#I’m miserable and get a tension headache the moment I walk in the door.

[ifimayhaveaword]

—

[bumbleklee]

when you’re sick

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | discord server | kofi

★ gonna work on the rest of the requests tomorrow but im sick as a dog </3

★ ft diluc, kaeya, childe and zhongli

★ cw: sickness, mentions of puking, sneezing, the whole ordeal + you're pregnant in kaeya's lol

diluc

when you're sick, diluc doesn't want to leave you alone

he's afraid you'll get a 106 degree fever and pass out or get up but be too weak and fall down somewhere

but he had a business to run and, really, you just had a cold

after convincing diluc that you would be fine for a few hours, he reluctantly left with promises to bring you home soup

After Diluc left for the day, you aimlessly wandered around the winery. You eventually curled up in the armchair that Diluc usually inhabited and pulled your legs into your chest. You had forgotten how annoying common colds were.

Your throat felt like it was on fire and anytime you sniffled, your chest heaved along with it. Not to mention the aching headache and constant back and forth between being too hot or too cold. You leaned your head against the couch and only came back to reality when you heard the front door open and close.

"I'm back," Diluc called out softly. You heard a bag rustling and alerted Diluc of your presence in the living room, your voice hoarse and raspy. He poked his head around the corner, "Feeling any better?"

"Not really," You groaned. Diluc walked over to you and leaned down for a kiss but you dodged his lips. "I don't want you getting sick!"

You swore Diluc pouted. "But we sleep in the same bed," He said quietly. You shook your head firmly. "Fine, fine. I brought you soup."

Diluc placed the soup on the coffee table and squeezed himself next to you on the armchair. You wanted to make another comment about keeping him healthy but decided against it, needing nothing more than the feeling of your husband right now.

kaeya

(reader is written as female but can be afab)

when you became pregnant, the elders in town said you were going to love pregnancy but right now, you hated it

your body was getting used to so many changes and it didn't know how to react

when you weren't overcome with fatigue, you were throwing up and when you weren't throwing up, you were in pain

It was early in the morning when you bolted up from bed to let out the contents from last night's dinner into the toilet. After throwing up, you sat back and wiped your mouth. You had read so many pregnancy books the last few weeks and many of them said sickness like this would stop once you entered your second trimester but you were already halfway through and you were still miserable.

After rinsing your mouth, you shakily stood up and climbed back into bed with your husband. He rolled onto his side and tucked a blanket back under your chin.

"We're never having another baby," You grumbled, curling into Kaeya's chest to try and alleviate the tension in your pelvis.

Kaeya laughed quietly but had a frown on his face, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," You sighed, "My body just doesn't like being pregnant, I guess."

Being five months along meant your baby was growing rapidly. Besides being constantly sick, your body was beginning to physically change and, Archons, it hurt. Your pelvis felt like it was being split in half sometimes and your back was already aching.

"I'm worried about you," Kaeya whispered, brushing a lock of sweaty hair off your forehead. You made a noise of acknowledgment and closed your eyes, hearing Kaeya's heart against your ear. "Do you want to see if Barbara can help tomorrow?"

"We'll see how I'm feeling," You said, exhaustion rolling over your body. Kaeya nodded and pressed a quick kiss to your temple. "I love you."

"I love you too," Kaeya said, "It'll all be over soon and we'll have a little baby to forget about the pain."

childe

you should have prepared yourself better for a month-long trip to snezhnaya

instead, you packed poorly and forgot half of the layers you were supposed to bring

so it really wasn't a surprise when you were bedridden with pneumonia a week into the trip

Childe knew something was wrong when you started complaining about difficulty breathing. You tried to stifle your coughs and blamed your shivers on the coldness but Childe knew better.

When you coughed up blood, he instantly knew something was very wrong and hired a healer to come by and check you out.

You were diagnosed with pneumonia and were immediately put on bedrest and given some medication. Childe stayed by your side the entire time and even though you tried to convince him to go and spend time with his siblings, he wouldn't.

When you slept at night, Childe stayed awake to hold your hand and when you were awake during the day, Childe napped next to you. When you had horrible coughing fits, throwing up mucus and blood onto your lap, Childe rubbed your back and cleaned you up.

Until you got better, Childe would be there.

zhongli

when you began to have stomach aches, you played it off as a little bug you caught

but zhongli knew you better than that, knew your body better, and when you collapsed on the kitchen floor into a fetal position, he had no doubts something was severely wrong

within minutes, you were in baizhu's infirmary with a kidney infection

"How are you feeling?" Zhongli asked quietly as he stepped behind the curtain and sat down on the edge of your bed. Your complexion was so pale, so lifeless, and it really scared him. 

“Like someone is twisting a knife around my gut,” You groaned. Baizhu had given you pain killers but they were hardly helping. You seriously thought that if you moved an inch, you would throw up everywhere. 

Zhongli rubbed your knee comfortingly and smiled sympathetically at you. “Let me know if you need anything,” He said. “Do you want me to stay or go?”

“Stay,” You muttered, “Please, stay.” 

“Of course, Darling.” Zhongli moved so he was beside you, his back against the headboard. You moved your head onto his lap, groaning for a moment, before closing your eyes. Zhongli’s hands tangled in your hair and soon a fevered slumber began to take over. “I love you...”

“I love you, too. You’re going to be just fine,” 

[levicanpunchme]

AAAAAA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCHHHH SYEGHQYEHW can i request something where the reader tries to persuade levi to take a break from his paperwork?? aaaaaaa i literally love u some much jagduwyshdsj thank you<3333

AAAAAA, I LOVE YOUUUUU 🙈 thank you so much for the kind words 🥺 I’m sorry this took a while but it’s finally here~! And thank you for requesting babe <333

——————————————————————

Levi X Y/N

Genre: Romance/Fluff/Angst

Sharing Your Exhaustion

The hallways were eerily quiet, presumably because the members were drained off after hectic training; they couldn’t help jump into their dreams before they had to head back for more painful training. You took nimble steps towards the captain’s room and rushed to open the door, knots forming in your stomach in bustling excitement. Yesterday, Levi was so busy with paperwork, you had chose not to visit him, not wanting to disturb him. There were days when you had to ignore your feelings because you were in a relationship with none other than Captain Levi, the strongest solider who shouldered the burden of humanity’s right to existence.

As you stepped in, you realised the room was lighted up, which was foreign because by this time, Levi would be waiting for you in bed with lights off. Your gaze sauntered from the empty bed to the wooden desk next to the window and caught sight of your raven haired boyfriend, seated before his desk with a pencil in his grip as he sharply wrote something down. You frowned, staring at the clock for reconfirmation.

It was one am. By this time, Levi would have tidied up his messy desk, taken a shower and waited for you to come over-sometimes even making personal trips to your room to get you.

You lightly shut the door behind you, taking light steps towards your hardworking boyfriend. Despite making zero to no sound, you caught his attention immediately as if he sensed you around; his bleak eyes seemed to warm up like the moonlight, his thin lips morphing into a tiring smile.

“How was training?” His gentle voice already calmed your nerves. “Tiring,” you muttered with a generous smile and made your way to his chair.

“Tch, don’t work so hard, brat,” he gruffly muttered, his voice etched with concern.

Nearing him, you noticed the blue lines of fatigue on his pale skin carved under his eyes, his forehead creased from tension, posture seemingly uncomfortable with his back positioned away from the chair, probably from leaning down to observe papers. An awful feeling arose in the pit of your stomach. Your judgment stood corrected as you observed the stack of parchments bundled on the side of his table. Just looking at it gave you a headache.

You instinctively stepped closer behind his chair and snaked your arms around his neck tightly, recompensing for the time away from him. The smell of him on the shirt you were wearing was nothing compared to his actual embrace. The shower you had taken before had helped your nerves ease after practise but Levi’s embrace completely sucked every last drop of ache out of your body.

A breathy sigh escaped his mouth as he eased into your hold, his breathing calm against your frame. For a moment, it was only you and Levi in your own bubble; nothing else existed. Two aching souls finding peace in one another. And then a moment later, the bubble bursted.

“Y/n, turn the lights off and get some sleep. I’ll need to stay working,” he put his hand over yours which were resting on his chest and nudged his head against yours, encouraging you to go to bed.

You frowned, your chest tightening.

Ever since the commander’s announcement for a new mission outside the walls, the workload was piquing- especially for the captains. The pile of documents needing Levi’s attention were still toppling his desk and he hadn’t even moved an inch from the worktable since before yesterday night. You didn’t see him at practise, lunch, dinner or even in the meeting with Hange. He seemed to have disconnected entirely from human interaction, determined to get his work done.

“Levi, you’ve been here since the whole day,” you muttered, expressing your discern with a frown. Your arms only grew tighter around him worriedly.

He shook his head, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “It’ll take me one more night and I’ll be done.” You peeled yourself away from him and stared at the man with desperation. You had come to a realisation that Levi coped in different ways in tense times. When the atmosphere became grim, he spent days drowning himself with papers and refused to take breaks- as if he was punishing himself. Even when he came back from expeditions, you wouldn’t see his face until a week after. He stared at words for so long that they probably haunted him.

“Levi, you’re overworking yourself to the bone. You need sleep,” you argued, scowling at the lack of concern in his narrow eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t worry. Now, go and get some sleep. You must be exhausted,” his words were stern, commanding you and his gaze indifferent, holding no room for debate. His eyes remained cold but you could tell he felt apologetic as he softly caressed your cheek with his palm, stroking them. He limply smiled, then nodded at you and motioned towards the bed, implying you leave him alone.

You stared at him distraught. How could Levi expect you to turn away and conveniently slip into bed while his red-rimmed eyes were starving for rest as he pushed himself more and more? Again an unsettling feeling arose in your chest; even his fingers were inflamed from gripping the pencil for too long; he rubbed the back of his neck occasionally which meant he had been craning it for too long to read the goddamn papers.

Your fists clenched in despair as you bit back the curses you wanting to ensue; dating a workaholic man with zero awareness was a pain in the ass. You sighed sympathetically at the man you loved and then stepped closer to the desk, in front of him. You grabbed one large pile of his documents and brought them with you to the bed.

“Hey-hey! What’re you doing?” He immediately sprung out of his chair, and it made you want to cackle because it was probably the first time his leg muscles contracted since he sat down with these documents on that damned chair.

“I’ll help,” you explained as you sat cross legged on the cold sheets of his bed, picking up the first stapled document.

“No,” he rasped. “You are doing no such thing. Get to bed, right now,” it wasn’t a suggestion but a chilling command; Levi’s tone was dangerously low, making your stomach knot up with nervousness.

You glanced up and regretted it immediately because it magnified your anxiety: his misty eyes were staring down at you scornfully, burning your skin; his chest heaved impatiently and his fists were clenched like he would pounce at you any second.

“Levi—“

“Every-fucking-one is beaten after today’s practise, I know that. Just because I wasn’t there, it doesn’t mean I don’t know shit. Hange informed me about your pathetically long training,” Levi’s voice was oddly rough but the coldness in his eyes melted. His face was scrunched in distress.

You loved this man so much with every part of you. How could he be worrying over you when he was literally starving and sleepless from the work pressure? Your nose burned, and you felt your eyes welling up, with overwhelming emotions, but you didn’t let him see that or he’d lose his sanity and flip the world over to know exactly the reason behind your tears.

You stepped out of the bed and walked close to him, edging to him until his nose was brushing yours conveniently since you both were the same height. At close proximity, his almond shaped eyes were tired-red and sully but there was also a strange glint of warmth in the dull grey clouds, reflecting the effect you have on him. His breathing was unsteady as he stared directly at you.

“If you’re too exhausted, we can share the exhaustion just like we share love, Levi,” you whispered, your lips meeting the corner of his mouth and landing it with a kiss. Jitters ran down his spine and his mouth tingled.

We can share exhaustion just like we share love. The words reverberated again and again in his head, tugging at the strings of his heart. At that moment, he wished to throw you into his bed and kiss your exhaustion away. He forcefully stepped back, his insides twisting in misery, desperate to have his way with you. You were always so understanding. Levi could never wrap his head around how you were so transparent and loving. You stood by him in miserable times, struggling to heal his endless wounds. Your selflessness ate at him because in this big, relentless world, he only wanted you to be selfish.

“I’ll arrange these documents, so you’ll know which ones merely require signatures and which need proper attention. It’ll decrease your workload and reading time to a great extent.” You were already on the bed, reading through the document with vitality.

He surveyed you for a moment, his heart drumming faster against his chest. “Come on, get going. We have a lot to do.” Levi timorously stepped back, watching you.

You already got to work and started assessing papers and reading through files. You almost threw in the towel by your fifth document but continued working, determined to help him. You mentally praised Levi’s great work ethics, his neat textura script making you smile.

Levi, on the other hand, stood frozen in his tracks; his chest felt strange as he watched you work on his documents. No one had ever done this-not that he ever wanted it. Hell, he was the strongest, most independent man, who never let his guard down which is primarily the reason why people didn’t bother with him. He alone equated to the strength of a thousand army of titans. He created this headstrong image for the world, Levi Ackerman, the hope of humanity, as he filled in gaps of weaknesses left in his trails.

Why did you see him? You knew he could take it, then why didn’t you let him be, like everyone else? Why did you want to shoulder his burdens by sacrificing your peace?

His head began pounding.

Before he saw you today, he was perfectly fine with his negligent ways: he didn’t feel his stomach rumbling from emptiness, his mouth as dry as the desert, his back aching from distress or his eyes stinging from sleeplessness. Now, when he saw you rubbing your red eyes, squinting them to read the documents and massaging your template in soft circles, he recovered his sanity.

As if he regained his humanity, his body which was numb from the moment he sat with those papers, collapsed into a surge of emotions.

He couldn’t bear it.

He treated himself inhumanely. But not you. God no, never you. You didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t treat you the way he treated himself. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than give you a taste of his pain. Feeling overwhelmed, his vision blurred as he took heavy steps towards you. You looked up from the paper, hearing him moving towards you and your breath ceased.

Silver eyes were shadowy with a thunderous wave of agony, and a deploring frown weighted down his lips as his steps faltered towards you. You immediately stood up, your hackles rising in concern. You had never seen Levi look so defeated and beaten— not even when he came back from outside the walls. Your stomach twisted in despair. Maybe you had hurt him in your attempts to stick beside him. You felt tears choking your vision as you waited for him to throw you out of his room.

He was an inch away when his body fell against you, a squeal leaving your mouth. His arms were clasping around your waist as he pushed his weight down, causing your knees to buckle against the bed and you both fell. He was on top of you, his body completely attached to you like he were a part of you. Your heartbeat escalated as Levi looked at you, his red eyes drunk with exhaustion staring into the depth of your orbs.

Inside your dark eyes, he only saw himself. Only himself. His breathing hardened, mouth watering at the sight. He couldn’t take it anymore, his love for you triumphing over the last shred of common sense left in his brain. Drained and disillusioned, he found solace within you.

He attacked your mouth like a starved beast, every ounce of his being wanting you to feel the love bustling in his veins. Your toes curled in pleasure, the warmth of his mouth creating an euphoric sense of stability in your soul. You gripped his hair softly, running your fingers through his scalp and his eyes screwed shut in comfort. His lips kissed to your jawline and in the crevice of your neck, trailing downwards, marking your skin as his.

Your moans and his heavy breaths filled up the silence in the room.

“I love you,” he whispered and you swear you felt a wet droplet fall against your skin. Your stomach clenched; It was his first time telling you he loved you. You tried saying it back but no words left your mouth, just a stream of sobs.

Before, you felt him love you through his own unintentional ways but nothing could counter these three words falling off his lips just for you.

And then he rustled against the sheets, laying beside you and pulled you on top of him, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat vibrating against your frame caused your tense body to ease in his hold. The documents sat on the edge of the bed, neglected. Soon slumber overpowered both Levi and your senses. Even though you both had to wake up within the next-six-hours, It was the best damn sleep Levi had ever gotten.

[unprofessional-bard]

Don't Push It, Pt. 2

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

First Part (2/2)

Based on this request.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (the reader is 26 and Joel is 53), angst, sexual tension, then smut: oral sex (m&f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, biting, choking, dom/sub vibes bc the reader is A Brat, rough & unprotected vaginal sex.

Summary: It's been going on for years. They both know better than to act on their feelings, but patience starts running thin when a few boundaries are crossed.

Word Count: 7.275 hehehe

Author's Note: This turned out to be a pure self indulgent smut but oh well. I have no shame and no excuses for this.

Like before, this fic changes POV's a lot:

• ----R and below: The reader's POV.

• ----J and below: Joel's POV.

• ----B and below: Both POV's.

The fic starts off with the reader's POV.

Enjoy!

"Jesse..." You called for him, voice breaking and tears around the corners of your eyes. He was chatting with two other people, but immediately diverted his attention to you once he saw your expression.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He turned to you. You were pouting and chewing on your lower lip, refusing to speak, so he held your shoulders as he looked into your eyes: "What happened?"

You blinked away the urge to cry, trying to find comfort in the fact that he hadn't witnessed your interaction with Joel. When you shut you eyes, though, Jesse's right hand went to cup your cheek: "Come on- Hey, it's okay-"

"I'm gonna go home," You finally whined.

"Okay, let's go then," Jesse instinctively looked over to the door, but you softly grabbed his wrist.

"No, you stay..." You looked away, nausea forming at the pit of your stomach: "I wanna be alone."

"You sure?" You unintentionally leaned forward, lightly tripping on your own feet.

"Yeah, thanks," You finally let the tears go and a pair rolled down your cheeks. You don't remember being this embarrassed, ever; normally you wouldn't cry, but the alcohol fucked with you too.

"Aw, (Y/N)..." He quickly pulled you into a hug, pressing your head into his chest. "You're so not getting away with this. We'll talk about it tomorrow okay?" You just nodded and forced yourself to stop crying or, rather, stop yourself from making a noise. After he pulled away, you let Jesse wipe away the tears glistening your cheeks: "Would a kiss make you feel better-? On the cheek, of course."

You chuckled at his panic and nodded with watery eyes, then he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your wet cheek - a kiss you wished you'd gotten from Joel, it was a comforting gesture which made you want to cry more. Instead, before you let anyone notice what was going on, you walked out with rushed steps. The sudden contact with the warm summer air made you realise how suffocating it had gotten in there, the calm and quiet of the town easing your stress on minimal levels.

You furiously wiped away your tears as you stormed to your house, trying not to trip on your feet as you did.

How could I be so stupid? You thought and sniffed. Of course he was gonna reject me.

The feeling of nausea and embarrassment started to take over your thoughts, so you found yourself leaning against a streetlight, groaning: "Fuck..."

"Shouldn't walk back alone," A deep voice spoke from behind you. "Especially when you're drunk, as you are."

You turned around, fixing your posture as best as you could before realising it was Joel. Your worried expression turned into a tired and angry one when you saw him: "What're you doing here?"

"Lookin' out for you," He replied, stopping before you, keeping a healthy distance so he wouldn't invade your personal space. "Your boyfriend clearly ain't."

"The hell are you talking about?" You groaned in a hostile manner. "I don't need you to look after me..." You gulped and turned around, walking towards your house, which was around the corner: "I don't need you."

"Like hell you don't, y'can barely stand up," Joel growled.

His words angered you because how dare he mock me? Humiliation and ridicule riled you up, therefore you turned around and shoved him away once he was close enough: "Fuck off!"

"Keep your voice down." Joel spoke calmly.

You found yourself obeying almost immediately, the exhaustion mixed with embarrassment made your voice crack when you spoke: "Go away, Joel."

Your anger was superior at that moment, but you still -god fucking dammit- wanted him.

Frustrated, you were absolutely irritated by this man whom you wanted; you wanted to kiss him, wanted him to touch you, grab the undersides of your thighs and press you against the wall as he bit your collarbone... You managed to throw that away- if there was anything to throw away in the first place. Hours ago, when he 'helped' you with your stretches- he also showed up to the dance, even though he had said he wouldn't. He clearly liked you, but didn't he want you?

Why didn't he want you?

"Stop bein' stubborn and let me walk you home-"

"I'm not being stubborn, I just don't want you to... to..."

"To what?" He took a few steps in your direction, slowly. In truth, you didn't want him to see you in your current state. You were a mess, not your usual self and it made you want to get swallowed by the ground. "What, (Y/N)?" His voice softened and quietened as he used the side of his pointing finger to gently push your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "Say it."

Your eyes- glowing, beautiful eyes stared into his own. For a moment, you almost leaned into the small touch, but instead you pushed his hand away reluctantly: "Fine. Once I'm inside, you leave."

Joel agreed and watched you lead the way to your house. You ran a hand through your hair and huffed, slowly starting to lose your nerve in the meantime.

He was right with almost everything he said and had to say: You were struggling to stand up, had a killer headache with the urge to empty the contents of your stomach. The bathroom floor seemed like the ideal place to pass out on, the cold tiles would help you with the hot night air of Jackson-

You found yourself on your doorstep, reaching for the key to your house in the pocket of your skirt. Deep in thought and not all too displeased by his existence behind you, you almost forgot Joel was there. Trying to mask the sounds of your failed attempts at fitting the key into the hole, you spoke: "I'm here, safe n' sound. You can leave now."

Instead of replying, he walked up and lightly pressed himself against you when he took your key holding hand in his, gently squeezed it and helped you push it into the hole. Your breath hitched at the touch, heat gathering at your cheeks as he slowly twisted the key for you (you had lost function when you realised just how close he was). His chest easily covered your back, his scent somewhat invaded your senses and made you lean back before he opened the door. Your gaze lowered to the floor once he pushed it open and realised you had to reach the bathroom as soon as possible.

----B

Snapping back to reality, you marched to the bathroom in a few quick steps, Joel following suit. He closed the door behind him and once he reached to the bathroom door, just in time, he saw you drop to your knees in front of the toilet. Instinct taking over, he immediately walked behind you and collected your hair from in front of your face, then gently pulled them into a ponytail in one hand.

Fuck.

The nausea suddenly disappeared and got replaced, once more, with need when you realised what he had done. Your heavy breathing started to slow down as you two stood like that for a torturous minute.

"You okay?" Joel hesitantly asked, trying to catch a glimpse of your face. You silently nodded, trembling hands gripping the toilet seat harder, then finally pushed yourself up and Joel stepped back, keeping a hand hovering by your waist in case you fell.

Without saying anything, you washed your hands and splashed some water on your face, rubbing it as a means to sober yourself. Once you were done, you spread your arms to the sides and placed them on the edges of the sink, leaning down. You felt too awkward to look him in the eye, so, while burning a hole into the sink with your stare, you asked: "What are you doing here, Joel?" He was caught off guard. Before he had a chance to reply, you added: "What- I mean, you're getting off to seeing me all... miserable and- and humiliated? Is that it?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He crossed his arms.

"You've mocked me quite enough, sir," You hissed, faking a different accent and pushed yourself off the sink. Joel took a step back outside to the hall when you walked towards him. "First you reject me, then call me drunk and then-"

"Please, look me in the eye and tell me you aren't drunk right now."

"Well, I'm not," You dropped your hands in defeat and let them slap against the sides of your thighs. "Not enough to not see what I want."

Joel's heart started racing at your words. He gave you an indecisive look, along with shock, lust and a side of shame: "I..."

"Why don't you want me?" You whispered, leaning against the wall behind you. Your expression simply laid between fatigued and trying-not-to-cry. Joel, on the other hand, was shocked. He had no idea about what he should say or do, so he gave himself a moment to recollect.

"Aren't you- I dunno, datin' someone?" He tried.

"What do you think?" You asked, as if you couldn't have been more obvious.

"Wouldn't you..." He tried again. "Shouldn't you be with someone your age?"

"Should?" You repeated, frowning, but you weren't angry.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with kissin' Jesse in there," He took a step towards you. "You should-"

"What the fuck do you know about what I should or shouldn't do?" You groaned. "Are you jealous? Is that it?"

"Oh, for god's sake," He turned his head away in frustration before looking back at you. His expression and voice softened: "You're so young, (Y/N)..."

"So? I know what I want." You stated and crossed your arms. You're so young and beautiful with your 30s ahead of you and you shouldn't waste your time on someone old like me. He was standing an arm away from you when you spoke again: "I know what you want, too. If only you'd stop making excuses."

"Why don't we let this go, hm? What do you want from me?" He lowered his voice, now deep and husky.

You stared into his eyes for awhile, then fixed your posture and straightened up, still leaning against the wall. Determined, you spoke: "You either leave me alone- walk out of that door and I'll be out of your hair forever."

Joel hated the idea as soon as he heard it, so he impatiently grunted: "Or?"

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a solid second, then went back up to his eyes. "Stay. And kiss me."

There it was. The moment of truth.

Joel knew you wouldn't be so insistent if you didn't know he wanted you as much as you did him. He also knew that you had him where you wanted and that you'd also keep your promise about staying out of his hair- he didn't want you to, though. He'd hate himself if he broke your heart and even more so if he walked out of that door. So, with one last hesitation, his self control slowly disappearing, he asked: "Where does Jesse stand in all this?"

Yes, your mind screamed. He's going to stay.

"He's just a friend. He kissed me on my cheek, I don't understand why you're-"

"Cheek?" He asked abruptly, brows raising and eyes widening in unison. In his defense, from the angle he was sitting, plus the whiskey he'd been drinking, he was pretty sure Jesse had kissed you on the lips. The way he'd grabbed your cheek and the look of worry after you left hadn't helped either.

You chuckled: "Just admit you were jealous."

He didn't say a word, instead he just stared into your puffy eyes for a moment too long, then closed the space between your bodies. Before he knew it, he grabbed you by the hips and, finally, pressed his lips onto yours.

It was a little embarrassing, just how quick you were to gasp and moan into his mouth. He then pulled back, placed a hand on the side of your neck gently and pushed your head up with his thumb on your chin, wrecking you with one move. He looked into your eyes, then growled: "You've been drivin' me up the wall, y'know that? This morning, then at the dance..." He sighed, looked down and when he looked back up, he said: "I won't be gentle."

Was it that obvious that you wanted to be totally ruined by him?

You never looked anywhere else other than his eyes, too afraid that if you did, he'd disappear. So when he spoke, the words sending a thrill down your spine, you whispered back: "No one's asking you to."

If your legs were keeping you up to some level, they sure as shit weren't going to do that anymore because of the roughness of the kiss. It had a side of gentleness and professionalism to it too- had he kissed or made out with someone recently? Or even for once ever since he arrived in Jackson? He must've had, he was just so attractive and must've pulled someone into his web like he did with you. It wasn't his fault, really, but he contributed.

His tongue parted your lips and you let him explore your mouth, whining and moaning as quietly as possible. God, you thought, this must be heaven. The way he easily dominated you and made you weak in the knees probably made someone as confident as you look really pathetic, but you couldn't care less. He made you a dripping mess and him only, the rest wasn't important.

While his left hand was on your waist, the hand resting on the side of your throat wasn't squeezing but you wouldn't mind if he added a little pressure. The heavy breathing, your occasional whimpers and the promise of a rough treatment made your pussy ache with excitement - you could tell, by the hardness against your core and inner thigh, he was about the same.

For someone who practically sealed a deal to fuck you until you couldn't walk for the entirety of next week, he was still holding back. As much as it warmed your heart, it was your cunt that demanded attention at that moment: You decided to bite on his bottom lip; he pulled back with a groan, surprised and his hand flexed around your neck. Bingo.

The space between your faces wasn't even a span away, but he took his time to stare at you as you grabbed his right hand and moved it onto your throat slowly. Joel's breathing faltered at the sight: You, lips swollen, eyes a little puffy and your hand on his larger one around your throat with the most devilish smile across your pretty face. If it was even possible, Joel dived back into your lips with more roughness.

You started tugging at his belt as he devoured you, pressing his whole body against yours, making you overheat and feel dizzy. The sounds you were making seemed to turn him on more, his aggressiveness and movement speed increased whenever he felt your throat twitch under his palm.

To your disappointment, he let his hands go to aid you with his belt, but his lips stayed on yours. As soon as his belt hit the floor, however, he took his shirt off. He didn't even bother with opening the buttons and threw it over his head, tossing it to the floor. You gulped at how well built his body was, a few scars here and there and a decent amount of chest hair that followed a trail down his jeans.

Before you could faint at the sight, he immediately went back to kissing you; this time he moved to your cheek briefly and settled on your neck. A gasp left your lips involuntarily when he hit jackpot, sucking a hickey on your soft spot.

"Joel!" You hissed, or moaned, didn't matter- you pulled on his hair and stopped him. "No marks."

"Why not?"

Fuckingshitfuckfuckingdammit-

His tone was so seductive, so inviting that you couldn't fight him. The only reason you didn't want marks was simply because it was summer and you couldn't wear the layers of clothes and neckwear you wore in winter - it sure as shit was going to get questioned a lot and rumours spread around Jackson quicker than wildfire.

He didn't wait for your response of course and sunk his teeth into the crook of your neck, making you let out a rather pornographic moan. His naked body was on fire under your fingers, nails embedded themselves into his upper back when he sucked and licked on the spot he bit.

You wanted to scream out, tell him to bite you again, mark you everywhere and claim you as his, but as expected, you were too overwhelmed to utter a single word.

Joel then grabbed your thighs and pushed you up when you jumped. He trapped you between his hot body and cool wall, both sensations sent your body into a frenetic struggle, his soft lips nipping at your collarbones and large hands groping the backs of your thighs. You let go of him in order to remove your t-shirt with urgency, revealing your bra to him. He was quick to attack the tops of your breasts, sucking and biting there too. The bites weren't rough like he was trying to tear into your flesh, but there was just enough pressure to paint the skin purple.

You loved every fucking second.

"Fuck," You sighed, running your hands through his gray locks as he pulled your nipple out of the cup of the bra. "Oh..." The wetness of his tongue against your nipple made your brain short-circuit. "Oh, Joel-"

He grunted when you said his name, his cock pressing against your heat: "Yeah? You like this?"

"Fuck, so good-" You choked out when he spoke, nails digging at his shoulder and the back of his neck, making you squirm in his grip. After a moment, your other nipple was seen to the same treatment. You couldn't wait to see the rounds of teeth marks and bruises on yourself when you woke up in the morning.

Before he could do anything further, you tapped his shoulder and removed yourself from his hold, stepping on the ground with unstable legs- you immediately dropped onto your knees. The sight made Joel produce a sound between a grunt and a moan, his hand going to rest along the side of your face. He wanted to tell you that you didn't have to, but the way you eagerly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants kept him quiet.

You pulled his pants down, only to reveal his rather big erection straining against his boxers. The scene made you sigh, then look up when you grabbed him through his underwear; he leaned forward, pushing your back against the wall once more. He then pulled your hair oh so slowly into a ponytail and gathered it in one hand, then tugged your head back: "Don't tease me, girl."

If it weren't for your urgency to put him in your mouth, you would continue to tease him; his voice was dangerously low, threatening even, you wanted to see the outcome, but not today. You never broke eye contact when you smirked and pulled his boxers down, but you had to when his cock stood tall and proud inches away from your face.

You stared, eyes widening and mouth falling open (and quite possibly drooling at how big he was), Joel tsked at your expression: "Look at you, so eager for me."

You simply nodded, before licking the tip of his cock experimentally. He was, unsurprisingly, warm. His right hand clenched around your hair as he leaned the other against the wall. After running your tongue over his slit you finally took him in your mouth. A rough grunt vibrated in his chest and he threw his head back when you looked up, making you moan around him.

It was a struggle to fit all of him in your mouth, you saw it coming, but you forced your throat to relax so he could finally fuck it without further ado. After pulling back for a moment and taking a deep breath while working your hand on his length to cover for the loss of your mouth, you took him back in.

He hit the back of your throat, making you gag and instinctively pull back, but the hand on the back of your head stopped you and you moaned.

"Fuck-" Joel groaned and placed his other hand through your hair. He was slowly giving himself to the pleasure. You grabbed the sides of his thighs and braced yourself, letting him know that he can do whatever he wanted to. Thus, he started thrusting his hips with a slow but harsh pace. You did your best to relax your throat more and went as far as to brush your fingertips against his balls.

"Shit, (Y/N)," He hissed and picked up pace, the roughness easing up a bit. "That mouth- Gonna fuckin' ruin me-"

It was satisfying to know how much power you held over Joel Miller, but it was only a matter of time that he found out just how much power he held over you.

He pushed your head against the wall, anchoring you in place and gave you a moment to breathe, before searching your eyes for permission to absolutely ruin, or rather, destroy you - you just wanted him to fuck your mouth until you couldn't take it anymore (you were also sure that, even if it got to the point, you'd still beg for his cock down your throat).

He firmly pressed his hands to the back of your head to keep your head from hitting the wall and began thrusting his hips again. You had nowhere to run, he literally had you trapped and it turned you on so much.

His pace became rougher overtime and he began making you gag with each hit to the back of your throat. The noises were bringing him closer to climax and you were more than ready to have him spill his seed down your throat, but he seemed to have another idea.

A growl, gruttal, erupted from his throat and he pulled back at the same time. You panted, a thin line of saliva connected his cock to your lips and tears were gathered at the corners of your eyes, not to mention your throbbing pussy.

He groaned and held your chin in his palm, looking down at you while he breathed heavily. "So pretty down on your knees for me..."

You moaned when he leaned down to kiss you, not even thinking about the usual ew you just had my dick in your mouth I'm not gonna kiss you.

You sighed - What a man.

He was no boy, oh no. Joel was a man: Older, more experienced and was about to prove how he wasn't after just his own pleasure, that he also knew how to please his partner. He was also going to show how much your pleasure mattered to him and how much it turned him on to see you lose yourself in the euphoria.

He pulled his boxers up but stepped out of his pants which were pooled around his ankles, leaving his shoes with the bunch, then helped you up as he tasted himself on your tongue. He lifted you up again, making you wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you over to the table in your room. He carefully placed you on the hard, wooden surface and proceeded to take off your bra; you kissed his neck lightly as he did, which made him sigh into your hair. You then sucked a hickey right above his collarbone, which made him, quite literally, rip your bra off. You snickered at his reaction, taken aback by how harshly he threw your bra across the room. The gesture seemed to have awoken something primal within him: "What? You want another bite, sugar?"

You nodded, pushing your legs apart instinctively, your skirt doing a sinful job at covering you. He looked down to where you were inviting him, then looked back at you. Smirking, he lowered himself onto his knees: "I'm afraid I'll have to tend to the rest of your body another time, sweetheart."

You blinked and stared at him as he gently put your legs over his shoulders: "Another time?"

"Wouldn't you wanna... do this again?" He asked a little hesitantly.

"I..." Your dumbfounded expression stretched to an excited one, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I'd love nothing more."

Joel smiled back, then turned his head to place a kiss on the inside of your right thigh after grunting: "Good."

You gasped at how good the scratch of his beard felt against the sensitive skin of your thigh. His kisses were wet and accompanied by occasional sucks here and there, until he bit down at the soft flesh.

"Joel- Ah, fuck," You tugged at his hair, but this time without the intentions of stopping him from marking you. You absolutely adored the way he knew exactly what he was doing and it was perfect.

He then followed the same path on your left thigh: Kisses, sucks and a bite on the exact same spot. You bucked your hips forward with a desperate, pathetic moan.

"What's that? You want somethin'?" Joel looked up into your eyes, slowly sneaking his hands up to entwine them with yours. "Speak up, darlin'."

The pet names were an ache both in your heart and pussy, so you spoke up, barely: "I need you Joel..."

The words made him stand up, your legs still over his broad shoulders. He leaned down, made your legs drop onto the crooks of his arms. He held them as he leaned further down until your noses almost touched, your legs and arms wrapping around his body: "Yeah? Tell me what you need baby."

"I need you to-" You stumbled on your words for a moment because, as much as you wanted to experience how it was like to have your pussy eaten by Joel Miller, you also needed his cock inside you - ASAP. "Fuck, Joel, I need your- your mouth-"

He interrupted you with a deep kiss, then pulled back and sat down on his knees once more, pulling your legs over his shoulders. You didn't stop a long and loud whine from leaving your throat when he pushed your panties aside and licked all the way from the source of your juices up to your clit. His hands had a hard grip around your hips, hopefully hard enough to leave marks.

"Joel..." You threw your head back lazily as he lapped at your juices. You put one hand on the back of his head while the other supported you to stand straight on the desk, your legs squeezing around his head lightly. It was the breaking point for you when he pushed your legs apart and pulled back, his beard glistening.

"Be a good girl and keep them pretty legs open for me."

Your jaw hit the ground, hard, and you felt your soul leaving your body right before he dived back into your folds. A silent scream hung on the edge of your mouth when he sucked your clit, the sticky noises making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You had a particularly hard time keeping your legs open, so when they closed around his head again, Joel swatted your inner thigh, making you jump up with a gasp.

He looked into your eyes, pulled back and spoke once more: "What did I just say?" You immediately opened up for him, spreading your thighs as far as you could, almost at a 150° angle. That didn't seem to be enough for him, however, so he grabbed your ankles and pulled you towards him until you were sitting at the edge of the desk: "Don't push it, girl. Repeat it."

"Okay!" You cried out when he bit down on your sensitive skin, harder than before, adding another mark right next to the first one. "I'll keep them open, I'll-"

He experimentally licked at your clit and with all the power and strength you could gather, you kept them open. After a moment, he pulled back, gently kissed the place he bit and said: "Good girl."

You couldn't do this anymore, you were so fucking devestated. It was so incredulous, too overwhelming, that you dropped yourself on your back and cried out. Half of Jackson must've heard that, if not your neighbour next door.

He started to kiss your thighs again, and between the kisses he spoke: "Look at you... So wet for me, so good for me." He sucked another hickey -you'd lost count at this point- closer to your pussy and growled. "You gettin' off to this, hm? Some old man eating your pretty little pussy up?"

He wasn't just some man, though. He was Joel Miller. It was Joel fucking Miller between your thighs, talking dirty to you, setting your cheeks, neck and the rest of your body on fire: "Yes, oh god yes-!"

Joel smirked when he realised he was finally getting to you, but hissed when he shifted and his painfully hard cock protested against his thighs. It was time to speed things up a little, even though he was really enjoying having you squirming under his tongue.

He calculated his next move for a moment, then slowly, pressed a finger inside you. However, he ended up retreating the digit when your legs snapped shut around his shoulders at the feel, and you realised the mistake you made a moment too late. You immediately stood up where you sat and he got up with you, clicking his tongue disapprovingly: "Alright, if you're not gonna be good and listen to me..."

He suddenly pulled you off the desk, carried you bridal style and climbed onto the bed with you in his arms. It all happened so fast you couldn't even process how you were suddenly sitting on the bed between Joel's legs. He settled down and leaned his back against the headboard, then pulled you flush into his chest: "Open up."

You did as he asked and as soon as you parted your legs, he planted his feet next to the insides of your calves, so that you couldn't close them. Your head dropped against his right shoulder and he was quick to pepper your neck with kisses again. His right hand sneaked down to your panties while his other hand kneaded your breast. You whined, eyes closed: "Joel..."

"That feel good, baby?" He whispered against the shell of your ear, then lightly nibbled on it.

"Yes, yes-" You spoke, feverish, then interrupted yourself with a moan once he inserted a finger inside you. You tried to move, but he immediately wrapped his hand around your throat and inserted a second finger.

"Oh no," He snickered, placing a mocking kiss on your cheek. "You don't get to have whatever you want, not after that show you pulled off." You wanted to respond, but his erection digging at your lower back and the fast come hither motions inside you making your legs tremble gave you a hard time multitasking. "You don't get to be all cute to me- then go kiss other boys. Oh, no you don't..."

You were overheating, malfunctioning and feeling dizzy, the familiar white hot pleasure tingling around the corner. You couldn't move- you could only sink your nails into the sides of his thighs as he fucked you with his thick fingers - two buried, pumping deep inside you and five of them around your throat did indescribable things to you.

"Where'd all that confidence go, huh?" He chuckled after he suddenly pulled out and you cried out, not speaking but physically begging to have him inside you. "You pissed me off a lot, you know- Fuck, n' I'm still givin' you what you ask for. You see what you do to me, sweetie?"

You nodded, a phantom of the word yes left your lips, then suddenly you pushed yourself impossibly closer to him when he re-entered with three fingers, stretching you so fucking good: "Oh Joel, please~"

He listened to you say his name over and over like a silent prayer as his fingers produced incredible pleasure and noises from between your legs. Each thrust of his fingers equaled a high-pitched gasp- he kept at it for another moment, bringing you closer and closer to your climax, then pulled out and unexpectedly squeezed the hand around your throat: "You think you deserve this, huh? After everything you did- Think you earned it?"

"N-No," You replied hesitantly, thrusting your hips forward as you did, which earned you a smack across your oversensitive thigh. "Fuck-!"

"Tsk," He shifted his hand upwards, turning your jaw more to the left so he could pepper your jaw with ghostly kisses. "I'm spoilin' you... Don't even know your place-"

"No, I do-" You switched tactics and tried begging verbally, but it earned you another smack, this time right on your pussy, which made you jump.

He cooed, rubbing your clit: "Who does this belong to, then?"

"You- To you," You gulped, breath hitching at the sensation, your bare shoulders tensing against his chest.

He smacked your pussy again, then asked: "Couldn't hear you, darlin'." As soon as you moaned another series of yous, he kissed your neck affectionately, then whispered: "Atta girl."

He took his time while he coaxed your orgasm out of you. A soft yet effective press of the pads of his fingers against your nerves and, with a series of profanities spilling from your mouth with moans, you came undone- saw the stars when he helped you through your orgasm and overstimulated you afterwards.

Boneless was one word to describe your state, melted was another. You were practically both, you couldn't even lift a finger when he removed himself from behind you and laid you down on the bed. The both of you were covered in sweat and panting, you almost missed the adoration in Joel's eyes when he brushed some hair away from your face. Your legs were still trembling, hickeys were showing their colours on your skin and he couldn't help but place the most gentle kiss on your lips, then replaced his mouth with his sticky fingers. He stood on his knees between your legs and extended his arm to your face: "Suck." You obeyed immediately, taking at first two, then three fingers into your mouth. You sucked and licked them, making Joel hiss: "We're not done yet."

"Good," You sighed, leaving his fingers with a wet sound and smirking at him wickedly. You wanted him to unload on you, punish you for misbehaving.

"You're a naughty girl, ain't ya?" He growled, snickering down at you as he removed your panties and threw them... somewhere. You nodded, regaining your energy, that bratty smile driving him crazy. "Get up. On all fours."

"And... What if I don't?" You smiled innocently at him, dragging your foot up the insides of his thighs. Clearly, your confidence started sprouting again and that needed to be taken care of. He stared into your eyes all the while, then hissed when your foot pressed against his clothed crotch.

Without saying another word, he suddenly grabbed your ankles, yanked you towards him and turned you around in a single second, making you yelp. He pressed his body on yours, putting his forearms next to your head and leaned in to your ear: "Oh, that's not how it works, princess." He placed a kiss behind your ear and pulled you up by your hips, pressing on the back of your neck so you stayed down while he raised your ass up, arching your back. Your skirt, once more, sinfully and barely covered your ass and Joel moaned at the sight, then yanked his underwear down, a hand ghosting over your ass: "I'm gonna make sure," He grunted as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, then traced it up and down, coating it with your juices. "That you forget your name after we're done." He started to push in, slowly as he didn't want to cause you any discomfort. "But you'll still remember who you belong to."

"Ah~" You moaned, grabbing his hips as he pushed in. The promise of having your insides rearranged sounded too good to be true, but there you were, Joel's cock inside you and making you lose your mind. He stopped when he finally had his cock completely buried in you. "You're so- So, oh- So big-"

"Hm? Does it feel good?" His voice strained as he did his best to wait for you to adjust.

"So good, Joel- Feels so fucking good," You were practically crying at that point, without tears that was. You noticed how his behaviour changed when you responded to him, when you behaved like his good girl.

"Yeah?" He began moving very slowly, eyes closed, struggling to keep his posture. "Good-" He groaned, then removed your hands from his thighs and brought them together behind your back. He took your wrists in one hand, pressed them against your waist and started fucking you. His hips snapped against your ass and the backs of your thighs, the noises that came out as a result were absolutely amazing.

His thrusts were precise: For someone who had a hard time controlling himself, he had incredible control over his body while he fucked you into the mattress, setting fire to your insides once more.

It wasn't long before he brought you to the edge again, bringing down a few smacks down your ass here and there, making you gasp and push your hips down on his cock. However, the start of your unravelling was triggered when he grabbed a fistful of your hair. He didn't yank on it, but he held your head off the pillows and made you cry out: "Fuck!"

"You like this, sweetheart?" He growled when you clenched around him. "So tight- Goddamn-"

You wish you could say you were embarrassed when you let out another high-pitched moan- a sound you didn't know you were capable of making. Suddenly he turned you around and pushed you on your back, grabbed your thighs, hooked them over his own, then sunk into you again. He didn't move, though, which made you look up with a devastated expression, only to find him snickering at you: "Look at you..."

You sighed, pushing yourself up and down, telling him to start moving, but a hand around your throat had you paralysed on spot: "So pretty with my cock in your tight little cunt." You moaned and gripped his biceps which looked delicious under the moonlight: "You want me to fuck you, huh baby?"

"Yes, yes Joel-" You nodded furiously, thighs trembling around his waist. He started rocking into you again, making you look into his eyes as he did.

"You wanna know what it feels like when a man makes you cum?" He gritted his teeth and picked up pace, going deeper.

"Yes!" Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, your juices leaking out of your pussy. "Please fuck me Joel-!"

You couldn't tell if it was a moan or a shout that came out of Joel's mouth (as well as yours), but it clearly had magical effects as you felt a second wave of orgasm wash over you. His hand around your throat joined the other on your hips, with a bruising grip that you already came to love.

He suddenly pulled out and a second later, had his seed spilling on your abdomen. He clearly waited for you to finish first, which made your heart do a few flips. He slowly lowered himself on top of you as he panted, a hand resting on the side of your head, caressing it gently. Your hand instinctively went through his hair and held him there, too shocked to actually say anything, legs trembling occasionally.

"Shit..." He finally sighed and dragged his head off your chest and looked into your eyes. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

It took you second to process what he asked. You blinked and nodded, eyes glowing and beaming at him: "I'm okay- No, you didn't hurt me, I'm fine. I really..."

"What?" He offered a small smile and moved his hand onto your cheek, noticing how you were suddenly shying away. "You liked it?"

You nodded once more, smile turning mischievous: "I did." You then slowly pushed on his chest: "Very much..." His heart started beating faster the second his back met the mattress and you straddled his hips. The short amount of time it took your insides to start coiling with desire again excited you. Joel was about the same- A simple motion such as getting on top of him, rubbing your wetness on his skin almost immediately had his softening member fully hard again. "We're not done yet, are we?"

There wasn't any indication that you were taking over as far as Joel could tell, but after what you both did, you were full of surprises in his eyes: "No, we're not sweetheart." You flashed your teeth at him before taking him in hand and pumping him a few times, feeling him grow larger in your palm. He growled and grabbed your hips, then slammed you down on his cock, making you moan loudly: "Oh, we're not done, alright."

You put your hands on his chest to get some sort of support, but didn't move, expecting him to start thrusting up into you. He didn't, though, so you gave him a quizzical look. Before you could ask what was wrong, his hands slowly began moving down your thighs.

"Go on," He groaned. "Show me what you got."

Your brain, once again, short-circuited but Joel made sure to snap you back to reality- literally. He snapped his hips up and the force made you let out a short squeal, immediately putting you to work.

The moment you started rocking your hips back and forth, the grip he had on your thighs tightened. You purposefully put your arms closer together so that your breasts pressed against one another, and the noises you made with your skirt still around your waist - the sight made him throw his head back on the pillows and had a moan escaping his throat. You started moving faster, which made him hold your waist with one hand and smack your ass with the other, making you jump forwards.

"Such a good girl," He praised. "Fucking yourself on my cock like this-"

The dirty talk shot right through to your clit and your movements faltered, your thighs squeezing around his hips. Something feral and raw poked its head out from its hiding spot, hidden amongst your fantasies, so you picked up pace but not without grabbing his wrists and slamming them above his head, keeping them there as you rode him.

Joel was, once again, surprised at the sudden move, but he allowed you to chase your pleasure for a while. He closed his eyes and focused entirely on the motion of your hips and the tightness of your cunt.

It felt so good.

To finally have you for himself- it still came with a side of guilt, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. You wanted this, you needed him and you told him, this wasn't some stupid dream or his late night thoughts: This was quite real.

Not for too long, though. He was almost lost in the pleasure when he noticed your hand going down to your clit.

Your cries came to an abrupt halt when he suddenly wriggled his hands out of your grasp and had one wrapped around your throat, the other holding the hand on your clit behind your back. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly: "So eager to cum, are you? To fuck me over, huh?"

"Yes," You moaned, even though you weren't sure what he truly meant by fucking him over. "Only you- Only for you-"

The words made Joel's hips thrust up, touching a new spot deep within you, then set a brutal pace. You could only hold onto his forearm below your throat as he fucked you and stimulated that spot.

"Who does this belong to?" He asked, pressing a thumb right onto your clit, bringing you to the very edge.

"You, Joel," Your now free hand pressed on his thumb to move it, but he was quick to swat your hand away.

"Who do you belong to?" He growled and lowered you closer to him.

"You- I belong to you," You whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. "Please, l-let me cum..."

"Such a good girl, ain't you?" He kissed your cheek and picked up the brutal pace as if he hadn't stopped in the first place. You couldn't take it anymore, so you let go.

No one had made you come like Joel Miller did, thrice in the same night.

With a final gruttal groan, he thrusted his cock deep inside you and spilled his seed, the exhaustion and the feeling knocking you on your face on his chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, thrusted a few more times and went incredibly still, save for the panting.

"That was... so fucking good..." You breathed and made Joel's chest tremble with a brief laugh.

"Oh sugar," He placed an affectionate kiss on your forehead. "You're gonna be the death of me."

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XXV

Part I - - - - - - - - - - Part XXII - - - - Part XXIII - - - - Part XXIV

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

The nature of the Jedi Temple was such that years could pass unnoticed within the ethereal, eternal walls—and then a number of factors would converge simultaneously, and wreck all that.

In this case, dawn, rumors, and Quinlan Vos were all meeting in an abrupt and tremulous clash. 

Rumors and daylight, of course, were well known for their power to occupy multiple spaces at the same time. Quinlan Vos’s apparent ability to do so (for nothing else could explain his gentle but thorough interrogation of padawans in the sallies, his generous provisions of drinks for over-wrought nocturnal jedi, and his unauthorized access to closed off personal quarters, all in an impossibly short period time) was far more inexplicable, and therefore technically admirable.

Master Gallia did not feel admiring at the moment. She felt tired.

“Where. Is. Obi-Wan?” Quinlan repeated.

Adi Gallia danced around him, continuing on her stroll of the temple grounds. She released a flash of irritation into the force—of course Masters Koon, Windu, and Yoda all were shipped off for their own (admittedly grim) assignments, leaving her responsible for ‘local’ issues. She had accepted the possibility of intense political fallout, of course. She was prepared to soothe the worries of those still in-temple, who were just starting to pick-up on the certainly-not-an-evacuation. She had been less ready to deal with an incensed psychometric interfering in matters beyond his understanding.

“Classified,” she repeated, as neutrally as ever.

“Do you really want to have the rest of this conversation in front of the whole Order?” he hissed. “I went to his quarters, I felt—” Vos shuddered.

Gallia sighed, tension headache growing. “Come with me.”

She glided serenely to her personal office space, Vos trailing her like the irritable shadow he was.

The door clicked.

“I know he tried to kill himself,” he said bluntly. The Councillor winced slightly; even knowing the context didn’t change the very real and tragic brush with death. “I saw Skywalker see it.” 

Master Gallia didn’t reply—there was no point in denying, and every point in gaining information. 

“Do you know what Obi-Wan felt?” he asked manically.

The Tholothian Master took an involuntary step back. Part of her thought it would be more expedient to simply bring the man into the fold, but another part hesitated at trusting the already thinly stretched secret to a man who was, by Master Kenobi’s own admittance, far closer to falling than anyone realized. It was scarcely his fault—shadow work was dangerous, even when the galaxy wasn’t in the grips of a Sith-engineered galactic war, but still—

“Nothing!” he cried, slaming his palms on her desk in an alarming loss of control. “A brief feeling of panic when his hand was on the vibroblade and then fucking serenity as he tried to stab himself in the heart!”

“Master Vos—” she tried to say placatingly, but he was having none of it.

“Please,” he begged. “I know I can get through to him, just tell me where he is.”

“Quinlan Vos—you’re just going to have to trust the High Council to have Master Kenobi’s best interests in mind.”

He stared at her for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “You lost him, didn’t you?”

“Quinlan—”

The Kiffar barked out a laugh, pointing a finger in outraged accusation. “He woke up, half the galaxy felt that—and then he ran off, and now he’s somewhere, hurt, and the Council can’t spare the resources or the pride to help him!”

She hesitated—that was the cover story, one that would conceivably spread; but it felt deeply cruel to leave the Kiffar floundering in it. If only he was slightly less angry...

Vos took a deep breath. “Fine,” he said shortly. “The Council wants to keep his status under wraps—that’s fine; he wouldn’t want everyone knowing he’s vulnerable, anyway. Just give me what you have, and I’ll track him.”

Adi Gallia drummed her fingers on her rattled desk for a moment, before letting go of a half-truth. “We suspect he’s going after Count Dooku,” she said finally, suppressing any guilt she felt for the half-lie, or for causing Quinlan’s expression to twist tighter, when she could so easily relieve him of his burden.

“And?” he pressed.

Adi looked away. “Knight Skywalker’s with him, in some capacity,” she grit out.

Quinlan snorted. “Obviously.” Gallia’s lips tightened. 

“Is that it?” he asked exasperated. “You’re not going to even give me his file?”

“You don’t have it already?” she asked drly.

“I’ve got the bathashit official one you gave to the Chancellor,” he admitted, immediately and unrepentantly. “Where you all but threw him under a moving speeder,” he added hostily. 

Master Gallia winced. “Master Vos,” she tried again. “The Council has a plan. I regret that I cannot tell you it, but I beg of you—have faith in us for a little longer—don’t go after him.”

Quinlan’s expression tightened. “Is the plan for the good of Obi-Wan, or the good of the Council? Because sure, I know which Obi-Wan would prefer, and so do you—and I. Don’t. Agree.”

Gallia rubbed her temples, skull throbbing with tension. “And that’s why I can’t trust you with anything else,” she admitted, completely honest.

Quinlan nodded sharply. “May the force be with you, Master Gallia.” 

“And with you, Quinlan Vos,” she replied sadly. 

Quinlan stalked out, and Gallia took a brief moment to pity the both of them before returning to work.

- - -

Ventress skulked in the corner of a dingy bar, cursing Kenobi once again. A few hours on this miserable planet and all she had were rumors to go on. Obviously something had happened to the golden boy, but the underworld seemed even more puzzled than the kriffing Jedi. It was only a matter of time before the public caught wind, and then the gossip would become hopelessly entangled with the actually important whispers.

Sneaking into the Temple itself would be a worthy test of her skills—but if she was captured...well needless to say there would be no aid from Dooku. Had she not felt the Negotiator’s presence during the flight she might have believed this were some irritating test of her Master’s but this...

The Dathomori grimaced into her drink. If nothing else, Kenobi was a fearsome adversary—anything that could have riled him—possibly defeated him once in for all...Ventress hated to admit but she might be out of her depth.

“Is this seat taken?”

She looked up in irritation at a human male with a cocky grin, a gold face tattoo, and skin as dark as hers was pale. The idiot was already pulling out the seat, apparently utterly oblivious of her open contempt— not to mention the chill of the dark side she was deliberately projecting around her. 

“Yes,” she snapped. “Now leave, before I remove you. Violently.”

He grinned wider, leaning in. “Oh don’t be like that. Now, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing in a place like this?”

The fool then had the audacity to reach over, lightly brushing her hand. She grabbed the wrist, pinning it to the table. “Do. Not. Touch Me. You vile worm.”

“Aah! Okay, okay!” he babbled in panic. “Sorry, my mistake, thought you seemed hot and a little lonely, that’s all, miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take, you know? Wasn’t trying to cop a feel or anything I swear! I’ll go now, promise.”

She felt an odd tingling sensation run through her, starting at the single point of contact between them. She frowned, unable to classify it. He smiled charmingly. and she released him as if burnt. 

“You’re a Jedi,” she hissed, hand dropping to the sabers beneath the table. The tingling sensation faded. “What was that?”

The open panic disappeared, wholly replaced by the earlier smirk. “And you’re a Sith.” He flexed his hand before tucking it into a pocket. “Nothing to worry about. Just needed your help with an investigation.” He stood, bowing mockingly. “Thank you for your time.” And then he was gone, fading into the shadows. 

She leapt to her feet, running outside and snagging him from his hiding spot behind a crate. 

“What sort of Jedi shadow walks?” she asked, pressing him to the wall at bladepoint, careful not to allow any other point of contact between them. He looked at her as though she were an idiot, and her cheeks heated slightly. 

“You do realize I have to kill you now, right?” she snarled. “Can’t exactly have a Jedi Shadow telling people where I am” 

“You’re not my mission, darling,” he replied, flashing teeth. “Far as I’m concerned, this never happened.”

She narrowed her eyes, digging the tip of her knife into his throat. The Shadow looked deeply unconcerned. “But you thought I might be?” she questioned slyly.

He shrugged. “Sith Apprentice, half a galaxy away from the front off the war? Figured you might be up to trouble, yeah. Fortunately for both of us—as I’m sure an actual fight would be a massive and mutual inconvenience—whatever trouble you’re here for has nothing to do with me. I’ve got bigger fish to fry, you’ve got bigger fish to fry. I’d offer to buy you a drink but I’m fairly certain you’d throw it in my face so...”

He delicately pressed a finger to the knife at his edge. Bemused, she allowed him to push it away.

“And you got all that from touching my hand,” she asked incredulously, curious of his power despite herself.

He waggled his digits playfully. “Magic fingers.”

She scoffed. “Even if you were a psychometric—” She cut herself off, eyes flickering to the face tattoo. 

“Kiffar,” she breathed. “Of course. My gloves—but it was just a moment, what—ah.” She smirked. “Kenobi. You just wanted to know if I had been around him.”

“And now I know you haven’t.” He shrugged. “Anyway, have fun on Coruscant; good luck not getting arrested.” 

He started to amble away at a deceptively casual stroll. She fell into lock step.

“You’ve lost him,” she accused.

He shrugged. “Sure, why not,” he agreed mildly. She narrowed her eyes. 

“Some of the Jedi fear their golden boy might have fallen,” she guessed with absolute confidence, but neither his face nor his force presence gave anything away—and she was following him to a secondary location like a fool. 

Ventress lunged but the Jedi was dancing backwards, slipping into a nearby shadow. He fell into it sideways—completely, but crudely. She wheeled around, scanning the perpetually dim alleyway. One shadow grew darker—she threw a dagger and a patch of dark detached, hissing and bleeding a satisfying scarlet.

“Is there a point to attacking me,” he asked impatiently, saber finally appearing in his hand, though it stayed unlit. “I already told you that I don’t care what you’re doing here. What possible advantage could you gain in picking a fight with me? Even if you win, don’t you think the Jedi would notice if a shadow went missing on Coruscant?” 

“You really have no problem letting a Sith run around your precious Core world?” she asked skeptically, throwing another dagger. He dodged it, and it lodged itself in the brickwork. A random passerby immediately stole it—kriff she hated this world— but Asajj couldn’t chace after the parasite now, because the Jedi was throwing a—rock?

The window behind her shattered as she dodged the wild shot, and an incoherent roar spilled out, along with foul smelling water, and eye stalk, and the first few of what looked many tentacles.

“Oh you play dirty,” she breathed, reluctantly impressed. He hit her with a two fingered salute, disappearing again, this time by swaggering slowly around a corner. And then she had to focus on fighting a pissed off Dianoga whose tankhome had just been vandalized.

By the time she mortally wounded the garbage squid, the trail for her first and best lead on Kenobi had nearly gone cold. 

Nearly.

Part XXVI

[hermannsthumb]

hello i adore your fics <33 could you write something during the war where newt & hermann sleep/cuddle in each other's beds whenever they're stressed (but are still incredibly repressed)? no pressure obv!!

SURE THING!! getting back in the prompt game!!! been working on longer fics and some regular work this summer so sorry ive been spotty with writing 👀 I'm aiming to get through a bunch of these at 1k words each

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Newt isn't necessarily expecting the knock on his door a little bit past midnight, but he can't really say it surprises him. Hermann was more on edge today than usual, getting pissed at Newt for stupid little things (like finishing off the coffee creamer that Hermann doesn’t even like in the lab fridge, or humming along a little too loudly to his iPod), discreetly taking ibuprofen for what Newt knew was a bad headache, swearing under his breath and erasing his entire chalkboard every time he made the tiniest calculation error. It’s the culmination, Newt knows, of a majorly stressful week—another kaiju attack, multiple mandatory Shatterdome personnel meetings about the kaiju attach, reports on the kaiju attack and the mandatory meeting due, Hermann hoarding the weight of where the deployed jaeger failed and pushing himself to fix it all, immediately. Newt’s not sure he saw Hermann have a full meal (ie, something more substantial than black tea and a cigarette) once all throughout all of it. He’s not sure he saw Hermann sleep somewhere other than his desk either, or even change his clothes.

So, no, Newt isn’t expecting it, because expecting it means it’s something they do (which they one hundred percent don’t), but he showers early that night, and he changes into a big t-shirt along with his boxers instead of just the latter, and he makes sure his spare pillow is fluffed and placed delicately on his bed. Just in case. And all of it in time for the timid knocking at 12:13 am.

Knocking which isn’t even finished before Newt swings open his door. “Hey, dude,” he says, leaning casually against his doorframe.

Hermann stands in front of him in pajamas, his pillow tucked under his right arm, his toothbrush clenched tight in his left fist. His pajamas are old and clearly well-loved: blue plaid, hanging slightly off his frame, missing the third button from the top. He hasn’t worn this pair over to Newt’s bunk yet. Newt recognizes his thick wool socks, though. He teases Hermann for wearing socks to bed every single time. (Not that Newt is keeping track of what Hermann wears on the super and totally random times he comes over.) “Good evening, Newton,” Hermann says with a terse, polite nod, like they just bumped into each other on the street, or it’s pure coincidence that Newt happened to be behind this very door that he decided to knock on. He peers around Newt into his bunk. “Oh, have you tidied up?”

“I picked my dirty laundry up,” Newt says, by which he means he dumped it all onto his desk chair to deal with later.

“It’s a sight better than it usually is,” Hermann says. "I can actually see your floor."

He clears his throat.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he continues. “I know it’s rather late.”

“Nah, not at all, I’m always up now," Newt says. It's kind of a lie. He's asleep by now on normal nights (barring when he really needs to pull an all-nighter in the lab), but he kind of had an inkling he'd need to stay up an extra hour or so. It's weird how well he knows Hermann sometimes.

"I was taking a walk and thought I might stop by," Hermann says.

Hermann’s eyes drift over Newt’s shoulder, over to Newt’s bed. Newt made sure that his sheets were fresh, too, and he's stripped his bedspread back enough for them to peek out invitingly. Newt’s become shockingly more hygienic since this became a whole totally not-thing. Hermann shifts his weight a little more heavily to his cane. “Very good,” he says. “Er. Well. Considering we’re both awake, I wonder if I might come in to—talk. Or some such thing. I’m having…difficulty sleeping.” He clears his throat again. “Insomnia.”

Newt feigns surprise. “Oh, man, really? Of course, totally come in!” He opens his door wider. “My electric kettle is already boiling if you want tea or something. I mean—I turned it on so I could have tea, but there’s enough water for two people. I wanted a lot of tea,” he adds.

(Newt bought the kettle for Hermann after he almost had an aneurysm when Newt tried to heat up water in the microwave for him.)

“Tea would be nice,” Hermann says.

While Hermann shows himself in, Newt steps over to his bookcase and begins rifling through his tea collection for some of the herbal decaffeinated stuff he keeps on hand for the completely random occasions Hermann drops in. Honestly, though, all of Newt’s tea collection is also kind of for Hermann. Newt is generally more of a coffee sort of guy (barring boba tea, which rocks), so his tea collection kind of just sits there gathering dust when Hermann’s not there. He quickly fixes a cup of herbal tea in Hermann’s favorite of Newt’s mugs (a sturdy old MIT mug, big enough to fit two regular cups) and turns to find that Hermann has already made himself at home in Newt’s bed. “Thank you very much,” Hermann says.

Hermann is taking up the right side of the bed, his own pillow and Newt’s spare propped up beneath him, his cane propped against the wall. It’s the side he always takes. Newt has started thinking of it as Hermann’s side, actually, and has stopped bothering to return items that Hermann routinely leaves on the bedside table because of it—his spare glasses cleaning cloth, a half-finished book he’ll let Newt read along with him over his shoulder, a notepad he’ll sometimes scribble random equations down in. Newt’s own stuff (a lamp, his alarm clock, his glasses) looks barren without Hermann’s at this point. Newt’s kind of afraid to decide what that means.

He hits the light and slips into the left side of the bed. He tries very hard not to look at Hermann's delicately crossed ankles, because it's cute and it makes him feel disgustingly warm and affectionate inside, which is totally not how he should be thinking about his fussy lab partner. “Did you want to talk about anything?” he says.

“Mm,” Hermann says. His arms are crossed across his chest, too, very prim-and-proper. “Not particularly. It’s been a miserable week, is all.”

He drinks his fill of the tea, then sets both his mug and his glasses onto Newt’s side table. Newt doesn’t have to be asked to pull back the bedcovers for him or to gently drape them over Hermann when Hermann makes himself sufficiently comfortable on the mattress. He especially doesn't have to be asked to wind his arm around Hermann’s side, nudge his knee between Hermann's legs to prop up his left, and draw him snug up against his chest. Hermann showered, too—he smells like the same PPDC-standard soap Newt uses, and his short hair is still damp and tickles Newt’s nose. Immediately Hermann sags against him, like all the tension is leaving his body. Newt feels him sigh softly. A moment later, Hermann squeezes his hand. “Thank you, Newt,” he says. It's so quiet Newt thinks he imagined it for a second.

“Sure,” Newt says.

Maybe they’ll talk about it eventually—Newt knows they probably won’t—but the truth is that Newt never sleeps as well as he does with Hermann in his bed, too.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 52

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

"We fucked up."

"No, we didn't."

"We had Peter. Now we don't have Peter."

Loki's eyes were completely dark from a spell letting him see through Barbara's, but still he waved toward the completely-not-suspicious building complex in front of you. "But we found him again. That surely counts toward something, right?"

"We lost the alien pin too."

"Which we also found, if memory serves," Loki shrugged, as if the search hadn't taken the two of you the better part of an evening. Who knew searching through half of New York and visiting places it might've been dropped could be so time-consuming?

The weather was pleasant, the air growing warmer as the seasons continued to change. It was one of those days where everything felt brighter, despite how disappointing the reality might be.

"I'm still voting for arson," Loki said, assessing the tall fence surrounding the area. An area which crawled with people trying their hardest not to look like agents of some super-secret government facility, and failing rather miserably.

"You might not have noticed, but buildings nowadays have systems preventing fire from spreading."

"Do these systems work against magic fire too?"

"How am I supposed to know? Do I look like I spit magic fire on a whim?"

"You did last week," Loki muttered. The memory was still fresh.

"Wow, so now I'm the bad guy, and not the sneaky little bastard that ate all the cupcakes I left for-"

Barbara came back, flying on quiet, if a little filthy and decomposed, wings. Loki blinked twice, shedding the spell connecting him to the bird. As much as he didn't mind the heights, Loki had to admit he wasn't a fan of the sharp turns and rather random drops Barbara's flying pattern involved.

Loki pointed to one of the buildings further inside the complex. The red, evening sun hit the countless windows with blinding intensity. "The bird thinks the boy might be there."

You looked at the long stretch of road leading to the complex, like a carpet laid out specifically for you, but the crowds of agents working in the area leading to it made you cringe.

"I still vote arson."

"Why don't we just walk in, though? I mean, it was SHIELD themselves that contacted us, right? It should be okay to just… pay them a visit without sneaking around like… well, like villains. No offense."

Loki frowned. He didn't look convinced. "I like sneaking around, though. It keeps me away from trouble."

"If that’s true, how did you get banned from the Moon twice?"

"Touché. Lead the way then, love."

The way took you down the asphalt road, busy with cars rushing both ways. Despite their past issues, Loki couldn't help feeling a little bad for the agents. For all the grandeur and importance they always described their life to hold, Loki's imagination kept on showing him pictures of ants in their little nests, crawling in their endless, pointless patterns.

The ants seemed to fall into a state of shock rather abruptly after laying their eyes on the two visitors to their nest. Some of them just stood there, looking after the figures marching right to the gates, while others ran in a seemingly random direction.

"That worked out better than I thought," Loki admitted when all the space around you cleared.

Barbara perched on top of the gates, screaming on top of her rotten lungs. The security guards looked at one another and then at the approaching god. Their hands went to their guns. Loki took that as a compliment.

"I know this might surprise you," Loki said, "but we are here to talk. Fetch us your Agent Cauldron, and be quick about it."

"Coulson," you whispered.

"Whatever."

*

"No matter how many times you ask me, the answer will stay the same - I don't know," Peter groaned.

His back hurt from sitting on the same, incredibly uncomfortable metal chair for hours, and the lights of the small and a little outdated office were starting to make his head throb with an upcoming headache. Or maybe the reason behind it were the endless questions to which he wished he know the answer.

Agent Coulson looked at the photos on the desk between him and the boy. These were nice pictures. If he were more sentimental, he might've put them on a fridge or maybe to the clipboard on the wall to his left. They were definitely worth taking a look at least once a day - it wasn't often one had a chance to look at a god and an ex-assassin, completely drunk, being led by a teenage boy on a spider-thread.

Peter glanced down at them too, and scowled.

"Yeah, well, we've met and hung out together, but I don't know where they are now. Sir, if I knew, do you really think I'd willingly stay behind?"

The agent didn't answer. He moved very little, in fact. Peter was unsure whether it was a part of some special, super-secret interrogation technique, but it was working. To make things even worse, the metal chair he had been given was making sitting still a nightmare. 

"That's a fair point, Peter," Coulson nodded, "but do you think I would be pressing you so much if two of the most dangerous people on this planet weren't currently on the run with an alien artifact of unknown origin that might've been recently used to damage our Moon?"

That was a fair point too, Peter had to admit. He might've even grown a little worried after hearing such news, if only it all didn't sound so exciting.

"So you DO know what happened to it, right?" the boy leaned forward, with eyes shining with excitement. 

Agent Coulson sighed.

It was a small,  almost invisible display of all the emotions boiling inside of him that he'd never show. He knew better, and had far too many years of experience to allow that. Still, the situation was beginning to wear on him, especially if he spared a thought or two to consider what the two people that should absolutely never go off radar, could be up to at this very moment. 

Last time Loki visited Earth, he led an alien invasion. Last time Coulson met you before you hesitantly joined forces with the Avengers, you'd already put two bullets in Tony Stark and were on the way to making it three.

Coulson allowed himself a moment to thank his hair for already thinning out or he'd be losing it in a handfuls. 

And the worst part was, he actually believed the boy.

He had clearly helped with sneaking you through half the city and into his apartment, but there was no evidence of him helping you out too. Wherever Loki and you were, Coulson was sure he'd hear about it soon enough. He might even let the boy go, and monitor him long enough to see if you'd show up. 

The decision wasn't an easy one, but the agent was left with very limited choices. After all, how likely was it that the two of you would just show up?

The phone vibrated on the desk in front of agent Coulson. He picked it up.

He blinked. And simply said, "Yes."

Peter did not like the absent look on the agent's face. He'd seen far too many movies not to recognize the moment the power shifted in the room. Just in time for something bad to happen. It wouldn't be a problem if it stayed on the screen - Ned and him would freeze with the popcorn halfway to their mouths in anticipation of what was to come. But here, in reality, far from the safe spot on a couch, Peter was painfully aware of how much he didn't want to know what was about to happen next.

Unfortunately, whatever powers weaved through the lives of people, deciding their fate and luck, rarely listened to young boys in their judgement. In fact, they listened to old agents even less, but that was something Peter was unlikely to ever find out.

Peter twisted on the chair biting into his backside, and looked back to the thick, metal door. He hadn't realized it when he had been brought inside, but the door looked like it could take a few shots from a gun and remain unscathed. 

Peter was not sure what to do with that information.

The door in question decided to finally open and reveal the reason for the sudden tension. It didn't even creak, so the god walked in in complete silence. You followed him, not as quiet, but just as unexpected.

Your face lit up when you noticed the boy. "There you are!" 

Peter looked at the agent. The agent looked at Peter.

"I know you're probably not going to believe me, sir, but I swear I had nothing to do with this."

The agent had no doubt that the boy was the least likely person to ever manipulate the god of trickery and lies, or the almost-ex-assasin into anything, but he didn't say a word. He only raised an eyebrow and asked, "To what do we owe the pleasure?", as if there was anything pleasant to be found in the room. But lying was not solely a domain of gods, as all the agents in the world would probably agree. 

And Coulson was a very good agent.

"We recently lost a boy, but it looks like he's just been found. Thank you for taking care of him."

"It was a pleasure," the agent smiled. "Although I can't help but worry if you have lost the pin too?"

"We wouldn't dare," Loki lied smoothly with an even more charming smile.

The god of trickery waved his hand and produced a pin seemingly out of thin air. Whether it was only a clever trick or an actual spell was something agent Coulson would never know, but for once he didn't mind. The pin felt heavy and looked just as the files described, but whether it was the real thing would only be revealed once a detailed analysis was completed. 

Still, it somehow looked like the deal was fulfilled. Coulson would be lying if he said he'd placed a bet on that outcome.

Peter sprung out of the chair the moment you waved at him to go. The agents and armed officers waiting behind Loki and you on the corridor shifted with unease, their fingers laying on triggers. A small crowd eyed every move made in Coulson's office, which was to be expected - it was not every day a facility such as this one was visited by a god.

Especially one with a rather problematic history of attempted world domination.

"If we may, we'll take our leave now." Loki bowed stiffly.

"And what about the 'favor' you insisted on as payment?"

Something cold and ancient flashed in the god's eyes. "All in due time."

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 8: Agente Peña

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: The reader comes to terms with the downsides of pregnancy and confides in Connie. Javier decides to spend some more time at home, taking his work with him.

Warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, nudity, mentions of sickness/vomiting

Masterlist

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Everything you knew about pregnancy you learned from watching television and so you’d expected the sickness and the glowing hair. But the migraines? Those were something you didn’t prepare for, your last week off work started out hunched over the sink, the nausea and continuous pounding in your head making you shiver.

It was just around noon now and you’d fought Javier over the phone, insisting you didn’t need a babysitter. He told you he’d head to your place on his lunch break, just to make sure you were okay. There was no stopping him, no amount of telling him off could change his mind.

He noticed it before he left this morning, the way you sat up a bit more in bed, eyes squeezed shut as you desperately tried to fall back asleep, telling him all he needed to know. But as soon as he offered to stay home with you another day, you pushed him away, rolling over on your side and just turning your back to him, literally. At the office he had to fight off the urge to call you every other minute, stomach in knots with worry. Was it normal to be that sick? He’d have to read up on some of those books Steve had been rambling about. Steve – that was the other thing, the tension was fucking horrid. He wouldn’t even look at Javier, just throw down the next folder on the desk. Javier was sick of it at this point, lighting yet another cigarette as he thought about how to go about this.

“I know we had.. words, but can we at least work together, like partners?”, he asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

“I’m sorry man, didn’t mean to be an ass, the girls just kept me up all weekend”, Steve sighed, reaching for the bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer. “Con wouldn’t shut up.”

Javier shook his head slowly, taking another long drag of his cigarette. “I don’t fucking get them sometimes. One moment she’s practically begging me to stay with her and the next she’s just doing everything to get away from me.”

Steve quirked a brow at him. “Trouble in paradise? So soon?”

“I just want to check up on her, but she’s just so fucking stubborn”, he grunted, putting out the cig.

“Why don’t you take the paperwork home tonight, skip lunch so you can head home earlier.”

He looked at the phone, wondering if he should call to see if you needed him. “You’re probably right. She just drives me crazy man, in a good way, but still just crazy.”

His partner chuckled, knowing exactly what he was on about. He’d stay at the office another couple of hours and would bring the casefiles home.

A part of you had expected him to show up, a part of you really wanted him to be there, hands on your back, telling you it’d all be okay. You knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, just the morning sickness and headache kicking your ass as of right now. But you were too tired to deal with any of this, the dull aches of all your bruises and sore muscles not allowing you to get much sleep. You figured a warm shower would help, dragging yourself into the small bathroom, stripping yourself of your clammy and dirty clothes.

You put your hand under the stream, jerking it back when the water was ice cold. Shrugging a robe over your shoulders you sat down on the toilet seat, waiting for the water to heat up. It was well past one now, which meant any possibility of a lunchbreak visit was off the table. You got up again, only to find the same exact thing; freezing cold water. Not that you couldn’t take care of yourself, but you were no expert plumber. With a heavy sigh you made your way over to the landline in the living room, dialling up the landlord’s number, only to be met with his answering machine, over and over.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. You knew Connie worked parttime now, wanting to be home with Olivia more often, so you tested your luck and called the Murphy’s.

“Murphy.”

“Con, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off, but my shower broke and I’m all alone and I just feel so miserable and-“

“Shut up and get your ass over here”, she chuckled, Olivia babbling away in the back.

You smiled to yourself, already shrugging your robe off. “Dinner’s on me!”

A bag with a change of clothes and some snacks for the little one was all you brought with you. You had no trouble navigating through the busy streets and soon found yourself parking in front of the infamous apartment building. The days of sneaking out of the back entrance in the mornings were past you now. You sighed at the memory, feelings of guilt and shame now replaced by bliss and adoration. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t have to be, but you were content.

The walk to Connie’s apartment seemed longer than ever. With shaky knees and heavy breaths you dragged yourself up the stairs, the elevator still out of order. You were lucky to have some friends here, it wasn’t often DEA agents had the privilege of keeping their friends from home, but Steve and Connie had made it abundantly clear that they were here to stay, Bogotá or not. They’d been there for you through the years as had you. You’d even been promoted to maid of honour at their wedding, and were put in charge of her hen party. The states were good times, but Colombia had been tougher on the three of you. While you and Steve had no problem leaving your families behind, Connie had proven to be rather close to her parents. That’s where you had come in, sweeping her out of her mellow state whenever she needed it to take her out into the city, dancing the night away. However, with you being pregnant and herself a new mother, it had become something of the past. Soon girls’ night would have a whole let alcohol and whole lot more diapers.

Connie opened up with a heartfelt smile, a giddy Olivia bouncing on her arm. “Towels are laid out for you, we’ll talk after.”

You smiled back at her, grateful for her understanding. She was the kind of friend that just had to take one look at you to know what was wrong and while it was really helpful sometimes, but God was it hard to keep a secret from that woman. It wasn’t hard to tell you were feeling like shit, your pale face and fading black eye were enough of an indicator. You kissed Olivia on the forehead, side-hugging Connie before heading to the bathroom.

With how tired you were, you didn’t even bother to conceal your injuries, even applying some loose powder had seemed too intense a task. You turned the water on, the warmth of it already fanning over your bare arms. When it hit your chest and stomach you let out a sigh of relief, the cold shivers finally faltering. You took your time, now that you weren’t on the verge of puking your guts out. You washed your hair twice, even conditioned it before moving on to the rest of your body, exfoliating and rinsing, just treating to yourself. By the time you wrapped the fluffy towels around yourself you were completely relaxed, ready to just hop into the bed and pass out for the day, but the wailing outside the door reminded you exactly where you were. You’d brought a long sweater, the evenings getting rather chilly mid-November. With half-dried hair and in some baggy jeans you stepped out of the bathroom, joining the two ladies on the couch.

“Thank you”, you muttered, slipping your hands around the cup of tea that was waiting for you on the coffee table.

“What’s got you down in the dumps?”, she asked, carefully sitting the baby down on the carpet.

You sighed, blowing at the hot drink. “I-I think it’s just registering now..”

She gave you a frown, scooting over a bit closer. “Do you regret it?”

The tears were burning in your eyes, a dull ache settling in the back of your throat as you tried to hold it together. “I’m terrified”, you breathed out.

That was your breaking point, the floodgates were open now and you were a sobbing mess as she wrapped her arms around you. “Oh hun, you should’ve called me”, she cooed.

While you and Connie talked about anything and everything, getting it all out, Javier was finishing up to go home early. Steve decided to stay back at the office, wanting “some damn peace and quiet”. With some casefiles in hand he left the embassy, stopping along the way to pick up one of your favourite snacks. Tonight would just be a slow night, he’d listen if you wanted to talk and if not he’d just work in silence. He really just wanted to have you close, so that he could personally ensure you were “fine”. He hated the way he’d left this morning, the way you were just curled up into yourself, shivering under the covers, but he didn’t want to get on your nerves, he was so scared to screw things up.

Treading up the steps to your apartment, he tried to think of something to say. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, you were sick because of his baby after all. Surely there was something he could think of. Your apartment was eerily calm when walked in, your heaps of blankets and pillows still there. He tiptoed his way over to the bedroom, heartbeat picking up a bit when he noticed you weren’t there either.

“Anyone home?”, he called out, checking the bathroom.

No reply. He scratched at his chin, contemplating what to do next. You did mention wanting to meet up with Connie over the weekend. Yeah, that seemed likely enough, no reason to panic (just yet). He sped his way back downstairs, panting due to all the climbing action and hopped in the car, heading for the other apartment complex. When he spotted your car he could breathe normally again, his worries somewhat soothed. His knock at the door was a loud, demanding one. Connie opened up once again, laying a finger on her lips so as to motion for him to be quiet. Javier stood there out of breath, nodding frantically before he stepped inside. And there you were, asleep on the couch with Olivia in your arms, a blanket sprawled out across the two of you.

He caught his breath, nodding at Connie as a way of saying thanks. She bumped her shoulder into his, smirking as she detected a hint of a smile on his lips. “She been here a while?”

“An hour or two. She came because your boiler broke, but turned out she really just needed to talk as well”, her voice was laced with a tone of sympathy as she nodded in your direction.

“Did she eat anything?”, he asked, not looking from you.

Connie shook her head. “We had some tea and then she fed the baby, they were both out soon after.”

They both chuckled at that, Javier planting his hands on his hips. “I’ll take her back to my place in a bit, so you can get some rest as well.”

“You’re always welcome, especially if she’s gonna put Liv asleep like that”, she joked, softly patting the man on the back.

“Is she err- is she okay though?” It was a dumb question, but he still felt compelled to ask it, counting on the fact that she was your best friend.

Now it was Connie’s turn to sigh, her head tilted as she answered him: “She’s really scared, just sit down and talk with her from time to time. I know it’s not your strong suit but she’s gonna need it.”

“Let me get my place cleaned up and I’ll come get her, sound good?”, he offered.

The blonde just nodded again. “Make sure to change those sheets, preferably not ones Freckles has seen.”

He flipped her the bird on the way out, heading down a floor to go clean up his own apartment. He hadn’t been there since you’d come back and honestly.. he preferred it that way. That apartment stood for everything he’d decided to give up on for you and he absolutely despised it. It was as if the small space was the embodiment of his bad persona, haunting him everywhere he went. But he found it too soon to discuss such heavy subjects and did not want to jeopardize his relationship for the life of him.

Even just opening the door brought back those feelings of disgust and self-hatred, but he tried to push past it as he made his way into the kitchen. He wetted a washcloth and laid it in the fridge, should your migraine come back. Next he made his way over to the couch, where he gathered all the old cigarettes and empty beer bottles, shoving them into a trash bag. Along the way he picked up the clothes scattered across the floor everywhere and found himself in the bedroom, ripping the sheets off the bed. You’d been complaining about being cold at night, putting your icy feet all over him. So he got out the thicker sheets, putting them on as neatly as he could. The bathroom was clean enough, so he decided to lay out some of his clothes for you to wear. He ran back down to get everything from his car and when he was ready he went back up to the Murphy’s place. You were still sound asleep, lips perked as Olivia’s hand held on to your thumb. Connie was in the kitchen chopping some greens.

“You here to steal her away now?”, she jested.

“I’m here to give you back your couch”, he retorted.

She carefully picked up the baby from your chest, peeling her little fingers of your thumb, which made you stir a bit. Javi took a knee by your side, pressing a tender peck to your temple before gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hermosa, it’s time to go home”, he whispered, caressing your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

You hummed a bit, not really giving away at his request. So he decided to slide his hands under your knees and neck, lifting you up off the couch himself. He’d expected some resistance but you really only nuzzled into his neck even more, his warmth and smell drawing you in. Connie held the door open, smiling at the two of you as he carried you out of the apartment and down the staircase. He mentally thanked himself for leaving that damn door unlocked, managing to open it with just his elbow. Once inside he laid you down on the couch, covering your chest with his jacket. You were slowly waking up again, he’d noticed, so delved into his cupboards, setting down a tray of cookies on the coffee table. He sat down in the armchair, grabbing the first folder of the stack.

You blinked a few times, feeling a bit confused as to what was going on, but as you found Javier sitting across from you, reading over something, deep in thought as he picked at his moustache, you didn’t really care.

“What time ‘s it?”, you mumbled, stretching your arms out over your head.

He closed the folder, leaning back in the chair as he looked at you. “Somewhere around five by now. Sleep okay?”

“Mhm, you’re back early”, you remarked, yawning as you sat up a bit more. “Should I be worried?”

He got up off the chair, plopping down next to you. “Just wanted to check up on you.”

You leaned in to kiss him, which he gladly reciprocated. “I meant to call.”

“Gave me a bit of a fright. Crazy girlfriend on the loose”, he taunted.

You poked him in the ribs, squinting your eyes at him. “I’m sorry about being snappy this morning”, you whispered.

He kissed you again, successfully shutting you up. “Want some dinner?”

“I’d love that actually”, you beamed pressing your lips to his.

“Eat some of those”, he suggested, pointing towards the tray on the table, “Quesadillas alright with you?”

You were chewing away at a cookie, covering your mouth as you gave him a thumbs up. He chuckled, getting up to start on your dinner as you sat back. “I’ll be there in a sec, Javi!”

 The two of you had made dinner together, and taken it to the couch, where you fed him as he read out the details of the files. Due to your absence, you didn’t really know what had been going on with the cartel as of late. You sat there long after dinner was over, discussing the new developments regarding Pablo’s “surrender” it was absolutely ridiculous and the government was giving him exactly what he wanted.

“No point in getting so worked up over it, amor”, you purred into his ear.

He heaved out another heavy sigh as his eyes glazed over the paper yet again. “I just don’t understand how they accepted this, it’s a fucking set up.”

You took the papers from his hands, throwing them onto the coffee table with the rest of them, pushing him back against the couch. “Why don’t we do something else, huh, blow off some steam.”

“Are you sure you’re up for it, we don’t have to”, he assured you, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Let me do something nice for you”, you tutted.

He shifted beneath you, eyes a couple shades darker already, laden with lust and want. “I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back, hermosa, you’re playing a dangerous game.”

You knelt down in front of the couch, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes. “I’m well aware of what I’m getting myself into, agente Peña.”

Fuck – that little nickname, he felt himself twitch beneath his jeans, desperate for some friction. “Do. Not. Tease.” He gritted out, two fingers hooked under your chin to make you look up at him.

His belt came off first, the metal of the buckle hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. Four hands fumbling around with the waistband of his jeans. You giggled a bit at his eagerness, finally dragging the restrictive trousers down his legs. His tented briefs made you lick your lips, fingers hooking themselves into the elastic. “What do you need, baby?”

“Mouth, now, please”, he stammers out, chest already heaving with expectancy.

You wrap a hand around his throbbing members, squeezing it just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the pillow, mouth hanging open a bit. Ever so slowly you lick along his shaft, paying special attention to the dripping head. He lets out a guttural grunt, biting back another one as you engulf him with your warm mouth. Nothing – no-one ever did compare to you, the way you worked your tongue nothing short of entrancing.

He wouldn’t last, the delicious pull and shove of your mouth and hands had him hurling towards his orgasm. He’d dreamt about it, seeing you down on your knees, just for him, just to please him. Fuck, it was so hot, even better than he’d imagined. He balled his fists, trying to resist the urge to manipulate your head with them. On the verge of his release, he flinched, grabbing a hold of your arm.

“Espera, para, para, para..”, he called out.

You leaned back on your heels, lips glistening with your dribble. He leaned forward, rubbing your chin and helping you up. “Something wrong?”, you asked with a slight frown.

“I want to fuck you”, he growled, practically ripping your sweater off of you.

His mouth latched onto your heavy breasts, eliciting a sweet moan from your throat. “Be-bedroom”, you whined, grip on his biceps tightening.

He tapped, your thighs, imploring you to jump up. Your legs wrapped themselves around his hips as his hands squeezed your ass. The journey to the bedroom was a passionate one, you swallowed his grunts as you merged your lips with his again, fingers tangling in his dark brown hair. He dropped you on the bed, immediately following suit, sucking and biting at that one spot on your neck. You gasped at the sensation, fumbling around with the button on your own jeans as he made his way down to your chest. One of his hands slid down to help you, the other supporting his weight next to your face. His tongue swirled around your nipple, making you arch into him.

“Tan ansiosa”, he hisses as he feels your jeans rub up against his erection. (So eager.)

You shoved your jeans down your thighs, rolling him onto his back to get them off all the way. With your panties still in place you went to straddle his lap. He quirked a suggestive brow at you, moving up against the headboard to sit up a bit more straight.

“You sure about this?”, he asks, mouth pressed against the nape of your neck.

You grab his face in both your hands, sliding your tongue across his bottom lip. “Paciencia, agente Peña.”

He gasps as you grab a hold of his cock, pumping a few times before sliding your panties to the side and sinking down. You rest your forehead against his, hissing as he bottoms out. He gripped at your ass, squeezing to keep himself contained. He loved having you on top, but seeing how long it had been since he’d gotten the chance to be this close to you, he was hungry for more.

“Move”, he demanded, one of his hands smacking your behind.

You let out a loud moan at the sensation and slowly started circling your hips. He watched you through hooded lids, head thrown back with that beautiful neck on full display. He started sucking there, making sure to leave his mark as you sped up your movements.

“F-feels so good”, you whimpered, bracing yourself on his chest.

He smirked against your skin, hands moving up to cup and play with your breasts. It was pure paradise, the fine line between pain and pleasure driving you completely insane. Your mind was ridden of any thoughts, there was only this, you and him, loving on one another. He noticed your panting and jerky movements, you were getting close. Pure lust made him do it, flipping you over so he was towering over you, still sheathed in your deliciously warm heat. He felt like he was on fire when he looked at you, cheeks flushed and glowing, biting on your lip as you touched yourself.

“Mírame”, you opened your eyes, his thrusts becoming harder and faster, “I want you to see what you do to me.”

You whimpered at his words, fighting off the incite to screw your eyes shut. It was then that he hit that spot inside you, making you cry out his name. His hands found yours, holding on to them as he rocked into you, hips smacking against yours. You couldn’t help yourself and let out a string of high-pitched moans as he embedded himself even deeper.

“I-I..”

“I got you, me too baby, me too”, he reassured you, giving a curt nod.

You nearly screamed when you hit your peak, clutching onto his shoulders as you arched up off the bed. Your nails digging into his back was all he needed, he grunted out your name as he filled you up, catching himself before he collapsed. The two of you laid beside each other, breathing heavily, one pair of hands still entangled. You felt like you’d been hit by a train, sheer exhaustion washing over you.

“Stay here”, he whispered, pecking your cheek.

He came back with a towel and washcloth, sitting down on the edge of the bed as he carefully cleaned you up. You just sleepily smiled at him, stroking your thumb back and forth over his knee.

“That was fun”, you murmured.

He huffed out a laugh, looking down at you while he slid your panties off. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, sighing contently as he tucked the covers over your torso. “You were perfect, Javi.”

It was his turn to smile, resting a hand on your side. “We can stay here until your shower gets fixed”, he proposed.

“Thank you. I’ll call again tomorrow, I just want to lay in your arms for a bit”, you whispered.

He walked over to the other side of the bed, barely laid down before you curled up against his side.

Perfect – he thought – she thinks I am perfect.

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily​

[marvelous-writer]

i’ll chase away your nightmares and keep you safe

Summary:

Tony looks at him with a worried frown as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and a side of chips. He reaches a hand up and brushes a few stray curls off of Peter’s aching forehead. “You don’t look too good, Pete,” he says.

“I don’t feel that great,” Peter admits, not having the energy to pretend that he is.

“How’s your head feeling?”

“Hurts,” Peter mumbles miserably.

“Hmm,” Tony hums, as he braces his hand against Peter’s forehead.

Peter lets his eyes slip shut as he leans into his cool hand, bringing only a small amount of relief to his pounding head. He almost wants to cry when Tony takes his hand away.

“You do feel a little warm. I wouldn’t have had you slaving away out there in the sun if I’d known you didn’t feel good, Pete.”

“It wasn’t this bad earlier. I think I’m just tired or my brain is fried,”

OR

Peter experiences a bad migraine while he’s staying up at the cabin and Tony helps him through it.

Word count: 3,159

Genre: whump, angst, hurt/comfort

Link to read on Ao3:

A/N: Part 3 of @webpril

Peter squints against the harsh sunlight as he wipes sweat off his forehead, trying to ignore the pain pounding away in his head. 

“Hand me that wrench, will you?” Tony asks from his position kneeling on the grass in front of the pressure washer that had broken down as they started to power wash the house.

Peter nods as he reaches into the red toolbox and grabs said wrench and hands it to Tony. “What do you think? Is it going to make it?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Well,” Tony says with a grunt as he tightens a bolt on the machine. “I think she has a few more good years left in her.” He says, shooting a smile over his shoulder at Peter. 

Peter smiles in return, trying not to wince when his head lets off a particularly sharp throb. He’s had this killer headache since he woke up this morning but it hasn’t been this bad until now. Sitting out here in the middle of a heatwave in the sun probably isn’t a wise decision on his part. He’d rather be inside where the cool AC is, sprawled out on his bed in the dark, sleeping this off. But he’d never say no to spending time with Tony, even if it involves a mundane task of fixing a pressure washer. 

“So… I was thinking—” Tony says as he hands Peter the wrench back when he’s done using it. 

“That can be dangerous,” Peter says. 

Tony huffs out a laugh as he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Peter. “Like son like father, I guess.” He says. 

A warm and fuzzy feeling bubbles up in Peter’s chest at his words as he smiles, ducking his head down as he puts the wrench back in the toolbox. “What were you thinking?”  

“I was thinking… what if I made some fettuccine Alfredo for dinner tonight, get some ice cream at your favorite place down the street, and we can have a nice, relaxing family movie night?” Tony asks as he wipes his oily hands on a hand towel, standing up from the ground with a small grunt when his knees click in protest. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter says with a smile as he pushes himself up from the ground, only to pause when his head gives off a particularly sharp throb from the new position. He reaches up and rubs at his forehead, hissing slightly though gritted teeth. 

This always happens when he tries to work through the pain of a headache, which hopefully isn’t upgrading to a migraine but with Peter’s luck, it probably is. 

And of course, Tony’s dad senses tingle. 

“You okay?” Tony asks, looking at Peter with his brows pulled together in concern. 

“Yeah… just a headache.”

Tony’s still frowning as he looks down at his watch to check the time. “It’s a little after noontime, so how about we head on inside and I’ll whip you up a sandwich for lunch.” 

“Sure.” Peter agrees easily, letting Tony guide him inside the blissfully cool house and out of the intense sun and heat. 

They find Morgan sitting on the couch in front of the tv watching one of her cartoons, one that Peter doesn’t know because it came out sometime in those five years during the Blip. 

“How about you sit with Morgan while I get lunch started?” Tony suggests. 

“Okay,” 

Peter slips his shoes off at the front door before he walks over to the couch, wincing at the sunlight pouring in from the windows, mixed with the obnoxiously bright colors from the cartoon on the tv. He plops down on the chaise section of the couch next to Morgan and throws a pillow over his face to shield himself from the light. 

“Are you okay, Petey?” Morgan questions. 

“Yup…” Peter mumbles beneath the pillows. “M’ all good, Morgs.” 

“Why are you hiding?”

“M’ not hiding. Just trying to sleep and the light’s bothering my eyes.” He tells her. 

“Does your head hurt like Daddy’s does sometimes?” She asks. 

“A little.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Morgan whispers.

“S’okay.” Peter mumbles. 

 It takes only a few minutes before Peter feels himself drifting off to the soft murmurs coming from the tv, but he can’t quite fall asleep with his head pounding away. It almost makes him want to cry at the unfairness of it all—why his brain just won’t shut off and let him fall into a pit of painless nothingness.

He’s taken out of his almost-asleep state by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Pete, you awake? Lunch is all ready.” Tony says in a soft voice. 

“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he slowly sits up, letting the pillows fall away from his face, finding the room’s curtains to be drawn with the tv off, settling the space in a soothing semi-darkness. 

Tony looks at him with a worried frown as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and a side of chips. He reaches a hand up and brushes a few stray curls off of Peter’s aching forehead. “You don’t look too good, Pete,” he says. 

“I don’t feel that great,” Peter admits, not having the energy to pretend that he is. 

“How’s your head feeling?” 

“Hurts,” Peter mumbles miserably.  

“Hmm,” Tony hums, as he braces his hand against Peter’s forehead. 

Peter lets his eyes slip shut as he leans into his cool hand, bringing only a small amount of relief to his pounding head. He almost wants to cry when Tony takes his hand away. 

“You do feel a little warm. I wouldn’t have had you slaving away out there in the sun if I’d known you didn’t feel good, Pete.”

“It wasn’t this bad earlier. I think I’m just tired or my brain is fried,” 

Tony huffs out a small laugh. “Your brain isn’t fried, Pete. You’re just tired and you’ve been overworking yourself lately. How about you eat what you can and you can nap until dinner?” 

Sleep. That sounds pretty nice right about now. 

“Okay.” Peter agrees easily. 

…

After lunch, Tony helps Peter upstairs to his bedroom and draws the black-out curtains, engulfing the room into darkness, much to Peter’s relief. 

Peter is about to lie down but Tony stops him by handing him one of his pain meds. 

“But they make me feel weird and loopy,” Peter argues weakly. 

“I know you don’t like taking them, but it’ll help with the pain,” Tony says. 

Peter sighs but takes the pill anyways just to please him, swallowing it down with a few sips of water from the cup Tony gives him. 

When Peter is lying down on his side with his eyes closed, he hears Tony walk out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom before the sink turns on, until footsteps approach his room. 

Peter breathes out a relieved sigh when he feels a cool, wet washcloth being placed over his eyes and forehead. 

“Better?” Tony asks as Peter feels the bed dip down next to his hip. 

“Mhmm…” Peter hums, feeling the coolness take the edge off his headache so it no longer feels like his head is at risk of exploding from the pressure. “You gonna stay?” He asks hopefully. 

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tony says, hearing him get up again before the bed dips down beside him until he feels the man’s hand card through his curls. 

The feeling soothes Peter as he breathes out another sigh of relief as he allows himself to relax, feeling the tension leave his body. 

It only takes a few moments before Peter finds himself drifting off to sleep, feeling the pain grows duller as his consciousness fades away. 

…

Peter can’t breathe as dust begins to fill his lungs. 

He looks up with wide, tear-filled eyes at Tony, who’s standing several feet away from him, looking equally as scared as Peter.

“I don’t wanna go,” he pleads, voice wobbling as he takes a few stumbling steps towards him. “P-Please—P-Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.” 

Tony opens his arms as Peter falls forward, but instead of falling into Tony’s arms, he falls right through him as Tony suddenly crumbles to nothing but a pile of ashes. 

“N-No!” Peter screams as catches himself on his shaking arms, saving himself from face-planting on the orange, dirt-covered ground… which is now covered in Tony’s ashes. “N-No…. p-please,” Peter sobs as he carefully picks up a handful of it, only to break out into a harsh cough that has him doubled over, finding that he’s coughing up dust. 

Ashes. 

That’s all he sees. 

Ashes. 

Peter blinks away the tears in his eyes as he looks around himself, seeing figures of ashes floating in the air where the Guardians and Dr. Strange once stood. 

He’s all alone. 

Peter takes in a shuddering breath as he looks back down at himself, only to see that his hands are now disappearing, dust falling from his fingertips, joining Tony’s on the ground. It quickly travels up his hands, then his forearms, climbing up his entire body. 

Peter sucks in a gasp, feeling like his insides are now full with his own ashes, suffocating him. 

He’s dying. 

He’s all alone. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

They all fall down. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

They all… fall… down. 

Peter’s eyes snap open, only to be met with a horrible, pulsating pain radiating through his skull, feeling like it’s about to explode as something hot shoots up his throat. 

Peter shoots up into a sitting position as he gags, only for more waves of sharp pain to stab at his head as he tries to get up. But the moment that he manages to swing his legs over the bed, he gags again and hot, liquidy vomit spews out of his mouth, landing all over his lap and the floor. 

But the only thing he can see is ashes. 

Peter gasps in the middle of a gag, only to break out into a harsh round of coughing but it only brings back the memory of him coughing up dust in his nightmare… or was it real? Is he already dead and this is a dream? Or his worst nightmare that he’ll have to live again and again in a constant, torturous loop?

His head and ears are pounding too much, Peter doesn’t hear the pair of footsteps running up the stairs towards his bedroom. 

Peter slams his eyes shut as he coughs up more bile—more ashes. 

His ashes. 

It’s happening again. 

Thanos snapped.

Half the universe is gone. 

Thanos won and they lost. 

“Peter! Peter—look at me, kid!” A voice filters its way through the sheer panic racing through him, mixing with all the pain. “Pete—open your eyes for me!” 

Peter snaps his eyes open, only to find Tony’s worried face in front of him—but it’s just like before, except Tony turned to ashes right in front of him. 

“T-Tony p-please,” Peter hoarsely says, feeling something cold slide down his cheeks. “P-Please—I-I don’t wanna go. P-Please,” he begs as he slams his eyes shut, unable to get the image of Tony crumbling to nothing in front of him. 

His breathing comes in quick gasps now, and it feels like his insides are filling up again—oh God. It’s happening again. He’s going to die and there isn’t anything or anyone that can stop it. Thanos won again—he’s always going to win. He’s never going to stop coming. 

Peter’s dying all over again. 

“Pete—you’re okay. Peter! You’re not dying—kiddo, please listen to me!” 

He’s going to die. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

Peter lets out a choked sob, only to throw up more bile. “I-I can’t-” he sucks in a sharp, choked breath. “Can’t breathe-”

Black dots dance around in his vision as he opens his eyes, finding a blurry figure in front of him, feeling cold hands on his face. 

“Pete you’ve gotta listen to me, bud. You have to breathe.” 

“I c-can’t,” Peter chokes out around a sob, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I-I can’t—I c-can’t!” 

“Yes, you can. You can breathe. You’re not going anywhere. I promise you, Pete. Please. Come back to me. Try to take in a deep breath, okay? Think you can do that for me, kiddo?” 

Peter sucks in a gasping breath, feeling horribly lightheaded now, but he tries. 

“That’s it, Pete. That’s it, kiddo. In and out.” Tony soothes. 

It feels like forever until Peter’s lungs give in, letting air in and allowing him to breathe. He sucks in a shaky breath that triggers a harsh round of coughing, before he opens his eyes and blinks a few times to clear his blurry vision. 

“T-Tony?” Peter asks, seeing the man kneeling in front of him with a worried expression on his face. 

“I’m right here, Pete,” Tony tells him in a soft voice. “You back with me?” 

Peter blinks, his brows pulling together as he shakily nods. He closes his eyes against the pounding behind them, mixed with horrible nausea churning away in his stomach. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles. 

“I know you don’t kiddo. I’m so sorry,” Tony says, feeling a hand brush away a strand of damp curls that are stuck to his sweaty forehead. “How about you take a minute to catch your breath and we’ll get you all cleaned up and back into bed, okay?”

Peter blinks hard as he looks down at his lap again, but closes his eyes at the disgusting state of his lap. He opens them back up again and looks at Tony, brows pulled together. “I-Is this… is this real?” He asks. 

Tony’s face falls as he reaches up and gently wipes a trail of tears from Peter’s cheeks with a calloused thumb. “Of course it is, bud,” he softly says. “This is real, I’m real and you’re at the cabin with me, Pepper and Morgan.” 

Peter sniffs wetly. “B-But… it just felt s-so real.” He whispers. 

Tony nods as he runs a hand through Peter’s hair. “I know, Pete but I promise you it wasn’t. It was just a nightmare.” He says in a soft voice as he places the back of his hand on Peter’s forehead, frowning. “You’re burning up, kiddo. It looks like this is more than just a migraine.” 

Peter breathes out a sigh at that. “‘Course it’s not.” He mumbles miserably. Good ol’ Parker Luck. 

“How about we get you cleaned up, hmm?” 

Peter wordlessly nods as Tony helps him stand up, grabbing him a change of clothes from the dresser before slowly leading him out of his room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Tony is practically carrying him with how wobbly his legs are, but they manage to make it to the bathroom and Tony helps him sit on the closed toilet seat. 

Peter closes his eyes against the painful throbbing going on behind them, letting himself slowly slump against the wall next to him. He’s barely aware of Tony wiping his face with a warm washcloth until he’s gently shaken. 

“Pete, you gotta open your eyes for me, bud,” Tony says softly. 

Peter lets out a low, hoarse groan as he blinks open his eyes, squinting against the LED lighting in the bathroom. 

“Arms up,” Tony instructs as he helps him out of his ruined t-shirt and into a clean one. “Think you can stand up on your own so you can change your pants?” 

Peter binks slowly. “M’ kinda dizzy,” he admits.

Tony frowns at that as he goes back to the task at hand and helps Peter slide his ruined pajama pants off, grateful to have a pair of boxers on to save him any further embarrassment. Tony helps him stand up on shaky legs to pull on the clean pair of sweatpants he grabbed, helping Peter pull them up to his waist.

“I think you’re good to go, bud,” Tony says, offering him a small smile.

Peter tries to smile but he thinks it comes out more of a grimace. Tony wraps an arm around his waist and helps him out of the bathroom and back down the hall towards his room at a slow pace. When they walk back into the room, Pepper is throwing a white duvet over his bed and she looks up at them, offering Peter a warm, sympathetic smile.

“How are you feeling, honey?” She asks.

Peter makes a weak sound at the back of his throat as he blinks sluggishly, too tired to form words anymore.

“He’s feeling pretty crappy,” Tony answers for him as he guides him over to the bed and helps him lie down on the clean sheets, which Peter suspects Pepper changed while they were gone.

Despite how out of it he is, Peter feels guilty that she cleaned up after him.

“M’ sorry,” Peter mumbles as he blinks open his eyes as Tony pulls the covers up to his chin. “M’ such a problem.”

Tony frowns as he exchanges a look Peter doesn’t catch with Pepper before he looks back down at him as he sits on the edge of the bed. “No, you’re not,”

Peter shakes his head, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. “I am,” He argues weakly. “Y-You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“Peter,” Pepper says as she sits down on the edge of the bed on the other side. “You’re not a problem, honey. You’re sick and you’re tired. We want to help you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Besides, it’s part of the job description.” He says with a small smile.

Peter honestly doesn’t know what he’s done in life to deserve such an amazing and caring family.

“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep?” Tony says as he fixes the blanket around Peter and tucks him in.

“Okay,” Peter mumbles as he blinks up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Feel better, honey,” Pepper says softly as she smoothes a hand over his hair before she stands up and walks out into the hallway.

A spark of fear shoots through Peter as Tony stands up and he thinks he’s about to leave too. “Can you stay?” Peter slurs tiredly.

“Of course I can,” Tony says, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile as he walks to the other side of the bed and settles against the headrest.

Peter slowly rolls on his side so he’s facing him and wiggles himself up so his head is resting against Tony’s chest, earning a chuckle from him in response.

“Feeling a little cuddly are we?”

“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he closes his eyes, feeling Tony’s hand settle in his hair, hearing the faint, comforting thumping of Tony’s heart against his ear. “T’hnks for taking care of me,” he mumbles sleepily.

“That’s what I’m here for, Pete,” Tony tells him, warmness in his voice as he cards his fingers through Peter’s curls.

[unholyhelbig]

Skimmons? Did you mention Skimmons, because yes.

[A/N: Absolutely Skimmons! I have been waiting for this one... I’ve also never written them before, so go easy on me] 

Read on Ao3 | Send prompts/Requests here 

The door had closed with a louder thud than Daisy had wanted. It was always a noisy door, it was made of thick metal and there was no easy way to close it, but some part of her thought that if she was careful, it wouldn’t slam shut. Maybe it was the delicious buzz of alcohol or the heated feeling at the back of her throat, but it sounded like thunder.

Thunder that would wake up her roommate.

Daisy drew in a sharp breath and clenched her eyes shut. Her shoulders were at her ears now, because even in her floaty state, she knew that Jemma would be asleep. She had stumbled in at around four am and the sun was threatening to melt whatever snow had fallen in the meantime. Her stomach was rolling and she wanted to strip her winter clothes off and crawl into bed.

But she also wanted water and something to eat, even if she wouldn’t be able to keep it down for long. This was the dark type of inebriation that would last well into the morning and through her first class, so some carbs would do her good. She stumbled as lightly as she could into the kitchen and popped open the refrigerator.

Milk. Gross. Fruit? Grosser. And jackpot- a Tupperware container filled with mac and cheese that she hadn’t finished the other night. Daisy didn’t’ bother heating it up. She grasped a fork and started pried open the red plastic top before shoving a good heaping into her mouth.

She chewed thoughtfully in the silence of the house for a few moments. She leaned heavily against the breakfast nook because she believed strongly that if she didn’t she would end up on her back and she wasn’t resolute enough to move quite yet. The frigid Kraft mix was soothing to her tumbling stomach.

The floor creaked in the living room and she bit down hard on the cold end of the fork, straightening up and then instantly regretting the nausea that it caused. “Hello?” She whispered to the darkness.

Jemma flicked on the lights by the kitchen and Daisy resisted vocalizing the hiss that bubbled in her throat- because she wasn’t a wild animal. A drunk, aloof, mac and cheese sedated human? Yes. A human that felt shame at the annoyed exhaustion on her roommate's face as she rubbed the sleep from her glassy eyes.

“How drunk are you?” Jemma asked.

“Mm, not that drunk, I’m still wearing my pants.”

The ginger frowned and looked at the joggers that hugged Daisy’s bottom half. They were way too short and rolled uncomfortably. She had tied them and was missing one shock under her sneakers. “Those aren’t your pants.”

“Oh… oops.”

There was a softer look in Jemma’s eyes for a small moment before she let out a heaving sigh and rounded the kitchen table. She pulled a mason jar from the above cabinet and flicked on the sink. The glass filled with a generous helping of water before she slid it across the counter. Daisy eyed it like it was poison.

“Drink,” Jemma said.

This was the first time tonight that she had to be told to tip her head back and let liquid pass through her lips. But everything before had a higher proof and water seemed less than appetizing when it came to icy mac and cheese. She frowned and lifted a cautious eyebrow at her roommate.

“Daisy, you’re going to have a terrible headache tomorrow if you don’t. The first rule of drinking is hydrating. I don’t want you bent over the toilet all day, you’ll be miserable, and you’ll never eat mac and cheese again.”

Okay, now that was a pliable threat. Not that she liked to revel in her own pity, but she never thought much of fighting off a hangover. She had lost the taste for fast food over a particularly bad night with a bottle of fireball- and she didn’t want to give up her odd pension for artificial cheese just yet.

So, she reluctantly grabbed the mason jar and downed about half of the lukewarm water before replacing it back on the counter. That had to satisfy Simmons enough to get her to go back to bed- not that she didn’t’ love her roommate, but Jemma had a tendency to mother and Daisy had a tendency to defy every part of it.

“There, happy?” Daisy slurred.

“Happier.”

“Good,”

“Good.” Jemma eyed her for a moment, pensively “Where’d you get the pants?”

Daisy shrugged because honestly, she couldn’t be so sure. They had gone to a couple of bars in their small college town and ended up settling at Mack’s dorm before he walked her back here. These sweats were absolutely not his, but she had never seen Elena wear them either.

“Mm,” Daisy tugged weakly at the maroon fabric “I feel like neither of us will like the answer.”

Jemma nodded with the ghost of a smile on her features. Daisy felt a blooming warmth at the fact that she had won her over with her antics, just a little. The biochemist in training rounded the counter again and started to herd a disgruntled Daisy towards the stretching hallway of their campus apartment.

She eventually let the tension fall from her body at the slight touch that pressed against her lower back. The last couple of shots were finally fizzing down and she was floating from bliss to hangover and wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed.

She flopped down on the crumpled duvet, feet hanging off the side of the bed, her words muffled by fabric. “Thank you, Jem,”

Jemma hummed out a small noise and started to undo Daisy’s boots. There were intricate knots that even someone who was stone-cold sober would have trouble undoing. It wasn’t long before she was piled under some blankets and staring at the popcorn ceiling, her jacket draped neatly over the back of her office chair.

There had been another glass of water set by her bed and two aspirin if she so wanted to partake. She grasped at the soft fabric of Jemma’s shirt, stirring from near sleep. The woman turned, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Happy?” She asked.

“Happier,” Daisy said.

[janekfan]

Repress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917357 

Jon missed Martin.

And how could you miss a man walking little more than a meter in front of you?

But he missed him all the same.

He was accepted by Martin, knew his place, knew what was expected, knew he was loved despite how wrong he'd become. But ever since Basira joined them it had been different. It was different when Martin teased him with her, and he knew it was just teasing but still. It made him less sure of himself.

Less sure of his relationship with Martin.

Even more self conscious about the screams and the sorrow and the statements he had to take before they tore him apart from the inside out and left behind a cicada’s hollow husk.

And the doubt that he’d been able to push away all this time, side by side with Martin in this wasteland, raised its ugly head, washed away the warmth that came with him.

This is your fault.

Basira is right.

Martin can’t possibly be okay with this, with me.

Needing to take statements.

Of course he doesn’t want to hear them.

No one should hear them.

Disgusting.

Wretched.

Feeding off the fears of the people trapped in this place.

Using them for my own gain.

“Jon?” He looked up from his feet and the misplaced concern he saw in Martin’s face made the guilt rise.

“Hm?” Martin waited until Jon was beside him again to take up his hand, press his lips to the back of it.

“You’ve been quiet.” Jon tucked himself up under his chin, nuzzling into his jumper and ignoring Basira’s scathing look. His head hurt. Filled with buzzing, humming, crooning static.

“Just thinking.” The crease between Martin’s brows deepened but there was no lie to suss out.

“Okay.” He kissed the top of his head and Jon melted, tangling their fingers together before following after Basira.

Jon was dragging his feet, slowing down more and more with each step further through this realm. He had yet to take another statement, too embarrassed to ask, and he walked with his eyes closed to block out the glare, following the tug of where to go without having to look. He felt flooded with fears, statements begging to be let out, be told, feed the Eye, and he ached for it, stumbling more than once. He didn’t notice Martin’s presence beside him until he spoke.

“Jon, it’s.” If he stopped, he’d never start again, but Martin was in the way. “Hey, it’s been a while since you’ve. You know?”

“Haven’t needed to yet.”

Liar!

He was miserable and unwell and his head was pounding in time with his heartbeat but he shouldn’t need to do this, it’s not human and he thought he was becoming okay with it because Martin was becoming okay with it but now. Now with Basira in the ranks each step was a constant reminder that he wasn’t. He wasn’t human and probably never would be again. None of them have gotten through any of this without being changed.

The Eye was deafening, shouting, shrieking, demanding he give in and he pushed away from Martin on shaking legs, staggering a few feet away to be sick and he hated that he was literally “vomiting his horrors,” as it had been so eloquently stated before. The bitter taste of ink blossomed on his tongue, splashed onto the thirsty ground, and black ichor appeared like a brush stroke on his arm when he scrubbed it over his mouth.

“Jon!”

“No, it’s. I’m fine.” He turned back to him to prove it, taking another step only to drop to his knees when they buckled. “Headache. S’all.” Covering his face with both hands to block out the eerie light, the sky like that before a bad thunderstorm perpetually, aware of the weight of that gaze, pushing him down, down, down.

“We need to keep moving.”

“Just wait a moment, Basira.” Martin shot her a sharp look on his behalf. “Jon. Tell me, darling. What’s wrong?” Jon flinched when she scoffed, just a moment, a moment with Martin, please.

“Nothing, n’nothing.” Martin pressed his forehead to Jon’s, surrounding him, murmuring.

“It’s okay, just you and me here right now.” Some of the tension slipped away, replaced by trembling need.

“Pressure. Jus’...I. Not sure. So much fear and terror filling me up, like it’s. It’s crowding against the door.”

“Jon--” But it was pouring from him in a rush now, all the insecurities he’d been trying to ignore and the pain in his head overwhelming.

“I’m s’sorry, I’m, I’m trying not to l’let it out. I know. I know you don’t like it and Basira--” That small burst of energy was all he had left and his next words were a hoarse whisper Martin had to strain to hear. “It hurts.” Martin’s hand came up to cup the back of his neck.

“Jon, I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to stop whatever this all is.” Shivering, Jon swallowed audibly. “You’re right, I don’t, I don’t like it.”

“I’m sor--” This time he guided his face into the hollow of his throat and he hid there, arms snaking around his middle, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket and clinging for dear life to his anchor, his reason.

“Let me finish.” Gently, Martin stroked his hair, lessened the ache by the smallest degree and it was bliss. “I like it even less when you hurt like this.” Martin pressed soft kisses to the skin he could reach and Jon sighed. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Alright.” Jon held tighter, tears welling up at the thought of letting him go, at the thought of being so exposed when he was feeling this fragile with Basira just meters away. Maybe he could hold out just a bit longer but no, the headache was crescendoing and he felt his limited grasp on the nausea slip just that much more, the words on the tip of his tongue vying for a way out. “Jon?” Once he started it wouldn’t matter anyway, he’d be lost to it, cut off from everything except his statement. But he couldn’t let go, instead rubbing his cheek against Martin’s shoulder.

“Would you?” Stay? He wanted to ask. Couldn’t ask. It was too much to ask. “I m’mean.” He tried to pull away and found himself held fast.

“Until you start. Then I’m running.” He could feel the smile, hear it in his voice, so he sat back and Martin thumbed a stray tear from his cheek before taking his hands in his own and Jon gave himself over to the Eye.

His head was cradled in someone’s lap, Martin’s of course, with his slow, careful fingers carding through his messy curls and he would maintain later that the gutteral noise of acknowledgment he made was completely intentional.

“Hullo, Jon.” He blinked dumbly, fuzzy and thick. “Looked like a doozy, that one.”

“Don’t really remember it, f’I’m honest.” It was comfortable here with Martin and his soft touches, but-- “Basira’s itching to get going.” Martin leaned down and pressed a dizzying kiss to his lips, stealing all the breath from his body.

“Let her wait a minute.”

[allsassnoclass]

Hazel! Can I submit ““i got you for secret santa so i got you this really expensive but sentimental gift that you’ve always wanted, hoping you’ll never find out it’s from me - and that i’ve been in love with you 1234567 years” for lashton??

as you wish my dear

Ficmas Day 2

Rating: teen and up

Read on AO3

Ashton knew he was screwed the moment he picked Luke’s name out of the hat for Secret Santa, but it doesn’t fully hit him until the night before the last day of school before break.  They’re going to exchange gifts once all of the students leave at the end of the day, and Ashton has to admit that he went a little overboard.

He’s supposed to wrap and bring one gift.  He has six.

“Hey, Calum,” he says once the other person picks up the phone.  “So.  I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“Why?” Calum asks, voice tinny and almost overpowered by Michael’s very loud singing in the background.  He gasps.  “Ash, tell me you didn’t leave Luke’s present until right now.  There’s no way I can help you with less than 24 hours to go.”

“How do you know I have Luke?” Ashton frowns.  “Have you been snooping?”

“No, but I saw your face when you drew the name.”

Ashton sighs.  “Fuck, do you think he knows?”

“Well, he’d have to know that you’ve been in love with him since he started at the school, and we both know Luke is not self-aware enough for that.  You can’t drop hints with him, because he won’t pick them up.  Remember when we all went to eat and the waitress was tripping over herself to flirt with him?  He didn’t even notice.”

Ashton remembers that night well.  It hadn’t been the first time a stranger tried to chat up Luke, and just like every instance before Ashton had to tamp down his jealousy.  Luke is an attractive and appealing guy.  He can’t fault other people for noticing that too and shooting their shot.

“That doesn’t help my crisis.”

“Which is…?”

Ashton glances at the presents sitting on his floor with wrapping paper next to them.

“Can you come over?” he asks.

“You didn’t get him another dog, did you?” Calum asks dubiously.

“Of course not,” Ashton says.  “I’m not an idiot Calum.  Dogs aren’t surprise presents.  I just… still may have gone a bit overboard on this one.”

“Overboard how?”

“I have six presents and I need you to help me choose.”

Calum sighs.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, and I’m bringing Michael.”  He hangs up before Ashton can protest.  

Great.  Now instead of being subject to Calum’s quiet judgement, he’s going to have to deal with Michael laughing at him, too.

They find him sitting on the floor of his living room, wrapping paper tube in hand but no closer to figuring out what he’s doing.

“Hey,” Calum says, sitting down next to him.  Ashton grunts.  “Walk me through the presents.  Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

Michael flops down on the couch behind them.

“Well, I got him a cookbook, because I saw it at the store and know he wants to start cooking for himself more, plus it says they’re easy.  But cookbooks are so bleh, so I made a donation to the shelter he got Petunia from in his name, but I don’t want to show up and have him be the only person who doesn’t get to take something home with him at the end of the night, so then I started thinking about how he’s always late so I got him this personalized watch with his name and an engraving on the back, but I don’t want him to take it as something passive aggressive so I got him a framed artistic map of his hometown since I know he misses it, but then I thought that’s lame because he can get a map anywhere, so I called up his mom and there are these rings that you can get thumbprints engraved on so I worked with her and got one of those with her fingerprint because I know he misses her like crazy, but that’s way too much and I wasn’t sure if it would arrive on time so I got one of those books of affirmations and personalized a few for days when he feels bad.”

Calum gapes at him.  Michael pats him once on the head.

“I think you should just fuck him for Christmas.”

Ashton groans and buries his head in his hands.

“Shut up, Michael.  No one asked you.”

“I’m just saying!”

“Ashton,” Calum says slowly.  “We are teachers at a public school.  There was a $20 cap on the presents.  How much did you spend?”

“Um,” he says.  “If the cookbook was paperback it might have been less than $20.”

“Well,” Calum sighs, “at least you aren’t the economics teacher.”

“If you fuck him, it would be free.”

“Shut up, Michael!”

“Babe, stop antagonizing him.”

“But I’m right!”

Calum gives Michael a look that makes him sulk off to the kitchen, probably to eat all of Ashton’s ice cream.

“Okay,” Calum says.  “You can’t give him all of that in front of everyone.  He’ll definitely know you’re in love with him, and it’s not fair to everyone else getting smaller $20 gifts.  Wrap the cookbook and give him the rest later.”

Ashton grimaces.

“Luke deserves better than just a cookbook, though.  He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Ashton has known Luke for three years and is still no closer to figuring out how to describe him.  He’s an English teacher, yet all words fail when he thinks about the math teacher who’s classroom sits down the hall.  It makes him want to read more Shakespeare or Browning or EE Cummings to see if someone else can say it better than him.

Luke is a breath of fresh air when he’s been underground too long.  He’s flowers in bloom, meteors visible from Earth, and rain when the sun is still shining.  He’s incredibly grumpy in the mornings when he comes in to work, but always gives Ashton a smile.  He gives his students pop quizzes but doesn’t count them towards their grades, only uses them to see what concepts need clarifying.  He has his students complete logic puzzles for extra credit and brings snacks on Fridays.  He has stupid rhymes and songs to help people remember formulas and they actually work.  Ashton had never seen a group of students truly excited about math until Luke joined their staff.

“He deserves better than a stupid cookbook for his present.”

“Meet him later to give him the rest,” Calum says.  “Unless you want everyone else on staff to know you’re hopelessly in love with him, too?”

“You don’t,” Michael calls from the kitchen.  “If you think I’m bad, you have no idea what Sierra is capable of.  When she found out I like Calum, it was brutal.  Hey, do you have any chocolate sauce?”

“You were no help tonight.  You don’t deserve chocolate sauce,” he calls back.  Michael appears in the doorway with a bowl and spoon, distressed.

“I said you should fuck him.  If you need different advice, then do what Calum says.  He’s smart most of the time.”

“Aw, thanks,” Calum says.

“Most of the time,” Michael emphasizes, brandishing his spoon.  “You’re still stupid for liking the lesser science.”

“Please don’t start that again,” Ashton says.  “If you two start arguing about chemistry and physics I’m kicking you out.  I know it’s foreplay for you, and that makes it weird.”

“Well, Michael and I do have a lot of chemistry together.”

“Nice,” Michael says.  “We should use my lever to shift your center of mass.”

“I hate you both so much,” Ashton groans.

“You’d hate us less if you had a boyfriend of your own,” Michael says over his shoulder, already heading back to the kitchen.

“That’s not the point,” Ashton says.  “I’m not trying to get a boyfriend right now.  I just… I don’t know.  I want him to have nice things.”

Calum clasps his shoulder, giving him a small shake.

“You’re a nice thing, too.”

Ashton buries his head in his hands again.

“Hey.  He’ll love his cookbook, and if you give him the rest he’ll absolutely love that, too.”

Something crashes in the kitchen.

“I’m going to go check on him,” Calum says.  “Give Luke the cookbook.  Ask him to meet you later so you can give him the other presents.  I’ll be right back to help wrap them.”

Ashton nods miserably and unrolls the wrapping paper.

-/-

Ashton wakes up the next day with a headache already pressing against his skull.  Calum and Michael had stayed late the night before, helping wrap the presents and then poking at him until he agreed to play a few rounds of MarioKart with them.  Halfway through the first race he remembered that he still had papers to grade that he promised the students would be done before break, so he moved his grading to the living room and listened to Michael and Calum trash talk each other and the cheesy music of each course.  Nothing managed to fully distract him from the presents sitting in the corner, though, and even when he eventually went to bed he spent most of the night tossing and turning.

The kids are always squirly the day before a break, but the lack of sleep only makes his patience shorter.  The end of each class period brings a sigh of relief for everyone, and he relishes in the few minutes he gets where he can relax instead of teach as long as he doesn’t dwell on the impending gift exchange.

Not even seeing Luke this morning and having lunch with him had managed to ease some of the tension pressing against the base of his skull.  He can’t fully enjoy his company when he’s the source of his problem.

When the final bell rings, Ashton wishes he could rush out of the building with the students, but instead he puts his classroom back to rights, monitors the hall for a few minutes, then grabs his present and heads to the staff lounge.

“Hey,” Michael says, sliding up to him after he deposits his present on the middle table.  “How’s it going?”

“I’m shitting bricks,” Ashton says.  “And I slept like shit because you and Calum didn’t get out of my house until midnight.”

“Relax, dude.  It’s Luke.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

Ashton doesn’t say he could hate my present and then hate me or he might figure out that I’m hopelessly in love with him.  He shrugs.  Michael snorts, then promptly forgets about Ashton as soon as Calum walks in the door.  Luke walks in right behind him, so Ashton pretty much forgets about Michael, too, because Luke is wearing a red button up and black slacks and his hair is a big curly mess.  His math classes seem to be perpetually bursting with activity, and Ashton loves seeing the transition from grumpy and put-together to beaming and unkempt throughout the day.  Luke is the only person he knows who gains limitless energy from his students, always bouncing after the last class instead of exhausted by a full day of work.

Ashton doesn't have a chance to greet him before Principal Feldman walks in, promptly starting the gift exchange since "so many of us will be happy to go on break and there are a lot of us to get through."  He takes it upon himself to start passing out the presents.  Ashton joins along with everyone else "oooo-ing" and "ahhhh-ing" at each gift, but he's too distracted to try to help people guess who their particular Santa may be.

Michael gets a stapler and a gift card to an office supply store because he keeps misplacing his desk materials.  Calum gets a shirt with a chemistry pun from Anne in the office. Ashton ends up getting a small care package from Calum with some bath bombs, chapstick, and a scented candle because Calum says he needs to learn how to relax more.  Ashton is just happy it wasn't another mug with a book pun on it, because Calum likes sending him pictures of those whenever he runs across one but Ashton already has too many to fit in his cupboard.

Luke is one of the last people to open his gift.  He comments on the cute snowflake pattern on the wrapping paper then tears through it, flipping the book around to fully read the cover.

"It's a cookbook!" he enthuses.  "I need this.  Who knew I needed this?"  He looks around the room, lighting up once he locks eyes with Ashton.  "Ashton!  Is it you?"

"Yeah, that's from me," Ashton says.

"Thank you!" Luke beams.  Feldman quickly moves on to the next present and Luke opens the cookbook, pursuing the pages instead of paying attention.  By the time everyone has their present and starts to filter out of the lounge, Ashton has been doing breathing exercises to ensure he doesn't psych himself out.  Michael pats him on the back when he drags Calum out, which does less to encourage Ashton and more to ignite his nerves, but he's not about to let the other five presents he has go to waste.

"Hey, Luke," he calls.  Luke pauses in his tracks, stepping to the side to get out of the doorway and let the rest of their coworkers pass.  "Can you stop by my classroom?  There's another part of your present I need to give you."

"There's more?" Luke asks.  "Ash, the cookbook is already amazing, I don't need anything else."

"Don't you want to know what it is?" Ashton asks.

Curiosity wins out over any lingering politeness.  Luke eagerly follows Ashton out the door and through the halls to his classroom. It's tucked into a corner, which Ashton likes because it means he has a lot of windows, and he's been there for long enough that the walls are covered in posters, quotes, pictures, and some particularly striking student works.  Four boxes and an envelope sit wrapped on the desk in the same snowflake wrapping paper.

"Are all of those..."

"Yeah," Ashton says.  "I got a little carried away."

"Wow."

"Here."  Ashton hands him the envelope.  "Start here."

Luke tears open the flap as messily as he tore open the wrapping paper earlier, pulling out the donation receipt inside.

“This is the place I got Petunia,” he says.

“I know.”

“Thanks,” he says.  “I try to donate to them every year but… thank you.  They’ll be able to do some good with this.”

Ashton clears his throat.  “You’re welcome.  Here’s the next one.”

He unwraps the map next.

“I know you miss it,” Ashton says.  “There’s some star stickers in there, too, if you want to mark important places.”

Luke’s eyes glitter with memories as he looks over it.  He gasps and turns the frame towards Ashton.  “Here’s my house!  Right there.  And then over here was my school, and the movie theater…. Sorry.  You don’t want to listen to me go on about this.  What’s next?”

Ashton could listen to Luke tell him stories about his hometown all night, but he’s looking expectantly at him and there’s still three presents sitting on his desk.

He tosses him the watch next.  Luke fumbles when he catches it.  Ashton is extremely thankful that it’s packed in the box well and won’t break, especially when Luke shakes it.

He laughs when he sees what’s inside.

“I get it.  I won’t miss our lunch dates anymore.”

“Sure you won’t,” Ashton teases.  “There’s an inscription on it, too.”

Luke takes the watch out of the box and flips it over.

“‘Education is our passport to the future.’”

“‘Education is our passport to the future,” Ashton recites, “for tomorrow belongs to the people who prepare for it today.’ Malcolm X.”

“Appropriate,” Luke says.  “Thanks.”

He puts the watch on, struggling a little with the clasp.  Ashton reaches out and helps, careful not to make it too tight or too loose.  Luke’s wrist is soft beneath his fingers, a patch of smooth pale skin covering his pulse.  When he finishes, neither of them move away.

“It’s wonderful, Ashton.  Thank you,” Luke says.  “I’m going to wear it every day.”

“It suits you.”

Luke gives him a smile that sends Ashton reaching for another present before he does something uncalled for like lean forward and try to kiss him.

“This one’s for bad days.  It’s not much, but I wanted you to have reminders of how amazing you are.”

Luke rips off the paper and softens like butter once he starts flipping through the book of affirmations.

“A lot of them are generic, but there are a few personalized ones in there, and all of them are true anyway.”

“Ashton, this is too much,” Luke says.  “This is insane.  You went above and beyond Secret Santa.”

“Well.”  Ashton scratches the back of his neck, the feeling of a blush prickling under his skin.  “I can’t exactly return them since they’re personalized.  I kept seeing things that made me think of you.”

“Thank you.  I don’t--” he laughs-- “I don’t know what to say.”

“Save it until you get your last gift.  Then you can judge them all.”

The last box is the smallest, but it’s heavy with a phantom weight.  Ashton went above and beyond for this one, going so far as to contact Liz when he’s only talked to her a few times before, and Luke is either going to think it’s sweet or creepy.

“It’s small,” Luke says, testing the feel of the box in his hands.  He glances up at Ashton before taking off the paper, then again when he sees that the box is a ring box.  Ashton holds his breath while he opens it, wanting to spare himself from seeing Luke’s reaction but not able to look away.

The silver ring glints in the light, a thick band pinched between Luke’s fingers so he can look at it closer.

“What…” he trails off.

“I talked to your mum,” Ashton says.  “The engraving on the outside is her fingerprint.  I know you miss her, and this way you can have a piece of her with you all the time.

“I can’t accept this,” Luke says.  “It’s too much.”

He tries to hand it to Ashton, but he closes Luke’s hand around the ring and pushes it back towards his chest.

“It’s personalized,” he says.  “It doesn’t mean anything to me, so you need to keep it.”

Luke briefly looks down at the ring again.  When he meets Ashton’s gaze, his eyes are glistening.

“You’re going to make me cry,” he laughs.  “Sorry.  Thank you.  So Much.”

He reaches for him, and Ashton’s thankful that Luke seems to fit perfectly in his arms.

“I can’t believe you got all this for a stupid Secret Santa,” he sniffs when he pulls away.

“You deserve it,” Ashton says earnestly.  “I kept seeing things I knew you would appreciate.  Guess I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit,” Luke teases.  Ashton smiles.  Luke’s teasing is a different kind, always giving the impression that it’s somehow an inside joke between them instead of Luke laughing at him.

“I have something for you, too,” Luke says.  “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but if you got me so much I feel better giving you this one thing.”

“Oh?”

Luke reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a book.  Ashton can tell what it is even before Luke hands it to him.

“Leaves of Grass,” he says, running his hand over the vines and leaves adorning the hard cover behind the gold leaf of the title.

“You said you wanted another copy since your old one is full of annotations.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he says, tracing the swirling script of Walt Whitman’s name.

“Okay, Mr. I-got-a-billion-presents-for-my-Secret-Santa.  I wanted to give you something nice.”

It’s a thought Ashton has had thousands of times during his own gift-buying process, and that’s what compels him to finally ask “Do you want to go on a date with me?  We could go to dinner or a movie, maybe ice skating or something more festive?”

“I thought you’d never ask!”

Ashton grins, smile threatening to split his face in two.

“Maybe not ice skating, though,” Luke says.  “I’m all legs and no coordination.”

“Dinner, then,” Ashton says.  “Do you like Italian?  I could pick you up next week.”

“I love Italian, and getting picked up.”

“Good,” Ashton says.  “Great!”

“Great!”

Ashton knows his smile is verging on dopey, but it’s okay because Luke has the same stupid-happy look on his face.  Luke’s phone rings and shatters the moment, but Ashton can’t even be that upset when Luke takes a few steps away to answer, glancing back with immense fondness and answering the person on the other line with vague and distracted noises.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke says when he hangs up.  “I have to go.  I promised Sierra I’d help her with some last-minute classroom things.”

“That’s okay,” Ashton says.  “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Luke smiles.  “Please do.  I mean--yeah.  I’d like that.’

“I will,” Ashton says.  Then, because someone has to be responsible and get Luke out the door instead of locked in a staring contest, he stacks Luke’s gifts and passes them off to him.

“Okay.  I’ll see you later!  On our date!”

“See you, Luke!”

Luke stumbles on his way out the door, too distracted trying to look back at Ashton.  He’s right: he really is all legs and no coordination.

Watching him leave with his new book in hand, Ashton thinks that he got the best gift of all this year.

[snarwor]

moon and old stars - chapter 7

WE BACK Y’ALL. Started the spring semester and you know. Life. Whatever. Enjoy some feels and fucks. <3

moon and old stars masterlist

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

They get a hit on Bo Katan’s location the next morning, their last resort for help, but a choice they had to make. Din paced the flat nervously, his helmet off while Cara and Fennec got the ship fueled up and resupplied. They were so close. So close to getting Grogu back, to getting everything as it should be again. Why was he so jittery?

“Drink?” Fett asked from the kitchen, holding a bottle of Corellian whiskey dangling between his fingers like an unruly mouse.

“Anything but whiskey. Gives me a headache,” Din muttered.

“Dunno if you’ll like the alternative. It’s spicewine.”

“Spicewine is fine.” Din chewed at the corner of his thumb, a nervous habit that came back when the helmet was off for long enough. Fett uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses, bringing them over to Din. Muscle memory had him swallowing down the entire glass at once. He never had the luxury of enjoying his food or drink in other’s company.

“Easy, there,” Fett chuckled. “It’ll get to your head faster that way.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Din asked miserably. “To make you forget why you’re drinking?”

“No, but I’ve known people that see it that way. It’s a miserable life, devoting yourself to forgetting.” He looked out at the setting sun, his expression carefully neutral in a way that told Din he’d let on too much at once. Out of respect, he didn’t press him on the topic.

“You know, this could be our last night,” Din said softly. It was a bit vague by words alone, but the way his body angled towards Fett’s, armorless in more ways than one, gave it another meaning. “We should spend it—”

“Din,” Boba said, turning his head to him. There was a weariness in his gaze that said...something. Din swallowed, losing his sure footing, realizing for the first time that perhaps, he didn’t know Boba as well as he thought he did.

“Yeah?” Din asked, his body swaying into Boba’s orbit.

There was a long moment where they just looked in one another’s eyes, troubled for reasons that would make their teeth ache to speak aloud. There was so much pent-up...everything that couldn’t be said, written on their expressions, in their eyes. “You need a haircut,” Boba said, and it deflated the tension in the room a little. On instinct and out of pure insecurity, Din’s hand flew up to the wild mess atop his head.

It hadn’t been this long in awhile. The curl pattern he remembered having as a child was a thing lost to his past. So many years had been spent with clippers or a wickedly sharp blade, hacking at the growth until he wasn’t sweating buckets under the helmet. But now, it was reaching past his ears in certain spots, and tickling the back of his neck, falling into his eyes in a frustrating manner. Of course Boba would know he was more comfortable with shorter hair than longer hair.

“I can go take care of it,” Din said uneasily, glancing back at the door to the bedroom they shared, the broken bedframe just peeking around the corner back at him. He drank more of the spicewine, knowing he’d need to steel himself for his appointment with his reflection.

Boba scoffed, almost offended. Din looked back at him curiously. “Let me?” Boba asked, almost exasperated to even offer his services. Was Din’s hack job really that bad that Boba felt he should take matters into his own hands? At Din’s stunned silence, he continued. “Before the sarlacc, believe it or not, I had a full head of hair.”

“What did you look like?” Din blurted out.

Just like my father.

“Prettier,” Boba said instead. “Come with me.”

They went to the fresher off of their bedroom and Boba instructed him to sit on the floor while he sat behind him. Din looked at the small cabinet before him, already feeling his mind zone out from the body heat Boba’s legs were giving off. It wasn’t kneeling, but the feeling of being here, on the floor with Boba above him, it was close.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a towel was placed around his neck and shoulders. “Easy,” Boba said, pressing a large hand over Din’s head. He filled the sink with water, steam rising from the basin where Din couldn’t see. He started to nervously babble.

“I usually just cut it dry,” Din said. “Just with a knife or something. Never got the hang of clippers.”

“Clippers are a learning curve for everybody,” Boba said with warmth, dipping his hands in the water and bringing them back to Din’s head. He started to run his wet fingers through Din’s hair, distributing the water evenly so he had damp, but not wet hair. Din couldn’t even think to say another thing, the sensation of Boba’s hands on his head proving so distracting he didn’t even notice his head falling forward until Boba gently pushed him back with two fingers on his forehead. They sat there like that, Boba’s hands buried in Din’s hair and gently scratching at his scalp until Din was abuzz with sensation. “You have gray hair at your temples,” Boba observed.

“Sorry,” Din said on instinct, embarrassment turning the tips of his ears a dark pink.

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s a sign of stature and authority more often than not. Wisdom, experience. I was just starting to go gray when I fell into hell.” Boba’s description of the Pit of Carkoon was concerning. Din didn’t want him to fall into the memories of that experience, not now. He put a hand on Boba’s ankle, just to ground him to this moment, this present. Boba gave a little scratch of appreciation and withdrew his hands. Din almost made a noise of loss, a sad little whimper, but Boba wasn’t going far. He brought his hands back to Din’s head and pulled on the locks a little.

“What are you doing?” Din asked.

“Finding out your curl pattern. My father had these tight, incredibly neat curls, I remember them clear as day, always put together. When I became a man and my hair started to curl tighter like that, I could never get it the same as he looked. Of course, I had been using sonic showers and little else, but hair takes time, hair takes patience and understanding.” It was a bit breathtaking to hear the fearsome Boba Fett speaking about something like this, but he spoke with confidence.

“My hair was never super curly,” Din said.

“You probably never took care of it,” Boba replied. It was blunt, factual. Din couldn’t help but think maybe Boba was talking about more than just his hair. “I don’t have much for you here, but perhaps I’ll show you someday how to take care of it. You won’t want to take a vibroblade to it again.”

Din cringed a little. “You can tell?”

“I can tell.” Boba gave a little hum, a decision made in his head. “Don’t have anything but shears, but let’s see what we can do.”

Gently, Boba began to cut his hair, pulling it in places and letting it fall in others, the soft rasp of the shears and the brush of his fingers through Din’s hair the only sounds between them. Din didn’t feel at all nervous or wary about Boba wielding such a sharp object near his neck. It was...new.

Just like before, the meditative, repetitive task drew a song from Boba’s chest. His hums filled the small room, and Din closed his eyes, remembering the first time Boba had sung it for him. “You remember?” Boba asked in a hushed tone. Din gave a small noise of assent instead of nodding. “Good boy. So attentive for me.”

Din swallowed roughly. He would never get used to the praise, would he? The gentle touches, the attention, the care. Boba folded his ear down a little to cut around the curve of it, and goosebumps broke out all over Din’s skin. “I like when you say things like that,” Din rasped.

“I know,” Boba said, gentle as his touches. “I mean them every time, you know.”

Din’s blush surged up the back of his neck, and Boba was in the perfect position to see it happen. He bit down on a grin. Playing with Din was already something his heart ached to lose, though the surety of that wasn’t certain.

Boba set down the shears after a while and ran his hands through Din’s hair again, shaking out errant clippings and dusting the rest away from his sensitive neck. “There,” he said, a little louder. “Feel it. Length alright?”

Din’s hands followed Boba’s path through his hair. There were no more chunks of unevenness throughout, no dry split ends that he could feel. It was...fuck, it was softer, too. How did Boba do that? It was shorter around the back and sides, most of the length sitting on top. He got to his feet on shaky legs and looked at himself in the mirror.

The man in Din’s reflection was not the one who had walked into the room. How strange, his mind provided, that through the removal of pieces of himself, he could be transformed? He didn’t know that his self-image was so full of hatred and loathing until he saw himself and his immediate reaction was: handsome.

“It’s great,” he choked out, barely breathing.

“Good,” Boba purred, standing with him and dusting off his thighs. “I think you look dashing.”

“Dashing?” Din said disbelievingly.

“Yes, Din Djarin, you are dashing.” Boba caught his gaze in the mirror, before setting his hands on Din’s shoulders. “We should clean you up. Can’t be comfortable with all those little hairs scratching you.”

“I’m fi—”

“Din,” Boba said in a warning tone. “You gonna listen to me?”

“Yes,” Din whispered, unable to look away.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, daddy.” He could no longer hide his blushing ears and cheeks under his long hair, and his affected self shone through clear as day. No more hiding, not for Boba.

“Good boy. Go ahead and undress.”

Boba filled the bathtub and poured in a few oils, leaving the water fragrant and soft. Din accepted Boba’s hand helping him in, and he nearly groaned at the feeling. “What is it?” Boba asked.

“Never had a bath before.” Of course, Greef Karga had tried getting him to visit the Twi’lek healing baths after practically every bounty assignment, but that was a disaster waiting to happen.

“That’s a shame. If you make that noise every time, you’ll be having one as much as I can make happen.” Din’s breath was stolen by Boba’s blunt words, unused to such immodest declarations even now. “Sit.”

Din luxuriated for the first time in his life. Even when bounties took him to glitzy Core planets, he never stayed the night in any of the gilded towers or danced at any glamorous parties. The Crest had been another type of armor in its own right, and the inside of it would have never, ever resembled anything approaching luxury. The bath did its job quickly, soaking heat into his bones and dissipating the remaining tension in his muscles. He was distantly aware of Boba running a soapy cloth over his body, getting his skin just as soft and fragrant as the bathwater. 

“That’s it, just relax,” Boba encouraged. Din nodded, swallowing.

“Daddy?” Din slurred after a few minutes of the gentle treatment.

“Yes, jat’ika.” Boba’s voice seemed to go a little lower when Din called him by the name without being prompted.

“Will you hum for me again? Or talk? I like your voice.”

“I can definitely do that for you.” Boba continued speaking in a low tone, letting his old bounty hunting story wander like his hands were. Din was on the verge of falling asleep in the bath after twenty minutes like that. The water was getting cold. “Let’s get you out,” Boba said in a whisper, standing to get the towel.

Din blinked up at him with sleepy eyes, wide and trusting. He stood for Boba when beckoned, and stayed still while Boba scrubbed the soft towel over his body. They returned to the bedroom, and the change in location reminded Din of his half-hearted attempts at seduction earlier. Really, Djarin? We might die tomorrow so let’s fuck?

Boba seemed to have the same thought, chuckling to himself as he pulled off his shirt. “Well, we could try and break it down the other way,” he said, gesturing to the rather sad faultline in the covers, evidence of their rather aggressive lovemaking on full display.

“Or…” Din’s eyes drifted to the cushy armchair in the corner, under a floor lamp. Boba saw what he was implying and tightened his hand around Din’s waist.

“I like how you think.” He pulled Din over to the chair and took his seat, wrapping his hands around Din’s hips. “Look at you,” Boba growled, eyes raking all over Din’s body. “So fucking beautiful.”

Din went beet-red. “Can I suck your cock?” he asked to break up the tension, already going to his knees.

“Fuck, say that again,” Boba hissed, keeping a heavy grip on Din’s wrists.

“Daddy…” Din shuffled forward and let his head fall on Boba’s knee. “Can I please suck your cock? Please? Wanna say thank you, be good for you.”

“You’re always good for me, jat’ika,” Boba grunted, closing his eyes to regain control over his senses. “Take me out.”

Din moved quickly, pulling on Boba’s fly and getting his rapidly-hardening cock out of his pants. Boba let them go down around his ankles, and Din knelt on them when he moved closer. He had a hungry look in his eyes, eager and begging for Boba’s go-ahead. Boba brought his hand to Din’s hair, scalp still sensitive from the haircut. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.” Din complied, and Boba took a moment to slap the head of his cock against his tongue. Unable to swallow the noise down, Din let out a throaty moan, needy and wanton. Boba lowered Din’s head down so he could get used to the stretch again. “Fuck, Din, your mouth is so hot.”

They moved slow, like they had all the time in the world and the galaxy wasn’t waiting on sunrise to shake them out of their daydream. Din needed hardly any guidance from him, already an expert at sucking Boba’s cock in the last several days of staying in the safehouse. Still, Boba kept his hand on Din’s head, tugging lightly at where his hair was thickest. He gave a firm pull on Din’s hair, pulling him off with a wet noise and a raggedy gasp for air.

“Wh—?” Din said.

“Get the slick from the table.” Din scrambled to obey, and climbed into Boba’s lap when instructed. Boba ran his hands all over Din’s body, skin breaking into goosebumps again. “So responsive for me,” Boba said. Din loved the ownership in his words when he spoke like that. He wanted to be Boba’s so badly. He knew Boba took care of his things as diligently as he took care of himself, and he’d been getting that same care. He could get used to it, honestly. Din pressed a shy kiss to Boba’s lips, which was returned in kind.

He expected the slick finger at his entrance, but still gasped into Boba’s mouth with a breathy, “Daddy…”

“That’s right, sweet boy, go ahead. Ride my finger for me.” Din’s thighs shook as he got used to the motion, lowering himself down on the intrusion with a soft groan. He was just thinking about the stretch of Boba’s cock in its place, and couldn’t wait to take it again, and let the universe shrink down to the size of their bodies once more.

“Feel so good, daddy, want more…”

“More?” Boba asked, keeping a hand on Din’s lower back so he didn’t fall backward. He pushed another slick finger in alongside the first, and swallowed down all of the beautiful noises Din made for him. “There you go, there you go. Good boy.”

Din’s breath hitched and he rolled his hips, just letting Boba explore his insides like they had all the time they wanted. By the time Boba got to three fingers, Din was a babbling mess of pleading and pleasure, teeth almost chattering with excited jitters coursing through his veins.

“Daddy, want your cock, want it in me, please, daddy, please give me your cock,” Din begged into Boba’s neck, trying not to drool all over his shoulder but not able to help himself. He was humping the air, drawn between rocking back onto Boba’s hand and searching for any kind of friction on his dick.

“You asked so nicely, I suppose I can give you what you want,” Boba chuckled, his rough breathing the only outward sign of how Din was affecting him. He removed his fingers from Din’s stretched hole and kissed away the soft pout that sprung to Din’s expressive face. Within a few heartbeats, he was pushing up, up, up into Din, finally. Din’s face was contorted in a mix of relief and discomfort. Boba moved slowly until Din’s ass finally rested on Boba’s lap. “Good boy, take me so well. Just stay like that a little longer, just a minute, jat’ika.”

Din shook in his arms, the weight of the universe threatening to break through his mind again. Boba kept a steady monologue in his ear, all praise and filthy fucking promises he knew Din wouldn’t have ever heard in his life. He pressed kisses into Din’s neck and shoulders, looking up at him with reverence and affection in his eyes.

It struck him how vulnerable they both allowed themselves to be around one another. Would they have this tomorrow? Would they let their guards again down after the rescue? Would Boba cease to be important in Din’s life? Boba hid how his hands shook by wrapping his arms around Din’s torso and pulling him up a few inches on his cock. Din gasped in his ear, a beautiful half-formed word lost in the rapids of sensation.

Their skin stuck in places and Din’s legs shook with exertion after a while of keeping this position, but urgency hit them at the same moment, that same fervor of the first night in the safehouse returning for their last night in paradise. Din met Boba’s eyes and the rest of the world fell away. Boba kissed him deeply once more, full of uncertainty and need. He was a selfish man. He would guard these memories with greed and envy as battlements in a house of cards. He found himself jealous of the blood in Din’s veins by the simple virtue of being in Din’s heart.

Their control broke like a snapped string, not even knowing they were fraying under tension. Din cried out and brought a hand to Boba’s chest as the head of Boba’s cock brushed his prostate, stealing his breath somehow more than it had already been stolen in the preceding moments. Boba’s grip found Din’s throbbing dick, and it only took a few firm pumps of his hand before Din was coming all over his chest with a shout. Boba was entranced, watching the long column of Din’s neck tense and flex around a silent plea for mercy. When Din finished coming, Boba wiped the come on his hand along Din’s side, over the jumping muscles of his abdomen. His chest heaved, mouth hanging slack and open and bitten and perfect. Boba held him hard, chasing his own release.

“Wanna come all over your face, jat’ika,” Boba grunted. Din gave another throaty moan and nodded, hands going to the arms of the chair so he was ready to hop off at a moment’s notice. When the familiar tension built in Boba’s gut, he nodded tightly at him.

Din nearly collapsed off of the chair, landing on his ass and gasping. Boba towered above him, quickly tugging at his dick, still slick and hot from being inside of Din. “You want me to come on you, Din?”

“Yes, daddy, please come on me.”

Boba bit off another shout and tensed all over, the pleasure crashing over him like a tidal wave. He groaned as he covered Din in his release, thick white ropes of come striping over Din’s pale skin.

Marking him.

The aftershocks of his orgasm hit him especially hard, threatening to buckle his knees. Din’s eyes were glassy and heavy-lidded, still coming down from his own pleasure. Boba collapsed into the chair again, just watching his boy laid out on the floor beneath him.

In the middle of the deafening silence that permeated between their heavy breaths, Din started to laugh. It was a beautiful, joyous noise. His eyes were squeezed shut, bent double and shaking. His voice was hoarse as all hell, but his laughter felt fresh, like he didn’t have many opportunities to do it that often.

“What’s so funny, sweet boy?”

Din grinned up at him, trying to speak again before breaking into laughter again. It brought a wide smile to Boba’s face, though his body bled exhaustion and tiredness.

“Y-you got me dirty again. After all that work getting me clean.” He found it just too amusing not to laugh at, caught between the too-hard future and the too-soft now. Boba hoped he could trust joy as easily as this.

“Well, I won’t leave you that way for long. Just let me rest a minute,” Boba chuckled.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Read on AO3.

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 12 - The Development, Pt. III

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: nightmares, patrol action, detailed description of bloodshed/violence, jealousy, hurt/comfort-ish.

Summary: A patrol gone wrong.

Word Count: 6.030

Author's Note: It's been almost a month since I updated I think I'm so sorry y'all 😭 I'll be done with language school in the following days so I'll update a lot more often and catch up with requests!!

Enjoy!

"Look, there!" Kiki whispered and pointed at a bush at the edge of a cliff. You, her and your husbands were hunting anything you could find for the town, and it was apparently going to be a rather large looking hare.

You looked around quickly for signs of movement and asked, bow at the ready: "Where?"

"I think it's hiding in the bush," She spoke quietly as you and Joel went towards the edge with quiet steps– you from the left and him from the right. He was quick with a pistol, but bullets were a last resort for hunting as it ruined the carcass and the meat, plus it was too loud.

"You see it?" You asked Joel and drew your arm back as far as it went and held your breath, looking for the animal desperately.

"I don't think it's–"

Blam!

The arrow sprang at the unexpected, loud sound of the pistol from behind you going off and something piercing your back. You heard Joel shout your name as you fell on your side, the bow slipping from your hands. As soon as you raised your eyes up at him, a second shot rang out in the air and a scream left your lips at the sight of Joel collapsing across you with a hole on the side of his head.

"Joel!"

You woke up with a loud gasp and sweat trickling down the sides of your face. Panting heavily, you couldn't speak for a while, sitting and trying to catch your breath. As soon as you snapped out of it, your hand went to look for Joel, where he was supposed to be in bed next to you, but he wasn't there.

"Joel?!" You called for him, running a hand through your hair and launching yourself out of bed and downstairs in the meantime. It was noon, the weather was a tad bit more hotter than usual. You practically ran downstairs as soon as you heard chatter coming from the dining room.

With the pounding in your ear and the fear that struck your heart, you couldn't hear who it was, but your jaw clenched and the blood flow in your veins came to a stop when you saw it was none other than Kiki and Joel sitting at the table, laughing.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)," Joel took notice of your abrupt entrance, but didn't seem bothered by your tense expression. "We were just talking about you."

"... Were you now?" You murmured.

"Come sit," Joel pointed at your usual seat at the head of the table, where you proceeded to walk towards. You entered the room with a dry mouth and slumped shoulders, your eyes never leaving Kiki's evil looking ones despite her smile.

"Yeah, she brought you these flowers and a letter," Joel extended them over to you with a curious, unusual smile spread across his lips. You were utterly dumbfounded as well as fuming, glaring daggers at him, then slowly took the said items from his hand.

Another thing that irked you was how Kiki was sitting in Joel's usual place across the other head of the table, while your husband was sat to your left. You looked at the flower for a while, but couldn't identify it, so you impatiently ripped through the neat package of the letter in question– giving hostile stares to them both as you did.

The paper was folded a few times to resemble a gift card. On the outside, it read Congratulations!

A nervous glance was sent Joel's way, who was flashing his teeth at you. Something he hadn't done in a long while. You then sent a nasty glare to Kiki, then it lowered down to the card in front of you, and with slow movements, you opened it: You don't have to worry about a thing anymore!

Before you could even think what the hell, the cocking of a gun from across you had you looking up at the speed of sound. Wide, bewildered eyes meeting the muzzle of a pistol held by Kiki, who now stood up across you.

You weren't given a moment to form a single word, when the gun went off and you felt it go through your skull, sending your body backwards. The force of it sent you falling with the chair, a horrified and confused expression painted across your face as the back of your head hit the floor.

You saw Joel walk over to you and kneel down with a blank expression on his face, saying your name...

Over... and over... and over again.

"(Y/N)?!" A sharp voice and a firm hand shaking you by the shoulder was what you heard for a brief second before your eyes shot open and a scream rippled through you.

You couldn't see who it was, but you'd know who the arms wrapped around you belonged to anyway.

"(Y/N), it's okay!" Ellie's worried voice somehow matched the grip she had around your body. You must've fallen asleep on the couch, where you had laid down to kill some time before the sweep. You held onto her tightly and pushed yourself back into her embrace as you let out a wail after a deep breath. "It's okay, I got you Dolly..."

You felt her hand caressing your back soothingly as she sat behind you and didn't let her hold weaken around your trembling form. Leaning down, you turned around and pressed your face into her shoulder, and she managed to hug you more properly.

It took a moment, but your attack turned into just hyperventilating, and that came to a stop eventually as well– Ellie just murmured assurances and made sure her grip around you never failed.

You pulled back when you felt yourself calm down: "I'm sorry–"

"It's okay," Ellie rubbed your back in a comforting motion, which made you feel a little better somehow. "You've nothing to apologise for... I hate bad dreams."

"Oh, I hate this one specifically," You chuckled and sniffed. "You think, after a long time of dealing with them, you'll get used to them, but you never really do."

She nodded: "Yeah... You want some water? Tommy sent me to grab you for the sweep."

You groaned and rubbed your temples: "I'd like that, I just neeed a moment to collect myself."

While Ellie was in the kitchen, you put your elbows on your thighs and held the back of your neck, trying but failing miserably to remove the images from your mind. At that moment, you felt the fear in your heart slowly turn into disdain and anger. Your breathing was heavy, and the beginnings of a terrible headache made its presence known.

"Here," Ellie's soft steps made you look up and take the glass from her with a quiet thank you. "You... wanna talk about it?"

You shook your head sideways as you took a big gulp: "Not now... Thank you though."

Twenty minutes later, you arrived at the stables to find Tommy and Joel. The sight of your husband almost made you run up, jump on and kiss him like a child, but you were a woman nearing her fifties, and Joel was a man alreadt in his fifties. Plus, you didn't want to worry him.

"Sorry, I fell asleep," You couldn't help the smallest relieved smile on your face as you approached them with quick steps. Joel didn't look very amused while Tommy urged you both to get going.

Since you were late, which wasn't a common occurrence, Joel had sent the others beforehand and decided to wait for you: "You okay?"

"Sure," You shrugged once you got on your horses.

"You look very pale," He observed, but when the doors opened, you both rode off. You rode fast, so you didn't talk more until you arrived at the meeting point.

The both of you were still a little tense from the previous day, and it hurt you –him too no doubt– but you both knew things could quickly escalate into a fight, and that you both needed to cool your heads before you could sit down and talk.

"We'll talk, okay? After we're done with the patrols altogether," You spoke softly before you both reached the others, to which he nodded with an expression devoid of tension.

"They're here," Bruce tilted his head your way as you waved briefly.

"Right." Joel said after the short greetings. "Kiki and I will search the houses, starting from the one beside the library. (Y/N) and Ward– You two'll search the library while Walt and Bruce will go for that little grocery store on the corner. Anything you can't handle? Holler and come back here."

Everyone gave a single nod as he explained how the sweep was going to go. You shared a brief look with Joel, then tilted your head at the library with a quiet come on to Ward. He nodded and followed you around to the sides of the building to find an opening– a window did the trick, and there were spores inside, but no movement: "Masks on."

After putting them on, you quietly jumped in and Ward followed; you then went back to the entry to open the doors in case you needed an emergency exit, then grabbed your rifle tightly and nodded at him to start moving; your mind raced with thoughts about the amount of fungal growth on the walls, how Ward was going to react if you got into trouble– if he was going to be the reason you'd get into trouble, and at the back, Kiki and Joel.

It wasn't long before you started hearing whimpers and gasps of runners inside. You whispered to him to follow you into the section behind the register, pulling out your knives and starting to clear the infected one by one. If Ward didn't grunt or groan too loudly, you imagined things would go more smoothly with patrols as he drew too much attention. He fought very angrily, like a Berserker, all the time; but he had it under control a lot more comparing to his first times.

It went well for the most part, carefully clearing the whole floor took as long as Kiki and Joel to get out of the house they were searching. When you were looking for a way to the second floor that wasn't barricaded, Joel stepped inside the library with his mask on: "Everything going okay?"

"Yup, this floor is cleared," You started walking towards him, Ward following suite. "I can still hear some infected upstairs though, but all the stairways are closed off–"

You suddenly stopped, the abruptness making Ward halt as well. Suddenly realising how unstable the ground was, you looked down very slowly, the squeaking of rotten wood beneath your feet making you tense up.

"Dolly?" Joel took a step towards you.

"Wait, no!" Your head and hands shot up to stop him. He stood right on the line where the wood and concrete connected: "Oh, fuck."

"What?!" Ward looked around.

"We're gonna fall if we're not careful," You spoke, on edge, alerting everyone and suddenly wondering where Kiki was. "Ward, you're closer to that counter, right?"

"Yeah," He turned around without moving his feet.

"Okay," You carefully put a foot forward and felt the wood shift unnervingly. "At the count of three, we jump."

"What's going on?" Kiki suddenly appeared out of nowhere and walked in, startling all of you.

"Stay back!" You cried out when she stepped right on the edge of the wooden surface, a step ahead of Joel.

As if she was doing it on purpose, with an ugly expression on her face, she took a particularly harsh step forward: "I don't understand, what's–"

A loud crack made your head shoot up, bewildered eyes meeting Kiki's at first, then Joel's panicked ones. Now or never! your brain screamed as you extended an arm out for Joel, and jumped forward.

————

Joel extended his arm out the same time you did, quickly kneeling down and leaning forward to grab you, but the wood was quicker. The distance between you two was too far, so the rotten ground swallowed you before your fingers could brush against Joel's.

"(Y/N)!" Joel shouted when a fearful shriek left your throat, watching you fall into the darkness. He quickly raised his head with great fear only to see Ward hanging on the edge of the counter, struggling grunts spilling from his lips. He tried to climb, but his hands slipped, and it caused him to fall in with you.

"Ward!" Kiki screamed. She had stepped back, but did nothing as she watched you both fall. Joel was too out of it to pay attention to either of them, he yelled your name desperately into the hole on the ground when it got quiet, the insufficient amount of light frustrating him. The dust and spores which rose with the commotion made it harder for him to see, even with his flashlight.

You were gone.

Slipped out of his touch the last second.

————

Your soul left your body when the makeshift floor gave out and you felt yourself fall. You couldn't reach Joel in time, and the look of terror on his face got branded onto your memory with hot iron at that exact moment.

"Oof!" Your chest hit what you assumed to be a bookshelf after you fell some distance. It gave out and two shelves broke under your ribs, which knocked the breath out of you, then you felt the slow collapsing of the bookshelf backwards. You panicked, then fell a second time on your arm. A pained, howl-like sound left you when you did, a few books falling on top of you. A particularly thin but open book's pages cut your bare shoulder as you shielded your face to protect your mask while everything fell, and fell, and fell.

Then, suddenly, there was another loud crash with a painful shout, which let you know Ward couldn't make it out and fell with you.

Then, there was silence.

You heard Joel shout your name once, then twice. Your head was spinning, and there was an irritating ringing in your ear which mostly cancelled out every other noise around. When you realised your consciousness remained, by some miracle, you checked your mask for any cracks before trying to move out of the fetal position you were in.

An all glass mask still intact, you didn't seem to have broken any bones (except for a few ribs probably) and you were still conscious– Some luck, huh.

Still kicking.

"I'm okay!" You shouted once you made sure everything was in place, but you were, in fact, not okay.

"Oh Christ," you heard Joel cry out and realised you were trapped under the collapsed bookshelf, but you were able to drag yourself out of there and stand up. Suddenly, you began hearing the growling and gasping of infected, but you couldn't see them.

"Where's Ward?!" Kiki shouted and you immediately began searching for him, turning on your flashlight.

"Here–" You heard a growl from a few feet away from you. From the sound of it, he was struggling as if he was being crushed. Your head was spinning, but you still tried to locate him.

"There's infected down here," You spoke. "We need to get out of here ASAP, where are you Ward?"

"Under– Here–" He coughed and you saw a fallen bookshelf move to your left. As quietly as possible, you skipped over to him and helped him lift the shelf off his back.

"Shit!" You immediately pulled out your pistol when you saw a stalker spring free, and fired two shots into it's face before it could reach Ward.

"(Y/N)?!" You heard Joel again. "That's it, we're coming down there, hang on!"

"No!" You walked back to where he was kneeling and a small wave of relief washed over you when you saw his face. "Stay there, we'll find a way to get out of here."

"No (Y/N)–!"

"She's right!" Kiki suddenly tugged at Joel's arm and it took all of your might to yell at her to back off, so you bit your tongue: "We're making too much noise, we don't know what's down there."

It became quiet again, which was when a door across the place you were in crashed open with the obnoxious clicking noises, followed by drawn out chokes and gasps.

You and Ward stood very still at the sudden intrusion, one hand going to your knife and the other to your pistol, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.

————

"We're going to cover for them if anything goes wrong, ready yourself," Joel growled at the woman beside her and got in position, his rifle at the ready, aiming it at the clicker closest to the his wife and Ward.

Kiki did as he told and aimed her pistol at a runner. They quietly watched as the pair sneaked around, but it was proving to be very hard because of the pieces of wood and books everywhere. Joel watched you motion Ward to go around the other way, no doubt to cover more ground.

Soon, a runner spotted you mid-takedown, and launched itself in your direction. Joel's rifle went off without hesitation, while Kiki was keeping an eye on her husband. It all went to chaos in a matter of seconds.

After a few torturous minutes, the infected in the area were cleared, you stepped out to the light and spoke: "Okay, I think I see the light from the other side of the door they came in, maybe there's a way that'll lead us out of here."

Joel sighed, and gulped: "Are you okay– Clean? How hurt are you?"

"I'm fine, Joel, we're clean," You looked back at Ward briefly. "You should go and warn Walt and Bruce... we'll come back with a full sweep team another day."

"Okay, just be–" Joel spoke worriedly, only to be cut off by a loud, monstrous growl from below.

"Shit!" He saw you turn your head away and at that moment, a bloater put a hole through where the door was.

His heart dropped at the sight: "Be careful!" He immediately got up and started firing at the bloater, drawing its attention to him while the both of you hid and ran. Kiki followed suit and fired a little more, but Joel stopped her: "Save your bullets, let's go grab Walt and Bruce."

They ran out — the sun had almost disappeared by the time they made it to the street of the grocery store.

————

The fire Joel and Kiki opened drew the bloater's attention enough for you and Ward to sneak behind it, but it didn't take the bloater too long to hear your footsteps.

You desperately looked for a place to hide, or a higher ground– anything that would buy you some time to prepare a molotov or two. As you did, you also found a an extra bottle and some cloth lying around: It was mandatory to carry a bottle of mixed gasoline and oil in case people were stuck in situations similar to yours, and you'd never been more thankful for the rule.

The bloater came through the hole just when you'd grabbed the bottle, so before you could prepare anything, you started running again. Ward was aimlessly firing behind you two, so you stopped him: "Save your bullets!"

He did as you asked and followed you through an L shaped, long corridor: "What the hell is that?!"

"It's a bloater!" You turned the corner, tucking a rag into the bottle you found and began taping the cloth in place. It was hard, but it was also second nature to you. "These things are fucking hard to kill— You gotta make each bullet count, you hear me?!"

A soft exploding sound made you gasp, watching in slow motion as Ward ducked the spores launched at him. The bloater had stopped at the corner as you both ran to the other end where there were dual doors.

"Don't stop running, we gotta knock those doors down!" You yelled and braced yourself, Ward doing the same. Your eyes quickly darted around the door to see if it had any locks that would prevent your launch, and it didn't, but you knew then that the door was locked from the other side.

Before you could stop yourself, not realising you were too close to the door, you slammed into it and fell back with much force– as you had predicted.

Ward met the same fate, but he just stumbled backwards. You realised the bloater was getting closer: "We can't let it corner us, check that door!"

There was a wooden door to the left, which Ward opened without effort, and you rolled inside right before a spore bomb hit you. He quickly closed the door behind you and pushed a vending machine in front of it as you instantly collected yourself and poured the mix through the small hole on the neck of the bottle with shaky hands.

Not long later, the bloater walked through the wall next to the door as if it were nothing, making Ward curse. You immediately pulled out your lighter and set the rag on fire, and with a cry, threw it against its chest. While it was distracted you started firing into its head, not realising what Ward was doing– With incredible power, he pushed the vending machine towards the bloater and overthrew it. The bloater stumbled backwards and growled, Ward's actions making you panic.

"There!" He yelled when he turned towards you and pointed at a big hole on the wall behind you– he quickly boosted you through and jumped to the other side while the bloater was still recovering from the fire.

"You need to cover me so I can make more molotoves," You said and started making another while looking around. You were in a bigger and more spacious area, and you saw a way out immediately: A small drawer shelf and another vending machine next to it – a makeshift stair which led to an upper floor, where light came in.

But before you could even point at the place, the bloater came crushing through the wall, making you both jump and run away.

"Over here, you ugly bitch!" Ward hollered and drew the bloater's attention while you made quick work of a second molotov. Too focused on it, you almost didn't hear Ward shout: "(Y/N) look out!"

You quickly rolled to the side as the bloater ran towards you, trying to grab you. The bottle you had prepared got crushed, which made you curse, but you still had one more bottle left. It was already prepared, but you had to be careful. You started firing again, until Ward shouted: "There's a door!"

You kept the bloater distracted as you dodged the spores, while Ward opened the door and motioned for you to get in. You ran past it as fast as your legs allowed, and threw yourself inside.

Ward cried as he pushed something heavy in front of the door– you couldn't tell what it was in the dim lighting but it did a good job stopping the bloater from going through, which let you take a deep breath.

"God dammit," You growled quietly and held the side of your ribcage. "We're trapped, we gotta move quickly– we've only one shot at this. You saw the way up, right?"

"Yeah, I did," Ward panted.

"Right, I'm guessing that this corridor leads us to the door on the other corner of the area," You tilted your head towards the L shaped corridor behind you. "I'm gonna make another molotov– The moment it spots us, I'll throw it. It'll buy us some time for us to climb out of here."

Ward listened and watched as you made another molotov with hands shakier than before: "You okay?"

"I will be once I see the moonlight," You groaned and pulled out your lighter. "Let's go!"

————

Blam!

"Looks like we got here just in time," Joel grunted, wiped his forehead, then extended Walt a hand to lift him off the floor after shooting a stalker –which was on top of the redhead– in the head. "Y'all okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Walt nodded and fixed his posture. "Why are you here, somethin' wrong?"

"(Y/N) and Ward are trapped below the library with a bloater, we gotta move quick; come back here some other time with a bigger crew." Joel started sprinting back the way they came after he made sure everyone was ready to go.

"What's up with all the infected?" Bruce chimed in, out of breath. "I mean, all these other infected I get, but a bloater?"

"We need to come back with a full sweep team," Walt agreed. "Let's get (Y/N) and Ward."

————

"Go, go, go!" You whisper yelled at Ward after checking and making sure from the other door that the bloater was still trying to break down the door you two escaped from. As soon as you both stepped out, the bloater heard Ward's heavy footsteps and started charging at the both of you. Following the plan one by one, you threw the molotov and set the bloater on fire again, slowing down it's movements.

Your mistake was to think it was beginning to die after its movements slowed down.

You fired at the bloater, emptying what little ammo you had left, all the while Ward climbed his way up: "(Y/N) come on! There's the exit, this way!"

The horrifying realisation of the bloater not being dead poured down on you like iced water, which made you run towards the makeshift stairs like hell. The abomination chased after you with a disgusting noise, which made your fear level rise all the more. You practically threw yourself on the drawer, but miscalculated your steps and slipped, almost falling off the vending machine.

Trying to get up allowed the bloater to catch up with you and before you could jump towards Ward, it grabbed your ankle. A shriek left you as he caught you by the wrists: "Hold on!"

————

"You know a way around to the back? They went through there—" Joel pointed at the huge gap on the wall down where you and Ward fell, but suddenly heard the echo of your shriek from far away. He tensed up, turning towards Walt and shouting: "Do you?!"

"I think I do, come on!" Bruce exclaimed and led the group of four out.

————

You desperately stomped on the bloater's head with your free foot as its big, fungi covered hand gripped your ankle tighter and pulled. Ward was doing everything in his power to pull you up, and for a second you thought his grip was stronger than the bloater's– that your wrists were going to come off.

The man suddenly grabbed you from under your armpits, partly hugging you as he leaned forward and emptied his pistol into the bloater's face. With a final kick from you, the bloater let you go. The sudden move sent you flying with Ward, his back hitting the floor, hard. You rolled over him and landed facedown, the both of you letting out cries and grunts at the impact. You groaned, realising that your mask finally broke when you landed on your face, but thankfully there were no spores around.

You remained in the same position as you breathed heavily, Ward panting beside you, groaning as he also remained on his back. The noises from the bloater started to fade away. You couldn't move, the shock of everything tied your tongue and a knot to your stomach– you felt as if you looked Medusa straight in the eyes just a second ago.

————

"Look through there," Bruce pointed at the backdoor of the storage of the library, Joel sprinting towards it with Kiki behind him. As soon as he stepped inside, he saw your rigid form on the floor. You were on your side, one hand supporting to keep you up, your left  arm resting on the curve of your hip. Right then, Ward got up in the same position from behind you, and equally confused and tired look on his face.

The sight was quick to send a shiver down his spine: The bridge of your nose was bleeding, your mask was broken, and Ward laying behind you unintentionally reminded him of the time he had accidentally walked in on Tommy and his then girlfriend before the outbreak. The memory was funny, but for some wicked reason Joel himself didn't understand, it didn't help the scenery in front of him.

He never said it, but he never liked the amount of patrol time Maria had assigned you and Ward (and him and Kiki). The reason he didn't speak up was because how he got off on the wrong foot with his sister-in-law all those years ago when he tried to get Tommy to leave with Ellie.

He wouldn't admit but Joel was a jealous man. There never were any fights between you and him because of his jealousies –or between him and some other person– and he also never thought badly of you. The years you spent together and the things that occured in the past few weeks... he was more than assured that you loved him and that you'd do anything for him: He hadn't felt like how he felt with you alnost his whole life.

It wasn't you that made him angry – when he took your words about Kiki and the couple in general into consideration, it was Ward's presence behind you and so close to you that got him angry.

But it wasn't the first thought that came to his mind.

Your mask's glass was broken.

After you slipped out of his grip... thinking you may have died and that he might have had to collect your body from down there, seeing you alive and in one piece made him run towards you without a second thought.

————

The heavy footsteps from outside made you panic and turn to the left onto your side, Ward repeating your move but to the right, rising his upper body up to see past you. Ward had a hard time figuring out who that was with the dim lighting, but you immediately knew who that was.

As soon as his eyes landed on you, he ran towards you with incredible urgency. You instinctively reached an arm out to him and he (unintentionally) harshly grabbed you and pulled you into a rib crushing embrace, also dragging you slightly away from Ward with the suddenness of the move. You hugged him back immediately with one arm and took your mask off with the other, tears finally strolling down your face as soon as your chin met his shoulder. You inhaled his scent– your chest hurted a little from how tight he was hugging you, but you didn't stop him: not a single sound of protest from you was heard.

"Ward... Ward!" Kiki called out and ran past you both towards her husband, who pushed her away. Walt and Bruce walked in last and their hearts warmed at the sight of you and Joel. People outside your inner circle rarely saw you cry or be overcome with negative emotions, so this was a little new for them.

"Joel..." A whimper left your lips.

"I know– I know baby," He rubbed the side of his face against your hair, his own tears warm against your bare shoulder. He finally pulled back after a moment, cupping your cheek and taking a proper look at you: "Are you– your mask–?"

"It broke just now," You nodded and gulped. "Landed face first after Ward pulled me out of there."

Joel gave the man in question a look of sympathy and thankfulness: "You saved her."

It was more a statement than a question, but Ward still replied: "She saved me too, y'know, she's–"

You turned around with a smile, getting up with Joel's help: "If it weren't for you just a few minutes ago I would've died, Ward. You pulled me out," You extended a hand over to him: "Thank you."

He looked between your face and hand, then grabbed it, pushing himself up with an awkward but genuine smile, Kiki completely forgotten: "I thank you too."

You hugged Joel's side after giving Ward's shoulder a pat, you husband's arm wrapping around your waist: "You did good today. We did good."

Ward smiled a bit more fully this time, appreciative of your comment but completely beaten. Joel placed a kiss on your temple after he turned the both of you around to leave, and you pressed yourself even more to his side.

"Let's get y'all out of here," Walt tilted his head towards the door after looking down the area you both climbed out of before, the bloater making it's way back to the hole on the wall to the right.

"Will there be a long period of time where I won't be seeing you in here, (Y/N)?" Katherine smirked when you and Joel entered the examination room.

"Perhaps when I'm as old as Eugene, but that's not stopping him, so..." You both chuckled as Joel helped you sit down.

"What was it this time?" Katherine put her gloves and medical mask on, taking a seat across your bed.

"A bloater, a dozen other infected," You squinted when she lit a flashlight into your eye. "Oh, and, I fell through the floor and onto a bunch of bookshelves. My–"

"Ribs are probably broken. I guessed," She chuckled, then pointed at your nose: "And this?"

"My mask shattered when I– don't worry, there were no spores," You said immediately when her eyes went wide.

"And your ankle?"

"The bloater tugged on it."

"It what?" Katherine and Joel blurted out spontaneously. You proceeded to tell the whole story from your fall to Ward dragging you out as the doctor finished her examination.

"I don't know how you do it, but you're damn lucky you got outta this with two broken ribs, a grade one concussion and a few cuts." Katherine threw her gloves and mask away after she completed treating your nose and other cuts. "Take some painkillers for sleep and you'll be on your feet tomorrow, but you already knew that. Try not to lean on your ankle for a few days and take it easy with your ribs."

"Thanks Katherine," You smiled sincerely, which she returned as you grabbed the box of painkillers from her.

As soon as you reached home, Joel prepared a nice hot bath for you and washed the dirt off, kissing you everywhere he could and being extra gentle with your wounds like he always did. He was lightly scrubbing your back when he murmured: "I hope we're not calling them over for dinner again."

You turned your head to the side, looking at him over your shoulder with a brow up: "I hope you're not. It wasn't my idea."

He tsked, a phantom of something near embarrassment present across his face: "Yeah, you're right."

"Why the change of heart?" You grinned lightly, with a hint of bitterness to your tone. "You're finally listening to your wife?"

He stopped scrubbing altogether, leaning back a little. You turned to your side with a serious expression and watched his face morph into shame and guilt. He huffed and lowered his head: "I'm sorry (Y/N). I–"

"I know you are," You said casually. "I just wanna know why the change of heart." He blinked at you: "It can't be Ward– the man saved my life and hasn't been really trying to send us subliminal messages, so I'm assuming it was something Kiki did."

Both of them, Joel wanted to reply but you were right, mostly it was Kiki, so he just nodded.

He went back to scrubbing where he left off and you turned to the side again, putting your chin on your knee: "One more patrol, Joel. Then we're done with them for good. Then, we will talk."

[star-spangledstud]

Like You

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (Female) Reader.

Word Count: 2800-ish.

Summary: Steve has a really shitty way of saying goodbye. 

A/N: My friend sent me the prompt: “If I knew then what I know now.”. I decided to play around with it and then this happened. 

Warnings: Angst at its finest. Such brief mentions of sex you hardly notice them. Heartbreak. 

You didn’t understand why he didn’t come back to you like he was supposed to. 

It wasn’t like the two of you didn’t have a solid relationship. You complemented each other when you walked into the room, the perfect blend of two different people that had come together as one. You hardly argued, barely even disagreed on matters that concerned the both of you and you never got sick of each other’s company. You were complete, whole when you were with him and he was with you. 

You ate together, trained together, slept together in the same bed night after night. Even as the world burned after the big Snap, you stayed together, thankful every day for the fact that the both of you had made it out alive. You mourned the loss of friends together, tried to overcome the holes in your hearts together. It was an obstacle in the road that paved the way for your lives and you faced it together. When everyone was brought back, you couldn’t have been more grateful, because five years of learning how to rebuild everything had made the two of you stronger, more aware of how much you needed each other to survive. Most importantly, it made you aware of how all you needed to survive was each other. 

A power couple, that’s what they called you. Sun and moon, yin and yang. The perfect balance of work and play, of fun and professionalism. You kept each other moving, kept one another going with words of encouragement and wisdom, forced each other out of bed after half the world had literally vanished in the blink of an eye. It hadn’t been easy, but you expected the strain on your relationship to have been much worse. You got off easy compared to many other people. 

When the two of you first caught wind of the possibility to bring everybody back, of course, you jumped on the bandwagon. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see your best friends again, for things to go back to the way they were. You knew it would be hard because people had moved on, started new relationships, new careers and had moved house, but you had faith that humanity could overcome it.

You still got chills when you thought of the orange portals that signaled everyone’s return. The distant memory of seeing the people you thought you’d never see again in the flesh for the first time in five years still brought prickly tears to the corners of your eyes, as did the knowledge that Natasha and Tony had given their lives to make it happen. They sacrificed their lives so you could have yours.

You hardly had time to notice the sudden change in Steve’s behavior. You were so busy trying to reintegrate half the population into the current day, that the two of you spent less and less time together. You were in charge of bringing back the positions of SHIELD agents that had vanished and offered your help to them both professionally as well as privately. Some of them had lost their families because they’d moved on and it was very hard on them to realize that five years of life had simply passed them by. 

Steve had been talking about retirement for years. You knew he wanted to finally lay down the shield once and for all and the two of you had been talking about it more and more as time progressed. Finally, he decided to bring the team back to its former glory, to rebuild the facility and to find new possible recruits, before he’d finally call it quits forever. 

Before that could be done, the Infinity Stones had to be returned to their respective timelines. Of course, he was the one to suggest to do it. You’d honestly be surprised if he didn’t offer to do it himself. You told him it was okay because you trusted him and trusted his judgment and if he felt like he could complete the mission successfully, you would stand behind him and support him because that’s what good girlfriends did. 

You remembered the way he gently kissed you before stepping onto that godforsaken platform all too well, the way his hand caressed the side of your face and hair, the squeeze in your shoulder. It was a kiss unlike any of the ones you’d ever shared before, not even the ones he gave you after Tony’s funeral, filled with grief, sadness and need. No, this one was different. You didn’t know it at the time, but you did know it when looking back. 

He was telling you goodbye.

“No,” you cried, “no, no, no!” 

Your arms and legs flailed miserably, chest heaving rapidly up and down in irregular motions. Bucky cringed with how horribly upset and distraught you were, unsure of what the hell he should do about you crying beneath him.

He was sitting on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back in soft, circular motions while you hugged your pillow tight to your chest. Your face was red, tip of your nose glowing and your cheeks were so puffy you looked almost like a clown. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t think words could suffice or make you feel any better. He was probably right. 

“Why?” You choked out, “Why did he leave me?” 

You could hardly breathe without Steve. 

Bucky could hardly understand what you were saying. Every word came out in hiccups, forced to the surface by the tension in your lungs and contracting chest. For a long moment, you stopped breathing. Bucky panicked immediately. His pulse quickened and grip on you tightened. Then, you took a deep, panicked breath of air with a high pitched cry.

All you could think of was Steve, how he glanced at you from his spot in the dead center of the platform. How his lips tightened into a sad line, how his brow creased and his eyes closed just before he disappeared on you forever. You should have fucking known, but how could you? He was everything you ever wanted and you thought you were the same to him. He never even gave you the indication that he was unhappy, that he didn’t love you. That he was going to leave you for her. 

“Shh,” Bucky cooed, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam showed up at the door, which stood slightly ajar. His head peaked in, eyes following your heaving body and Bucky’s slouched form before resting on his face. Bucky shook his head. Sam quietly left. There was nothing he could do to ease the pain one of his best friends had caused you.

“Get some sleep,” he told you quietly after your sobs had silenced.

“Don’t leave me,” you managed to whimper, grabbing hold of his flesh arm and pulling it down with you.

You needed human contact, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone after being left by the love of your life.  

“Of course,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m not going anywhere, sugar.” 

You slept with Bucky by your side that night, still dressed in the clothes you’d put on while Steve was still lounging in bed that morning. The make-up you’d put on while Steve was in the shower had mostly come off on your sheets and on Bucky’s left shoulder. You clutched his shirt while you dreamt of Steve in short bursts, the desperate need for comfort so dire that you refused to let the man leave when he tried. He was angry too, angry with his best friend for putting the woman he loved so much through such pain. 

You cried as soon as you woke up the next morning, hand sore from fisting Bucky’s shirt all night. Your head hurt terribly, a pressure had built up behind your eyes overnight and it worsened as the day continued. Bucky eventually managed to leave you alone so he could get changed and talked to Steve, who was now an old man instead of the man who’d taken you to Paris on your first anniversary. 

You became indifferent to the saying ‘time heals all wounds’, because it no matter how many days passed you by, it never seized to hurt. Every little thing that reminded you of Steve would send you in a downward spiral. People recognizing you on the street for once being the most beloved Avenger began to walk around you with a wide arch because even they could tell something was terribly wrong with you. Soon enough, they all knew what had happened.

You hardly slept, because images of Steve dancing with Peggy haunted you all night long. Images of him, telling you he’d chosen her instead of you would flood your mind, along with pictures of the two of you when you were happy. You began to question it, all of it and wondered often what would’ve happened if you had been the one to join Tony on his journey back to the 70s instead of him. You wondered if he’d still be here, sleeping soundly next to you with his arms engulfing you in warmth. Now, there was only cold. 

You didn’t have the energy to be productive anymore. Life without Steve was no life and the void of his existence had taken away the importance of everyday tasks for you. Literally, everything you came in contact with reminded you of him, from the cereal you used to eat together to the movies you would watch. You couldn’t go to your favorite coffee place anymore, because that’s where you went to get his morning cup on the weekends. You couldn’t even stand to look your fellow teammates in the eye. They’d become afraid to be around you, walking on eggshells when you ventured out of the depths of your room for food because they were scared of saying the wrong thing. It happened once when Bruce made a comment towards Sam’s shield. His shield. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said as he watched Bucky carry you back to your room, “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“It’s not your fault,” Wanda assured him, “She’s in a lot of pain right now. It could’ve been any of us.”

“Can’t we do something?” Sam asked, hands on his head. 

Wanda shook her head, “We can support her, but she needs time to heal.”

You never knew heartbreak could cause physical pain, but the constant strain on your heart was exhausting. You went through entire boxes of Ibuprofen to ease the constantly looming headaches, but they did very little to ease the dull throbbing of the back of your head. Your eyes were red constantly and your skin didn’t glow anymore. Everything had dulled like Steve had taken your life light with him back to the past, engulfing you in complete darkness.

You’d never find someone like him again because nobody compared to him. 

You often reminisced the good times you experienced with him by your side. The fun you had while sparring in the gym room, climbing on his back as he tried to push you to the floor. You thought back to the many dates you had, fancy candlelit dinners inside of expensive restaurants that involved your favorite flowers at the beginning of the night and passionate sex at the end. You remembered holidays, Tony’s extravagant parties that were mostly just you and him eye-fucking each other in fancy clothing with champagne on your breaths until it was late enough for you to bail so you could fuck for real. 

It was holding his hand, kissing him hard and long on his beautiful mouth before he had to leave for missions that sometimes lasted far too long for both your liking. Placing fingers on his thigh while he was driving and toying with the soft fabric of his jeans higher and higher until he couldn’t take it anymore. It was walking on the beach early enough to see the sunrise and long drives back on the back of his motorcycle, safely hidden away from the world behind tinted helmets.

Now, there was nothing. No hand-holding, no joking around, no fucking each other in the storage closet because you couldn’t wait to get back to your room on the top floor. Nothing but emptiness, cold and dreadful and tiring like a weighted blanket made of snow that refused to thaw under your own body temperature. 

Even when you finally decided to become more active again did the emptiness not leave you. It followed you around like a ghost, always lingering in every corner of every room you entered. Bucky felt sympathy for you, but even he couldn’t help you. You had to pull yourself from the depths of the ocean by yourself, had to swim back to the surface without a life vest or oxygen tank strapped to your back and you constantly felt like you were going to drown. Maybe you already had and this was your purgatory. 

You couldn’t help but regret it sometimes. Getting together with him. It was when that looming darkness engulfed you that you allowed yourself to regret ever getting to meet him. You’d lay in bed at night and pray to the Gods to turn back time just once, allow yourself to make the choice that would’ve prevented you from getting to learn who Steve Rogers was because that choice ultimately led you to fall in love with him.  If only you knew then what you knew now.

You sat by the fireplace alone now, staring at the smoldering embers and the flames that licked slowly burning wood. You watched the trees move in the wind by yourself now, watched the rain drip against the window panes with your knees pulled up to your chest. How could loving Steve Rogers hurt so fucking bad?

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Bucky asked, taking a seat beside you on the couch that directly faced the window. 

“I’m alright,” you responded, voice raspy and dry. 

He offered you a glass of water, which you took gladly. At least someone cared about you despite your efforts to push everyone away.

“I talked to him this morning,” he said finally, “he misses you, I think. Might even regret his decision to leave.” 

Your eyes flicker to Bucky, then fall back on the fireplace, “I miss him too.”

“He asked how you were doing,” he said carefully.

“What did you say?”

Bucky exhaled, “I didn’t lie.”

A comfortable silence fell over you, allowing you to listen to the crackling of the fire and Bucky’s breathing beside you. Sometimes, no words needed to be said for them to be exchanged. You toyed with the shaggy blanket over your lap, twirling the fabric between your fingers. 

“I don’t think he has a lot of time left.” 

You scooted closer to him, allowing your head to rest on top of his torso. He patted your head and drew circles in your hair while you rested your eyes for a moment. You hardly slept the night before and were beginning to feel drowsy. You started napping frequently, finding sleep wherever and whenever you could because your bed was too empty and too large at night. 

“Will you come with me?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I will,” he said, nodding although you couldn’t see it, “I’ll come with you.”

“When?” 

Bucky’s shoulders rose, “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll make time.” 

Maybe you should’ve known that he’d go back to her if the opportunity arose. You’d heard stories, of course, Bucky had told you enough. Steve didn’t talk about her much, except for after her funeral, which he attended alone without telling you. You should’ve known it then with how messed up he was after her death. Should have known that he’d never been able to really get over her. You couldn’t even really blame him, either. She’d been ripped from him when he went into the ice and was already on her deathbed by the time he woke up. For her, a lifetime had gone by. To him, it felt like seconds. It’s how Bucky must’ve felt when he came back after the Snap.

Sitting with him on the couch, you weren’t sure if you would’ve changed things. You had a lot of good times with Steve, they largely overshadowed the bad. He’d made you a stronger person, made you appreciate your talents and weaknesses for what they were and he never made you feel less than your worth. He was a good man, you knew it deep down, but accepting that you might not have been good enough for him was a wound that would never heal, not even as you took your last breath.

Still, a small shimmer of hope began to grow somewhere deep within your chest like a seed had been planted. Laying with Bucky in silence, watching the rain pitter-patter against the window, made you think one thought before sleep engulfed you properly for the first time in months.

Maybe things were the way they were meant to be. 

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

So, I was filling a prompt, finished the ficlet, then upon pasting it back into the answer box I realized the prompt was for a completely different setting. So here, have a GC ficlet that doesn’t fill the brief. 

(Don’t worry, I’ll write a new one to fill the actual prompt.)

---

As soon as James learns Lena is being treated in the same hospital as him, he immediately tries to visit her. He knows that they’re not together anymore. He knows he’s in no position to care about her. He knows.

His heart doesn’t care. 

The minute Kelly leaves to freshen up back at her hotel, James tries to visit, only to be stopped at the door by the nurse who comes to investigate why his monitors are shrieking. 

“I feel fine,” he tells them. “I just need to go take care of something…”

“You need to get back in bed,” the nurse replies. There’s a threat in the nurse’s voice that promises they won’t take no for an answer, for all that they’re barely half his height. “Mr. Olsen.”

Not wanting to make a scene, James tries to broker a deal. “I will, if you can tell me whether Lena Luthor is all right.”

“I’m not authorized to share details of another patient’s care,” the nurse replies, stepping further into the room and forcing James back towards the bed. “That would be called a HIPAA violation, and I quite like my job, thank you.”

James sat on the edge of the bed, and remained still as the nurse re-applied the sensors to the contacts still adhered to his bare chest. “Look, I don’t want to be any trouble. But Lena’s a friend--”

“If that’s true, then you’ll learn about her condition from her family or designated next of kin.”

“I really am fine, you know.”

He’s felt fine since he woke up, if exhausted. And hungry. But certainly well enough to walk the few steps to wherever they were keeping Lena.

“You can take that up with your attending,” the nurse replied. They affixed the final sensor and pulled back the bedcovers in a silent, yet insistent invitation. 

James obliged, sliding his legs back under the sheet. “I’d like to speak to him, then.”

The nurse nodded. “I’ll page him for you.”

“Thank you.”

One way or another, he would visit Lena. 

---

When he signs himself out of the hospital against medical advice, James doesn’t bother to leave the building. As soon as he’s out of sight of the nurse’s station, he takes a hard right towards the elevators. He surmises Lena isn’t in critical condition-- Kara or Alex would have told him if she was. He has a mind to bypass the ICU and start roaming until he finds the VIP unit when the elevator doors opened to reveal Lena herself, pale and shadow-eyed in the same suit he’d last seen her in. Her jacket is now rumpled and unbuttoned, her hair pulled into an off-center ponytail, but her gaze sharpens and widens at once at the sight of him.

“James.”

“Lena.”

James extends one arm, holding the elevator door open as he studies her. She looks tired, and something about her seems slightly off-kilter, like a stiff breeze could bowl her over. 

“Are you all right?” he asks.

Lena swallows. “I was just on my way to visit.”

A small smile lifted the corner of James’ mouth. “And I was just figuring out how to sneak in and see you.”

For all that Lena had been on her way to his room-- and James can’t bring himself to doubt her, as hard as it is to imagine that she’d want to see him-- she doesn’t seem to know what to say. In the silence that follows, James steps into the elevator and lets the doors close. 

“I might have signed myself out AMA,” he says. “I think I should probably get out of here before they change their minds about letting me go.”

“They have no grounds to keep you,” Lena points out. “I saw your charts. You’re in perfect condition.”

James nods. “I think it’s the how that has them twisted in knots about it.”

The ride is short, depositing them on a chaotic ground floor. James lets Lena exit first, but keeps a close distance as they navigate through the crowd to the doors. Only when they hit the pavement outside does James realize his car is still at CatCo, and neither of them have the means to get home.

“So, how about a taxi--”

James stops in his tracks when he turns and sees Lena rigid beside him, her hand lifted to shield eyes that are clenched tightly shut. Concern floods through him, erasing any ounce of hesitation in his bones. 

“Whoa, hey…” He shifts to block the sunlight with his body, casting a shadow across Lena that’s dense enough for her to crack her eyes open. The hand shielding her eyes presses against her temple in a tell-tale sign of discomfort. “Migraine?”

After a tense moment, Lena nods. 

“Okay,” James says softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Lena doesn’t protest when James wraps a careful arm around her, guiding her towards the curb. He signals to the taxi that’s just pulled up to drop off a passenger, and bundles Lena into the back of it, giving the driver his own address instead of Lena’s. 

The ride is painfully quiet, but James savors it. Until this moment, he hasn’t truly appreciated how much he’s missed Lena: the weight of her presence in an enclosed space, the warmth of her hand in his. He feels her take deep, measured breaths, and senses the worsening of her growing headache in the tension that continues to build in her frame. 

When he gets her upstairs, James guides her to the bedroom, then slips back out to the kitchen to prepare a warm damp towel to rest over her eyes. The practice is familiar: it would be comforting if not for the fact that it meant Lena was in pain. He hopes she can rest here-- a hope that’s dashed when he hears the sharp bustle of Lena lurching into the bathroom. The toilet lid smacks against the tank and then she’s retching.

James abandons the towel and rushes in to help. Moving to kneel beside her is second nature, as is the careful motion of pulling her hair back. His free hand rests between her shoulder blades-- not rubbing, nothing to irritate her heightened, nauseated senses-- just a simple, silent comfort.

When the retching eases, Lena pauses, poised over the toilet bowl in case her stomach changed its mind. She’s exhausted and miserable, but there is nothing more that James can do. He simply waits with her, until her body decides it’s finished.

“I’m sorry.”

Lena’s murmur surprises James. He looks at Lena: she’s staring into the basin, but her gaze is unfocused, unseeing. 

“For what?” he asks.

Her eyes close, pressing shut against a sight she can’t unsee. 

“Everything.”

James knows what she could be referring to-- pushing him away, for Eve shooting him, the measures she took to save his life. But there’s a weight to her trembling shoulders that hints at more. What that more could be, James can’t even begin to guess, and he knows Lena isn’t in any condition to share. 

“We’ll talk later,” he says, his voice low. “Right now, you need to rest.”

He helps her to the sink, then to his bed. She slips under the covers like she belongs there, kicking off her shoes and depositing her hair elastic on the bedside table as she has so many times before. James pulls the curtains and on his way out he takes a moment to tuck the duvet up around her shoulders.

Already half asleep, Lena’s curled on her side when she reaches out with one hand and closes her fingers around his. Their eyes meet, and James can’t bring himself to break away.

“Stay?”

The request comes softer than a whisper, but it roars in James’ ears, resounding against the pounding of his heart.

“Okay.”