deeper, keep him inside forever. The only sounds in the cot are fucking lewd, skin on skin rhythmically slapping. You pray the Child can’t hear any of this from inside his pod, you pray he’s asleep.

“So fucking wet... You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” You nod your head so fast you think you’d give yourself whiplash.

“A-Anything, anything Mando- fuck.” That familiar coil was beginning to tighten in your belly, your toes curling, fisting gripping onto his, no doubt cutting off some of his circulation.

Eyes rolling into the back of your head, your chest arches up, up, up your breasts rubbing against unforgiving beskar.

Underneath said beskar, Mando felt like he wasn’t getting nearly enough oxygen into his helmet, his skin flushing underneath the heavy armour but the pleasure rolling off of you and into him would be enough to sustain him for hours, he thinks.

Your pussy was squeezing him so tight, the ridges of your inner walls so soft, warm, wet, inviting. You felt like home. Absolutely fucking drenched, no wonder you were able to take him whole with almost zero preparation, you had fucking wanted it that way. Wanted him to be rough like this.

“I’ll never leave- never leave this sweet pussy...” He moans, hips stuttering, rolling and grinding deeper and deeper and you felt your orgasm quickly approaching, his words were only bringing you that much closer.

“Please, I- I…”

“Cum for me ner mesh’la, need you to cum for me.” He groans, cool and sharp edges of his helmet resting on your cheekbone.

You envisioned the faceless man deep inside you, what his face must look like now, deep in the throes of pleasure only inches from yours. You pictured the tanned skin covering his entire body head to toe, flushed and splotchy, hot to the touch.

Would his eyes screw shut? Would his mouth hang open, little pants, groans, moans slipping through swollen lips, only loud enough for the ears of his lover to hear?

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, you try to look into his visor as your orgasm wipes your mind blank, eyes screwing shut, an endless stream of tears falling onto already damp cheeks as you moan and cry his name into the tight space of his cot.

Mando.

You don’t think you could recall anything if anyone asked you. Not the name of the planet you were currently on, not the name of the planet you were born on, the bar you used to work at, your old bosses name, your name. Nothing.

With two, three, four more thrusts, Mando’s hips still after he drills himself into the deepest and darkest parts of your hot cunt, spilling white hot cum into you with the lowest moan you think you’ve ever heard flowing deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sensation, that warm pleasant feeling of being absolutely stuffed full, somehow more than you already were.

He draws his cock out before pushing it back in, plugging you up with his cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside of you. You cry, bordering on overstimulation, his cock only softening in the slightest so the hard intrusion was almost too much for you to bear.

“Fuck Mando I’m- I don’t have the implant..” You whimper, suddenly worried, voice coming out uneven with your ragged breaths.

Mando feels another surge of blood to his cock at your words, groaning as his dick twitches and thrusting into you a few more times…. For-

For good measure, he thinks.

Not that he would necessarily want that right now but fuck. Fuck did the mere idea of it make him painfully hard against his own will. You…. swollen with-

“Fuck.” He growls, pulling away from you a bit to better look down at you. Your eyes are shiny, lashes coated thick and wet with your precious tears. Lips swollen, chest flushed. You look worried, but beautiful. His.

Mando remembers your old job at the bar…. Wouldn’t they have made it mandatory for all the girls to have the implant to prevent them from getting pregn-

“But- your job, you-?”

“I didn’t do that, I didn’t fuck them… just drinks.” You smile up softly at him due to fatigue, bashful nonetheless.

Mando likes that, it puts him at ease in some fucked up way to know that those men in those types of places couldn’t get too far with you, even if they wanted.

“We can, I can get it for you on the next planet if- if that’s what you want?” He asks, hips still gently thrusting into you and you start to see stars behind your eyelids. You whimper, feeling his cum mix with your and gush back onto his cock and down the backs of your thighs.

“O-okay… thank you.” Mando nods but says nothing, pulling his cock from your fluttering pussy. You gasp at the sudden loss, feeling terribly empty and used. More cum dribbles from you and you quickly cup your cunt with your palm, trying to stop it from leaking everywhere on his cot.

Moving quicker than you would have expected him to, Mando stands up straight and tucks his wet cock back into his pants before walking away abruptly. You, however, barely notice as you lay flat on your back, head staring up at the ceiling with eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, regain some sense of self after getting all of it fucked out of you.

You’re made aware of Mando’s return by the touch of a warm and damp washcloth to your abused pussy. You gasp and sit up on your elbows, looking down the length of you to see the Mandalorian between your thighs, wiping away the mess that both of you made. Together.

You want to thank him again but you can’t find the words within you, all of them lost to you because of this sudden display of dare you say affection.

“Stay here, gonna put us into hyperspeed. Once we’re up there, go clean up.” Mando orders softly, nodding his helmet at you. You nod back, still breathless, still shaking.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #imagine #smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #my writing #the best things dwell out of sight #fan fiction series #a close call

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that-one-gay-girl · 4 years ago

Text

Promised You Forever

Pairing: Doctor!Jared x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Square filled: Doctor Jared @spnaubingo Plane Crash @spnmixedbingo

Warnings: angst,mentions of plane crash, injuries, medical talk, scared Jared (yes, that’s a warning)

Summary: Jared is at work, when a large trauma comes through.

A/N: Thank you to my beta @wonder-cole divider made by @firefly-graphics

Clipping your seatbelt you relax into the airplane seat, you had a 6-hour flight to get back home to your husband Jared. You had been visiting your mom helping her move into a smaller home. After a week you were finally headed home, you couldn’t wait to be wrapped up in his arms, surrounded by his warmth.

As the plane takes off you pull out your book beginning to read.

“Dr. Padelecki! There was a plane crash, that went down in the sound! Ambulances are on the way, 10 minutes out!” the resident tells him.

Setting the chart down on the nurses’ station he stands tall, beginning to take action, as head of trauma.

“I need every non-emergent person moved out now! Discharge who we can! We need blankets, warm fluids, rapid infusers set up! Clear the trauma rooms, be prepared for hypothermia, let’s page, Ackles! And all other attendings!” he shouts out orders.

5 minutes later the ER is cleared from patients, set up to treat victims of the crash. General, neuro, plastics, orthopedics, surgeons stand around in trauma gowns waiting for ambulances to arrive.

The first siren of an ambulance is heard as the team meets them outside. Pulling out the gurney, the paramedic shakes his head sadly, “five more incomings, all DOA”

“How bad was the site?” Jared asks

“Pretty bad, haven’t found any survivors yet,” he says solemnly

Bringing in the bodies, they notify the morgue to bring the bodies down.

As more ambulances arrive, bodies are unloaded and Jared takes a moment to step away, the death of these people weighing on him. He decides to call you, needing to hear your voice to give him some relief.

As he searches his pocket for his phone he remembers you are flying home today from your mom’s, trying to keep his thoughts calm, he presses the home button of his screen, when his screen lights up he sees several missed calls from you and a voicemail. His stomach drops instantly terrified to listen to your voicemail. Pressing play he lifts the phone to his ear listening to your terrified voice.

The engine on your side, burns brightly as the plane descends quickly towards the water. Grabbing your phone you quickly dial your husband’s number, needing to hear his voice one last time. After trying twice you receive his voice message. The third and final time you call him, you leave a voicemail, trying to keep your voice steading amongst the screams and cries of the other passengers.

“Hey Jare, it’s me. I don’t think I’m going to make it home this time…” your voice cracks as you bite your lip trying to stop the tears from flowing. “I know I promised you forever, that day. I love you so much, baby. Don’t ever forget that.” you cry into the phone. “I love y-”

Tears stream down his face as he listens to the voicemail, the way your voice is cut off suddenly, breaks his heart. He sits alone in the trauma room trying to catch his breath. He sits there, his head in his hands, sobbings.

The door to the room opens as Jensen’s face appears in his view. “J? What’s going on?” he asks his best friend.

“Y/n she-” he breaks down again.

“She was flying home today…” Jensen realizes “Jared, they found a survivor.” he tells his friend

Wiping his eyes he stands up clearing his throat.

Stepping out of the room, they meet the ambulance in the bay as they unload the gurney, an unmoving body of a woman lay there.

“Female, 30 yr old, Y/n Padalecki, we found her information written on her forearm. Penetrating wound to the abdomen, Head trauma evident. Temp 80.6, we’ve been warming her up, she’s had two boluses of IV’s. GCS of 11.

Pushing the gurney inside, Jared holds tightly onto your hand, you were alive. His lungs finally breathe again.

Moving you into the trauma room, they begin to assess your injuries. “She’s got metal shrapnel penetrating the abdomen, we need to get a CT to assess the internal damage.” Jensen calls out.

Before they can make anymore calls the monitors start beeping rapidly. “Y/N! Hang on baby please!” Jared cries out. The doctors try to push him out of the way as they rush you towards the OR.

Jared fights to get past the nurses as they block his way. The chief of surgery arrives, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry Jared, but you know the hospital policy. You can’t work on family.” Kim looks at him sadly

Jared collapses into the chair, waiting with bated breath to hear news about you.

Every two hours a resident had come out to update Jared on your status, you were stable, but not out of the woods yet.

Jared is slowly shaken awake, Jensen’s face is the first thing he sees as his eyes slowly blink open.

“What happened? Is she alright?” he asks sitting up immediately as the events of the day come back to him.

“She’s ok, she’s in recovery, she’s awake and asking for you.” He smiles at his friend.

Following Jensen to your room, he smiles as he sees you laying in the bed, your head was wrapped in white gauze, stitches across your forehead, eye bruised. You had large stripes of gauze wrapped around your stomach to help heal the wound, your leg in a cast.

You smile weakly as you see your husband. He sits at your side, immediately grabbing your hand. “Hey babygirl.” he smiles, holding back tears.

“I promised you forever.” your rough voice cracks.

“Yeah you did.” he softly chuckles “Don’t you ever scare me again like that.” he presses a kiss to your hand

“Even if I died, I’d come back and haunt your cute ass.” you joke groggily as your eyes begin to close, exhaustion evident.

“Get some rest babygirl, I’ll be here for you, always.”

Hazel hearts:

@hobby27

Forever Babes:

@winchest09 @hobby27 @flamencodiva @donnaintx @polina-93 @katelynw93 @deanwanddamons @sams-sass

#spnaubingo #spnmixedbingo #Jared Padalecki x reader #Jared Padalecki x you #supernatural au #supernatural

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preciseprose · 4 years ago

Text

From Nightmares to Dreams (Part 1/3)

Fandom: The Owl House

Chapter synopsis: Luz has a horrible morning which Amity helps remedy.

Author’s note: This fic is the first long-form work of fiction I have written in five years and would not have been possible without the encouragement and support of @sterling-jay. This fic was inspired, however, by @notbirdofprey who asked me: “How do you think Luz and Amity will get together?” Please be aware that my answer to this question involves a lot of angst on both Luz’s and Amity’s part; and, as a result, this fic is relatively angsty. I hope you enjoy it.

- - -

Luz jolted awake, feeling dizzy and uncomfortably warm. She threw her blanket off her and sat up to rub her face. It was slick with some sort of wetness. “Oh,” she groaned. She must have been crying in her sleep. Again.

Suddenly aware of herself, she looked down at her feet. King wasn’t there and her door was closed. He must had left at some point during the night. She laid back down. “At least he didn’t see me this time,” she said quietly.

She prodded around her cot for her phone, finding it after a few moments. She sniffled and wiped her eyes again before powering the phone up. The right-top corner of her lock screen stated the obvious: “No Service.” After hesitating for a few seconds, she opened her messages.

She spent a few minutes reading through old conversations with her mom. It didn’t make her feel better. If anything, it made her feel guilty. Her mother’s messages were caring and warm. She asked if she was having a good evening, if she liked that day’s camp activities, if she was enjoying the food, if she was looking forwards to tomorrow, and so on. In contrast, Luz’s replies were generally short and impersonal. A lot of yeahs, yeps, and nopes. An occasional emoji. Few genuine responses.

She put her phone down and looked up to the ceiling. Even with the moonlight streaming in from her window, it was hard to make the beams out. After a few minutes of holding back, she let herself cry.

“I’m sorry, Mami. I’m sorry I can’t tell you that I’m okay. I’m sorry I can’t tell you that I’m safe. That I’m not missing. That I didn’t run away.” Her tears grew heavier. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I’m making you worry. I’m sorry for being a bad daughter. You’ve always tried to be a good mom and you don’t deserve this.”

Luz cried until her eyes burned. When she destroyed the teleporter door, she had thought Eda might be able to send her home using magic or by taking her to some special place on the isles. But several weeks ago, Eda had sat down with her on the roof of the Owl House and explained the gravity of her situation: that the door was the only way she knew of to travel between the human realm and the demon realm, and that without the ability to cast spells she wasn’t sure if she would be able to send her home.

She had only barely stopped herself from breaking down. It helped that Eda had taken her hands and, looking directly into her eyes, promised that she would do everything in her power to try to return her home someday. And she had kept that promise so far, spending several hours every other day pouring over books with Lilith.

She wished Eda’s promise was enough to keep her fears under control, but it just wasn't. She kept a decent face up when around Eda and her friends. But when she was by herself, she couldn’t keep the act up. The idea that she might never see her mother again was overwhelming and terrifying. But even worse was the possibility that her mother might think that she disappeared on purpose.

Eventually, her eyes ran dry. Dawn broke soon after.

“I guess I should get up,” she thought. After a few minutes of sniffling and wiping her eyes, she rose from her cot, activated a few light glyphs, and dressed herself. Once done, a realization hit her: “My eyes! Crying makes your eyes puffy, right?”

The closest mirror was in the bathroom down the hall, but she couldn’t risk running into Lilith or King. If she ran into either of them, they would ask questions, and Eda would find out and start worrying about her again, and she didn’t want that. “What do I do? What do I do?” Luz repeated to herself.

She activated another light glyph to help her think. The light reflected off a small object lying nestled in the blanket on her cot. Her phone. “My phone!” she exclaimed in a hushed voice. She walked over to her cot, snatched her phone, and unlocked it with a swipe.

“Okay, how bad could it be?” She opened the front-facing camera. Her stomach clenched.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and it looked like someone had filed the skin under her eyes with abomination goo. “No, no, no, no, no. This is bad, this is so bad.” She pulled and pushed at the fleshy mounds trying to get them to recede. Her attempts did nothing.

The morning sun was already starting to brighten. She needed to act fast. She would need to leave for Hexside within the hour and there was no way she could avoid everyone on her way out. “What do I do? What do I do!”

Luz had no idea how to do anything involving her face. She had never been very interested in make-up and even she had been she didn’t think she could just slap some concealer on her face (not that she had any) and call it a day. She needed help, fast.

“Okay, okay.” She looked to the phone in her hand. “No that’s not going to help, I don’t have service here.” She tossed the phone on her cot and started pacing around the room. Muffled sounds began to emanate through her bedroom walls. The other residents of the Owl House were out of their rooms.

“Oh, I know!” Luz ran over to her school bag and dredged out the small scroll Eda had given her for her birthday. “Penstagram!” She tapped on the scroll and it bounced out of her hand and into the air, unfurled and glowing faintly purple. She grabbed it, thinking about her next move.

“I can’t ask Gus or Willow for help,” Luz thought, grimacing. They were already worried about her enough. Just yesterday, Willow had pressed her about why she had been especially quiet lately. It took their entire walk home to convince her that she was just stressed about homework and helping Eda learn glyph magic.

She didn’t think she could ask Viney or Skara for help either. She had gotten to know each girl better through classes at Hexside, but she didn’t really know either of them that well. And this was a bit too personal to spring on either of them.

That left Amity.

Luz blinked and took a long breath. She had been spending more and more time with Amity lately. On one of her better days last week, she had convinced Eda to let her, Amity, Gus, and Willow to have a “Azura Movie Night Sleepover Extravaganza!” at the Owl House after Eda found a DVD player in a trash worm. She and Amity had ended up cuddling on the couch under a blanket. And it felt so nice.

Amity was warm, and soft, and her hair smelt like wildflowers and sea salt, and Luz had been terrified that her heart was going to jab through her chest and explode on Amity’s back. But eventually, somehow, she managed to fall asleep with her in her arms. But when she woke up, Amity had already dressed in her day clothes and was eating breakfast with Eda. Every time she had tried to talk to her since then Amity had kept the conversation short or turned her head away and said she had something she needed to do or gave some other reason to leave quickly. Luz didn’t know what to think of it.

But that was then, and this was now. Luz had no one else to turn too, and out of all her friends she figured Amity would be the most likely to know how to deal with her situation. She pulled up Amity’s profile and sent a DM.

@glyphwitch (07:03:51): Amity I need your help!!! IT’S URGENT!!!!

@witchchick128 (07:04:27): Luz, what is it? Are you okay?

@glyphwitch (07:05:11): I don’t have time to explain but I need to get rid of these HUGE bags I have under my eyes (don’t ask please) and I have no idea how to deal with them but I need eda to not find out about them and I don’t know what to do and I thought you might and I just don’t want to worry eda about me so please help me

Luz snaped a picture of her face to Amity and dropped herself onto her cot. One minute passed. Luz heard Eda and Lilith having some sort of argument in the kitchen. They were constantly arguing about one thing or another these days. Another minute passed. The argument was now a three-way shouting match between Eda, Lilith, and Hooty. Based solely on volume, Hooty was winning.

Suddenly, the scroll vibrated against her leg. She snatched it up and tapped it. Again, it sprang to life.

@witchchick128 (07:08:34): I’m so sorry, Luz. Mother pulled me away for a tuft of my hair...

@witchchick128 (07:09:13): So, are they like that because of a magical or non-magical cause?

@witchchick128 (07:09:32): You eyes, I mean. Sorry, I wasn’t clear.

@witchchick128 (07:09:43): Your*

Luz laughed despite her situation.

@glyphwitch (07:10:12): non-magical

@glyphwitch (07:10:39): I was, uhhh. crying. a lot… but I’m okay now! really

@witchchick128 (07:11:16): Okay. Do you have any abrasion ointment from the Healing Coven?

@glyphwitch (07:11:42): no. I can’t leave my room or the others might see me

@witchchick128 (07:12:15): Alright. Let me think.

@witchchick128 (07:12:58): You haven’t discovered any glyphs that cast any illusion spells yet, right?

@glyphwitch (07:13:09): no, not yet

@witchchick128 (07:13:41): Okay, so you can’t conceal your eyes with magic. But I’ve seen you summon columns of ice before. Can you use your glyphs to make a bunch of small ice cubes?

@glyphwitch (07:13:53): yeah, I think so

@witchchick128 (07:14:38): Okay, do that. Then get two of your shirts and use them to make two cold compresses. Hold them under your eyes for five minutes. It should make the swelling disappear. If anyone asks you why your eyes are red, just tell them you were up late reading and only got a few hours of sleep.

@glyphwitch (07:14:56): oh my god, thank you Amity!!!

@glyphwitch (07:15:09): you're the best!

Luz shoved the scroll in her bag, then pulled out a pencil and piece of paper and got to work. After a few-second’s thought, she drew a moderately-sized plant glyph surrounded by three inter-connected tiny ice glyphs. She activated the ice glyphs first, creating three tall but slender pillars of ice. Then, concentrating her intent into her hand, she activated the plant glyph. A thick vine with several stems emerged from the paper and wrapped its tendrils around each ice pillar, crushing them into small pieces.

“Yes, it worked!” she said joyfully, impressed with herself. “What next? Oh right, the shirts.” She dashed over to her dirty clothes pile, grabbed the two least objectionable shirts visible, then dashed back over to her cot. Working quickly, she made two compresses using the ice littering the floor, lied back on her cot, and pressed the compresses onto her eyes.

A minute passed without interruption. Then Luz heard her door handle jiggle, followed by a quiet thud. She heard it a second time, and then a third. The fourth time she understood. King was trying to open the door. Before she could call out, she heard a solid impact with the door, followed by a metallic click and a final small thud.

The door began to open. “Luz, get up! It’s almost time for…”

Acting on pure instinct she streaked out of bed and flew against the door, slamming it shut and screaming, “King, don’t come in! I’m naked!” As she spoke, she heard something hard impact the wall across the hall.

“Ow! Jeez, I get it! Gross! How was I supposed to know!?” King shouted through the door. “I get that you wanted to protect me from a potentially scarring experience, but did you have to slam the door so hard? I can feel my brain spinning around inside of my skull! All I wanted to tell you was that breakfast is almost ready! Sheesh!”

“Sorry, King! I’m uh, just. Really self-conscious! I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She paused and looked behind her. In her panic, she had strewn ice everywhere. She rolled her eyes, sighed, and looked back to the door. “I woke up a little late, okay? I still need to get ready. I’ll be down in like ten minutes.”

“Ten whole minutes! Really!?”

“Yes, really! And if you keep talking to me it’s going to take me even longer!”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever, just hurry up, will you? I’m starving and Lilith cooked today so breakfast actually looks good for once!”

She heard his little footsteps trod away. When she was certain he was gone she locked the door and got to work reassembling the cold compresses.

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #amity blight #lumity #toh king #my fic #from nightmares to dreams #long post

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aethersea · 4 years ago

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you know what, I never do these things, but actually I’ve decided I would like to get to know people better! I would like to partake of the mortifying ordeal! I would like to talk about myself for a bit!

ok for the next...let’s say five days I will answer any of these things that people tag me in, or any random personal questions you plop in my ask box. I don’t have an ask meme on hand but just....pick one you’ve seen recently, or make up questions of your own, and I’ll answer. (the answer might be ‘nope that’s private’ but I will answer.) (@ the anon who asked for book recs - I see you, I’ve been thinking of books all day, I’m going to give you SUCH a long answer, I hope you don’t regret your choices bc it WILL be full of gushing)

alright, let’s go!

🌻 Tag 9 people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @booksandchainmail

Last Song: I’m currently listening to “Falcon in the Dive” from the Scarlet Pimpernel musical on loop. I watched one or two Scarlet Pimpernel movies when I was just barely too young to fully get what was going on, and the story’s held an odd but deep-seated place in my heart ever since. A few years ago I found out there’s a musical and most of the songs are pretty stellar (go listen to “Madame Guillotine” if you like big ensemble broadway numbers, it’s a banger, the bit where he cries out for God has been running through my mind on and off for a few days now haha not like that’s topical or anything), so every once in a while I spend a few days listening to them a lot.

Sometime last year I read the actual book, and got super into the whole concept of the Scarlet Pimpernel for a while. I plotted out Pimpernel aus for several fandoms, I read the entire wikipedia article, and I went looking for bootlegs of the musical. I didn’t find one, but I did find a full radioplay-style recording of the script, complete with full musical numbers, and listened to it like a podcast.

Reader, I was so disappointed. The play adds some scenes, bc a lot of the dramatic tension of the novel comes from internal conflict and that doesn’t stage super well, and the very first scene of this play – a play written in the NINETIES – features our dashing hero rescuing some aristocrats from a French prison, and then saying to the person in the next cell, who begs for rescue but is not an aristocrat, “We have enough of your kind in England.”

Enough! of your KIND! What in the merry frickety HECK my dudes!! The book has some rather unfortunate™ takes but it is from 1905, it’s regrettable but sadly to be expected. This play is from 1997. It has NO excuse. This scene wasn’t even in the book! What! the heck!

I was so disheartened that I lost my excitement for the play, and a couple songs later I stopped listening. It occurred to me just a few days ago that you could actually stage that ironically, with the person in the cell giving the audience a “can you believe this” look, and then the rest of the play could feature assorted non-aristocratic ensemble members constantly looking at the audience like they’re on The Office. And hey, maybe that’s what they did, or something similar – maybe that was never meant to be taken as a cleanly heroic stance, and the play deals with it in a complex way. It’s possible. I wouldn’t know. Kinda doubt it though, based on song lyrics.

Favorite Color: red, probably

Last Movie: I watched that new lesbian christmas movie with my family for christmas, the one with kirsten stewart and the guy from schitt’s creek. it’s very sweet and good and kinda sad, and I really enjoyed it. it also incidentally has the best gay best friend trope in probably anything ever, bc it’s not a trope (I didn’t realize until several hours after watching that it technically fits), it’s just a guy who is the protagonist’s best friend, and they’re just all gay, and then when he Gives Relationship Advice as a gay best friend always does, it’s advice about how to deal with your partner’s hangups around coming out.

actually every part of the gay best friend trope becomes better when they’re just best friends who are both gay. the big dramatic gestures (in this case, driving some ungodly distance in the snow on no notice) go from “haha how kooky” to “queer man will do anything he needs to to rescue his queer friend from an isolating & potentially triggering situation”. the relationship advice isn’t “honey you deserve some self-respect, treat yourself”, it’s a deeply sincere reminder of the vulnerability that is shared across almost everyone’s queer experience, and look I could ramble about this for a long time before reaching a coherent point but I’m INTO IT, okay? I’m into it.

Last Show: you want me to remember what show I last finished???? impossible, cannot be done, it was a long time ago and the adhd has eaten everything that happened before last week. here, instead I’ll tell you about another movie I watched, late at night with my mom in cozy companionship just a couple days ago. it’s called Quigley Down Under and it’s about a cowboy who goes to Australia and kills a bunch of racists, 10/10 would watch again. it’s from 1990 but it feels much older, with the music choices and the cinematography of a 70s Western. the cowboy is great, honorable and fearless and kind, but the breakaway star of this movie for me is the woman who attaches herself to his side and refuses to leave. her name is Cora, and she’s crazy, in the sense that she’s not altogether tethered to reality, but this never for a second diminishes her agency. she’s fierce and clever and compassionate, and she basically never does anything she doesn’t want to in the whole movie. her arc is about overcoming trauma by taking charge of her own fear and facing it head-on, she is never belittled or dismissed by the narrative or the protagonist, and look she’s just so cool. I love her. she’s so vibrantly alive. her story could probably have been handled with a bit more nuance, but honestly for the 90s it’s pretty great. I’m no expert, but I found nothing objectionable in it, just a bit of heavy-handedness.

anyway the theme of the movie is that racism is evil and racists deserve to be shot, and this too could have been handled better (not a single aboriginal character speaks a single line of english in this movie), but it follows through on that message in every way, while still being a fun kinda campy cowboy movie. overall a very good time.

Currently Watching: started showing my sister Hilda the other day, and she’s liking it! I love that show, it’s so incredibly cute. can’t wait to see season 2

Currently Reading: lmao I wish. lately the brain has firmly rejected all attempts to read anything of any length. currently pending, bc I was halfway through them when my brain stalled out, are tano’s fic What Does Kill You Can Make You Stronger, Too, a Toby Daye book - I think it was The Brightest Fell, I got like half a chapter in and haven’t picked it up in over a month, the Locked Tomb series, and probably a few other things too. ooh! also a book called Making Sex by thomas laqueur, which is my fancy academic reading that I’ve been doing in short bursts for the past year or two when I feel fancy and academic. it’s about the development of the concept of biological sex and of gender in Western society, and it’s fascinating. has among other things introduced me to the idea that until quite recently, fathers were a matter of faith. the mother? yeah, you can watch the baby pop out, we all know who the mother is. but the father? how can you know? how can you really know? we have paternity tests these days, but for all of human history up until now, we've just had to take fatherhood on faith. (not to mention we didn’t even know what fathers were contributing to the production of a fetus. clearly it was something, since you can’t get pregnant without a penis getting involved, but we have literally not known what until the past few decades. and that is wild. it has colored ALL of human history, all of our conceptions of society and family and kinship and gender, all of it, and it hadn’t even occurred to me until it was spelled out for me in this book, and it’s just......wow.

Salty, sweet or savory: for christmas my sister and I made seven different types of cookie, most of them involving chocolate somehow.

Craving: no bc I ate so many cookies. unless sleep counts. or maybe pringles, it’s been many moons since last I had a potato chip and I miss them.

Coffee or Tea: no thank you

Tagging: @coloursisee, @krchy-tuna, @sam-j-squirrel, @xzienne, @mirandatam, @viciousmaukeries, @sepulchritude, @elidyce, and @navigatorsnorth bc it’s been a while since we’ve talked, and I’m super hyped that you’re married now. v happy for you!

#finx rambles #finx has friends on the internet #be sure to tag me if you do this so I can go read it!#also you don't have to yammer on as much as I do #I'm just Like This you know #hmm perhaps I should readmore this actually #hmmmmmmm #I think I will use the excuse that it is 6 am to not do that #on account of how surely there are not many people up #and anyway this isn't meant for reblogging; you will only have to deal with this post once

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maybedefinitely404 · 5 years ago

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American Dream

Genre: angst with a happy ending/fluff

Pairing: romantic Dukexiety

World: just-out-of-high-school AU

Content: homophobia, threatened abuse from parents (no actual violence), extreme cold, getting kicked out, minor religious talk, getting outed, AIDS and death mention, fluffy Dukexiety because my heart needs it.

Word count: 2.3k

Comments: She doesn’t have Tumblr, but I need to give a shout out to my kiddo for proof reading and beta-ing most of my fics. She pushes me to write more, and even if she won’t see this, I just need to say it.

This fic is inspired by the song American Dream by MKTO.

Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up…

The night coolness spread through Virgil like a sickness. It was unforgiving, toxic, seeped with the memories of the evening that curled through his stomach in dark tendrils. Below his bare feet, the sidewalk burned in the way that only ice does, small pebbles digging into his soles. He would do anything for socks. God, why hadn’t he grabbed socks?

Probably for the same reason he hadn’t grabbed shoes.

Please pick up, please pick up, c’mon, pick up already!

His eyes hurt. They already burned with unshed tears that he’d still been too scared to release, and the cool air didn’t help. Crying on the street was a vulnerability he wasn’t ready to face. His lungs burned. He’d been sprinting non-stop for who knows how long. His own panicked gulps for air and the all-too-loud hum of a blinking streetlight were the only sound on the silent street. Virgil had been watching the moths swarm at the fixture for who knows how long, finding odd solace in the fact that at least there was still some life in the darkness. They were still alive, untouched, same as they were yesterday and probably the same as they would be tomorrow, unfazed by the complete turmoil his life had become. And that was somewhat comforting.

“Virgie, you okay? It’s almost midnight!”

Thank fucking god. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain to Remus what had happened. Obviously, Remus would care. That wasn’t a doubt in his mind; that was the only reason he wasn’t anxious as all fuck right now… about the call, that is. He was anxious about approximately everything else. But as soon as the first noise made its way past his lips, the first utterance of a plea for help, everything that he’d been holding back burst forth like a broken dam. He clamped his hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the loud sobbing that he suddenly couldn’t contain.

“Shit. Virgil, what happened? I’m coming over. Are you at home?”

That’s the issue. “No,” he gasped, mildly surprised he hadn’t crushed the phone with the way his grip tightened, “I got kicked out.”

“What the fuck?!”

Virgil flinched. “Can… can you come p-pick me up? I’m at the corner of Jackson and Pullard. Please, please, come get me…”

“Yes. Absolutely. I’m on my way. Stay there, okay?”

Virgil hung up reluctantly after agreeing, not wanting his boyfriend to drive while on the phone, even if Remus gladly would have done it. In fact, he’d used to do it all the time; text, eat, do his makeup, all while cruising down the freeway. He’d only put a stop to it when he saw how much it affected Virgil.

He counted down the minutes on his phone, always having been nitpicky with times, knowing that it shouldn’t take Remus more than ten minutes to get there. If he remembered correctly where he was at the moment, that is. Remus had gotten kicked out of his parents’ house in his senior year of high school after a bad fight. They’d never really been great parents, always showing favoritism towards his brother (amongst other things), and he was more than willing to leave. Virgil had tried to beg his parents to let Remus stay with them, but they’d downright refused, calling him a bad influence and a string of other insults that Virgil didn’t even like to think about. God forbid what would happen if they found out the two were dating.

…Well, they did now. And God hadn’t exactly forbidden what they’d done.

But Remus hadn’t had a solid place to live since it had happened almost a year ago. He couch surfed for a while, bouncing between some old friends who had now gone off to college, or just lived in his car. He’d made it work, and had claimed to Virgil that he actually didn’t mind it that much. If he was telling the truth, Virgil wasn’t sure. He’d saved up some money and bought an inflatable mattress that filled up his back seat area, and Virgil was able to give him his family’s old camping stove by convincing them they lost it. It’s not like they’d gone camping since he was a kid, anyways. Last he’d checked, Janus was home for break and Remus was staying with him for the two weeks he was in town, but those two weeks were probably pretty close to done. Unfortunately, Virgil and Janus had never gotten along, so Remus didn’t bring him up. It was a mutual understanding.

As soon as Remus’ car pulled up to the curb, ten minutes on the dot, Virgil basically flung himself into the passenger seat. The car was warm, so so warm, he almost cried again, this time in relief. Remus pulled back onto the road as soon as he was buckled on.

“Vee, what happened?” It wasn’t hard to guess, there were only so many reasons his parents would have to kick him out. He’d narrowed it down to his parent’s finally having it with Virgil’s tattoo artist dream, or… well…

“Someone at my mom’s work found my Instagram. She went up to my mom, basically started gushing about ‘how handsome I was with my boyfriend’. Specifically the picture of us at Pride from a couple years ago.”

“Ah.” Remus knew the picture well. He’d printed it out and it was pinned to the inside of his sun visor.

“Yeah. Mom called my dad, they were both waiting when I got home. Had screenshots and everything. They grilled me about ‘dishonoring God’ and ‘throwing away my life’. Said I was gonna get AIDS. Die before twenty five. Ya know. The whole lecture.”

Remus didn’t. Surprisingly, him being gay was not a concern of his parent’s. His brother was gay too, and they didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. He nodded along anyways.

“They went on for so long. It was insane. Then they dropped the whole ‘you’re not our son’ thing-” Virgil’s voice cracked, but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and continued, “I figured this is where it was leading to, them kicking me out? I thought they’d give me time to pack, though. Except my dad started getting physical-”

“HE WHAT?!” Remus was tempted to turn the fucking car around and drive to Virgil’s house, just to give his parents a piece of his mind. He was fuming; fuck, he hadn’t been this mad in a while.

“Relax, Rem. I got out before he could actually land a hit. That’s why I don’t have anything with me. I had to run.”

“Doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know.” Virgil pulled his feet up onto the seat cross legged, trying to rub some feeling back into them. Luckily, they weren’t bleeding, just cold as hell. That was one less thing to worry about. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Of course, Vi,” Remus’ voice had taken on a softer edge that he rarely allowed anyone to see, and he reached over to take one of Virgil’s hands into his own, “Speaking of which, why were you on Jackson? That’s, what, three miles away from your house?”

“When I say I ran, I mean literally. I was scared they would follow me.” Virgil shrugged, as if the statement wasn’t the most heartbreaking thing Remus had ever heard. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, I just ran. That’s why it took me so long to realize I should call you.”

Remus sighed, letting his thumb run against Virgil’s knuckles. “You don’t have to act all brave, Vi.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you cry when you got kicked out.”

“That’s because I didn’t love my parents. I honestly didn’t. I know your parents mean a lot to you. And I’m sorry it went down like it did.”

It was the truth, but he honestly didn’t want to think about it right now. What kind of loving family kicks out their child? Virgil took a shaky breath in and mumbled, “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Okay. Let’s talk about something else. What’s our plan?”

Virgil was quiet for a long moment, as if deep in thought. He watched the scenery fade from his suburban area of town to the darker, rural parts of the town’s edge, not knowing or caring where they were driving. The escape from street lights was nice. “Why do we need a plan?”

Remus’ eyebrows shot up at the sudden playful tone in Virgil’s words. “Oh?”

“I mean, is anything really holding us here?”

“My, my,” Remus crooned, pulling into an empty lot and parking in the furthest spot from the street, “I thought I was the impulsive one.”

“I’m serious, Rem!” Virgil laughed, swatting lightly at Remus’ hand. The happy sound was like music to his ears. “I’m dead serious! What’s keeping us here?”

“Patton? Logan?”

“Both across the country. And you know they’re considering staying there when they graduate.” Janus’ name was an understood thing. They both knew his school was barely an hour from the other two. Even if Virgil couldn’t stand the guy, he knew that Remus and Janus went far back. Judging by Remus’ slowly brightening expression, he could assume that Janus would probably be down to stay there as well.

“Work?”

“I work at Walmart. They won’t miss me. Try again.”

Remus scrunched his eyebrows almost thoughtfully, even though this was maybe the easiest decision he’d ever had to make. Plus, they both knew Remus didn’t really ‘think’ in general. “It almost sounds like you want to take a roadtrip, my little emo.”

Virgil scrunched his nose at the nickname, but let a wider smile spread across his tear stained cheeks. “I kind of do.”

Remus shut the car off, turning to his boyfriend with a shit eating grin. “I like this new side of you.”

“Well…” Virgil’s voice turned sheepish under the almost cheshire cat level expression, “Should we?”

“Let’s make up our minds tomorrow.” Remus stated, gesturing to the mattress behind him, “Sleep for tonight. You must be exhausted, coming up with ideas like this.”

Virgil grumbled under his breath, something about ‘not being a baby’, but clambered into the backseat after Remus, double checking the locks on the doors as he went. The air mattress was comfier than he thought it would be, and it was only made better when Remus pulled him in like a teddy bear, tugging a blanket over them. They both sighed in contentment, then promptly burst out laughing at the synchronicity.

“Oh my god, what have we become?” Remus gasped, pulling Virgil in closer nonetheless. Virgil snorted in response, looking up to meet Remus’ eyes through a haze of sudden exhaustion and amusement. The laughter died down slowly as they both gave in to their fatigue, finishing the day with a slow kiss that left them both breathless. Virgil fell asleep with plans forming and circulating through his mind, the rest of the evening almost forgotten.

--------------------------------------------

His parents were at work, and Virgil knew their kitchen window didn’t lock properly, which was what led to him stuffing everything he could into a black duffel bag while Remus kept watch from his car. He wasn’t too concerned about the parents coming home, but it gave him ample time to look over the map he’d bought from the gas station that morning and plan a route. He didn’t want to admit that his leg was shaking from pure excitement. This idea had been somewhere in the back of his mind for a long time, but he knew Virgil valued his relationship with his family and liked being near them, so he never brought it up. Granted, the situation wasn’t great, but he considered this ‘making the best of it’. A twisted paradise.

He barely flinched as his trunk was thrown open and Virgil threw his bag inside before hopping back into his seat.

“Okay, so how about we drive up to Maine, apparently the sea food is legendary! Then we cut back through Ohio. There’s literally nothing in Ohio, but we can cross it off the list at least! And then-”

Virgil laughed, cutting him off, “I thought we weren’t planning!”

“Well, we need at least a rough idea,” Remus said with a pout, “What we do there and how long we stay, that’s up to impulse. I was thinking we should try to get through all the states, wouldn’t that be cool?”

Virgil could only nod, leaning forward to kiss Remus again. “Sounds amazing,” he murmured, so close they were almost touching. They’d talked to Logan and Patton earlier that morning, and they were equally as excited for the two of them. Remus had called Janus while Virgil was packing, quickly explaining the situation (and also why Remus had disappeared in the middle of the night), and Janus supported it. Made sense, since he was almost as impulsive as Remus. Plus, he was going back to school in a couple days, so it didn’t make much of a difference. That said, they still didn’t have a time limit. Their friends were just starting second semester, meaning they could schedule themselves to arrive in California for summer break, or they could spend longer on the road. But schedules are for chumps.

As they rolled out of the quaint neighborhood Virgil had grown up in, Remus reached down and took his hand again. “Say goodbye to white picket fences.” And god, the joyful expression on Virgil’s face was enough to make him melt.

By the time they hit the freeway, they were both nearly shaking with anticipation. Virgil stuck his hands out the sunroof, the wind whipping through his hair, and let out a whoop that was almost contagious. This was the start of something amazing, they both felt it.

Cali, here we come.

#lywrites #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssides #dukexiety

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nalgenewhore · 5 years ago

Text

With My Life - Chapter Three

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

warnings: (all graphic) violence, gun violence, blood, smut, implied PTSD

an: it’s just....sad 😔

Elide woke up on the large couch in Lorcan’s living room. She’d been sleeping there for the past three days - Rowan told her to stay here. To take her time.

She didn’t deserve it.

Who was she to mourn a man she thought of as stress relief? Who was she to mourn a man she’d known for… not even a year? Just because she loved him- that didn’t mean anything. Didn’t give her the right to grieve for him.

She couldn’t bear to sleep in his bed, the one they had shared for such a precious amount of time, so she opted for the plush couch, which, despite its luxury, was still uncomfortable. Elide wished she could, just to be wrapped up in his sheets, but her heart had cracked the moment she’d stepped foot in and Rowan had found her hours later, shaking on the threshold of his bedroom.

It took more energy than usual for Elide to get to her feet and shuffle into the kitchen, body and mind on autopilot as she made her daily tea.

The burial today. Rowan and Vaughan had managed to find an Ozuye healer to conduct the rituals, per Lorcan’s people and heritage.

There was no body. In the mugging gone wrong, he’d been brutalized so badly that… there wasn’t a body to bury.

Her chest heaved at the thought of the man she loved being hurt that badly. That he had died alone and in pain without knowing she loved him.

Everything tasted like ash in her mouth. Her tea, her porridge, the fresh fruit Darrow had sent her from his peach tree. She could only eat three bites before her stomach was full and she had to dump it all in the green bin, hugging her stomach and trying not to cry.

The oven clock told her she had just under two hours till the service, which meant she had just enough time to have a shower and make herself look presentable.

She opted to use the downstairs bathroom and after, she didn’t have enough strength to ignore Lorcan’s thick bathrobe and donned it, wrapping the belt twice around her waist before tying a neat knot. It smelled like his cedar shampoo and like the sweetgrass and white sage he smudged with. It almost felt like his arms around her and Elide found it in herself to smile softly, pulling the soft collar up to her face and burying her nose in the fluffy material, inhaling his scent. “I miss you,” she whispered, kissing the collar once.

Elide padded back out into the living room, undoing her hair clip and letting her hair fall free just as someone knocked on the door. Panic seized her and she had to remind herself that Rowan and Connall had already told her, that Lorcan was already dead.

Still, her heart remained in her throat as she walked over to the door and opened it, protecting herself by remaining half hidden by the door.

It was Aelin, who stood there with a bag of clothes. “Ellie, hi.”

“Hi, Ae.” She stood to the side and opened the door more fully, letting Aelin in. “What have you got?” She looked down the hallway and saw Nehemia bustling with a tray of coffees and a parchment pastry bag.

“Oh,” the golden haired woman said, flipping her hand dismissively, “Ro told me you hadn’t been home and I figured you didn’t have any clothes here so I popped by your place.” Aelin hadn’t stopped moving after she put down the near bursting bag. She was flitting over everything, touching every surface and running her finger over the edge of the bookcase, frowning at the non existent dust. “There’s a nice dress - go put it on, sweetheart, ok? Nehemia will get your hair fixed for you.”

The door shut and Elide turned to see Nehemia, whose eyes were filled with barely concealed grief. “Elide, honey. Did you eat today?”

“Wasn’t hungry,” she said. She still wasn’t, but Elide knew better to say no to Nehemia as the dark skinned woman pressed a pain au chocolat and an iced latte in her hand.

“I made sure it was iced,” Nehemia said, putting the coffee and other pastries down on the kitchen counter and then smoothing the skirt of her knee length sheath dress, its black sleeves going down to her wrists. The ends of her signature cornrows were twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck, no golden cuffs adorning them today.

“Thank you,” Elide said, sipping from her coffee and taking a bite of her croissant. She took another and another when the two women gave her pointed looks. She looked down at her hands, “Really, I don’t deserve it. Me and him… we were never really anything serious, but I- I loved him. I love him.”

They both smiled sadly and approached her, hugging her carefully to avoid upending her breakfast. Nehemia cupped the back of her head while Aelin’s arms wrapped around her waist.

“We know,” whispered Aelin, resting her cheek on Elide’s shoulder. “Ohitekah, he… you know.” Per what Vaughan had told them, the deceased’s given name was never to be used again, for they feared his soul and being would never be able to cross over to the next plane. Vaughan had shared Lorcan’s second name with her first and Elide hadn’t been able to help her tears when he told her it meant brave and war-like.

She cried, feeling the two of them take the coffee and the pastry from her hands and putting them elsewhere. “It’s ok, we’ve got you,” Nehemia said, kissing the top of Elide’s head. “We got you.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

It took a little convincing to let Aelin let her drive herself, but Elide managed it. She needed the calming effect of driving, just her, the car, and the road.

She took his Aston Martin over her Jeep Wrangler, feeling him in the sleek leather interior, feeling the warmth of his hands when she gripped the steering wheel and pulled out of the parking garage just behind Aelin’s car.

The rain pattered onto the windshield and Elide thought the weather was fitting today.

The cemetery was fifteen minutes outside of the city and it only took five for a sinister voice in Elide’s mind to whisper vicious, hateful things.

You never cared about him. You only loved him when he died. You’re selfish - going to his memorial service and disrupting his hurting family is selfish.

Elide drove on, trying desperately to keep her tears at bay as she pulled into the parking lot, parking away from everyone else. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken his car, maybe one of the boys would like it… Fenrys. Maybe Fenrys would want it. She should ask him.

After a few minutes of waiting, Elide opened the door and opened her umbrella, putting it over her head and walking over the gravel to the small, quaint and intimate graveyard.

She unlatched the gate and looked up, realizing the service had already begun and she was late. Fuck, what was wrong with her? Why was she even here? Nobody asked her to, nobody invited her.

Anneith above, this was so rude, but she couldn’t exactly go back, certainly not when Rowan spotted her and nodded his head once, then turned back to the priestess. Elide looked past the line of black clad mourners and saw a bundle - the ashes of some of his most prized possessions so he could have him wherever he went - dressed in beautiful fabric, the beadwork to die for.

She thought about taking a step forward but stopped herself and stood beneath a tree. Elide watched, with misty eyes until the last requirements had been done and what remained of the man she knew had been buried.

Slowly, slowly people started to walk away, huddled together underneath umbrellas. It looked like Aelin was tucked into Rowan’s side, but, really, the blonde woman was shoring her husband up.

Nehemia had her hand tucked into Fenrys’ elbow and held onto Vaughan’s hand, squeezing it and smiling softly at the two of them. Connall brought up the rear, hands in pockets and head hanging low.

Rowan spotted her first and offered a slight smile. “Elide,” he said, his voice low and rolling, his strong burr running over his words, “I’m glad you came.”

“I- I’m sorry I did. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but–”

Rowan hugged her tightly, waiting until Elide tentatively wrapped hers around his waist. “He wanted you to be here. You’re family, Elide.” He pulled away and gave her a slightly grief-strained, but supportive, smile.

She was passed off to Aelin, who wiped her tears away and kissed her brow, “I won’t be there this afternoon ‘cause I have dress rehearsal, ok? But me and Nehemia will come over tonight, if you want.” Aelin was a concert pianist for the Wendlyn Opera Company and the spring show would be starting in a week.

Elide looked at her in confusion, “What’s happening this afternoon?” Aelin gave her a quizzical glance and looked up at her husband, her question dying on her lips as Rowan subtly shook his head twice. Repeating herself, Elide stared directly into Rowan’s eyes, making it impossible for him to look away. “Rowan, what’s happening this afternoon?”

Everyone else suddenly found other places to be as Rowan sighed and toyed with the cuff of his suit jacket. “They’re reading the will. Ohitekah… his lawyer called this morning to say that you needed to be there.”

The ground was falling out from beneath her feet and Elide blinked slowly, not quite sure she’d heard him correctly. “Wh, why would I need to be there, Rowan?”

“I don’t know, Ellie. All I know is that you’re named in his will so… you need to be at the reading.”

Elide nodded dumbly, her mind reeling. “O… kay. Ok. Um, yeah, yeah, I’ll- uh, I’ll drive there - where, where is the office?”

Rowan gently took the keys from her and passed them off to someone else, Elide wasn’t sure who. “I’ll drive. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

When they got to the office, Rowan offered Elide one of the chairs before the sleek, glass desk as they waited for Lorcan’s lawyer. The others sat on the couches placed around the large room.

They sat in silence, all fiddling with something. Elide chewed on the inside of her cheek, knowing it would sting later when she ate anything and not caring enough to stop. The door opened and she didn’t turn as she heard the click of heels approach the desk.

A beautiful woman with moon-white hair sat down on the opposite side and placed a slim envelope on the deak. “Hello, my name is Manon and I had the utter delight of being Mr. Salvaterre’s lawyer,” she said, her voice low and sultry.

Manon looked to Elide and her burnished, golden eyes pinned Elide to her seat. “You must be Elide.” Her plush lips - painted a deep black - curled into a slight grin.

“Yes, that’s me,” Elide said, tilting her chin up in semi-defiance and tracking her gaze over Manon’s face, catching the mild respect that flashed across her eyes. “I’m not sure why I’m supposed to be here.”

“Ah, well,” Manon said, using a long, stiletto acrylic to slice open the top of the envelope, “I will tell you. Ohitekah’s affairs are all rather simple, I have to say. For a cold bastard like himself, I’d expect a bit of sadism, but alas.” Emotions flew across her breathtaking face and Elide was not shocked, though she wasn’t sure why, to see an echo of grief, a mirror of old familiarity. She could see why he chose Manon to be his lawyer and could see some sort of relationship beyond lawyer and client. “Are we all ready?”

There were murmurs of assent and silently, Rowan reached over to squeeze Elide’s hand tightly. Elide didn’t look at him, but nodded slightly, assuring him she could handle it. “Yes.”

“Alright then, let’s start.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Excuse me?”

Manon looked up at Elide over the will, a manicured brow arched, “Yes?”

Elide’s heart slammed against her chest and she floundered for words, opening and closing her mouth a comical amount of times. “I just- did you say I am…”

“Mr. Salvaterre made it clear that he left his apartment, car and a portion of his estate to you.”

“But I- we weren’t married.”

“I am aware of that, as was my client. As it states, in no uncertain terms, this he left to you,” Manon said, passing over the paper and letting Elide read over it.

Her eyes widened slightly as she read over the rather lengthy list of assets. It had all, save for a healthy portion that was hers, been split up between the boys. Nehemia and Aelin were also named individually and what was left had been dedicated to his tribe. “So I… I own his apartment. And his car. And this- this money is mine?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, um, I think,” Elide stood up, dropping the will back on the table, “I need a minute.” She walked backwards, startling as she bumped into the chair. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Rowan stood up as well and Elide threw her hand out, her chest rising and falling raggedly with her panicked breaths, “No, I need to be alone. I-I just need one moment.”

She was not proud when she fled the office, her heels clacking loudly on the floors as she ran to the nearest stairwell.

Elide slammed the doors open and dashed up the stairs, running up and up and up until she reached the roof. She slammed that door open too and slowed her running, the door clicking shut beside her as she leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground, her dress probably ruined by the rain and the dirty roof.

Then, Elide sunk her head in her hands and cried.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @lovemollywho @queen-of-glass @jlinez @sleeping-and-books @ireallyshouldsleeprn @verypaleninja @januarystears

#with my life #wml chapter three #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore #so this is like the last prequel-ish chapter #we're gonna get in toit REAL soon #like....like real soon #it's gonna be fun doe

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farfromsugafanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Pas de Deux

Genre: Nutcracker AU, Swan Lake AU, slight Fantasy AU

Pairing: Jimin/Reader

Warnings: mild depictions of violence

Synopsis: When you were just a baby, Herr Drosselmeyer cured your feet. Becoming a dancer, some believe your ability is related to his magic. Even your dance partner, Jimin. Herr Drosselmeyer comes the Christmas Eve night before your performance in Swan Lake, a turning point in your career. After a frustrating rehearsal where you and Jimin couldn’t get the lift right, you find that the nutcracker gifted to you by Herr Drosselmeyer may be just as magical as the man himself.

Note: Hello, Tumblr! I’m Alyce and I normally write on Wattpad, but I decided to start crossposting my imagines and one shots here. And, maybe move towards making Tumblr my main platform. Bear with me as I learn how to use Tumblr. I may change up things or make some mistakes (such as the dividers in this post are likely not centered lmao. Enjoy!

✦✧✦✧

Your godfather only came into your life every few years. He always brought with him gifts from around the world, little worlds on their own. You remembered how on your eleventh birthday he brought you marzipan from Germany, alpaca wool mittens from South America, and sesame snaps from China. He had not come to visit since, although you'd heard of him throughout the years.

He'd made the emperor of Japan disappear for ten minutes. Your godfather turned sawdust into wooden planks in America. But, most famously, your godfather mended your feet.

✦✧✦✧

You were born on the night before Christmas Eve. Snowdrifts reached the eaves and your father had spent most of the day shoveling the door while your mother cried out. Her labor had begun in the early hours of the morning, but neither the doctor nor you had arrived by evening.

The doctor arrived after dark and Herr Drosselmeyer appeared just before ten o'clock. Herr Drosselmeyer rarely attended births in the village, but your mother, despite her sweaty brow and exhaustion cried out when she saw the man.

Herr Drosselmeyer rarely attended births in the village. His abilities were better suited for other matters. Yet, occasionally, a child was born that summoned the magician. Most believed that destiny controlled the man, a truly divine being on Earth. If you asked Drosselmeyer, he would say that he knew all along where he would end up, but there was always a glint in his eye that told otherwise. The man's excitement and surprise astounding even himself.

"I feel your child will dance," your future godfather said. "One of the best dancers in the land. I have no idea why such a thing should concern me." He stood in the corner of the room, his height caused the crown of his head to nearly touch the ceiling.

You were born about a half hour after Herr Drosselmeyer's arrival. Your parents relaxed as you began crying nearly immediately. Their fears that the magician's appearance meant your death or eternal ill health ceased.

"A girl," the doctor said. He cleaned you off and he brought the rag down to your feet and paused. "Herr Drosselmeyer, I believe I understand why this child requires your presence."

Your parents, the doctor, and the magician gathered around you. You already had sprigs of thick hair that stood up on your head and your eyes were wide as if you were trying to memorize the four faces in front of your own.

Your mother gasped when she saw your feet. They curled in on themselves and each toe was crooked at a different angle. You didn't seem to notice, no pain crossing your features as the doctor felt your bone structure.

"The child will certainly never walk," the doctor said. "She's lacking many bones of the foot and I suspect her muscles would never fully develop this way."

Your parents looked to the magician who looked down at you with the same interest he would study characters of an unfamiliar language. His hands replaced the doctor's, except that he placed his palm flat against your heel, the only part of your foot that appeared intact.

"Your observations were astute," he said to the doctor. "But, this child will dance one day, not just walk."

✦✧✦✧

For the first two years of your life, you're told that Herr Drosselmeyer visited you every week. He would place his palms against your heal and close his eyes. You never cried at his touch. Most of the time you simply looked up at him with wide, clear eyes.

For the first few months, he would place his hand against your tiny, slow-growing foot. No magic appeared to take place, but he told your parents he was gaining an understanding of how your bones worked. How they curled in on each other and formed intricate spirals. They were as fragile as a horse's leg, a break of one bone would mean losing all the others.

When you were five months old, it was the middle of spring and you always smiled at Herr Drosselmeyer's appearance. It was most likely because of the chorus of violins that played from the music box he'd gifted you on your first Christmas when you were just two days old. It played music whenever he arrived.

At that visit, what looked like thick, red liquid passed from Drosselmeyer's hands and wrapped around your fragile foot. There were no visible changes until you were one year old when the arch of your foot became visible. You had unusually high arches with the peak of your arch not touching the ground if you laid it flat on the ground.

As expected, you did not start walking at the usual time. You tried, your formed heels and arches allowed you to stand, but your curled toes and balls sent you toppling over whenever you tried to take your first step. Whenever this happened, your mother would rush towards you and make you promise to never try again, yet, you always did.

✦✧✦✧

Just before your second birthday, your parents took you to see the orchestra. As the music started, you sat forward in your chair, your feet kicking outwards. The horns and the flutes and the harp hypnotized you. You hardly realized when your arms swung above your head and you landed on your heels in front of your seat.

Your mother reached for you, but something stopped her as she noticed the natural way you found balance on your heels like a flamingo in water. Surely, balancing on the back of your feet was not the standard form or practice, but there was grace as you brought your left foot up above your shoulder. If you'd had toes, they would've been at a perfect point.

Herr Drosselmeyer came a few days later on your second birthday. As usual, he laid his hands against your arch and heel, the red colored magic encompassing your foot. This time the ball of your foot formed, only your toes remained at odd, crooked angles.

After his treatment, he presented you with the first present you remember receiving. He'd wrapped it in a petite box and it was wrapped in a silk cloth. You opened the box and unwrapped the cloth to reveal a wooden nutcracker.

The nutcracker was about a foot tall. He wore a green colored uniform and black tufts of hair stuck out from beneath his soldier's cap. You looked at his wooden skin and blue eyes, not having the vocabulary to explain how beautiful you thought he was. That night, your mother placed him on your vanity and he stood guard over your bed for the years to come.

✦✧✦✧

Jimin's hands touched your waist as he lifted you higher than you could jump during the first lift of the pas de deux. The move was simple. Jimin holding your waist and lifting you as you lifted your legs in a flowing motion You'd completed it plenty of times with other dancers. Yet, every time his hands brushed your waist, you landed hard on the heel of your foot, occasionally feeling your knee knock, threatening dislocation.

"Damn it, Y/N," Jimin said, "if we can't do this how are we going to dance at all." He ran his hand through his hair. "You need to get a hold of yourself. Focus on the landing."

You scoffed. "I am! You're holding me too tightly!" To prove him wrong, you performed the move on your own, leaping in the air with your legs out in front of you. You landed on your right foot and performed a pirouette only to show that it couldn't possibly be you.

"Your shoes don't even fit right," he said, gesturing down to your ill-fitting pointe shoes. "That's probably causing all of this."

You stayed silent, knowing that he brought up a solid point. Every night you soaked your bruised, raw feet in warm water and soothing salts, sometimes falling asleep in the chair. Pointe shoes needed to fit well, if not for the quality of the dance than to spare the dancer's feet. Every ballerina knew the perils of aching feet and blisters, but non-fitting pointe shoes only made them worse.

"I'm working on it," you said, sitting down beside him and doing some stretches. "You know it's not exactly easy finding shoes that fit."

While your godfather mended your feet by the time you turned four and could begin ballet, pointe shoes never fit completely right. Sometimes, when you pushed yourself too far during practice, you'd see your toes curl inward and you'd feel panic rise in your chest until you were able to extend them on your own.

Jimin didn't say anything more, but you suspected he didn't quite believe you. All of your fellow dancers knew of Herr Drosselmeyer and how he had fixed your feet. Some believed that he was the one who was responsible for your talent, your grace. That when he mended your feet he'd somehow infused an inherent gift for ballet.

You weren't sure where Jimin stood on the rumors. While you were certain that he held some resentment for you, he'd never contested you gaining the lead opposite him in Swan Lake.

"Let's start from the beginning," you said. "We have to get the pas de deux right." You stood up and took the beginning stance, waiting for Jimin to join you. This was the moment that the audience realized that Prince Seigfried is being deceived when Odile is introduced, when the true reality of the story begins to unfold. What starts as a love story becomes a tragedy.

He stood across the room from you and the music started. You bounded towards each other as the choreography dictated. Everything went smoothly as you approached the first lift. Jimin's hands came to your waist and the move was completed. Yet, you still came down a bit too hard on your feet. While you should vary the technique to play the black swan, hinting to the audience the difference in character. Even so, your technique should still be good. You should still appear graceful and lithe like a swan, not coming down too hard on your feet.

"Fuck," you said, leaning down to massage your feet through your slippers. You tied them tighter and adjusted the fit. "Let's go again."

The music started and you ran towards each other again. The familiar feel of Jimin's hands on your waist and the gentle grip as he lifted you in the air. You landed softer this time, albeit it not with complete grace.

"Opening night is in two days, Y/N."

"You don't think I know that?" You sighed and unfurled your hair from its tight bun. "This is the most important dance of the entire ballet. I understand the stakes, Jimin."

Ballet was about pushing your body to its limits. Feeling like your entire body would snap back like a rubber band, your vision going fuzzy because you felt dizzy from turning so many times, your knees constantly bruised. You were going to get this right, get over whatever was causing you not to land a simple lift. You tied your hair back up, tighter this time and glanced over to Jimin.

"Let's practice the other lifts," you said. "We need to make sure we have them all." He nodded as the two of you took your places on opposite sides of the room. You still landed a little shaky on the first lift, but it was getting better. The two subsequent lifts were simpler and you and Jimin completed them without issue.

Yet, the rest of the lifts were more complicated. As you danced on your own while Jimin rounded the room, you dreaded the next one, the one where he lifts you high with his arms completely extended. You needed to have enough force on your jump or else Jimin's arms would wobble. While you required his arms to stabilize you, you were responsible for a majority of the lift.

You leaped into the air with Jimin's hands on your waist, feeling his grip tighten as you reached the peak of your jump and extended your leg outward. As the descent started, you began to shake and Jimin's fingers loosened, sending you tumbling down on top of him.

His chest rose against yours as he huffed and grabbed onto your shoulders and rolling you off of him. Jimin sat up and rested his weight against his palms. "You can't be serious," he said. "I don't think you're ready for this. We'll have to bring in the understudy."

You sat up and met his eyes. "No," you said. "I'll get it. Maybe I just need to eat something." Your limbs were still shaking and you had practiced all day, not remembering when you last ate.

"I do believe I can be of assistance then," a voice said. Your eyes lit up as you stood up and run over to your godfather who stood at the edge of the studio as if he had suddenly materialized in the space without knowing himself.

He carried a bag on his shoulder like he always did and he let it slip off his shoulder as you hugged him. Your godfather always felt a little magical, like touching him would transport you to another world.

"I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow," you said, thinking of the pre-debut/ birthday party you were holding for all the dancers.

"I felt the urge to come a bit early." Herr Drosselmeyer reached into his bag and pulled out a parfait topped with fruits you'd never seen before. "I know it's not my normal treats, but I know you need to eat well before the debut performance."

You nodded and took the lid off the parfait before you felt a gaze on your back. "Oh, Herr Drosselmeyer, this is my partner for the production, Park Jimin."

He approached and your godfather held out his hand. Jimin reached for it hesitantly and shook it. You could see the way Jimin raked his eyes over the other man, having only heard of his myths and never seen the man.

"You two look tired. I won't keep you too long as I'm sure you still have a lot of practicing to do."

"Yes," Jimin said. "We do."

You caught the glass shards in his voice and knew Herr Drosselmeyer did as well. His eyebrow arched in curiosity and his fingers twitched.

"I'll take my leave then. I will see you at your birthday party tomorrow and I look forward to the show." Your godfather left with the wind, you and Jimin blinked as he faded from your view.

You momentarily forgot about your dance partner as you once again grew used to the nearly empty dance studio. Drosselmeyer could make the dustiest rooms turn into fantastical wonderlands.

"Y/N? Are you ready to start again?"

You looked back and met Jimin's eyes which were surprisingly soft. He never normally looked at you like that and it made a spark run down your spine.

✦✧✦✧

"Your guests will be here soon. Are you sure you want to do this now?" your mother asked, pouring the salts and herbs into hot water.

"I have to," you said. "I don't think I'll walk otherwise." Slowly, you lowered your feet into the tub and relaxed as the water stung your red, raw toes.

"Will be okay for the performance tomorrow?"

"Of course," you said. "And, if I'm not, I'll figure it out. Maybe Herr Drosselmeyer can help."

Part of you didn't want to use Drosselmeyer's magic to ease your pain, only giving into the rumors that he was the only reason for your success.

Your mother nodded. "I'll come get you when everyone's here." She left the room with her frown lines becoming permanently etched in her forehead.

When the door shut, your shoulders relaxed and you allowed yourself to enjoy the pleasant hum of the salts and herbs on your muscles. Your eyes wandered to your vanity which held all of your jewels and trinkets for the performance. White feather hair clips for the white swan and a black diadem with a large diamond that dripped onto your forehead when you became the black swan. Eventually, on the opposite end of the vanity sat your wooden nutcracker.

He was turned slightly towards you. He still looked the same as when Herr Drosselmeyer had first given him to you. The green uniform still the color of evergreen trees in winter and his dark hair hadn't fallen out, even when you'd attempted to brush it when you were five.

"Nutcracker," you said. "Will you bring me good luck?"

As always, the nutcracker didn't respond, but something about the juxtaposition of his rigid stance and soft eyes always made you feel at ease. You failed to notice the small difference. The painted ring around the black pupil was no longer the vibrant blue, but the same shade of brown as the vanity itself.

"I don't know why I can't get the lifts," you said. "Maybe I really am a fraud. Maybe I'm only good at this because of Drosselmeyer's magic." Your head came to rest in your hands. "It's too late to give up the part, Nutcracker. What am I going to do?"

The nutcracker watched as you fell asleep with your feet submerged and your head having fallen to rest on your pillow. Inside the tub, your toes curled backward and your heel shifted positions before going back to normal. You seemed to feel no pain as your slumber continued. That, or you were simply used to it.

✦✧✦✧

"Y/N," your mother said. "Your guests have arrived."

You shot up, not realizing you had fallen asleep. Taking your feet out of the water you attempted to stand up, immediately falling onto the wood floor.

"Y/N!" Your mother's hands were on your shoulders and pulling you back up. "You know you can't stand right out of the tub." She helped you sit back on your bed as your feet throbbed back to life. Carefully, you slipped your feet into your clunky boots, which you wore when outside of your ballet slippers. They were heavy, but provided you the extra support to maintain your feet for the performance.

By the time you got down the stairs, you'd gained control and no one could tell you'd been so unsteady on your feet. Your friends, fellow dancers, and family each wished you a happy birthday and good luck on the performance. Hors d'oeuvres were passed around: chocolate-covered strawberries, peanut brittle, and frothy, fruit drinks. You couldn't stomach any of them.

"Have you see Jimin?" someone asked. You shook your head, realizing you hadn't seen your partner. While the two of you had practiced into the early hours of the morning and he'd seemed somewhat frustrated with you, you hadn't expected him to miss the party. Your brow furrowed in curiosity.

Before you could wonder further, all the room's eyes turned to the doorway as music played. You recognized the familiar sound of violins indicating Drosselmeyer's arrival. You smiled.

The crowd gasped as two life-size dolls walked through the door. They were dressed in the costumes you and Jimin would wear during the pas de deux. You watched as they performed the dance that you and Jimin could not, executing the lifts without issue.

Halfway through the doll that represented you, disappeared down the hall, just as you would dance backstage. When the doll re-emerged, the costume had shifted from Odile's black, to Odette's white. The partygoers oohed and ahhed, all taken with the two dolls. Your brow furrowed again.

✦✧✦✧

The festivities ended and the exhaustion settled into your limbs. Climbing the stairs to your room, a chill came over you. You sighed, opening the door to your room.

Inside, your things lay ransacked. Clothes strewn around the room, your bed covers lay on the floor, necklaces broken with their pearls spread out across the room. Everything on your vanity was missing, except for the nutcracker. The little soldier had fallen on his side and you grabbed his hat and gently stood him back up.

"Attack!" A shout rang out with the nutcracker still in your grasp. You fell backward, the nutcracker tumbling with you.

✦✧✦✧

When you opened your eyes, you were sprawled on the wood of your bedroom floor. But it was not your bedroom that surrounded you. Tall pine trees erupted from the ground beneath your back and snow seeped through the cloth of your dress. You shudder as the cold reached your skin, causing you to sit up.

"Stay down."

Your back hit the snow.

You turned to see Jimin standing above you, a sword at his hip and wearing a soldier's uniform. The uniform was a little big. The sleeves ended just below the wrist and the coat dwarfed his hips, even the hat lay lopsided.

It was then you saw the brightly colored gumdrop come towards you. It landed with a loud bang a few yards away, snow and pine needles flying into the area. The ground shook beneath you and you spotted all the soldiers in the distance. Gingerbread men?

"Y/N?" Jimin's voice was hushed as if the two of you were hidden. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," you said. "Where are we?"

"I don't know."

The gingerbread soldiers drew closer and you spotted another army in the distance. This one made of rats who stood on two legs. At the back of their convoy, the king sat on a palanquin, looking as if he were sailing on a sea of his soldiers.

Swords clashed. You stood up, ready to run. Only to tumble back down into the snow. You knew your feet were failing you and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"Jimin, I can't run."

His dark eyes met yours and it was then you recognized them. They were the eyes of the nutcracker from the night before, looking at you and begging you to notice.

"It's okay," he said, drawing the sword from his belt. He held it awkwardly in his hand and his palm barely wrapped around the girth of the hilt. "It's just like dancing."

A rock sat in your stomach as you watched your dance partner stand in front of you with the tip of the sword pointed diagonally towards the snow.

Before any words of protest could come out of your mouth, the fight began. Jimin's sword clashing with a gingerbread soldier's. Another soldier approached you and you kicked at him, knocking it to the ground. Using the strength you had, you brought your feet down on the cookie's chest, breaking it in half.

With your attacker no longer a threat, you turned to find Jimin still clashing swords with the gingerbread soldier. The cookie had taken a few hits, frosting leaking from his wounds. Jimin's sword swung and sliced off the soldier's right arm. The candy sword falling to into the snow, turning it a faint pink. With one final swipe, the soldier crumbled.

Hope swelled in your heart at his first success. You shuffled your legs, trying to stand up. You couldn't feel your feet, as if they were frozen.

Just past Jimin, the rat soldiers battled the gingerbread men. The rats devoured the soldiers until they were crumbs in the snow. At first, you believe the rats would provide a reprieve. They decimated the gingerbread soldiers with ease.

Your hopes were dashed as one of the rats swung at Jimin, cutting through the fabric of his shirt. His shoulder staining a deep red. You noticed the small golden crown sitting on the rat's head. The Rat King.

"Jimin!" You tried your best to stand, making it to your feet for a few seconds before falling over again. This time you landed on your stomach and you crawled towards the battlefield. While your feet certainly hurt often and caused you to fall, you'd never experienced this.

What did the Rat King want with Jimin? The two of you suddenly thrust into the fight. Although, it was

At the call of his name, Jimin looked back at you, causing the rat to slice at him again. The slice hit his chest this time, more blood seeping through the deep green uniform. He fell to his knees and the rat raised his sword above his ears.

"No!" You twisted to sit straight in the snow and you unlaced your boot as quickly as you could. Your fingers were stiff and wet, but you managed to untie the lace of your right boot and fling it at the Rat King.

The heavy leather boot hit the King's head, knocking off his crown. It took a few moments, but the Rat King fell back in the snow. Red stained the snow around him, but his whiskers still twitched.

Jimin--despite his injured form--took the opportunity and picked up the sword and brought it down swiftly. The Rat King was dead.

✦✧✦✧

The rest of the rats retreated after their king was killed. While the feeling in your feet hadn't returned, you shuffled on your knees to Jimin. He'd collapsed on his back and his chest rose and fell quickly.

"Hey," you said. "Steady your breaths. Come on, like you do when you dance. Count." You started counting and following the beat as you examined the cuts. The one on his shoulder was mostly superficial and the bleeding already slowing. Blood still flowed from the one across his chest and you pulled up his shirt to see it was much deeper than it looked.

You bit your lip, not sure where to start. While you were in a pine forest covered with snow, your bedroom was still beneath you. If it was still in its ransacked state, you knew you could easily find something to stop the bleeding. Digging through the snow, your hand eventually landed on fabric and you pulled it up.

It was the white swan costume. While the outside was covered in beading and feathers, the inside was soft silk. You turned it inside out and held it firmly against your lap, ready to rip the fabric when Jimin's hand grabbed your wrist.

"No," he said, his voice labored and sweat sticking to the ends of his hair. "You need that for tomorrow."

"Jimin, I need you for tomorrow."

You winced as you heard a ripping sound. You'd managed to remove half the lining. Pressing it down on Jimin's wound, it immediately became soaked.

"Y/N," he said. "I'm sorry."

You paused, meeting his eyes.

"For what?"

"For not believing you."

You shook your head. "Forget it, Jimin," you said. "You're going to die if I don't stop the bleeding."

"I don't even think this is real. One minute I'm going to bed and the next I'm your nutcracker. And, then I'm battling gingerbread men and mice. Y/N, do you think it's him?"

He didn't need to clarify for you to know who he meant. Herr Drosselmeyer. While you hadn't had time to stop and think about how you ended up here, the only explanation was magic. And when there was magic in your life, it always traced back to your godfather.

"I don't know."

The fabric was saturated now and blood covered your hands. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, knowing there was nothing more you could do. Even if he didn't say anything, Jimin faded fast. His eyelids drooped and sweat mixed with blood.

"Jimin, you can't leave me like this," you said. "We're going to debut tomorrow. We're going to get all the lifts right. We'll get a standing ovation. They'll pick up our production for a world tour. You can't die. Jimin, please."

"Y/N, stop." He placed his hands over your own. "It's okay. Everything will be okay. You're going to do great tomorrow." His breaths slowed and your own picked up.

"No, no, Jimin. I can't let this happen."

"Shhh." His hand came to your cheek. "It's like the end of the show. Just don't jump in after me, okay?"

His eyes closed. His breathing stopped. And the feeling and your feet came back.

✦✧✦✧

"What is this, child?"

You lifted your head. You'd stayed on your knees by Jimin's side, your head resting on his chest. Tear tracks stained your face and your eyes red. A woman stood above you. Her bright red hair contrasted with the purple ball gown she wore.

"What happened, my sweet?"

"The gingerbread soldiers and the rat king and I couldn't run--"

The woman smiled. "You have no reason to cry. Valiant death is always rewarded." She crouched down beside you and Jimin. She held out something and you soon noticed it was a small, round plum. "Split it between the two of you."

The woman disappeared when you blinked, much like how Drosselmeyer was prone to do. You looked down at the small fruit and bit into it. The purple juice ran down your chin and it tasted like sweeter than any other plum.

Swallowing, you place the other half in Jimin's mouth. You weren't sure how it was supposed to work, but after his mouth closed around the fruit. The world spun.

The snow swirled around you and you held onto Jimin's shoulders to keep from feeling dizzy. Somehow, you'd ended up on your feet, with the feeling of nothing solid between them. You closed your eyes and felt as Jimin's hands gripped your waist.

The world turned from pine trees and snow to the more familiar setting of a dance studio. It wasn't your usual studio though. The floors were perfectly waxed and there were no dents from when Jimin dropped you.

"Jimin?" you asked, feeling his grip tighten around you.

"I'm here."

Your feet touched down on the floor. It felt odd and you looked down to see black ballet slippers tied around your ankles. In fact, you were perfectly dressed as the black swan and you noticed that Jimin was in his matching outfit for the pas de deux.

"Dance for me," the woman's voice sounded. The music from the ballet played, no orchestra in sight.

You and Jimin exchanged a glance before taking your places and beginning the dance. Hesitance bubbled in your stomach as you ran for the lift, feeling Jimin's hands take hold of you immediately. This time he did not let you drop, nor did you lose your focus or form.

When he placed your feet back on the ground, you threw your arms around him. He reciprocated and the music without a source stopped. No more voices sounded, no more soldiers came out of the woodwork, Jimin no longer felt rigid.

Your feet lifted off the ground as the world shifted again. Jimin's lips connected with yours at the same moment. You weren't sure if the dizziness you felt was from the spinning or the kiss as he pulled away and your feet once again touched solid ground.

✦✧✦✧

You cradled a bouquet of roses in your arm as you came off stage. You couldn't stop smiling, even as the cold air rushed in from where families entered to greet the dancers.

Jimin wasn't far behind you and you soon felt his touch on your lower back. His touch had become so familiar now, nearly as much as your own.

"You did well out there," he said. "I don't think you missed a step."

"I think you made the audience cry at the end. Everyone believed you sacrificed yourself for a trick, for love."

Jimin's lips perked up at the ends. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"You'd jump into a lake for me? Even if it meant dying?"

"Absolutely."

#bts imagines #bts fanfic #jimin #jimin fanfic #bts fanfction #bts fan fiction #park jimin #bts jimin #bts au fanfic #bts au fic #farfromsuga #originally posted on wattpad #bts #bts black swan

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wordscorrupt · 5 years ago

Text

5 Times Peter Passed Out in Front of Tony + 1 Time He Passed Out Alone: Chapter 5

i have no excuses

yes this is a new chapter i promise

p.s. this connects back to chapter 1 and in order not to spoilt it i won’t tell you how. here’s chapter 1 in case u want a refresher ;)

Tony had come to realize that being a mentor was relatively easy as opposed to the other roles he partook in his life. Praise. Engage. Support. Critique (when needed). The occasional pat on the head. All the ingredients to create the perfect mentor/mentee relationship. Especially when his mentee was one Peter Parker whose eyes lit up at the slightest hint of praise.

However, the same could not be said for being a parent which was a role that he seemingly adopted overnight (much like the kid himself). Needless to say, it was uncharted territory with unforeseeable conditions. The second he seemed to find his footing, do something right for once, the ground crumbled beneath him. After a while, he can regain his balance but fears one day the world will just collapse in on itself and there is no way to recover.

Today might be that day.

It was a usual Friday afternoon. Happy had dropped Peter off at the compound about an hour ago. The kid had barrelled into the lab, stumbling over his own feet no more than five times. Tony had been sitting at one of the lab tables, fiddling with a pile of nuts and bolts. He didn’t like starting on anything until Peter got there or else he’d have to be forced to look into Peter’s wide, brown eyes and explain why he would start without him.

Peter had greeted him with a grin, begrudgingly allowing Tony to ruffle his hair before taking his own seat and launching into the events of his past week with extraordinarily long, specific details.

While Tony would never admit it, he loved Peter’s ramblings. Not that he gained anything from them. While Spider-Man lived a relatively thrilling life, Peter Parker did not. For lack of a better word, Peter’s non-superhero life was boring. That of which Tony appreciated more than anything else in life because boring meant safe.

He never interrupted, just simply nodded his head at the appropriate times, allowing Peter’s voice to settle in the background as he worked through their projects.

Therefore it was hard not to notice when Peter stopped talking suddenly.

“Peter?” Tony asked warily as he marched over to where Peter was sitting. He had his arms crossed, resting on the table, his head settled on top.

“Kiddo?” Tony called out as Peter made no sound. He reached Peter, immediately sweeping the kid’s curls away from his face, noting the pale, clammy skin.

Tony cursed under his breath. Fuck, not again.

“Peter, kiddo, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” Tony urged, rubbing circles on Peter’s back with one hand, the other shaking his shoulder.

Peter groaned and lifted his head for a quick second before starting to sway dangerously back and forth.

“No, no, no,” Tony cried out, catching Peter in his arms as the kid slipped from his chair. Tony groaned, trying to keep his legs from falling out underneath him because of the sudden weight in his arms.

“I got ya, kiddo,” Tony said once he regained his stance, Peter tucked away carefully in his arms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., vitals on Peter?” Tony asked as he rushed towards the couch in the corner of the room. By the time he laid Peter down on the couch, making sure to elevate his legs, F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him of Peter’s low pulse and blood pressure.

“No shit,” Tony swore, kneeling down next to the couch before reaching out to gently smooth Peter's hair back, hoping it would rouse up the teen. Sure enough, Peter was blinking his eyes open a few moments later, groaning when the light assaulted his eyes.

“Easy, kiddo,” Tony encouraged as Peter squirmed on the couch, trying to make himself comfortable.

“Please, don’t tell me I passed out again,” Peter whined once he was curled up on his side.

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t knock you out, Peter,” Tony replied, standing up and taking a seat on the couch instead, leaning over Peter.

He took a deep breath before saying, “Peter, look at me, kiddo.” He waited until the kid rolled onto his back, glancing up at him with an anxious look before continuing, “I’m going to ask you a question and you’re going to be honest with me. Understand?” Peter nodded his head hesitantly. “Did you skip lunch today?”

Peter quickly turned his head, looking off to the side, cheeks starting to turn red. Tony felt like he had his answer there and then, but he needed to hear Peter say it.

“Peter,” He stated firmly, gently grabbing a hold of Peter’s chin and turning his face back towards him.

Peter took a deep breath, closing his eyes before nodding his head.

“God damn it, Peter,” Tony cursed through gritted teeth, immediately standing up from his seat and starting to pace around, trying to control his anger through deep breaths.

Peter shook his head, scrambling to sit up from his position. “Mister Stark, I swear, I didn’t mean to!”

Tony scoffed, swiveling around on his feet until he was looking back at Peter, arms crossed over his chest. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Peter. Give me one good reason why skipped lunch?” Tony saw Peter opening his mouth to speak but his anger caused him to shut the kid down quickly, shouting, “Don’t! Because let me answer that - there isn’t one! There’s a reason I took over your lunch account, Peter. You know your metabolism is fast, you know you need to eat or else this happens! And next time, I might not be there to catch you and God forbid you manage to crack your head on the damn floor!”

Tony hadn’t realized how loud he was yelling until he stopped, chest heaving and throat raw. He groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes, willing himself to calm down. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, his heart sank as his eyes landed on Peter.

The boy was shaking, hugging his knees to his chest while he pressed his face against his knees. As Tony approached him, he could hear the kid crying softly and his heart broke.

But, damn it, no one could blame him for blowing up the way he did. If this was the only way that Peter would learn his lesson, then so be it, even if it felt like his own heart was being torn to shreds.

“Peter, kiddo,” Tony said softly as he took a seat next to Peter, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Peter let out a sniffle, shaking his head before lifting his head up to glance at Tony.

Tony took a deep breath as he saw Peter’s red swollen eyes and without another thought, he reached over gently wiping away the tears on Peter’s face before wrapping his arms around him and bringing him in close to his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head before the kid tucked it underneath his chin. Tony sighed, rubbing circles on Peter’s back, hoping he would calm down soon.

Five minutes later, Peter’s breathing evened out and he was down to the occasional sniffle. Tony patted his back gently before pulling away carefully. “You good, kiddo?” He said, offering a reassuring smile at the teen. Peter swallowed, nodding his head, before slipping out of Tony’s hold.

“Let’s get some food in you then. You stay. Relax, while I go get some food. I’ve got some leftover pasta from last night. That’ll keep you good until I can order some food in,” Tony said as he got up from the couch.

“Sounds good,” Peter replied quietly, head down, fiddling with his fingers.

Tony sighed, reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair gently. “I’ll be back soon, kiddo.”

While Tony had been heating up the leftover pasta he put in an order for a couple large pizzas and wings, enough to satisfy a small army (or one worn down spider-kid). Once Peter had finished the pasta, which was a rather quiet affair, Tony dragged him down to the medbay to be checked over by one of the doctors, just as a precaution. Peter had let himself be poked and prodded, dutifully answering the doctor’s questions and offering not a single complaint, which Tony hated.

Now, sitting in the living room in front of the TV, Tony was close to pulling his hair out. Peter hadn’t said more than three words to him since the visit to the medbay. He kept his distance from Tony, curling up near the corner of the couch when usually he was glued to Tony’s side.

While it certainly hadn’t been the first time he had yelled at Peter, it was the first time Peter had remained silent for so long. Usually, the kid bounced back to his usual upbeat mood no more than thirty minutes after his scolding. And even though the teen was adamant he was okay, Tony knew he wasn’t and that their problem was not resolved. Deep down, Tony knew he was missing something and he would not be able to rest until he figured it out.

Tony waited until Peter was finished with his second pizza before speaking out.

“Alright, kiddo, listen.” Tony paused, watching as Peter sat up straighter before continuing, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that and I’m sorry. I regret it. I shouldn’t have lost my temper on you and you deserve to hate me right now and not speak to me. I get it but I just don’t understand why you put yourself in this situation again, Peter. If I have to personally come down during lunch every single day and hand feed you, I’ll do it, hand to God because there is no worse feeling in the world than your limp body in my arms.”

Peter bit his lip, staring down at his lap. A moment later, he took a shaky breath before replying, “I understand why you got angry. I do. But I wasn’t lying when I told you I didn’t mean to skip lunch.”

Tony nodded his head, sliding in closer to Peter. “Alright, bud, explain it to me. Tell me what happened.”

Peter huffed, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t want to,” He murmured.

“Well, kiddo, that isn’t a choice. We’re not moving from here until you tell me.”

Peter glanced up, looking directly into his eyes, shaking his head. “I really don’t think I should.”

“That sucks because I think you should and my house, my rules.”

“You won’t overreact?”

Tony narrowed his eyes before reassuring Peter. “I can handle anything, kiddo. So let me have it.”

Peter didn’t look at all convinced.

“Promise you won’t hate me after I tell you?”

Tony sighed softly, reaching over to tuck a strand of Peter’s curls behind his ear. “Never, kiddo. You know that.”

Peter smiled gingerly before he took a deep breath and spoke, “The reason I couldn’t eat lunch today is that there was no more money in my lunch account.”

Tony blinked, pausing with his fingers buried in Peter’s hair. Peter fiddled with his thumbs, looking over at him warily, waiting for a reaction. A moment later, he gave one.

“What?” Tony pulled away. Peter’s lunch account was set to be automatically refilled at the end of each month. He shook his head. “No. That makes zero sense. None. Nada.”

Peter chewed his bottom lip, offering no other information.

“No,” Tony repeated, grabbing his tablet, tapping his way until he was logging into Peter’s lunch account. He gulped, waiting for the page to load and kept reminding himself that it was all one big mis-

“Shit.”

There was no denying the zero balance under Peter’s lunch account as it was right there in the middle of the screen. And suddenly he came to realize how hard he screwed up. Because now he remembered transferring all his personal spending accounts to a different bank three weeks ago. The reasons didn’t matter. What mattered was he forgot to update the information under Peter’s account which led to him yelling at his kid and blaming him for passing out.

“Oh God,” Tony whispered, throwing his head back, closing his eyes as he felt his walls crash down around him. His blood ran cold as he registered just how horrible he had been.

God, he made his kid cry.

Speaking of, he could feel the kid crawling towards him until he felt a hand squeezing his arm. “Mister Stark, please. It’s not a big deal. It’s not your fault.”

Tony let out a snort. “I need you to do me a favor, Peter. Go outside, grab the biggest rock you can, come back inside and smash it on the back of my head.”

Peter groaned, gently smacking Tony on the chest, “Mister Stark you promised not to overreact.”

Tony scoffed, sitting back up. “Well, I lied. Which I am good at apparently, seeing as how I lied to you when I told you I would take care of your lunch account.”

“Which you have. For over six months!” Peter pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter, Peter! I blamed you! I yelled at you!” Tony exclaimed, grabbing hold of Peter’s shoulders.

“Not like you haven’t yelled at me before,” Peter mumbled.

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes. He cupped Peter’s cheek in his hands, waiting until the boy was looking at him and said, “Because, let’s be honest, all those other times you deserved it.”

Peter looked like he was going to argue until Tony gently smushed down his cheeks. “Like the time you got your friend to hack the suit, again, and he accidentally turned off the temperature regulation and you practically froze your ass off.”

Peter winced. “Okay, fair point.”

Tony couldn’t help but grin. He started to run his fingers through Peter’s hair again, telling him, “But not this time kiddo. This was my fault, all of it. I screwed the pooch, hard time and I’m going to make it up to you, kiddo, I promise.”

Peter smiled, shuffling around until he was resting against Tony’s chest. Tony wrapped his arms around him, pressing his face into the kid’s curls.

“I know how you can make it up to me.”

“Hmm?”

Peter glanced up with a smirk. “Put a jet pack in my suit.”

“Over my dead body.”

ya’ll not ready for the last one which hopefully will be posted in the next decade

#iron dad #irondad #tony stark #peter parker

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calcifermovesthecastle · 4 years ago

Text

Self insert Vento Aureo

not a reader insert

Cw: mentions of non-con and trauma, blood

I woke with a start 3 days later, the faint memory of a nightmare clinging to my mind. I bit my lip, crawling out of bed when I noticed Abbacchio wasnt with me.

The second I reached the living room, I heard voices in the kitchen. I stood against the wall, chewing my lip.

"No, I know she's supposed to stay with me, but It seems like for the next three weeks I'm going to be gone for days on end, and She won't be safe home alone. Mista can take her for a couple nights, but she needs somewhere safe, and safest is with you."

"I don't mind watching her, but Bucciarati, this is excessive." I could hear Abbacchio sigh, and I bit down, trying to work through what I was hearing. Bucciarati sighed himself, and I heard footsteps.

"She is asleep now, right?"

"Yeah, out cold. She went to bed at 5."

"Good. I'm just… I'm worried. This stand user is targeting girls her age and I don't want her to worry about it. I know she's capable, But these girls are disappearing without a trace. Not to mention I'm doing my damned best to find her rapist. Every time I pick up a trail, it falls out of my hands. Please, watch her."

"You know I'm going to, but I like my privacy, Bucciarati."

"I know… I hate to put this on...Did you hear that?"

I had bit a chunk out of my lip when I heard Bucciarati's words, and gasped when blood spurted in my mouth. I brought a hand up to my mouth, debating on walking into the kitchen or going to the bathroom. I didn't think fast enough, because the light in the living room was turned on, and Bucciarati and Abbacchio stepped in.

"Sasa, I thought you were asleep," Bucciarati said gently. I kept my mouth covered, swallowing.

"...had a nightmare."

"Are you okay?"

"No." I swallowed again. "I bit my lip pretty bad."

"You really have to stop chewing on it." He walked over to me, moving my hand. I couldn't tell if I was mad at him or not, so I recoiled from his touch. Concern flickered across his features. "What was the nightmare? You look shaken up."

"I don't remember the nightmare. Why do you hide things from me?! Why does everyone keep things from me? I'm a member of Passione. I have a stand. Fuck, I was the one who was raped, Bucciarati, so why hide information about it from me? If I meet the criteria to be kidnapped by some mysterious stand user who targets girls my age, why keep it from me? Why not tell me, so I can be on guard?! Why do you insist on treating me like a child, Bucciarati?"

"It's not because I'm underestimating you, Sasa." He sat on Abbacchio's couch, beckoning me over to sit next to him. I shook my head, crossing my arms. He sighed. "You're very capable. You're very bright, and you're strong. But you are only 14, and you have no business being in the mafia so young. The only reason you joined is because you were born with a stand. And because you went behind my back to pass Polpo's test. It breaks my heart seeing you go down this path."

"It's better than my parent's path. At least I'm not overdosing on Heroin." I bit down on my lip, flinching when I bit my wound instead. Bucciarati sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's… It's not like I'm asking for you to let me go with you, Bucciarati." I spoke slowly, so my voice wouldn't shake. I was mad after all. "I just want you to keep me informed on things. Especially if it involves my attacker. I don't like being kept in the dark."

Bucciarati looked up at me, something flickering behind his eyes. He stood and took my hand, leading me back into the bathroom.

"Sasa, look in the mirror. Your nightmares are getting worse and more frequent. You've lost enough sleep to kill. You're working yourself to the bone trying to catch up with school. You look sick all the time, and I know it's because you're stressed. You've got to start taking care of yourself. You don't have to be working all the time to be appreciated and valid. Honestly, it makes me happiest to see you acting like a normal kid your age, when you're doing schoolwork or having fun with Mista. And now, I need you to stay with Abbacchio for a little while longer while I work, okay?"

"Why- I feel like I'm intruding. Why Cant He come stay with Us? That way he can have his own space and I can sleep in my own bed? And then I won't have to worry about you If you're going to be home periodically."

"See? You're brilliant. I didn't think of that. Please, Sasa, for me. Take the backseat and focus on other things right now."

"You know I can't do that, Bucciarati." I swallowed, grabbing a wad of tissues and pressing them to my lip. "You said it yourself. My nightmares are getting more frequent."

Bucciarati cupped my face in his hand, pondering me. "How about this. We'll compromise. I'll keep you updated on everything that concerns you, and you focus on school instead of work, okay?"

"That-that's fair, Bucciarati." My hands shook. "O-oh. um, do you have-"

"Abbacchio told me, Sasa. I put a whole pack in the cupboard for you. But let's get you home, hm?"

"I'd like that…"

Bucciarati smiled, wrapping me in a hug, which I returned, squeezing my eyes shut.

After my much needed shower with my own products, I went out to the living room, sitting quietly on the love seat. Abbacchio and Bucciarati were sitting on the couch, barely any space between them. I chewed my lip quietly for a moment, my hair dripping onto my clothes. Bucciarati opened his eyes when I walked in, smiling at me.

"Are you ready for bed, Bimba?"

"I just have a little bit of homework to do…" I looked between him and Abbacchio, sighing.

"That can wait. I called into your school yesterday and told them you'd be out for a while."

"You just told me to focus on school!" I couldn't hide the frustration in my voice, and I flopped back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "Which is it, Bucciarati?"

"It's not… it's not safe right now, Sasa." Bucciarati chose his words carefully. "And besides, this time off will help you catch up a little bit. You can work at your own pace."

"By keeping me locked up at home. Great." I rubbed my eyes. I wasn't really being fair, and I knew that, but I was tired. It didn't justify it, but it explained it.

"Oi," Abbacchio's voice was sharp, and he stood, grabbing my face and leaning down. "He's only doing this so you don't get attacked again, monello. Or did you want to risk your life, have it happen again, for more hours filled with more nightmares? Watch your mouth."

"H-" my voice caught in my throat, and I searched Abbacchio's face, betrayed and hurt. He realized his mistake in a moment, his face falling when he saw the tears rising in my eyes. "How can you say that i- that I want that?"

"Abbacchio, let go of her." Bucciarati's voice was soft, but stern. As soon as I was free, I stood, slowly, staring up at Abbacchio with the same horrified look. I glanced over at Bucciarati, quickly, before turning on my heel and walking quietly and slowly back to my room, locking the door.

I cried myself to sleep.

For the next two days, I kept myself locked away in my room. I cried, a lot, a lot more than I wanted to, but it would be random bursts out of nowhere.

I didn't have an appetite, so I didn't eat. The only time I left my room was to go to the bathroom across the hall.

There was a knock on the door later that night, and Abbacchio's voice leaked through.

"Sasa, I ordered takeout. Come eat something."

I frowned, slamming my pencil down on my math workbook.

"I'm not hungry. I don't want anything. Just put it in the fridge or toss it. And leave me alone."

My voice cracked, and I angrily wiped my eyes, looking in the mirror and seeing the face of my rapist instead of mine. I turned away, before taking the blanket from my bed, covering the mirror with it. I tightly shut the blinds to my window as well, and used a tee shirt to cover up my smaller mirror.

I didn't sleep well that night, spending what time I was asleep in nightmares, and the rest staring up at my ceiling.

The next time there was a knock at my door, it was Mista's voice.

"Hey, can I come in?"

"No. I'm busy with school right now."

"From what I hear, you've been busy with school for five days. Have you eaten anything?

"I'm not hungry. Sorry, could you go? I'm trying to concentrate on this."

"Sasa-"

"GO!" I slammed my hands down on my books, irritation coursing through my veins.

I was left alone for the next day and a half. I snuck out of my room when I heard Abbacchio's snores, to get a glass of water and to eat something light- i think it was an apple- before scurrying back to my room and slamming the door when I heard him get up.

I recognized the next knock, and dreaded the events that followed. I doubled down, trying to focus on my math. 5x40.

"Sasa, can I come in?" Bucciarati's voice gave nothing away, and I groaned, frustrated.

"Not right now, Bucciarati. I'm trying to do my homework."

"I'll ask one more time, Sasa. This is your chance to let me in."

"No," I said firmly. "I don't want to see anyone right now."

"That's too bad, Sasa." I heard a zipper, and Bucciarati stepped in, blinking in surprise when he saw the state the room was in.

My overhead light was off, the only light source being my bedside lamp. There was no blanket on my bed, it was still covering the mirror.

I flinched when Bucciarati flicked the lightswitch, blinking rapidly to adjust to the new light. When he sat on the edge of my bed, I scooted further away, staring firmly down at my schoolwork.

"Bimba, we have to talk about this," he began gently, reaching over and pulling my books off of my lap. "You can't lock yourself away like this."

"I-" I took a deep breath, trying not to snap at him. I really didn't want to, but my mood wasn't the best. I just swallowed and let him continue, shaking my head.

"Has Abbacchio apologized?"

I shook my head. "He bought takeout a couple days ago, but I wasn't hungry."

"Have you let him apologize?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "I don't know if im- if I'm ready to forgive him for that. I know he says a lot of things out of frustration but… but this one meant something and it really, really hurt me."

"How much have you eaten, Sasa?"

"An apple, I think. I'm not hungry. I just feel sick. I- I am drinking water though." I gestured vaguely to the glass on my bedside table, frowning. "How much longer am I going to be out of school?"

"I haven't caught him yet. Fugo and I were out all week, but the most we got were some of his subordinates. It's freezing in here, Sasa. Have you been sleeping without a blanket all week? Why is it covering your mirror?"

"I kept seeing his face." I swallowed. "In the window too. 's why my blinds are shut." I finally met Bucciarati's face, my lip trembling. His brow was knit, and he reached out and took my hand.

"Right, Sasa. Come on, out to the kitchen. I'm going to make you some food before I have to get going again. And you have to eat it."

I knew there was no point in arguing with him, so I stood and followed him out to the kitchen. Abbacchio was sitting at the table, so I remained standing.

"Sit down."

"I-"

"Sasa, sit down."

I sighed, pulling a chair out and sliding into it. Abbacchio looked up at me, clearing his throat.

"I'm sorry for saying what I said. There's no excuse for it."

"You really hurt me, Abbacchio. You have to be careful with what you say. Sometimes they're not an 'in the moment' kind of thing." I swallowed, hesitating for a moment before reaching over and grasping his hand. "Just don't say anything like it ever again, and I'll forget about it.

"I promise." He squeezed my hand, pulling it up to press his lips to it. I gave him a wobbly smile.

Bucciarati set a bowl down in front of me, ruffling my hair and squeezing my shoulder. I broke down, tears filling my eyes and spilling over.

"It's alright, Bimba." Bucciarati sat next to me, keeping his hand on my shoulder. "Eat your soup, okay? And watch some TV. I'll be back tomorrow."

That night, I sat next to Abbacchio on the couch, and he turned the TV on. I didn't really pay attention to the movie, instead finishing my math workbook. He checked it over for me, smiling when he saw that I got it all right.

The movie ended, and he got up and put a new one in. I smiled when I saw that it was Jaws.

"Is this your attempt at a peace offering?"

"Is it working?"

"You didn't have to in the first place." I met his eyes, reaching for his hand. "Really. I do appreciate it though."

He lounged back on the opposite end of the couch, and halfway through the movie, I lay down with my head resting on his stomach. He brushed my hair out of my eyes so I could see, and by the time the movie had reached its climax, I had fallen asleep.

(Bucciarati's POV)

I walked in my house around 4 am, having no new leads on who this stand User was. I heard noises coming from the living room and peeked in. The news was on low, and when Abbacchio saw me, he shushed me, nodding down to Sasa. I smiled when I saw her finally resting, and finally looking like she was getting good sleep."

"How long has she been asleep?"

"Since 7. I put Jaws on after she finished her math homework and she passed out on top of me about halfway through. She's doing much better. Not a single problem was wrong."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "I'm impressed. She's really been struggling with Math lately." I glanced at her as she took a deep breath and shifted a bit, turning to Abbacchio when her breathing evened out. "Do you want a coffee?"

"Sure, I'll take one."

I disappeared into the kitchen, returning with the two coffees and sitting on the floor, leaning against Abbacchio's legs. He took his mug and sipped it, closing his eyes.

"Anything interesting on the news?"

"Nah, just bullshit politics and what the weather's gonna be like today," Abbacchio looked down at me, his lips quirking up in a smile. ""Anything interesting happen last night?"

"Nah, we're no closer. This guy hides himself really well." I finished my coffee, setting the mug aside.

I found myself dozing off as well.

(Abbacchio's POV)

I flipped through the channels on the tv until I found something worth watching. Both Bucciarati and Sasa were out cold against me, both snoring softly. It was quiet while I watched an old documentary- something about ancient egypt- and I stayed as still as possible until I felt Sasa move. I looked down in time to see her eyes flutter open. She looked up at me, blinking slowly as if registering I was there.

"Time is it?"

"Shh… It's… 12:30." I reached over and adjusted her blanket. She nodded, yawning, and turned, seeing Bucciarati's head resting against my leg. She was quiet for a moment before turning to me.

"Tell me the truth, Abbacchio. Are you two…?"

"I don't know, Sasa." I sighed. "Sometimes it feels like it, but other times it just seems that there's that barrier of professionalism."

"Screw Professionalism." She yawned, snuggling closer to me. "I think you two should. I want to see you both happy, and Every time you're together, you both look so...at peace with things. I dunno. I wish you would, and then you could move in here. I'd like having my two dads together."

I looked down at her, nonplussed. "What?"

"I think you heard me, Abbacchio. And I know you know that I mean it."

#jjba x oc #vento aureo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken

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queercreati · 5 years ago

Text

Marvel Headcanons; Winterwidow

Russian Dirty talk in public- nobody understands them, so they always get away with it.

No PDA at work (Well, none that non-Russian speakers understand ^), but they have a surprisingly intimate relationship at home.

Playing with hair all the time. All the time. Braids, ironing, dye, hair cuts, it goes on.

Dance parties in the living room to all kinds of music- classical, pop, rock, and Nat even once played some 40′s music and Bucky taught her the dance styles popular back then.

Late night conversations about the nightmares that will never stop, for both of them.

After the first time they slept together, Bucky saw the saw all the scars he left, both in the red room and outside, and apologized for all of them.

They adopt two kids, a girl they name Kate Sarah Romanova-Barnes and a boy they name Clint Ivan Romanova-Barnes. (Steve and Clint cried when they found out)

One time Natasha walked in on Kate trying to dye her hair red like hers. They had a blast doing it together.

The family speaks mostly in Russian at home. After summer break the kids show up at school with slight Russian accents and while they get some shit for it, most of their peers think it’s pretty cool that their parents speak another language.

Once Steve walked in on Bucky shouting in Russian about something, and he thought he was yelling at Natasha and lectured him on it until Natasha said, “Um... You do realize he was yelling at the table, right? He stubbed his toe.” Steve apologized.

Part two of the previous one, Steve once babysat the kids and when they got into an argument in Russian he didn’t realize Mini Clint was cussing his sister out until Kate tattled. He told Bucky, who told Nat, who grounded Clint for a week.

They live in Brooklyn, about seven blocks from where Bucky lived in the forties. Once he took the kids to the apartment he once shared with Steve that had been turned into a museum and pointed out everything they got wrong.

Bucky spoke Yiddish as a kid with his parents, and he taught some words to his kids. However, they sometimes speak Romanian- mainly so they can talk without Nat understanding them *Cough, Cookie Jar Raids, Cough*

Steve gives Mini Clint art lessons, mostly sketching. He’s made portraits of his entire family.

The kids see the entirety of the avengers and their families as extended family- Clint’s kids, Morgan, Peter, Harvey, and even Talos’s daughter are like the siblings and cousins they never had.

They went to Russia once, when Kate was ten and Mini Clint was twelve, and explained their histories and all the horrible things they both did. The conversation ended with the kids holding their parents in the hotel room, all of them crying and promising they still loved them, they where their parents no matter what they did, no matter what was done to them. When they returned to the states, they began training them to be spies- without the horrific methods of the Red Room.

The kids’ first major league baseball game was also Natasha’s first. All three of them quickly became addicted to cracker jack, and Bucky explained how, way back when, the prizes were much better.

Kate grows up to lead S.H.I.E.L.D alongside Steve and Peggy’s granddaughter Eliza Rogers-Carter (Who she starts dating) and her brother.

Kate is called Sarah by Steve. He tells her that she reminds him of Sarah, and when she starts dating Eliza, Eliza calls her Sarah as well.

Eliza and Steve try to teach Gaelic to Kate, and she prenteds to be really bad at it when she’s known it since she was seven thanks to her mom.

Bucky writes poetry, as rhyming facts helps with his memory issues. Sometimes he and Mini Clint stay up late writing poetry together, spouting off rhymes at random moments.

Natasha and Bucky call each other Soldat.

Clint Romanova-Barnes is called Mini Clint by just about everyone, including his sister.

Natasha was once woken up by her seven-year-old son and five-year-old daughter telling her they had nightmares. She smiled tiredly at them and said, “Yeah, me too.”

When they where younger, the kids got out of embarrassing nicknames by having their parents talk to them in Russian in public. Then it got embarrassing to speak Russian, and that stopped.

Mini Clint is adopted from Korea. When he was nineteen, the whole family went to Korea to meet his birth family. When they met for the first time, Bucky was shocked to have Mini Clint’s father tell him he couldn’t be happier that his son had a man like Bucky as his dad.

Everyone has dyed their hair red at some point to match Natasha’s, not just Kate.

Part 3 of Steve Rogers Doesn’t Understand Russian: When Eliza started learning Russian from her girlfriend Kate, she invited her grandfather to join in. Only then did he realize all the conversations Bucky and Natasha had at work in Russian years before were so... explicit.

Natasha and Bucky once received an Email from Mini Clint’s teacher when he was 14 that their son was disturbing the class with all his ‘Inappropriate and gory knowledge” of WW2 and the Cold War. Bucky walked into his history class one day, without his prosthetic I may add, and stopped the teacher mid-sentence and said, “I’m going to really teach you about World War Two.” He proceeded to tell the class about his experience in the war, and as soon as he finished Natasha walked in and explained the truth of Soviet Russia to them. The teacher was speechless.

Natasha once said she adopted two kids because, if she and Bucky ever died, she didn’t want her kids to be alone the way she was when her parents were killed.

When Kate came out to her parents as a Lesbian, Bucky handed Natasha forty dollars.

When Mini Clint needed to fulfill his service hours, he decided to volunteer at the local hospital. Natasha joined him whenever she could.

They’re all morning people, except for Natasha, who suffers from serious insomnia. Saturday mornings before the kids move out are basically one long quiet game because no one wants to face the wrath of a woken-up Black Widow.

Part 4 of Steve Rogers sort of understands Russian now: When Kate and Eliza have conversations similar to what Natasha and Bucky used to, he would yell at them to stop. They didn’t.

One time Kate came home with two broken ribs and her wrist dislocated. When her parents asked her what happened, who should they beat up, she grinned wickedly at them and said, “You don’t have too. He looks worse then I do.” Turns out he beat her up because she kissed his ex. His ex was the one who beat him up, not Kate.

Stranger Things is the family’s collective favorite show, but for different reasons. Natasha is impressed at the accuracy of the Russian, Bucky’s a sucker for Romance, Kate’s in it for the violence, and Mini Clint loves two things about this show: The effects, and his family’s screaming.

-BASED ENTIRELY ON THE COMICS, THE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS ARE OPEN TO USE-

#winterwidow #headcanon #pride #bilingual #marvel #natasha romanov #bucky #fluff #kids #steve rogers #captain america #black widow #the winter soilder #avengers #clint barton #buckynat

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ladyvader23 · 5 years ago

Text

Darth Vader Visits the Pediatrician

He couldn’t take it. He was going to go crazy. He’d already killed an entire platoon of men. All because he was exhausted.

He’d always known having a baby would be hard work. He’d overheard stories about parents staying up all hours of the night simply because their baby wouldn’t fall asleep, or would need changing, or would need to be fed. He was prepared for that. He preferred to meditate anyway, to avoid dreams of her.

But he wasn’t prepared for the non-stop crying. It didn’t help that he had not one, but two babies.

And he was by himself.

They’d barely stopped crying for the last two days. He’d done everything, but nothing seemed to soothe his little ones. Luke’s cries were small, rasping whimpers that tore at what little was left of his heart, but Leia...he was certain the entire Empire could hear her. He tried to focus on getting her to stop first, because as long as she was still screaming, Luke wouldn’t stop either, but he never got her to quiet for long enough to get him to stop.

Why? Why him?

They’d been fine the first few days after bringing them home, after convincing the Emperor that they wouldn’t be a threat if they never used their abilities. But then he’d fed them one night, put them down, and was ripped from his meditation by their awful screeching.

He was coming apart at the seams. He couldn’t focus. People died just for being in his way at the wrong time. He knew the Emperor was pleased by his unhinged behavior, for now, but he’d need to get it under control before the older man tired of it and decided to intervene.

If only she were there. She’d know what to do.

But she wasn’t. It was just him, and even though he was a Sith Lord who had a reputation to maintain, he was still a man who needed five minutes to rest.

So after trying everything again for the umpteenth time, and beginning to worry that there must be something medically wrong with them, he loaded the twins into their carriers, got them in his safest (but still fastest) speeder, and booked it across Coruscant.

He needed to do this far away from the prying eyes of the puppet Senate and the Emperor’s lackeys. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d get a chance to be anonymous--no, everyone knew of the Emperor’s new right hand. He was impossible to miss in the suit. And he wasn’t willing to take his children to a nondescript establishment. Those were usually that way for a reason--illegal, unsanitary reasons more fitting for a bounty hunter, not two babies. He couldn’t use his own medical droids--they were cold, lifeless, cruel, a personal punishment for himself, not for sweet little ones. So he still found an office in a reputable neighborhood and parked his speeder with haste.

They’d cried the entire way. When he let go of the wheel, it was bent from the pressure he exerted on it.

He’d fix it later. First, the twins.

He unloaded them and stormed into the small, tidy doctors office, using the Force to throw the door open, a baby carrier in each hand. “I need to see a doctor now.” He snapped, a little too loudly. The babies started crying harder.

A nurse droid hovered behind a desk. There was a woman with her baby already in front of the droid, and they both turned at his pronouncement. “You will wait your turn.” the droid, ever loyal to its programing, replied firmly before turning back to the woman.

But the woman had gone pale at the sight of him storming toward her, a baby carrier in both hands. “Ah, no, I’ll wait, thank you.” She sheepishly told the droid and hurried out into the childishly decorated lobby, finding the furthest corner away from him.

The droid made a disapproving click as it turned to him. “If you’re going to scare away our patients, I’m going to have to ask you to…”

He’d stopped at the reception desk, carefully used the Force to keep Luke and Leia’s carriers hovering next to him, and evenly placed his hands on the counter before the droid. From most people, it wouldn’t have been a threatening gesture, but the droid had the good sense to back up a step, re-evaluating the situation. “I said,” Vader hissed, putting the clear threat of dismemberment behind the words, “You will get me a doctor NOW.”

As if to support his words, the twins wailed. He gritted his teeth.

The droid was silent for a beat. “D-do you have an...appoint….?”

“I am not in the habit of asking more than once, droid, so if you value your meaningless life, I suggest you…”

“What is going on here?” A male voice interrupted.

Both Vader and the droid looked up to find a human male doctor approaching. He was an older gentleman, with dark hair that was graying around the temples, and light colored eyes that darted between him, his nurse droid, and the hovering carriers with the crying babies. Unlike the stupid droid who followed its protocol a little too literally, the man had the good sense to realize what was happening, and what was about to happen if he didn’t intervene. “Ah, AZI-5, cancel my appointments for the next few hours.”

The droid, AZI-5, glanced between the doctor and Vader. “Very well. Sir, if you could sign…”

Vader was about to rip the droid to shreds with his bare hands, but the doctor quickly interrupted. “Please, Lord Vader, right this way. No need to sign in.”

Well. At least someone had the good sense to stay alive. Taking hold of the carriers again, Vader followed the doctor into the office.

The room the doctor led Vader into was brightly painted with clowns and balloons on the walls. There were a few posters showing various infant life forms and rather generic medical information about babies, and a small padded table with sanitary paper on it. Vader set the carriers on the table, whirled to face the doctor, and demanded, “Make them stop. Now.”

The doctor, who had just finished closing the door, blinked at him, then at the crying babies. “Well, who do we have here?” He was attempting to sound like the normal supposedly approachable pediatrician he probably was, but his voice was strained.

Vader crossed his arms over his chest, reluctantly stepping back to let the doctor look at his children. His hands clenched into fists. “My children. Luke and Leia. And do dispense with the pleasantries, doctor. I’m here to get them back to their normal routine, and they aren’t going to notice the difference between you talking like a normal human being and like a fool.”

The doctor was already carefully checking Luke over as he replied. “I understand, Lord Vader, but it’s better for babies development to use voices like that when talking to them. It helps them develop better language skills early on.”

He didn’t see how that was possible, but then again, he hadn’t been around babies in--well, ever. “Just make them stop crying.”

The doctor had moved from Luke to Leia, who squirmed in her carrier under the intense speculation. “When did they start?”

“Two days ago. They haven’t stopped.” He watched the doctor, using the Force to reach out and check over his daughter himself. If the man scared his children and made it worse, he’d pay. But he didn’t get the sense that Leia was more upset than she already was, so he forced himself to relax. Marginally.

“How often are you...how often are they being fed?”

He didn’t like the insinuation that he didn’t feed them himself. He did, when he was home, which was more often than the Emperor liked. “Usually seven times a day.”

The doctor nodded. “Good.” Vader bit his lip as the doctor picked Luke up, then Leia. He didn’t like others holding them, not without his permission.

“Have you dealt with twins before?” Vader couldn’t help but ask. He figured, since the man was a pediatrician, but he needed to be sure he wouldn’t do something stupid and accidentally hurt them before he could stop him.

“Frequently.” The doctor assured him. “And you’re changing them?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t allow my children to sit in filth.”

“I didn’t mean to offend.” The man must have heard the threat in Vader’s voice, because he could feel his sudden spike of fear. But his hands on the babies remained steady and calm. “They’re healthy, with no fever or signs of illness...if I may, how long have you had the babies, Lord Vader?”

He glared, bitter, fresh wounds reopening as he remembered finding his precious babes on Tatooine, in the hands of the family that had allowed his own mother to be killed. “A week.” He said, simply.

The doctor didn’t dare ask about the previous two months of their lives. “And I assume you haven’t had much experience with children?”

Vader didn’t even bother to answer such an idiotic question. The answer was obvious.

After a moment of enduring his intense stare, the doctor cleared his throat. “Ah. Have you...burped the babies after feeding them?”

He frowned. “Have I what?”

The doctor nodded, evidently pleased that he’d found something wrong with Vader’s parenting. If he wasn’t holding his children… “Can you take Luke?”

Vader did so, holding him close to his chest. The baby in his arms quieted a little, squirmed closer, but didn’t stop crying. He sent soothing feelings through their bond while he watched the doctor pull a white rag from a drawer and place it over his shoulder. Then, he turned Leia around, set her face near the rag…

And began pounding on her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Vader thundered, reaching out through the Force to grab the man’s throat.

The doctor’s eyes widened as he gagged, but he didn’t stop pounding on Leia’s back as he choked out, “Babies...need...burping…”

He loosened his grip, but only marginally. In his arms, Luke was squirming, sensing his father’s panic. “Explain.”

The doctor didn’t waste what breath he had to complain about the choke hold. “After feeding...you need...to burp them. Otherwise, they get...gassy, fussy...you have to do it...like this…”

Vader released his hold, and the doctor sucked in a breath just as Leia let out a massive baby burp...and threw up all over the rag.

The doctor was back in a choke hold. “You made it WORSE.” Vader thundered, horrified to see that his daughter was now sick on top of everything else.

This time, the doctor didn’t have room to speak, though he kept trying.

“What, I suppose you’re going to tell me this is part of it?!” Vader sarcastically snarled...and to his horror, the doctor managed to nod. Just as quickly, Vader released him again and the doctor began to cough. The entire time, the man hadn’t dropped Leia and…

She was no longer screaming.

She was still sniffling, even as the doctor continued on her back and she threw up a few more times onto the rag, but she didn’t cry anymore.

“It’s normal for babies to throw up.” the doctor’s voice was raspy now, but he still remained remarkably calm. At least outwardly. Vader could sense his terror, but it didn’t interfere with his actions to help Leia. “This young, they need help to do it on their own. When they’re older, they usually manage by themselves until their digestive system can handle keeping it all down.”

He stared at the doctor. Then, slowly, he looked down at a still crying Luke. It seemed backwards to do such a thing to his precious little ones. But, apparently, they needed it, and he’d had no idea. What else was he missing with them, not just because he was a Sith lord, but because he literally had no prior baby experience?

The doctor seemed to sense his distress. “It’s normal for all first-time parents to feel overwhelmed.” He tried to assure him. “It can be even more so with twins.”

He was Darth Vader. He was a Lord of the Sith. he was supposed to be better than this.

But, he supposed, Sith Lords and babies didn’t usually mix. This was uncharted territory, and as much as he hated it, he needed help.

“What is your name?”

The doctor hesitated, as though he knew what was coming. “Doctor Rawley, My Lord.”

Vader looked back up at him. “You will attend to my children in the future--at my personal residence. You will not breathe a word of it to anyone. If you do, your life will be forfeit.”

Doctor Rawley was good at keeping a calm outward demeanor, but Vader could sense the resignation and apprehension behind it. “Of course, Lord Vader. I understand.”

“Good. But for now,” he looked back down at the crying boy in his arms. “Teach me what you know.”

#dad vader series #Luke and Vader #leia and vader #luke and leia #star wars #fanfic #my own writing #inspired by my dad #who also knew nothing of babies #and also freaked out when one threw up #baby luke #baby leia #dad vader #is best vader

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theycallmebecca · 5 years ago

Note

Chris & Ellie, #9

Thanks for this prompt! I’m sure you probably wanted something in the current story timeline... but it didn’t work with my outline... so instead you get a present day Chris and Ellie aka how they’re quarantining.

I’ll include a link to their mastermap when I reblog this to add the other links, but as a refresher, in Chris and Ellie’s 2020 timeline, they are living in Oregon, they’re parented to 14 month old Tommy and Ellie is pregnant with baby #2.

Title: Quarantine in Oregon

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC (Ellie Spencer-Evans)

Rating: PG-13

Prompt: #9 - "Remember when you thought you were in love with me?"

Warnings: Loss of pet (nothing graphic or specific, more so the reactions to it)

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be silly about links, I will reblog this post with links to the masterlist and the prompt list.

May 1, 2020

Chris came down the stairs with the baby monitor in hand, happy that he'd finally managed to get his fourteen-month-old son, Tommy, down for his nap. It always seemed to take him longer than Ellie to get the baby down, but he was getting better at it.

"El?" he called, once he was on the first floor of their house in Oregon. He'd known she'd left for a while, but he was hoping she'd come back. Seeing that she wasn't in the living room, he made his way into the kitchen, but found it empty as well. "Ellie?"

"She took Dodger for a walk," his brother called from the family room that was just off the kitchen.

Following his brother's voice, Chris found Scott sitting in the corner of the L shaped couch channel surfing. "So she came back then, did she look ok?" he asked.

"She looked tired, but Dodger was practically dancing at the door to go out and she looked like she could use the fresh air herself," Scott replied, looking up at his brother. He frowned and then held out his hand. "Give me the baby monitor. You look like you could use some fresh air yourself."

"Are you sure?" Chris asked him. "I didn't invite you up here to play babysitter."

"I know and that's why I'm offering," Scott replied. "Besides, it's not like I've never watched him during nap time before. He should sleep for a couple hours and if he doesn't, well, I'll call your cell phone."

"Alright, but I think I'll go work in the barn for a bit," Chris said, nodding his head towards the old barn that he and Ellie were in the process of converting from barn to living area.

After double checking that he had his phone, Chris went out to the mudroom and changed into his work boots before heading out into the warm May air. The weather had been amazing during the last couple months, which made being quarantined a little easier on everyone, he supposed.

It only took him a couple minutes to walk out to the barn, which Ellie's uncle's construction company had done a lot of the work on already and more had been in the works until everything had been shut down at the end of March. Thankfully, the winter had been mild and most of the work had been finished before the crew had had to stop working, which meant that most of what was left was the finishing touches. Stuff that Chris could easily take care of, sometimes on his own and sometimes with help.

After unlocking the barn door with the keypad, Chris slid open the large barn door and stepped inside. He and Ellie had talked about leaving the paper down on the floors while they finished working, but had ultimately decided that anything that happened to the repurposed floors would only add to their charm and would give them one less thing to stress over with the renovation.

Once the lights were on, Chris made his way over to the wet bar in the back corner of the open area of the barn's first floor where he and Scott had been working on paneling the front of the bar the day before. It was certainly easier with two pairs of hands, but he'd started it himself and he could finish it that way.

------

Some of the early wildflowers were starting to bloom, Ellie noted as she and Dodger strolled through one of the pastures on their property. The two of them had made a habit of taking a walk in the afternoon to clear their minds. Or rather, she did and Dodger always came with her. As she turned, her eyes fell on the tree that Daisy had always loved to sleep under and tears pooled in her eyes.

Officially in her third trimester of pregnancy today, tears were always close to the surface for her, but thinking of her first furbaby always made her a little sad. They'd known it was coming, Daisy hadn't been doing well for a couple of months, but then things had taken a turn for the worst in late February and they'd made the tough decision to put her down on March 1st. Her dad had helped Chris dig the grave and they'd buried Daisy under that tree, so she could rest in her favorite place.

As if sensing her sadness, Dodger bumped her hand with his head then laid his head against the outside of her thigh.

"You miss her, too, don't you?" she said, scratching Dodger's head. She considered getting down on the ground with him, but past experience told her that wouldn't be a good idea, not when it was just the two of them out in the field without Chris or Scott to help get her on her feet again.

Her frown deepened as she thought of her husband. They'd had a stupid fight that morning thanks to not sleeping well for a couple nights in a row. In between Tommy teething and her not being able to get comfortable at night, she and Chris were both cranky and they'd taken it out on each other this morning over a stupid pair of socks on the floor of the bathroom. She had snapped first and he had snapped back, which hadn't been a great start to an already rough morning.

Afterwards, Chris had taken Dodger out for their usual morning jog and she'd taken care of Tommy, who had blown through his diaper during the night. Which meant that he'd gotten a bath before breakfast and then she'd had to strip his crib and wash everything while he'd played in his exersaucer.

Needless to say, her mood hadn't improved by the time Chris and Dodger got back and she'd accused Chris of leaving her to do everything because she was a woman. It hadn't been pretty and to make matters worse, it had happened in front of Scott.

She had cooled down with a drive up the road to her parent's house where she had cried on her mom's shoulder and then had taken a nap in her childhood bedroom. Both had helped significantly as had talking to her mom about everything that was happening at home and the stress of it all. Her mom, a school counselor, had listened and then had reminded her that everyone was feeling extra pressure and stress with everything that was going on with COVID-19.

By the time she'd left her parents house, she'd felt better and had planned to seek Chris out the second she got back. She'd sought him out and had found him in the nursery with Tommy, his eyes closed as he rocked the baby. She'd let them be and had come downstairs to find Dodger waiting for her to take him on a walk.

"Should we go find dad?" she asked, looking down at Dodger.

The dog let out a happy bark and led the way.

------

As he worked, Chris couldn't help but reflect on the events of the last six weeks. After they'd lost Daisy, he'd found himself in the barn helping the crew as they worked while Ellie took comfort in the family members that dropped in to check on them. Daisy had been his first gift to Ellie, but also their first kid and losing her had hurt. It still hurt.

Then at the end of March, the governor had ordered everyone to stay home and had closed a lot of non-essential businesses, which meant that family had stopped coming over to see them. He'd seen Ellie starting to retreat into herself and he'd called the one person he knew could help her even more than himself, Scott.

His brother had shown up a few days later after an all night road trip and told them of his recent breakup. Privately, he'd told Chris that it had been a mutual thing, but he'd told Ellie that she owed him one since he'd helped her through her last breakup. Chris knew that Ellie knew that Scott didn't really need her help, but she humored his brother anyway.

Caught up in his work and thoughts, Chris didn't hear the footsteps coming into the barn and didn't even realize he wasn't alone anymore until he heard Ellie say, "Remember when you thought you were in love with me?"

The tone of her voice had been one of a joke and he opened his mouth to reply in a similar tone, but shut it when he saw that her expression didn't match it. He dropped his tools and made his way to her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

"I've been in love with you for over five years and I'm never going to stop," he assured her as he held her in his arms.

"I was so awful to you this morning," she whimpered. "There's no excuse for it."

"I was just as awful," Chris said, stepping back and brushing tears from her face with his thumbs. "And I knew how tired you were this morning, I should have checked on Tommy before I left and if I had, I would have stayed and helped. Especially since I know it's getting harder for you to get him out of the crib. I was an asshole and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Ellie replied before burying her head into his chest. She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her again.

"Tomorrow we'll come up with a new morning plan," he suggested. "And maybe I'll throw Tommy into the running stroller and he can come with Dodger and I so you can take a nap. How does that sound?"

"Amazing," Ellie sighed. Then gasped as a small foot kicked her in the ribs. "Marcus Alexander, stop that," she playfully scolded the baby in her stomach. "I swear, he kicks harder than Tommy ever did."

"Maybe he'll be the next great NFL kicker," Chris said with a laugh as he put his hand on her stomach. "Or maybe a soccer player."

"Or a dancer," Ellie added with a smile.

"He can be whatever he wants to be," Chris said, proudly. "I'll support him no matter what."

"And that's why you're an amazing dad," Ellie told him. She raised herself up a bit to give him a kiss. Then rubbed her belly. "Alright, I'm going to go find your brother, I haven't been a great friend to him today in his time of need." She used air quotes around the last three words. "Are you going to work much longer out here? Maybe we can watch a movie or something."

Chris looked back at the bar then shook his head. "I think I'm done for the day, why don't you head back to the house and I'll clean up and follow you in a minute."

Ellie nodded and she left with Dodger on her heels.

After putting his tools away and closing the barn up for the night, Chris glanced around the yard, to make sure all was as it should be. His eyes settled on the tree where they'd buried Daisy and he found himself walking towards it before he'd made a conscious decision to. Losing her had almost been harder than losing East had been, mostly because it wasn't just himself that was hurting from the loss this time.

Reaching the tree, he pressed his hand against the bark and closed his eyes. It had been two months, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.

"We miss you, Daisy girl," he said, softly. "We'll always love you."

He stood there for a few minutes before he turned and made his way back to the house.

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