#Maybe one day they’ll figure out people have different styles n you don’t have to like em

[skhardwarevers1]

I hope that one hater I blocked the other day finds joy and happiness in life 🙏

[midgardianweasley]

The Royal Ball

The Royal Ball

Loki laufeyson x Fem!reader

Summary: There is an Asgard ball being hosted in the palace, Y/N is yet to find a date to accompany her. She’s disappointed when a certain God doesn’t ask her, however, what happens when he sees someone else getting a little too close for comfort throughout the night?

Warnings: lil bit angsty, self doubt, JEALOUS LOKI, fluffy ending

Word Count: 3.3k

Message/ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Requests are open loves <3

Y/F/N - Your Friend’s Name

It was a beautiful autumn’s day, crisp brown leaves were falling off of the large trees in the courtyard and scattering the cobbled ground. Loki and I had been wandering around for some time now, discussing everything from the books we’ve been reading to the dreams that have come to us in our sleep.

“And then this huge ghost thing was chasing me around the halls! and if that wasn’t weird enough, you popped up-”

“Ah, seeing me in your dreams are we, darling?”  Loki chuckled, taking great pleasure at the fact that he had made an appearance in my subconscious, completely ignoring my distress at being chased by a supernatural being.

“Funny you should say that, right after seeing you, I woke up. The sight must’ve given me quite the scare.” I scoffed, a smile unable to stop itself from making its way onto my face, eyes meeting his, face etched with shock. With a hand to his chest, he spoke again in disbelief.

“You have truly offended me, love. I never knew you had this side to you.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” I winked, nudging his side slightly with my elbow.

“Really? Can you produce illusions?”

“No.”

“Look inside other people’s heads?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Turn yourself into a snake to scare your eight year old brother?”

“I still can’t believe you did that”

“My greatest achievement yet.” He smirked, the memory never failing to amuse him.

His stories always had me in awe of his capabilities, even if it was to give his brother a long-term fear, it was still an incredible talent. Whenever he tells me of his latest adventures or tricks, I always think of how well his title fits him. God of Mischief. Maybe that’s why I liked him much more than what a best friend should, not that I'd ever admit it. Not to him anyway.

We soon found ourselves standing next to one of the windows of the hallway, the crystal clear glass giving a beautiful view of the city of Asgard. From here, you could see the Queen’s gardens, full of flowers in all different colours and types, grass cut to perfection. You could see the families in the town, walking around the different buildings, children playing. It was lovely to watch, seeing everyone enjoy the seasonal weather and the light bounce off of the windows, it was ethereal.

“I never get tired of this.” I sighed, voice only slightly above a whisper

“Tired of what, love?”

“Just, this. This view, this kingdom, it’s incredible.” I looked up at Loki, trying to see if he was seeing the same beauty that I did. He was already looking at me when I met his eyes and upon seeing the way they sparkled, I assumed he did.

“Actually, speaking of the Kingdom, I have something to tell you. There’s-”

Abruptly stopping him from continuing his sentence, voices were heard from the other end of the hallway, though we couldn’t make out the words until they came closer. We gave each other a quick look of confusion before turning to see where the commotion was coming from, hearing the quick and heavy footsteps before being able to put names to the faces.

“Loki! Y/N!” A deep voice bellowed. Was that Thor making all of that noise?

Before I could process any more information, a blur of a pastel pink dress was in my face and hands were placed on my shoulders. I smiled down at the slightly out of breath figure using me as a support stand, it was Y/F/N.

“Wow, Y/F/N, you sound much different than when I spoke to you yesterday, did you drink something funny?” I chuckled, receiving a glare from my friend and a quiet laugh from the God beside me. Thor soon appeared next to Y/F/N, hands on his hips and head thrown back as he tried to compose himself.

“My God, Y/F/N, you run fast.” He pants.

“Care to tell us why you’re both running like madmen through the palace?” Loki speaks, one eyebrow raised in curiosity and what looked a little like concern.

“We..had to..tell you..there’s a ball..next week.” Y/F/N spoke, a bit more stable now, but still in between breaths.

I felt my eyes widen, a ball? I didn’t know Asgard held balls.

“Father is opening up the palace next week to neighbouring kingdoms, in hopes to be closer with them, open Asgard up to more trade opportunities, build relationships and whatnot.” Thor explained, emitting a loud sigh to come from Loki.

“I was just about to tell her, brother. Thank you for interrupting.” He rolled his eyes, half joking, half serious. I reached up and patted his shoulder gently, a small smile on my face.

“Maybe next time Lok” He nodded in response, I didn’t get a chance to comfort him much more before I was being pulled away by Y/F/N. With a small huff of surprise, I gave Loki a glance, silently apologising for our conversation being cut short, receiving a shake of his head in reply, affirming me to not worry about it.

“So.” she begins. “We need to find you a date and a dress. I’m thinking blue. I’m wearing purple so it’s probably best to avoid that one. Hmm. let’s see..oh! I know! we could- Y/N? You listening?” I snapped my head around, not missing the sly smile that was plastered all over my friend’s face.

“Y/F/N, don’t-”

“Loki! He has to be your date. You could wear green and match! If he’s even going to wear green, I'm sure I can get Thor to find out, I assume they’ll get ready together. And black accessories! I have so many ideas.” She clapped her hands, over-excited about the opportunity to plan this evening for us. Except for one minor detail.

“That sounds great, Y/F/N, it sounds wonderful, you’re just missing something.”

“Missing something? Oh, if you mean our hair then i’ve already-”

“No, not our hair. Loki hasn’t asked me, and I doubt he will.” I spoke, the second half coming out more as a whisper, my heart dropping a little at the thought. He’d never really expressed having those kinds of feelings for me and I'd always seen him be close with different girls around the palace, he’ll probably ask one of them.

“He might ask you, you never know what’s around the corner.”

“I guess so, we’ll have to wait and see.”

And that was the last we spoke of it before she went into full planner mode again, while I continued to ponder over all of the thoughts running through my head. I mean, he could ask me, right?

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

He didn’t.

After talking about it with Y/F/N, I had a glimmer of hope that maybe I was wrong, maybe I hadn’t noticed something that she had, that Loki would approach me and ask me to be his company for the evening.

I spent the next couple of days with him, hoping he would ask me, everytime a pause would appear in conversation, maybe he was finally going to do it. And everytime, a little bit of the hope I had, had fizzled out.

I’d even considered other reasons as to why he hadn’t asked, maybe the King didn’t want him and Thor to have dates so that they could mingle with members of the other kingdoms. Of course that theory had flown right out one of the Palace’s windows when Y/F/N told me that Thor was going to be her date. I was right then, he wasn’t wanting to go with me.

I guess I understood, I’m the best friend, we’d always been that. I think a part of me just thought that maybe he, like me, wanted something a little more. Clearly, I was mistaken.

Y/F/N and I had been getting ready for a while now, our hair was styled to perfection, our dresses were on and both of us were fully accessorized. We were looking at ourselves in the mirror, doing spins and curtseys and gushing over how good the other looked.

“You look amazing tonight, Y/N, really. Loki is missing out.”

“Thank you, and I'm sure his date is beautiful.” I spoke, fidgeting with the fabric of my dress, trying to avoid the subject and the twisting knot in my stomach at the thought of him with someone else all night. “You look incredible! You were right to pick purple, it’s definitely your colour.”

“Y/N’s right, you look gorgeous.” Thor declared, leaning against the doorway sporting a black suit and a dark purple tie, the perfect match with his date’s dress. I could feel my eyes light up when seeing how happy the simple, yet effective comment had made Y/F/N. Rushing over, she engulfed Thor in a hug before leaning up slightly and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Ah and can’t forget, Y/N, you look stunning tonight.” He gestured to me, arm almost scanning me up and down.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.” I laughed. “You both head off, I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure? We don’t mind waiting?” Y/F/N questioned.

“Don’t be silly. You guys go on ahead, I'll meet you there.”

With a nod and a wave, they were off. They really did look like a perfect match tonight. I continued to look at myself in the mirror, fixing any stray hairs, flattening any kinks in my dress. Realistically, I was probably trying to prolong leaving for as long as I could. I was excited, but I was turning up on my own while everyone else had someone, it was a bit nerve-wracking. I still wanted to look my best though.

“Stop trying to convince yourself that you look good, you could literally blow an army of men away by looks alone.” A voice spoke, I spun to see who was speaking, the flash of green was enough to decipher who it was.

“You look lovely tonight, darling.” He grinned, the pet name had set off butterflies in my stomach.

“Thank you. As do you.”

“Well, I did put in an effort, nice to know it’s appreciated.” He joked, a breathy laugh left my lips, entertained by his words.

“Yes, well, I'm sure plenty of others will too.”

“The eyes will never leave me, I'm sure. Unless they’re on you, then I'd be surprised if I get even so much as a glimpse in my direction. Someone is a very lucky guy tonight, that’s for sure.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, confused by his statement.

“Well, they get to be beside you all evening, it’s a beautiful view.” He winked.

It could’ve been you, I thought. I knew he was joking, however that didn’t stop the fire in me from igniting.

“I could say the same for you, someone is a very lucky girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know if she ever thinks otherwise.” Joking, again.

So he had asked someone. Albeit disappointed, I'm happy he’s happy. Though I still wish I was the girl in question, I couldn't stop him if he was interested in someone else. That wasn’t fair.

Giving him a brief nod and a tight lipped smile, I picked up the front of my dress a little bit and made my way out of the room and downstairs to the ball. I could still enjoy myself, the night is young, I've got this.

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

“It was crazy! And let me tell you, my dad was so angry with me. He didn’t let me serve Turkey again after that year.” Charlie, a guy that I had met an hour or so ago, finished his story of the Christmas horror he had, allowing me to relax for the first time that evening. Up until now, it had felt like all I’d seen was either happy couples, or stares from across the room. Usually the second and usually Loki. The same Loki who had a girl’s arm linked with his and was looking at him like he held the world in his grasp. I broke the gaze, finding it difficult to look at the pair for any longer, as I turned back to Charlie so he could have my attention again, a lazy smile was present as he took a sip of his wine.

“I don’t blame him, really, it sounds like you started a riot!” I exclaimed, sending us both into a full on belly laugh, thinking back to the story. This continued for another five or so minutes, laughter turning into a low chuckle, as if we were about to be told off for how loud we were being. Just as my hand had reached his arm to help hold me up, saving me from laughing myself into the ground, Loki and his date had made their way over.

“Enjoying ourselves, I hope?” He beamed, taking one look at me before giving his full attention to Charlie.

“Yes, yes we are, thank you. How about the two of you?”

“Ye-”

“It’s been fine, yeah, good. So, what’s your name then?” Loki interrupted, his date having no choice but to leave him to respond instead.

“I’m Charlie Fernsby.” He held his hand out, greeting Loki. A gesture that was very awkwardly not reciprocated as he let his hand fall back to his side before Loki spoke up again.

“Charlie..Charlie, now, isn’t that a girl’s name?”

“Loki!” I scolded, giving him an evil side glance, what was he doing?

“No, no it’s okay. Yeah, it can be used for girls too, but it's common for boys to have the name Charlie.” Polite as ever, he responded. A mischievous look made its way onto the God’s face. Oh no.

“So, I take it your parents wanted a girl?”

“I- I’m sorry?”

“I assume your parents wanted a girl, considering they’ve given you a girl’s name?” I rolled my eyes, this teasing was unnecessary.

“Charlie, let’s go and get a drink.” I tried to tug him away, only to be halted by another sentence leaving my best friend’s mouth.

“It was only a question, I'm sure he doesn’t mind answering, do you Carl?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said-” I tried to interject, but he was quick to stop me

“I know what I said, Y/N, but I'm speaking to him. Let him answer the question.”

Loki’s date was long gone by now, she’d left to speak to another group of people, presumably another few couples, leaving us three to have this discussion, thing, whatever you would think to call it.

“I’m just saying, maybe they would’ve preferred a daughter, seeing as they’ve very obviously made that clear.” He beamed, expecting me to join in and agree with him, I don’t find this funny. At all.

“Can you excuse us, Charlie? Loki, A word.” I pointed to the door, giving him a look implying for him not to test me.

“I’m in trouble. Wish me luck Carlos.”

“Charlie.”

“I know, that’s what I said.”

I pushed him all the way out the door, into the hallway and round the corner so as not to disturb everyone else’s evening. When I’d made sure there was no one else around, I looked up at the Asgardian, my arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, I wasn’t impressed anymore.

“So, are we out here for some hide or seek, or?”

“What the hell was that in there?!” I raised my voice slightly, his need to always make everything a joke wasn’t working this time. He had his night, his date, he didn’t need to come over and insult mine.

“What was what, darling? I was making conversation.”

“You were making fun of him.”

“No, I showed some concern about his parents choices, that’s all. Friendly advice if anything.” He looked a bit more frustrated with me now, as though he was stating the obvious and it was going over my head. I wasn’t having it this time.

“No, Loki. You weren’t and you know you weren’t. You had your date, she was fine, you were fine-”

“Well-”

“Let me finish. Everything was fine. Until you caught sight of me having a friendly conversation with another guy who wasn’t you. But guess what Lok, I’m allowed to do that! I’m an adult, I can speak with whoever I like!” My arms were all over the place now, my frustration was starting to show itself, it seems I had a bit pent up.

I saw his lips move, I heard something, but it was so quiet I couldn't make it out.

“Speak up, Loki. I can’t hear you.”

“I said, if you think he was just being friendly, you’re clearly out of your mind.”

Is he serious?

“Are you- Loki, you have no right to make a judgement on who and how and why I interact with other people. Not that it should matter to you anyway, you’ve spoken to other women before and I've never said a word or tried to stop you. Why does this matter so much?”

Silence.

“No, please, go on, tell me, enlighten me as to why this bothered you so much tonight, because trust me, I'm dying to know, truly.” I was shouting now, I just wanted answers for his behaviour, I didn’t think it would be this difficult.

His hands had made his way into his trouser pockets, eyes looking everywhere before settling on mine. He looked conflicted, I wanted to drop it when I saw his troubled gaze, but I couldn’t go back in there without an explanation.

“Ple-”

“I like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear, love? That I was so uncomfortable seeing some you get close with some guy that I had to embarrass him in front of you? Something I'm sure my father won’t be so impressed to hear, but there, you’ve got your confession.” His voice had gone much louder than mine, taking me by surprise, so much so that it took me a minute to process what he had said. He liked me?

He turned to leave, I assume because I hadn't said anything for a matter of minutes, but I gently grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards me. I looked up into his eyes again. I was so close that you could see the specs of different colours spotted in them, they were flawless. This view beats the Asgard view anyday.

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Worried I guess. We’d never spoken of moving past friendship and I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“I’m more than interested, Loki.” I grinned, my smile meeting my eyes, never leaving his.

“Not Chelsey?”

“For the love, it’s Ch-”

I couldn’t say his name, a certain pair of lips had stopped me from doing so. As they molded against mine, my hands went up to tangle themselves in his hair, his hands falling to my waist and pulling me closer, I didn’t even think that could be possible. We pulled away when we needed to catch a breath, foreheads falling against each other, smiles painted on both of our faces.

“I bet I'll be in your dreams again tonight.” He whispered.

“I bet I'll be in yours.”

“Always are, Darling. Always are.”

taglist: @horrorxweasley

[awesomerextyphoon]

Speculum Cupido

Summary: You’ve been Dr. Strange’s apprentice for some time now and you wanted to prove your best friend wrong. It goes awry and both of you find yourselves in a ‘dark mirror’ universe where the Captain, the Asset, the Kraken, and the Fallen Angel want to make both of you theirs.

Pairing: Dark!Steve x Female Reader x Dark!Ransom, minor Dark!Bucky x OFC x Dark!Sam

Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Word Count: 3,072

Warning: Dub/Non-Con Smut, Oral (m & f receiving), Daddy Kink, MMF Threesome, Double Penetration, Spit Roasting, Non-Con Drugging, Breeding Kink, and Artistic License w/Biology

A/N: This is my gift to @labella420​ for @drabblewithfrannybarnes​, @chrissquares​ , and @amythedvdhoarder​’s Happy Hoelentine’s Day Challenge.  Dividers are by the lovely @firefly-graphics​. Shout out to @saiyanprincessswanie​ for letting me borrow an idea of hers for this fic. Thanks to @the-soulofdevil​ for the beta.

Back to Masterlist

Another Valentine’s Day, another day for the world to mock me being single.

You were having enough of a ‘meh’ week as it is. Dr. Strange had to return to Kamar-Taj for an in-person meeting and Wong was who knows where. They had instructed you to work on your portal and transfiguration spells while they were away which was fair since you’ve been lacking in that department.

It’s just that you longed for some excitement.

Luckily you wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s completely alone; Isabeau, your best friend, was coming over due to as she put it, ‘no one cares about a day where all one gets is somewhat good sex’.

Fast Forward two hours and you’re getting your room ready for Galentine’s Day Movie Night. You had decked out your room with homemade baked goods, drinks, best friend movies, all the good shit.

“I have wonderful news!” Isabeau burst in with gusto yet again.

You shot her a bemused smile, “What is it this time?”

“I have a new crush! It’s Eric from IT!”

“Are you sure this won’t end up like last time?” you queried in reference to the time when Isabeau’s crush turned out to be a complete asshole.

“Oh hush! This won’t be like that at all,” Isabeau retorted, “Now how about you? Have you had any luck with a hot sorcerer?”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you muttered as Isabeau started on the Toffee Crunch Cookies you made.

A few minutes later, Isabeau’s eyes narrowed and her full lips curved upward in a mischievous smirk.

She had one of her ideas again.

“Hey, why don’t you try an ambiance spell. They’re harmless and you always feel better afterward.”

You didn’t like casting them due to something always going awry, but you relented once Isabeau broke out her puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, I give,” you submitted, “I’ll try a simple floating star spell. Let me find the book.”

 Both of you went to the library for the book but it was nowhere to be found. All of the ambiance and illusion books were blank.

“Is this a sorcerer thing? I’m not seeing any words or illustrations,” puzzled Isabeau as you went through book after book in the library only to find them blank.

“No. Maybe we should just go back to my room,” you suggested as you made your way to the exit.

“Wait! There’s one book left. You could try that one.” Isabeau pointed to the last book on the shelf. It was a little worn like many of the books that resided in the library, but the inscriptions seemed odd; like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet it was the only book that had anything in it.

“Fine,” you relented as you took the book back to your room.

  The spells in the book weren’t anything out of the ordinary, but one spell seemed to stand out to both of you.

“Speculum Mundus?” Isabeau wondered.

“It means Mirror World in Latin.”

“Oh,” her eyes got a mischievous glint to them again, “I bet you can’t cast the spell.”

“Not this again.”

“Oh come on,” Isabeau goaded, “It’s a simple mirror world spell. You’ve done it before. What’s the worse that can happen?”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you gonna chicken out again?”

“No! Just give me a minute,” you mumbled as your hands got into the starting position and recited the incantation.

  The room changed instantly.

It was filled with prism-like structures and kaleidoscope imagery giving the space a surreal ambiance.

It wasn’t unlike the last time you went into the Quantum Realm with Dr. Strange and Wong, and yet the hair on the back of your neck stood straight, and a chill shot through your spine.

You heard a gasp and turned around to see Isabeau with her protruding eyes opened wide and her mouth gaping. Following her line of sight, you saw four of the hottest men you’ve ever seen.

Though something was amiss.

For one thing, there were two Steve Rogers; one with a beard and one clean-shaven. Bucky Barnes’ arm was silver and not dark gray with gold highlights. All of them were in black uniforms with sections of vermillion and/or maroon. Clean-shaven Steve had a black tactical suit with a vermillion Kraken on his chest. Bearded Steve had a skull with tentacles on it. Sam had three vermillion stripes and one maroon stripe across his chest and shoulders with a falcon’s head in red surrounded by a black circle between his pecs.

But the thing that set off all your alarms was the fact that Bucky’s outfit was a dead ringer of his Winter Soldier days.

Instinctively, you grabbed Isabeau’s hand and made a mad dash for the hallway. You needed to get some distance so you could ground yourself.

You tried breaking the spell but to no avail. Not only did the spell not break, but your hands also burned at each attempt.

“We won’t lose you again!” one of the Steves yelled as you and Isabeau turned a corner.

“Come here, mici prințese!” another voice, probably Bucky’s shouted as the two of you made your way into a closet.

“I think we’re okay for now,” you breathed telepathically as the four Adonises crept past your hiding place.

“What’s the plan now?” Isabeau asked fearfully as her heartbeat started to rise in terror.

“I don’t know but-” you were cut off by a strike to the back of your head and your vision rapidly fading to black.

  Muffled voices and the beeping of medical equipment brought you from the void.

“Nothing is wrong….they’re…good, sir.”

“Be sure that they are. We can’t leave anything up to chance.”

Groggily, you open your eyes to find yourself in a sleek hospital room lightly chained to a bed. Several other people were monitoring your vitals. One of them is Dr. Bruce Banner, or what seems to be Dr. Banner.

Bruce turned to see you looking around with a slightly confused expression, “Ah, you’re awake,” he turned to one of his aides, “Contact the Captain and Lieutenant. Tell them to come to get their bride.”

You blinked. Bride?

“Where is Isabeau, my friend?” you inquired as one of the aides brought you some water.

Bruce scowled, “Don’t think about her. You might be able to see her if the Captain and/or Lieutenant wills it.” he remarked while eyeing you up and down in a condescending almost lecherous manner, “Hmm, looks great for breeding,” Bruce noted as he fondled and prodded your curves.

You’ve always been proud of how you looked, but at that moment you wanted to shrink in the corner after giving this Bruce a roundhouse kick to the groin.

You were about to tell Dark!Bruce to fuck off when Tony Stark, fuck it, Dark!Tony entered the room. This Tony looked a lot more sinister with his silver, gray, light, and steel navy blue armor. His face and hair were mostly uncovered with his facial expression positively predatory.

“Cap’s one lucky bastard. He gets a sexy bunny along with Lieutenant Smart Ass.”

Recalling how some megalomaniacs liked shows of submissiveness, you lowered your head and asked where you were.

Whether it be out of pity, spite, or malice, Tony answered your question, “You’re in another earth, another universe.”

You nearly swiveled to look outside the window. NYC’s skyline was radically different. There were fewer buildings and HYDRA insignias everywhere.

“HYDRA took over this world.” You deadpanned. FUUUUCK!

“Sexy and smart.” Tony praised sardonically.

It didn’t take time for HYDRA to regroup after WWII. Zola and his associates were able to convince Howard Stark to give them the Tesseract with the promise of great renown, riches, and no longer being bound by the laws of weaker men. They were able to create a superweapon with the help of Dr. Whitney Frost and have been ruling the planet ever since.

It could be worse. HYDRA knew they had to offer the people comforts in exchange for their obedience. They eradicated all diseases, created a good standard of living, and ended all petty conflicts under the new world order.

Though Tony didn’t feel the need to tell you. You’ll figure it out on your own.

The doors opened to reveal Steve Rogers and his younger, clean-shaven counterpart in all their masculine glory.

“Good, you’re here.” Bruce welcomed smirking at your silent pleas.

Both soldiers walked over and inspected you.

“Hello, kitten. Name’s Ransom.” The clean-shaven soldier drawled as he moaned from your scent, “Nice set of lips you’ve got there.”

“We’ll definitely have some fun with her,” Steve noted as licked his lips ogling your curves.

You had to use all of your restraint not to spit in their faces.

“We’ll take her.” Ransom decided while Steve nodded.

Several of the aides breathed a sigh of relief as Steve broke the chains on your bed like they were nothing.

“Don’t have too much fun now!” Tony called as Steve picked you up bridal style.

“Who am I kidding? they’ll breed her like a Catholic rabbit!”

  “Um, where are you taking me?” you queried, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You will address us as ‘Sir’ in public unless instructed otherwise. Is that understood?” It took all that Steve had not to push against the wall and pound your pussy with his cock he was so enraged.

No, he needed to wait. No one was to see what’s theirs.

Ransom, for his part, chuckled and shook his head, “Best not to anger this one, kitten. He hasn’t been in the best of moods.”

  You gasped once the doors to their living quarters opened.

The place was huge!

It had a modern yet retro design; it should’ve been confusing, but it worked. Grand windows showcased the skyline with a balcony in the middle with a huge kitchen next to what looked to be a restaurant-style fridge and a huge living room with a TV and a fireplace.

Yet there seemed to be something missing.

“Place needs a woman’s touch,” Ransom commented sending a smirk your way.

“I’ll see you in the guest quarters Ransom” Steve deadpanned as he led you down a hall.

  The bedroom was enormous yet sparse like they didn’t know what to do with it.

You were about to say something when Steve dropped you onto the incredibly soft mattress. His eyes darkened with lust and you knew what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a way out of this, not with the magic inhibitors Bruce placed on your wrists.

Maybe you could give escape one last try; you just had to wait for the right opening.

Steve smirked upon seeing you removing your clothes. He liked that you knew your place, his pretty little princess.

You could only gasp when Steve removed his uniform top. He had an incredibly defined musculature: broad shoulders, beefy biceps, chiseled pecs and abs, and a seriously drool-worthy Adonis Belt. The light shining behind him made his body appear even more glorious.

Steve looked like an ancient god brought to modern times.

With a predatory smirk, Steve slowly crawled to you loving the smell of your arousal. “Let me lay out a few rules, sweetheart. You will make our meals, clean our rooms, bear our children, and be our good little whore. You must earn the right to wear a bra; panties are out of the question.”

Each rule was emphasized by a kiss or a love bite to your jaw, neck, collarbone, and shoulders.

Finally, you are to address us as Sir in public and Daddy in private. Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you muttered with your eyes downcast.

Steve lifted your chin up with his forefinger, “That’s a good girl,” and brought you in for a kiss on the lips.

The kiss was demanding yet soft. You were surprised he was capable of such gentleness.

Steve was about to push his tongue into his mouth when Ransom strolled into the room.

“Does she know the drill?”

Steve broke the kiss with a smirk,” Just finished explaining it.”

Ransom shot you a sardonic smirk, “You got the rules, kitten? Good. Now if you misbehave, I’m gonna send you to the dungeons for a few days.”

Steve started up again, “But...if you’re good-”

“A good little wifey,” Ransom interjected caressing your right cheek and leaning in for a kiss.

This kiss started off soft then intensified (really know how to lure a girl) into one filled with passion and dominance. Ransom forced his tongue into and moaned at your taste. A few seconds later he was pushing what felt like a small tablet past your tongue forcing you to swallow.

“Did you do it yet?”

“Cool it, grandpa! I did, don’t you worry. She’s gonna feel it. Aren’t ya, kitten.”

You started to feel strange. Your body temperature skyrocketed, your mind was in a deep haze, your thighs were clenching on overtime you were so turned on. You needed relief and fast.

“Please Daddies!” you begged as you tried your best not to touch yourself.

“See grandpa? She’s ready.” Ransom purred as he grabbed your thighs and placed them over his shoulders. He planted a few kisses near your entrance and groaned at the smell of your arousal.

It only took one long, slow lick to your slit to turn you into a moaning mess. You couldn’t believe the pleasure you were feeling. It was like a bolt of lightning shot through you.

Ransom groaned at the taste of your juices. Not even Stark’s overpriced chefs could compare. “Fuck, she tastes divine,” he groaned and dove in for more. Ransom attacked your folds and swollen clit with insane intensity and precision alternating between his tongue and fingers.

You were on cloud nine. Each motion took you further to the precipice of an orgasm. Ransom kept bringing you back from the edge only thrust you back into his level of tumultuous.

Steve got in on the action by covering your moans with a kiss of all-consuming passion and started playing with your breasts.

“Fuck, these tits are amazing! Can’t wait until these are filled with milk” Steve purred as he took one of your nipples into his mouth and the other between his big and forefingers.

After twenty minutes of teasing, Ransom finally let you come. A volcanic eruption of ecstasy erupted from your core and Ransom lapped up all of your juices.

“Rogers, you’re in for a treat!” Ransom exclaimed as he hopped off the edge of the mattress.

“I get her pussy first since you got to eat her out,” Steve uttered as grinned at your blissed-out state.

With a tsk, both of them got you into position with Steve’s thick, muscular thighs on either side of your hips and Ransom standing in front of you taking off his pants.

He was huge! His cock was long, thick, and veiny. It wobbled against his masterfully sculpted abs with each step he took. You wondered how that was going to fit in your mouth. Turns out Steve’s was no smaller if his tip being coated with your slick is any indication.

“This won’t hurt, kitten. You were made for us.” Ransom cooed.

You didn’t know how right he was.

Steve made his move by pushing into you inch by delicious inch and moaned at the sensation. “Fuck, she fits like a dream.”

“Don’t take forever, grandpa.” Ransom chided.

“Shut up, ya punk!” Steve retorted as he began thrusting into you loving the way your pussy clenched around him like a vice’s grip.

“Open wide, kitten,” Ransom started to push his throbbing cock into your mouth.

It took a bit of time and effort to loosen your jaw enough for him to fully enter you. He started fucking your mouth before you were ready. You tried not to gag he was so rough.

What happened to the man from earlier?

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Ransom breathed as he was approaching his climax.

Steve came with a primal roar that reverberated throughout the room after making you come two more times.

“Swallow it, kitten” Ransom ordered.

Funny thing is, you didn’t need the order. You delighted in the salty, tangy, and slightly sweet flavor.

Two minutes after you swallowed all of Ransom’s spent, both men decided it was time to move. Ransom got onto the mattress and pulled you on top of him with his tip nudging your entrance. Steve got behind you and placed kisses along the juncture between your neck and shoulders while positioning himself at your ass.

“Please...please don’t do this!” you pleaded, the pill’s effect slipping for the tiniest of moments.

Steve grabbed your neck with just enough force to pause, not hurt.” Best be a good girl now, sweetheart,” he warned.

Ransom slid in first, “Holy fucking shit!” he moaned, “Sam owes me $40.

“That depends on how well their bride is taking to them,” Steve pointed out.

“Eh, we’ll say ours is better.”

Ransom moaned again once he bottomed out and grabbed the globes of your blessed backside. He couldn’t wait to grab and smack it around in their quarters.

Steve moved slowly causing both of your breathing to hitch, his from pleasure and yours from slight pain.

With a grin and smirk, they started moving in tandem. Your body almost couldn’t take the immense pleasure you were feeling.

“I could get used to this,” Ransom remarked.

“Well, we have the week,” Steve breathed past your ear.

Both kept at it until they came in you twice. You nearly passed out after your twelfth orgasm.

“Rest kitten,” Ransom purred as you finally gave in to your exhaustion.

  “The bride took to our seed,” Steve reported to Director Pierce.

“Good. We found their parents along with the rest of the resistance.” Pierce imparted.

Steve scowled at the information.

You and your friend, Isabeau, were the only ones to survive the Eve Project. HYDRA wanted to genetically groom compatible brides for their top soldiers. You were promised to Steve and Ransom and your friend to Bucky and Sam. Both of you were whisked away to another Earth by the resistance and your treacherous parents.

Now you were back where you belong.

“When do we leave?” Ransom growled.

“Once Strange and Wanda crack the protection spell. In the meantime, enjoy your bride.” Pierce turned to leave, but stopped before turning off the screen,” I want to see some little ones soon.”

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Mesmerised: Mai x female reader - Imagine being a singer and capturing the attention of the stoic knife expert herself.

Mai’s POV

Mai had never liked singing. 

Ever. 

She found every singer hurt her ears or was just dreadfully dull. She was sure music was the most over-rated form of art....until she heard you sing. 

Mai was truly perplexed and intrigued by her fondness for your singing, it was almost unantural the effect it had on her and Mai had no idea why it affected her so much. She had been walking home one day when your voice drifted out from a cafe. It had tugged at her and she found herself slowing down. She’d never heard a voice like yours. There was something so appealing about it, something so...emotion-provoking, Mai actually felt something stir in her. This had never happened to her and Mai was both surprised and alarmed at the sensation. She carried on walking and shrugged it off but you lingered on her mind. She wondered who sang like that and why she hadn’t heard that song before. It was comforting and beautiful but she knew she had never experienced anything like it before. Your voice played over and over again in her head until finally, Mai gave in. She walked back to the cafe at the same time the next day and ordered a drink. She noticed there was a stage so she took a seat with a good view and waited. As time ticked by she was ready to leave and abandon her fool's errand when you appeared. When she saw you she just knew you were that beautiful voice. Sure enough, when you started to sing the same sensation swept over her, she felt an odd array of emotions and was transfixed by every word. She finally got what people meant when they said music moved them and she liked it. But this new sensation only applied to your music specifically. She realised with an abrupt reminder as the next artist began to perform that she still hated all other music and so she sought yours out to pinpoint exactly what it was that she liked. She came back to the same cafe the next night and then the next and before long she had your schedule memorised. She also learnt the other places you sang at and went to them too. She was slowly becoming a stalker or groupie or something but she still hadn’t figured out what it was that transfixed her and so she came back night after night just to listen to you.

Your POV

You sang at an array of fire nation cafes but even with the hundreds of bars and cafes in the fire nation capital it was difficult to make ends meet. But you’d sought a creative career in a country that favoured efficiency and concrete solutions, what did you expect? You really were a dreamer. You’d noticed this girl had been in the main cafe you sang at every single night you’d been there. Maybe it was just a coincidence and she came here every night anyway but you noticed her in the crowd a lot and hoped she was here for you. She was so mysterious and impressive. She just looked cool and emanated power dressed from head to toe in long black clothes lined sparsely with red. She was very beautiful and you wondered more and more about her every day, what her story was, where she was from, what she did for a living, just everything and anything about her. One day you got your wish.

You stepped outside the bar after a successful gig and there was the girl. She was waiting on the corner yards away from you. She turned as you came outside and your breath caught in your throat. You looked at one another and she stared at you. Her eyes were concentrated and serious adding to her mysterious powerful persona. You blushed at her intense gaze and looked away. She darted her eyes away too but you noticed she kept glancing back over at you. She stepped towards you when suddenly a pink blur appeared. "Mai!" the pink girl cried and she wrapped her arms around her. 

So her name was Mai? 

You smiled, it suited her.

Mai’s POV

"I’ve missed you so much" Ty lee cried still hugging her and Mai let her having learned a long time ago the easiest thing to do was just let Ty lee hug you. "It’s only been a day since we last saw each other" Mai replied dryly."Well you’re so great i missed you even after that amount of time" Ty lee cried kissing Mai’s cheek. Mai rubbed at it annoyed, she didn’t want you getting the wrong idea and thinking Ty lee was her girlfriend. She looked back to see if you were watching and found your spot empty. You’d left. "Is everything okay?". Ty lee asked noticing Mai was staring and she nodded "yeah it’s fine, let's go" and they made their way home.

“We’re home!” Ty lee called as the door swung open and Suki appeared in the corridor “Mai! How was your visit to your family?”. “Boring” she shrugged before pausing “Tomtom is getting so big now” she smiled softly. Suki nodded “I bet! I thought your ship got in at 6?”. “It did, I swung by the lavender inn”. Suki frowned “again? You’ve been going there a lot" she commented and Mai shrugged "i like it there". "Why? It’s not that nice a place" Ty lee frowned and Mai paused "i...i like the staff". When Suki and Ty lee hesitated Mai rushed to cover her back "they serve me quickly, have my order memorised and leave me alone for hours, it’s bliss". Mai could hardly tell them she actually went to lots of different cafes and bars because of a girl and not just any girl but a singer! She knew they’d tease her endlessly for liking a girl so unlike herself and Mai had berated herself over that but she couldn’t help it. You were simply her guilty pleasure and she had no intention of letting you go. 

1 day later

Mai showed up at your usual place the next day and took her regular seat. She was relaxed and ready to hear your music when another girl walked on stage instead. She introduced herself and began to sing. Mai frowned, where were you? She wondered if maybe this girl was the warm-up act but as time stretched on Mai wasn’t so sure. More than a little disappointed Mai discreetly made her way towards the exit. A door leading to the back room opened and Mai heard an argument within. She paused as she recognised your voice. Mai stood casually by the door and listened to what she could hear. You were arguing with someone and it appeared to be over your wages. "I can get more money if I bring in more singers!" a man said and Mai heard you sigh “I’ve had this spot for a year! You can’t just half it, I rely on tips, this will kill my takings”. “That’s not my problem” the man retorted “you either perform here for half the time or go find somewhere else, singers are easy to replace, there are hundreds of performers exactly like you”. You laughed “no there’s not but good look finding one! You can stuff your slot!” you cried and before Mai could react you stormed out from the door past her and exited the cafe. Mai paused and waited an appropriate amount of time before following you. She looked around and saw you’d walked away from the cafe a few feet before you sat on the pavement your head in your hands. Mai watched you, clearly upset, and wondered what she should do...despite her better judgement Mai approached you. "Hey" Mai said and you paused and looked up. "I saw you storm out of the cafe...are you okay?". You nodded your head, your eyes darting over her "i’m fine i just got fired...or quit? I don’t know" you shook your head and Mai frowned. "Well it’s their loss, you're the best performer here". You glanced at Mai curiously "i am?". Mai nodded "i’ve heard you sing quite a few times and nobody sounds like you or does your style...they’ll regret it". You smiled "i have seen you around before and the other night on the corner with your girlfriend!". Mai paused and cursed Ty lee. "That was me but Ty lee isn’t my girlfriend, i don’t have a girlfriend...at least not yet" Mai said and cringed at herself. She wanted you to know she was single and that she liked girls but she’d been so obvious! You chuckled slightly and Mai’s blush rose. "Good to know, your names Mai right?". Mai nodded her head. "My names y/n, it’s nice to finally meet you". Mai smiled "it is". Your eyes met and you looked away first blushing slightly which aided the recovery of Mai’s ego a little. "Can i ask you something?" Mai said fuelled by her burst of confidence. You nodded and she took a breath "so i hate singing, any form of music basically makes me sick to my stomach but i don’t hate yours, I don’t even dislike it!". You paused before smirking "thank you?". "No that didn’t come out right...what i meant was i like your music better than anyone else's and i’ve honestly never heard anyone sing the way you do, so my question is what's your inspiration? Why do you sing so differently?". You paused, that was a big question and you weren’t sure where to start. “Well I mean I’ve always liked to sing, music was my favourite lesson in school but I found there were too many restraints on it! Don’t move when you’re singing, don’t stray from the century-year-old anthems, don’t add any personality to it...” you sighed “I always found it so odd and cruel that we weren’t allowed to just express ourselves but nobody else seemed to, they all called me odd for wanting to sing in a different key or learn a different song. I didn’t fit in with the conventional music...so i quit music classes and practised music in my own way, I found a library book of old songs from before firelord Azulon’s era, apparently they were deemed too unconventional and weak for traditional fire nation custom but I loved them! The songs weren’t harsh or imposing, they were delicate but powerful, emotional but liberating! After I learnt all of those I decided to make more. I’ve developed hundreds of adaptations but the style stayed the same because it feels so free and creative, so un-fire nation. So long story short i guess my style is so different because i rebel against anything that fits with fire nation tradition. I know it’s sacrilegious" you grinned "but i sometimes feel so trapped by all our customs and rules...singing is my rebellion". Mai smiled and you blushed as silence settled "i bet that sounds so overdramatic". Mai shook her head "i know a little about rebelling against the fire nation, it makes sense. It makes me like you...i mean your music even more" Mai said going red. She heard you chuckle under your breath and cursed herself. You went to speak when a voice called out your name. You stood up and waved to the figure "my ride is here". Mai looked down the street where a girl was waiting for you and frowned. She’d embarrassed herself enough so why not push a little more? "Ow...your girlfriend?". You smiled at Mai’s not so subtle question and looked at her "no Loren is just a friend. I don’t have a girlfriend...at least not yet" you said mimicking her earlier response and Mai blushed. "Good to know" Mai said copying you and you smiled at her. "So i should go but it was really nice talking to you Mai, I’ll hopefully see you around?". Mai nodded "yeah I hope so too" and with a smile, you disappeared.

Mai was in excellent spirits when she got home. Not only had she talked to you but she’d flirted (well an attempt at flirting) and she was fairly sure you flirted back. However the best thing was you liked girls and currently didn’t have a girlfriend. Mai kept replaying the smirk on your face when you said “not yet” and was ashamed at the light blush it caused.  Things couldn't have gone better and hopefully she’d see you again soon.

__

Man I love Mai!

She’s in my top 3 for Avatar characters but I find her quite hard to write for because half of her scenes revolve around Zuko so it’s hard to write for her alone when we’ve got so little Mai content!

But either way, this idea came to when I was listening to this classical Chinese song titled 芒种 by 音阙诗听 & 赵方婧 and it’s honestly the most beautiful song i’ve ever heard so I’d really recommend giving it a listen a https://youtu.be/8L2ds1XxrvA. I always have one song on repeat for every imagine I write but this song totally inspired this whole piece and this is how I imagine the reader sings.

Life story over, I hoped you enjoyed the soft cute Mai content!

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH11

18+ Explicit Content: Graphic descriptions of gore, violence, and smut; oral sex (male recieving), vaginal sex. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. Chapter Word Count: 12,951 holy fuck Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER ELEVEN: STORM BOY

Tense. That’s the only word to describe the atmosphere—maybe a little suffocating, too—in Peli’s hangar; she’s been highly adaptable in regards to the Mandalorian’s extended stay, though he suspects she doesn’t mind one bit when the Child is in her arms. Speaking of which, he had eventually reawakened in the earlier hours of the morning when the twin suns were making their reappearance over the town. He hadn’t been acting like his usual self—hadn’t demanded attention nor nutrients all day and the Mandalorian doesn’t know how to restore his regular demeanour. 

Mando isn’t a caretaker—he’s uneducated and inexperienced in regards to performing as someone’s guardian. It’s discouraging not being informed on what to do and there’s not a soul alive that can provide their insight into this situation. There isn’t exactly a whole lot of people in the galaxy who might understand the Child’s abilities, much less the side effects that come with it such as his recent behaviour changes.

Not to forget the Girl.

The Girl—the source of the leaps in his heart, twitching in his fingertips, and the harassing ache in his head. She’s impeccable in contrast to him, beautiful and soft and sweet but dank farrik if she doesn’t know how to invade his thoughts as if they were her own; splayed out in the midst of his consciousness serving as a constant reminder of everything he desires. 

Between needing to prioritise the Child and wanting to surrender himself to the Girl, he’s going stir-crazy being confined in such small spaces surrounded by them, which brings him straight back here—pinned down by blaster fire and frantic screams in Huttese. It’s as though he likes it; enjoys the adrenaline coursing through his veins at every laser shot his way. It gives him an edge and provides a distraction from his thoughts, or it used to but since he took in the foundling his mind hasn’t had a chance to take a break—the arrival of the Girl only made matters harder for him. How’s he supposed to focus when all he can envision is her laying bare underneath him or wearing his shirt, only his shirt. It sends him numb from the waist down.

A twinkle of red flies overhead Mando as he army crawls along the metre-high wall to alternate positions, allowing him to gain an upper hand against the cluster of enemies defending their post. There’s a lot of them, fifteen at the least, all equipped with weapons ranging from vibroblades to flame projectors—he hadn’t prepared himself adequately for such a hefty job only armed with his handheld blaster alongside his amban rifle, though he’s running short on cartridges and decides to save them for when he’s in a pinch. Amongst his blasters he’s low on fuel for the flames in his vambrace, having used a vast majority of it on a heavy-duty lurker mere minutes prior to this shootout.

Putting it simply, Mando was in a dilemma—forced between a rock and a hard place—a real catch-22. He’s reliant on his blasters and that alone as he hadn’t communicated to the Girl about his commission received nor his departure from the hangar. There’s nobody coming to aid him—nobody here to watch as he takes one too many blaster bolts—but he doesn’t mind; actually, he prefers it. It’s as though he’s returned to his earlier years of being a Mandalorian, dependent on himself and his tools and unafraid of death; equipped with nothing but the beskar on his back and the decades-worth of abilities fine-tuned to suit his combat style perfectly. 

Mando won’t go down easy, it’s not in his blood; not the blood of his relatives, but his manufactured Mandalorian blood. He’s been taught to fight - survive and to die here from lousy Klatoonian troopers wouldn’t be warriorlike—especially not with his head wracked with stubbornness regarding his crewmates. Nevertheless, there’s a heaviness in his chest - deep and thick and pleading with him to turn around; to return to the Crest with the Girl and the kid. It’s warning him—the increased beating in his ribs suggesting things aren’t in his favour, but he can’t just leave, not without figuring out what he’s to do for the Child.

And if he was to die here on this scummy rock of a planet, surrounded by nothing but sand, heat, and blasters, it wouldn’t necessarily be all that bad—it’d salvage the Girl and the kid from having to see him die, see him take his last breath.

They’ll be okay in the long run. They’ll care for each other and the Crest will protect them; be their support anchor.

They don’t need to be there when his heart stops beating.

They don’t need to see that.  

It’s a macabre series of thoughts. He sighs groggily and hoists himself up to peer over the barricade, observing two Klatoonian soldiers communing at the top of their post, neither of their eyes on the Mandalorian stealthily underneath—it’s a good opportunity, one with a short duration to act. Mando scans the area for any others on the lookout and climbs the wooden rungs carefully, ensuring he’s making minimal sound to not drag their attention to him. 

At the peak of the tower, Mando fires a bolt at the back of the head to the one on the right and it drops stiffly, the left’s turning around sharply and thrusting a spear in his direction. Mando’s leathers wrap around the shaft and yank it from his clasp, turning it around and penetrating the Klatoonian in the chest above his heart plate. His body plummets to the surface with the spear lodged inside of his torso and Mando steps up towards the edge of the watchtower, counting the visible heads aimed at the barricade he’d been behind a few moments ago. There’s eight to his left, five with rifles and three with melee weapons, and six to his left, all equipped with short-ranged blasters, and another couple secured in the structure below him. 

It’s way out of his comfort zone—there’s far too many for him to take down without receiving some new scars to paint his flesh; he’d already obtained one today. It’s small, not something to fret over, but the gash on his side pulses each time he raises his arm to fire a laser. He’d been distracted while in the midst of combat, his thoughts preoccupied with large green batwing ears, and one of the Klatoonian’s managed a nasty slash to his waist. The assailant was taken care of, of course, but the damage was done and now his movements had been slowed by a hairline fracture—not a lot, but every second counted when on the battlefield.

Mando unclasps the strap of his amban rifle and rests it on the trim of the watchtower’s partition, gazing through the scope as he assesses the situation. There are only three canisters left. Three opportunities to disintegrate and put an end to an overabundance of hostiles. He needs to play it smart; needs to ensure he doesn’t exhaust his ammunition needlessly.

His eyes lock on to an unscathed, ominous-looking canister perched upon a table beside one of their campfires where six of them have gathered around, devouring what looked to be a scorched womp rat. They’re confident in their abilities, not concerning themselves with patrolling the borders for the Mandalorian’s reappearance—a mistake they won’t live to regret. Mando twists the mid-section of the rifle’s scope, scaling in to focus on the canisters’ hazardous symbol painted into the sides. 

Surely they’re not that foolish.

It’s worth a shot—Mando aims for the weakest point in the canister and squeezes the trigger, leather crunching underneath his force and he traces the bolt of red as it nestles a burning hole through the capsule and explodes abruptly upon impact, producing a very loud bang that echoes through the valley for klicks. So they are that stupid to leave out combustible materials, right beside an open flame no less. Four of the six instantly plummet to the ground from the explosion, while the other two attempt to fight off the suffocating flames engulfing their bodies. It’s no use and they, too, fall to a charred heap among the grit; it sticks to their melting flesh with vengeance.

The remainder of the adversaries stand in stunned silence as their heads frantically spin and twist, searching for any sign of the direction the bolt had originated. Mando pops out the empty cartridge from his rifle, listening to the satisfying tink as it bounces along the wooden surface beneath his boots and rolls to a stop beside a corpse. Heaving his leg upwards, he slips another cylinder out of his boot and slides it into the chamber. The nest of Klatoonians have scattered throughout the campgrounds, shielding behind walls of sandstone and supply crates where they blend into a mass of dark greens and browns—Mando activates his thermal vision in order to distinguish the bodies as they peer curious heads out from behind their positions.

His sight is isolated to stone-blue over the landscape except for a blush of orange-red jutting out from the top of a crate, the unsuspecting Klatoonian’s head twisting and turning wildly. Mando shouldn’t fire—shouldn’t waste a shell on a singular soldier, not when there’s still plenty left—but, perhaps, if he eliminates one that’s hiding, they might fall into hysteria and rush out of their concealments. There’s not a whole lot of options from this position—if the watchtower was on the opposing side then he’d be set; easily pick them off one by one with his blaster pistol, but that’s not a course of action now.

Mando flexes his finger against the small of his trigger but doesn’t get the chance to squeeze before there’s a weight on his pauldron—faint, but enough for him to blindly thrust his arm against the figure and knock them against the railings, his hand retrieving his blaster from the holster on his thigh and directing it at the orange heat. Its hands raise swiftly, empty, and the familiar soft, sweet voice he’s grown accustomed to fills his ears, “Hey, hey, it’s me!”

“What’re-”

“Peli told me you went out. Something about a kidnapped girl? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He huffs, returns his blaster to its sleeve and disengages his thermal; returning the colour and the Girl’s features to his vision. She’s eyeing at his side, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but decides not to ask. “It was a ploy. There’s no girl.”

She sighs in relief but notes down his dismissal to her questioning. “Okay, let’s go then. I took out three on my way here and there’s more coming. We’re sitting mynocks up here.”

“No.”

The Girl cocks an eyebrow at Mando and he returns to his scope to avoid her attention. “Let’s go,” she whispers through clenched teeth, digging her fingers into the soft of his shoulder where his pauldron couldn’t shield. She drops the appendage when he shrugs underneath her clutch, obviously peeved at something she couldn’t read on him. “Mando, come on. There’s no girl, there’s nothing to prove to these guys.”

His throat grumbles as he attempts to stifle the thoughts in his head, not wanting to implode at the Girl and potentially startle her, but it’s difficult keeping everything caged up all the time—from his miserable thoughts regarding himself to the domineering cravings deep within his core. It’s too fucking much. If there was a key to it all he’d surely have tossed on a desolate planet by now, somewhere nobody, not even himself, will discover it. 

He snaps.

“I have something to prove—I need to know I’m still useful.” Mando involuntarily groans at his childish outburst. It’s on par with the Child’s when he doesn’t get his way.

He’s not someone to express his emotions and especially not to direct it at another; not the Girl.

“Of course you’re useful, Mando. What’re you talking about?”

Caf-coloured eyes flicker behind the visor and he squeezes them shut, discarding the threats below as he tries to focus on not derailing all of his insecurities at the Girl. He doesn’t want to confess all of the little nitpickings he’s accumulated throughout his life—he’s learned to keep them buried underneath the rubble of trauma that is his daily life—and he especially doesn’t want her to see him so….sensitive; it’s not an attractive feature on him.

Mando’s mouth moves on it’s own accord, suppressed beliefs regarding himself misdirecting at the Girl in surges of angry jeering, “I used to be feared, used to wear this armour with pride; represented the Creed with the beskar the artisans forged for me. Ever since you waltzed in my life, I’ve…” He sighs, his shoulders visibly sagging as he exhales. “My competence has crumbled to dust that resolves from a gentle wind. I’m getting hit, shot, stabbed because I can’t get you off my fucking mind.”

He unknowingly strokes a finger down the barrel of his rifle, as if to imply he’d been shot with one of the pellets—nothing more than mere particles left of him.

He doesn’t need to look at her to acknowledge he’s gone too far—gone and pushed her away—and the lack of noise she produces is mockingly deafening. 

But then there’s that faint, gentle weight on his pauldron again, dragging him from his dissecting and to her eyes filled with reassurance and tenacity. Mando finds himself like an icy dessert underneath the twin suns; liquefying beneath her gaze. 

There’s a lot on his plate right now with the Child’s current situation and the Guild still coming after them—she knows this, and he knows that she knows; she’s accommodating to the unavoidable bursts that may escape him occasionally. She doesn’t need to, but she’s willing to; volunteers as his subject until it’s all out in open air and they can proceed. Mando simultaneously respects that—that he’s allowed to vent even if it means she gets a little bit of venom splattered at her—and despises himself for his misguided resentment.

Mando doesn’t genuinely blame the Girl for his lacking; he’s well aware it’s his own negligence. It’s his responsibility to maintain the upkeep of his abilities, his responsibility to protect himself and his companions as a Mandalorian. It’s just easier to push the blame on another; to pretend it’s out of his reach—out of his control.

“Let’s go,” she repeats, slower. “Please, Mando.”.

I’m sorry, he wants to say. I don’t mean it.

He’s never been good with words.

Hands more experienced than his vocals, he draws a line with his thumb across the curve of her jaw and settles it on the tip of her chin to crane her head back just enough that enables his eyes to swallow the stretched skin of her neck. “Okay,” he murmurs and releases her, withdrawing the rifle from its perch.

She sighs when his leather retires from her face and stumbles over one of the corpses in her daze. She takes the lead down the ladder while he keeps watch from the top, ensuring no Klatoonian’s sneak up on her while vulnerable, and she reciprocates the favour when she’s at the bottom.

“There’s a speeder bike just beyond the walls,” the Girl says once his boots are on firm ground, the sand crunching underneath his weight.

“We won’t both fit on it.”

“Sure we will,” she chuckles. “It’ll be snug, is all.”

Mando scoffs to himself and peers around a sandstone corner, squinting as the suns disorient his vision, but he gets a quick glance at a stroke of red about a metre ahead of him—and then a familiar symbol: hazardous product. 

“Get down!” he yells, but it’s not fast enough - not fucking fast enough - and he’s flung into the parallelled wall. There’s pressure in his neck and spine, his helmet reverberates against the sandstone, and he slips onto his shoulder in the grit; his lesion collecting the sand molecules and painting them red. Pain stretches from the heels of his feet to the back of his head but he hasn’t got the opportunity to examine himself over—the Girl, where is the Girl?

Mando hisses as his head flexes, searching through the cloud of dust and rubble for his companion; heart hurdling over the gaps of beating and his fists balling against the land to keep him off his side.

“Mesh’la,” he croaks. “Where-oh, are-”

She’s hastily beside him, unscathed besides a few grazes across her forehead and hands—hands that are trembling against his beskar, investigating his condition with manic eyes. “Shit, shit, sh-”

There’s an attempt to calm her nerves on his part, placing a stocky leather weight on top of her hand to indicate he’ll be okay, but she doesn’t believe him—he’s still on the ground, apprehensive of moving in fear of what he may discover.

He moans at a twinge in his neck and carefully scrambles to his feet with her aid, her hands submerging into the flight suit for leverage, but it’s a mistake; his legs are numb and can’t support his weight and he has to rely on the wall to remain perpendicular and not tumble on top of her small frame. 

She navigates a hand to his throbbing lesion, covering it with her palm to protect it from further invasion of particles, and the other rests against the back of his neck for reinforcement.

It’s exhausting standing like he’s made of beskar and not just wearing it - anchoring him to the ground, and it’s even worse attempting to move, his legs hot and heavy as his soles drag through the terrain. 

“I got you,” she mumbles to herself, tucking into his side.

There’s a warmth at the back of his neck, his head, underneath her hand; hot, scalding and threatening. It fucking hurts—this isn’t a concussion, he quickly realises, he’s had plenty of them to discern easily; this is different, worse, concerning. The adrenaline is doing very little to conceal the pain and he emits half-groans-half-exhales in protest to his body’s tensing. It’s something he hadn’t experienced before, something that he can’t prepare himself to face the facts.

His leather tugs at the hand on his neck and the Girl hesitantly complies with his request, removing it from the cowl and bringing it ahead of his visor for examination. “What’s the mat- Shit, is that from your head?” she asks, hand trembling. ”

Mando confirms his suspicions; a dark thick coating of the finest Mandalorian blood staining the Girl’s delicate fingers. It’s not good, not ideal, but he wasn’t dead yet and they couldn’t stay pinned down here. “It’s not that bad,” he professes.

“Not that b- your fucking head is bleeding! Fuck, okay, okay. Sit down, here.” She aids him to sink onto an underturned crate against the stone wall and removes a small satchel that rests among her hip. “There’s a medpac in there. Fix yourself up while I go take care of these assholes. Don’t go anywhere.”

“No, wait-” Mando slips his blaster out of his holster and into her free hand, his leathers discreetly caressing the backs of bruising skin before letting her retreat. She glances at him one last time, doing her best to convince herself he won’t bleed out before she makes it back. “You better return,” he whispers as she disappears behind the corner, dual blasters aimed high in her sights.

You better return to me.

Mando turns his attention to the pounding at the back of his neck, the blood pooling inside his helmet, seeping into the thick of his cowl, running beneath the material of his back. What good was a helmet if not to protect your head?

Tatooine’s desert is no match for his throat, it’s suns mere wisps of flames—he’s starting to go into shock and he strives to fight it, his fists clenching and relaxing rhythmically but he can only hold on for so long before it overcomes him. Fuck, he’s so exhausted, his legs numb and throbbing with short bursts of tension beneath the muscles.

The satchel is heavy like a bantha offspring in his lap - taunting and restricting - but he raids its contents in the hope it’ll distract him; it doesn’t. Mando can’t—won’t—dress the wound, not here, not when there’s Klatoonian’s running around with murder on their mind and the Girl in their sights. It can wait—he can wait.

But he’s no help in this condition and he’ll only be a nuisance if he were to go against the Girl’s orders—he’s not that foolish.

He groans, deep and scratchy that tickles his dry throat, and tosses his head back against the wall—prompting a red reservoir to leak from his wound, his vision fuzzy with black and piercing white spots. Fuck. Stupid. So stupid.

“Mando. Mando?”

There’s a tapping against his visor that triggers his ears to ring and his head to throb. His eyes open to see the Girl before him, her face contorted into unpleasant angles of concern; he misses her smile, how her eyes squinted when she laughs.

“Come on, there’s a gap. We need to go.”

“Can’t move,” he whines.

“Use me then.”

He’s apprehensive; she’s small and dainty compared to all the beskar and with his worsening condition his weight will only multiply each step they take.

“Mando!”

She’ll only continue to persist and, to avoid her casualty along with his, he fists the fabric of her shirt and drags himself to his feet, utilising her as a crutch as she navigates him through the narrow alleys of the encampment. They follow a trail of corpses, blood, and blaster holes that he hadn’t even heard ring throughout the desert, his senses so colourless. His boots are alike durasteel; heavy and tight around his feet, constricting and dragging through the sand behind him. He yearns to kick them off, stretch his toes. 

“Left here,” she instructs, twisting his body to a breach in their wall that’ll serve as their escape route perfectly; out of sight, in the far back that’ll provide them enough time to head for the dunes before they’re on their tail—or not. A bolt tinks against Mando’s vambrace grappled around her shoulders, but she’s not messing around - not letting a foolhardy Klatoonian interrupt their evasion. She bends her body just enough to point her blaster at the soldier without disturbing Mando’s positioning and crushes the trigger against the hilt, a vibrant red shooting out of the barrel, skimming through the air and whistling as it burrows a burning hole into his chest—all without looking.

Mando groans, impressed, “Where - where’d you learn that?”

She scoffs in amusement and continues trudging to the hole in the wall. “Well, you’re always so quick to point blasters you never let me show off. Could’ve aided you if you weren’t so metalheaded all the time.”

“Is that so?” Mando huffs a breath as a laugh. “Might have to upgrade your blaster then.”

“I think you need more upgrading than me right now.”

“Not - not a droid.”

She chuckles and assists him in ducking through the hole. “No, but you do need some repairs.”

The speeder bike sits only a few metres away from them; small, dainty, not suitable for a passenger. “Won’t-” he gasps, “-fit.”

She pats his chest for reassurance. “Well, you’re gonna have to. Get on.”

Mando slings a leg over either side of the speeder and lowers onto the back of it, uncomfortable and awkwardly positioned but it’ll have to do. “I can’t drive.”

She teases, “Oh, I know, I’ve seen you pilot.” She seats herself between the handlebars and Mando’s hunched body, patting the side of his thigh to indicate him to scooch closer. “Come on, you’ll fall off back there.”

Mando obeys her commands, his inner thighs pressing against the outside of her frame and beskar squeezed between both of their bodies, an arm gingerly curves around her midsection for greater support and it permits him an opportunity to be close to her - to hold her even if it’s not exactly how he imagines it.

“Go,” he instructs, visor tilted at the influx of Klatoonians emerging from the exit way.

Speeder hums to life, repulsorlift engine vibrates underneath their bodies and sags the vehicle towards the ground at the additional weight of him. She flexes her fingers around the throttle and zips off in the opposite direction of the gathering army, zigging and zagging to dodge the incoming bolts that kick up the dust ahead of them, one of them just barely managing to skid against Mando’s pauldron from this distance. She’s a good driver—avoiding missable dunes and anything else that might jolt him off, but the constant sharp turns don’t assist with his increasing headache and he tucks the peak of his helmet between her shoulder blades, concentrating on the rise and fall of her lungs.

In, out, in, out; fast and shaky like a collapsing tree in a brutish storm.

“Passed by an abandoned cantina on my way here,” the Girl says, mostly to ensure he doesn’t fall unconscious. “We can set up there. Take care of you. Be back before nightfall. Sound good?”

“Nnngh,” he groans. “Out of fucking action, again.”

“There was no way to know they had explosives. Don’t blame yourself.”

“That’s not true - used it against them. Should’ve - should’ve figured they’d do the same.” 

The Girl’s back flexes as she twists the handlebars and sharply turns behind a cluster of boulders, casting them in a thick shadow and providing a break in blaster fire. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Mando. I’ll fix you up and we’ll go see the kid, yeah? He’ll be waiting for ya.” It falls on deaf ears, Mando too preoccupied with not passing out and sliding off the speeder—there’s so traction, nothing to support his weight, and he maneuvers his chin to rest against her shoulder questing for the cushioning of flesh to soothe the throbbing in his head.

Normally, the heat of Tatooine suns posed as a nuisance with all of the layers he donned, but now it’s comforting and Mando welcomes it with open arms—the heat equalising with that of his neck—like a temperate bath drawn just for him and he sinks his toes in the waters, moaning at the buoyancy and how light he feels - how unrestricted he is without the beskar.

The Girl slaps his thigh, though it does very little to draw him out of his daydreaming; perceptions desensitising as his weight gradually distributes to her, forcing her shoulders down so she’s almost laying on the speeder with him atop of her. 

“Mando, fuck, come on. Get up, you’re heavy - we’re gonna crash.”

“Can’t.” 

It’s all he can manage to slip out of the drought of his mouth, his lips catching on his teeth. He’s so heavy, blood converted into uncured duracrete that sags through his veins, thick and clumpy and asphyxiating.

“Just hang in there, all right? We’re almost there. Stay awake.”

She sounds so far away, so out of his reach, and his fingers subconsciously dig into the shirt—struggling to latch onto her as though she’ll disappear if he doesn’t—but it feels like he’s grasping at mist; the particles just floating through his digits as he clenches around nothing. He’s breathing it in, dense and cloudy with a taste like smoke and rotten flesh, coagulating in his lungs until he’s spluttering inside the helm at the assault.

Mando doesn’t feel the speeder come to an abrupt stop, doesn’t register he’s been relocated inside the cantina she spoke of until he’s on the floor propped up against a wall; beskar scraping against the stone as he fights off not collapsing to his side and welcome the duracrete as his eternal resting spot. She blocks the door with a bystanding chair, just in case, and returns to his side on her knees, hands frantic and gliding all over his heaving body; it’s oddly comforting - her touches crafted with the healing properties of bacta and his eyes slip closed to envision them slow and grazing along his skin, along his chest and neck, dainty fingers wiping away the dark circles underneath his eyes.

“You didn’t dress the wound?” she questions, dipping her fingers into his cowl and amassing metallic crimson at the tips. “Stubborn son of a-”

“I won’t make it,” he interjects, helm twisting to admire her—memorising her beauty in hopes it’ll remain with him in the afterlife. Her lips raw from the onslaught of pearly whites, her eyebrows taut with concern, eyes shifty as she investigates his bodily injuries; it’s an unfortunate circumstance, yet her beauty knows no bounds—she’s in fear and shock of letting him slip through her fingers but she’s still so fucking breathtaking.

“You’re getting out of this.” 

She files through the medpac stocked with minimal medical supplies, having used a vast sum of it on her the night prior. There’s not enough for both of them, her lashes still needing tending to, and Mando tries to stop her; tries to explain there’s a good chance the bacta won’t even make it to his system before he shuts down, but nothing but a soft groan flutters past his lips - his subconscious taking control over his obscurity. ”

The Girl’s scared, terrified, more than he’s ever seen her before, more than back on the spacecraft; more than when she speculated he would kill her. It shoves needles into his heart looking at her like this, looking at her be so fucking concerned for his health more than her own—she should leave, she needs to leave. They’ll be coming for him. This is why he came alone—why he didn’t want anybody around when his heart stops beating—why he’s been sidestepping around her.

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so detached she’d be back safe in the Crest and he wouldn’t be slowly hemorrhaging to death.

She’s been around him too long; her brain picking up the most minute details he lets slip past his beskar walls. “I’m not leaving you,” she reassures, reading his mind.

“Need to.”

“I won’t.”

Mando whispers her name in short puffs, uttering the beautiful title that is solely her into the sand-buried cantina and strokes a delicate line across her cheekbone to her jaw where he rests his hand. It clenches underneath the leather - Mando swipes his thumb over the front of her chin sweetly, tenderly, just feeling her contours and arches. “Go.”

“Mando,” she forcibly smiles, “you’re an idiot if you think you’re dying here.”

She’s as stubborn as a Bluurg - he smiles.

He’s beginning to understand now—why the Girl hadn’t notified him of her past—or, then again, maybe he already figured it out and chose to ignore it, to replace desires with rationality. Perhaps that’s why, despite all of the suppressed emotions expanding against the confines of a metaphorical transparisteel bottle, he subconsciously found ways to distance himself from her. Utilising the Child’s priority, feigning resentment, straight-up leaving her in the dark—why he was still isolating himself even after their cin vhetin. 

After all, it’s easier to care for a skeleton in the closet than the very alive passion in his chest. But it’s easier to neglect the corpse—forget the closet entirely—than the mania; that never stops, never allows him a brief moment to recuperate his thought process.

“I forgive you,” he mumbles with a smile, a smile she won’t get to see. “I forgive you, ner mesh’la.”

It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward.

That’s what he wants; to move forward.

If he doesn’t make it out alive, she deserves to know—she should know how he feels towards her, even if it’s not reciprocated.

She freezes, hands hovering over him with a tremble that matches his heart’s; her eyes sliding close—it’s for his benefit, he realises, she doesn’t want her pathetic sobbing to be the last thing he sees. 

It’s not pathetic in the slightest; how could somebody so intangible ever be considered pathetic?

With quivering muscles, Mando presses his leather flat against her cheek to collect a stray tear. It rolls along the curve of his thumb and soaks into the wrist of his flight suit, the moisture felt against his skin and he moans in a blend of delight and pain; a drops worth of Her converging against his flesh, staining it with salt. 

“I forgive you,” Mando repeats to himself.

Grief is etched into her eyes when she finally peels the thin lids back, her pupils flickering across the visor desperate to discover the eyes behind the cold blackness. There’s a pang in her heart that pulsates each time his chest collapses underneath her hands, counting down the rise and falls until it inevitably discontinues. “You’re not dying here.” Her lips are pulled taut against her teeth, cheeks wet with tears. “I won’t allow it. The kid needs you. I need you. End of discussion, all right?”

Mando’s head tilts, an overly enthusiastic tug in the corner of his mouth.

“All right,” he permits. 

“Good.” The Girl wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of the shirt; his shirt. “Sit forward, let me fix that head of yours.”

“Helmet,” he groans.

Oh, how his creed screws with him, obstructs him from the most basic aspects of life.

“It doesn’t need to come off.” She drives him forwards off the wall and wraps an arm across the front of his shoulders, a leg clipping behind him and another in front over his lap, snuggly positioning him between her legs so he doesn’t collapse either side. She’s tepid, pillowy, and he allows himself to lean into her, his pauldron squishing into her chest. “It’ll just be hard to tell if it’s sealed,” she narrates to herself as she digs through his cowl where it obscures the underneath of his helmet. “Is this okay?”

He nods, fingers itching in his gloves.

Delicate, smooth fingers trail beneath the rim of his helmet—his breath hitches—and slip through the gap. Mando swallows the moans and twitches she produces when she brushes around the wound, charting out its size, location, and severity. She’s so close to him, so fucking close; her hand is inside the helmet, inside his personal space, inside his Creed—fingers tangling with his overgrown locks, curls knotting around creeping digits dragging them in and holding them against his skull while blood cakes onto her skin.

Bacta spray expels from the flacon in her clutch and adheres to the wound, the properties immediately getting to work reconstructing the fractured cells. It’s sticky, burns against the sensitivity, the groaning is unavoidable but he centres on his breathing and slacking his muscles.

“That’s it,” she coos, patting his far-end pauldron, “relax.”

The consoling reminds him of the nights he’d spent staying up with the kid, murmuring reassuring words he’d plucked from the depths of his memories as a child and he hums at the bittersweet remembrances—they’re faded now with his age, as though he watched it through the eyes of a passerby in a dense crowd, too difficult to focus on the exact detailing but everything that mattered remained; the scratchiness of his father’s beard against his forehead each night, his mother’s subdued tone lulling him to sleep, both of their warmth encasing him on chilly nights surrounded by the village’s campfire.

Mando didn’t have the luxury of a rewarding life - the privilege - the right. There’s not much he remembers from his youth, much less than the average with the trauma he’s endured. He doesn’t want that for the kid, doesn’t want him to forget Mando; he means too much to him and it’d tear his heart beyond death if those memories were buried by the same trauma that keeps Mando awake—the same trauma that draws him right back to a battlefield as a coping mechanism. 

Mando’s been living the way of Resol’nare for decades now—ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor - An vencuyan mhi, he recites the rhyme, obey the commands of Mandalore—his soul intact and a designated spot in Manda reserved just for him; it’s a great honour, one any dar’manda would be envious of, yet he’s uncertain - tentative of the afterlife. He’ll be alone again. Just like before the Child was placed into his care. Just like before he met the Girl. Nobody will be there to welcome him—no parents, no relatives, no friends, no-one.

Twitches coursing along his spine and the back of his neck does little to soothe his nerves regarding his mortality, his body tense and rigid as though he was already proceeding with rigour mortis. He mustn’t be concealing it well as the Girl draws him closer into her chest, his helmet resting against the side of her head as she continues administering the spray, a hand smoothing along the curve of his neck to rest there.

He’s positioned just like he had that night the Mandalorians rescued him, the same fear and panic pulling at his tendons and compressing his lungs, seeking comfort from his saviour—like a scared little boy. 

It’s both humiliating and heartening; the Girl being so delicate with him despite being dipped in a coating of sharp, cold beskar head-to-toe. It’s committed to protecting him, to aid him when all else fails, and yet she’s the one he wants to surround himself with. She’s elastic-y and pliable—versatile for any situation he throws her way—made of exotic materials from the most desolate planets in the Outer Rim. 

Mando wonders what her hands would feel like elsewhere; tending to the wounds he accumulates among his torso, rubbing at the aging lines of his face—always taking care of him. Mando forages underneath the stockiness that is his heart plate and cowl, leathers wrap around the small beskar pendant amidst his chest and rips the lace from around his neck. It’s shiny, rarely exposed to elements and harsh sunlight, but still worn with age and he runs a padded thumb along a steel tusk protruding from the skull.

The Girl pats him on the curvature of neck and shoulder one last time before retracting her hand from his helmet and returning him against the wall; he nearly mopes at the lack of her. “That’s that. I applied a thick coat so you should be okay, give it a moment to settle in.” She wipes her bloody hand against the thigh of her pants and clips the bottom of his helmet between a thumb and forefinger, twisting it to look at her. “How are you feeling?”

Mando considers. The majority of the pain had vanished, or numbed, and his senses are making a steady comeback but the whole ordeal has left him drained, too exhausted to even think about manipulating his muscles to utter a sentence in reply. He does, though, he doesn’t want her worrying more than she already is. “It’s an improvement. Thank you.”

“Let me take a look at this.” She lightly taps around the gash on his side to test his reactivity. It’s not a deep wound—no cauterising today—and he sighs with relief when she fingers through the medpac to recover a bacta patch. He’ll need proper care eventually but it’s all they possess way out here.

Mando flinches when she inches the flight suit out of the way, hissing.

She searches the satchel and retrieves an all-too-familiar pouch, his eyes hardening. “Why do you have that?”

“It can be used as medicine,” she mumbles, suddenly uncertain. “It helped me, it can numb the pain.”

Mando glares at the narcotics, shaking his head obstinately. “No -- no, it’s addictive. You shouldn’t have that. I don’t want you using it.” His muscles tense at his plea, hoping she doesn’t read into it and discover its underlying reasonings—how concerned he is. “It should - should be disposed of. It’ll only entice-”

“I’m not addicted to it, Mando. It was a one-time thing.”

“It’s-”

She cuts him off with a gentle sigh and shoves the pouch back into the satchel. “Was just trying to lessen the pain, ya know, guess you’ll have to endure it. Might teach you some manners.”

His eyes soften, his chest lax; he’s starting to make a habit of blowing things out of proportion—it’ll only drive the Girl away if he persists. His thumb assaults the surface of the pendant in his clutch, rubbing it raw, and folds his adjacent hand over hers poignantly. She understands his sentiment, offering him a small smile that puts his concerns at ease.

She’s too benevolent for her own good—too compliant to his immaturity.

She changes the subject. “This is all getting old real fast, you know. All this patching up we keep doing for each other. We oughta take a break somewhere. Could be good for the kid.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t take breaks, not when he’d been injured and definitely not when he’s a fugitive but hearing the Girl suggest one makes his thoughts run wild creating phony scenarios where the three of them could spend time somewhere secluded other than the Crest. Somewhere far away from all the fucking sand. 

It could be good for the kid, could help him return to himself being out in free lands without the worry of a lurking Guild member aimed to either kill or capture him.

Mando parts his lips but he’s cut off before he’s even constructed a sentence in his mind; the rhythmic strums of speeder bikes nearing their quarters. He activates his sonic detectors and isolates the audio, concentrating on the alternating warbling while the Girl fists the hilt of her blaster instinctively in preparation. “There’s two,” he claims.

“Okay, wait here.”

“Wait, wait.” Mando catches her wrist as she stands to arrest her raring thoughts. He unclasps the strap across his chest and maneuvers the rifle around from his back and shoulders, gingerly pressing the wintry steel barrel into her palm. “There’s one cartridge loaded.” His hand snakes to his boot and retrieves the final cylinder, relinquishing his paramount foundation to survival.

She stares at him with wide eyes filled with wonder and questions he can’t pinpoint, hands examining the Amban-phase pulse rifle loosely clutched in her palms. A soft, genuine smile sketches into the curve of her lips and she gratefully accepts his offer, perching herself against a window to observe the vastness outside. 

Mando can’t manage to see past her, the window too high from his angle, so he entitles himself to travel her frame; monitoring—recording—her posture, alternating foot and knee flat against the duracrete and her shoulders pulled taut where the stock rests in the crevice. The posture of a Sharpshooter.

She sucks in a shallow breath and slowly exhales, her lips curling into a smile as her eyes lock onto an unguarded Klatoonian through the lens.

Mando quietly chuckles underneath his beskar and subconsciously runs his thumb along the beskar pendant once more, his eyes never tearing away from the Girl—she’s like the Child when he’s given the knob of his control throttle; devilishly grinning with a mischievous glimmer in their eye. 

He recounts how curious she had been regarding his rifle, how she used to pester him just to get a glimpse of the silver barrel. I’ll get my hands on it one day and I won’t be giving it back, she had said once and seeing that excitement in her eyes now only insisted on the claim. 

A micro pellet shoots out the fork-tipped tubing, the sound reverberating inside the structure for a moment before it settles to silence. Assessing the expression on her face, she hits her mark. A surge of pride runs underneath Mando’s muscles—the Girl utilising his sniper as if it belongs in her arms, fashioned just for her hands and fingers—followed by an unrelenting tide of arousal through his veins and to his crotch; maybe she can keep the rifle.

The Mandalorian has only ever had material possessions, so seeing her exercise his tools of survival like her own—squeezing the trigger, hugging the stock, peering through the lens—pressing her body up against the exact rifle he’d press against - fuck, if it doesn’t stimulate dark, inappropriate, disturbing thoughts and a tingling sensation at the base of his stiffening cock. 

Embarrassed from his condition—wounded and bloody and fucking horny—he droops his eyes to the opened bacta gel. It’s laughable. It seems each time he’s injured and she’s touching him, taking care of him, his arousal decides it’s time to awaken. She must think he gets off on it; that’s enough to make him cringe under his helm. 

Another blast echoes the spacious room and this time he hears the pop of the second Klatoonian, followed by a soft exhale from the Girl at her accomplishments. “That’s taken care of,” she sighs. “Sorry, Mando, I don’t think you can have this back.”

Mando rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“How do you suppose you’ll use it without any more ammunition?”

She huffs and props the rifle against the wall beside him. “Oh, I’m sure you have plenty hidden away. I mean, why not gimme yours? I’m a better shot than you--”

“We don’t know that.”

“--and you did destroy mine, remember?”

Actually—he’d almost forgotten. It’s the entire circumstance that scripted their journey through the Outer Rim together, but with everything that’s happened within the past few days, he wasn’t exactly in the right mindset to be thinking about their agreed-upon reimbursement.

The Girl continues, “We should make a contest for it. Whoever's the better shot, gets to keep it. Sounds fair to me.”

Mando scoffs and reminds, “There’s no ammunition, mesh’la.”

“Come on, just admit you’re scared of losing.” She pauses to allow him to pipe up. He doesn’t. “Okay then. I’m getting you fixed up and then we’re going to the Crest to get ammunition and then I’m gonna kick your ass in this challenge.”

“I never agreed--”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily, Mando.”

He hums in feigned thought; she seems satisfied with herself and lowers to her knees beside him once more, hands uncorking a canister of water to flush the lesion of grit and administer a clump of soothing gel. She’s astonishingly fast and precise; she’s not joking about this competition—he’ll be in trouble if she proceeds. Nevertheless, having her hands so close to—fuck—he jolts abruptly and repositions himself so he’s concealing the bulge in his lap, extracting a concerned yet confused glare from her.

“It’s sensitive,” he lies through his teeth, but she nods her head with the allegation.

Her hands smooth over a bacta patch underneath his flight suit—another ripped garment alongside his cloak—and he moans as the patch pulses a soothing burst that numbs the slash and lessens the tenderness. 

“Okay, you’re all set. How’s that head of yours feeling?”

Always taking care of him; always so concerned.

Beskar is weighted in his palm and he returns his attention to the pendant, shimmering in the sunlight cascading through the windows and reflecting onto the ceiling above them. Mando’s head angles to the side as he slips the torn threads through his fingers and pries them apart, the beskar dangling in the middle of the lace, to slide his knuckles along the sides of the Girl’s neck until he’s at the rear. She gazes down at the pendant stowed against her sternum as he secures a taut knot, mindful of the strands of hair as to not entangle them together.

Pulling away, he hooks a forefinger along the thread and collects the beskar at the bottom where he rubs a thumb along the face of the skull. 

His vocoder whirrs a humming sound, “Better, mesh’la, much better. Thank you.”

“What’s this for?” she questions, examining the necklace incredulously.

“You.” It’s simple - sweet - truthful; it’s all hers. She doesn’t seem entirely content with his answer, her eyebrows stitching together as she mulls the symbolic gesture. He takes mercy on her rationalising, albeit awkwardly, “I can’t return a mutual connection. Can’t give you me - wholly. I received this necklace as part of my initiation to the Creed denoting my trust, my devotion, and it’s been with me since I was a boy.”

She lifts her eyes to the visor as he shares, her hands resting atop his still playing with the pendant. 

“It’s a part of my Creed—a part of me. I want you to have it.”

“Mando,” she gasps. “You’re sure?”

He simply nods.

She leans into his personal space until her warmth invades the confines of his undershirt that puts Tatooine’s twin suns to shame. Mando’s throat bobs when a hand tunnels through his cowl to splay across the side of his neck and her face looms near the side of his helmet. He doesn’t twist to look at her—doesn’t want to unnerve her with the leering tint—but his shoulders sag at the vague tremor through the beskar; her lips weakly compressed against the curvature on his helmet.

He’s not one for words, but it seems he succeeded on that front.

It makes his heart flatten and swell in succession as though she was kneading the organ with her hands, the contact so placid and gradual - just taking her time tenderising the muscle.

Not to mention the boost of blood that flows through his abdomen and finalises below his waist, causing a twitch in his pants and she hadn’t even touched him except for a delicate hand on his cowl. 

Mando really was like a boy—a pining, desperate, hormonal boy.

The Girl withdraws somewhat and trails the hand from his neck over the bump of his heart plate and seats it in the cushioning covering his stomach, her eyes bounce from his visor to his reviving arousal with her bottom lip clamped between rows of teeth. She softly snickers, “You don’t need to get shot at for me to touch you, Mando.”

He swallows, his helmet twisting on its axis to watch her expression—eyes darkening and tonguing crawling through her parted lips to apply a coating of saliva on them. 

“Is that what you want?” she croons. “For me to touch you?”

He’s speechless—choking on his own spit—and she doesn’t help matters when she glides the hand lower, her fingers catching on the hem of his waistband and her palm enveloping the curve of his bulge. 

Mando recollects all the instances he’d thought of the Girl like this—touching him so sweetly, pulling moans from his mouth—all the times he’s wanted more, needed more. Even with her hands down his pants he craved more, required her warmth—wanted to be buried in that warmth.

“Yes,” he musters up, his words coming out staticy through the modulator. 

It’s all she needs to continue, r hand snaking beneath the hem and she wraps slender fingers around his length, sluggishly pumping twice that has his back arching off the wall and she smiles smugly in her endeavours. 

His heart is in his throat, his stomach, his crotch—everywhere. 

The Girl tightens her grip some, her fingers catching on his skin without any form of lubricant but it reminds him of being back on the Crest in the pilot's chair and he has no criticism of that. She drags her hand to the top and gradually slides back down, her thumb following a pulsating vein back to the base. It has his muscles tensing, constricting underneath his layers, but his fingers dig into the cloak underneath him. 

He greedily whines, “Need more.”

She seems to understand his request and reaches for the hem with her other hand, scrambling to yank his trousers down and he assists by lifting his weight off the ground with his forearm until the hem rests at his mid-thigh; the beskar cuisse preventing the fabric from lowering any further but he couldn’t give a shit. It’s enough.

She hums at the sight of his cock—large, hard, and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. Digits contract at the base, eliciting a groan from deep within his throat, and the Girl tosses a flirty smile at him as she gradually dips her head down for her lips to meet the tip. 

“Fu-ck,” he moans, his eyes widening as she flicks her tongue to collect the drop of white and it just melts into her tastebuds; brands them with his cum. She teases him, just barely making contact with a modest brush of her tongue against the head and he’s forced to restrain himself from bucking each time she spawns a coating of saliva that the hot air wipes dry in a matter of seconds.

Mando scrunches his fists against the duracrete and listens to the tinking his helmet produces each time he twitches his head against the sandstone, if it wasn’t made of beskar it'll surely be scraped to hell. He’s fortunate the bacta spray was so efficient—there’s no doubt in his mind he wouldn’t be able to enjoy this as much as he is without it working wonders on his wound. One of his hands occupies the back of her head and he unintentionally drives her downwards until her lips seal around the head of his cock and he’s gasping for air—the filters of his helmet breathing violently to supply the oxygen he’s lacking.

It’s exhilarating being inside of her mouth—albeit very little of him—and he lifts his hips to delve deeper, exploring the uncharted territory of her tongue and throat; so fucking soft, like her gums are fabricated out of clouds and her tongue a bed prepared just for him to rest on. “Gods,” he chokes. “Such a — pretty little mouth, mesh’la.”

She half-moans around his length, sending pulsations that makes his knees weak and toes curl. She bobs her head up and down rhythmically, her hand stroking what she can’t fit inside, and his gloved fingers twirl around a cluster of strands at the nape of her neck just to hold her - to feel the muscles stretch and loosen each movement she makes.

Mando is gluttonous for her—so fucking desperate to quicken the pace or attain new limits—and he experimentally sinks her head lower onto his shaft, slowly but with some level of authority that makes the Girl moan and comply with his proposal.

The curve of her nose brushes against the flock of unkempt bristles at the base—it’d been a while since he last tamed them, though he suspects the Girl doesn’t mind—and her sharp hot exhales through her nose can be felt dancing along the soft flesh of his groin, the head of his cock nudging against the back of her mouth before it slips past and eases down her throat an inch. Along with the newfound pressure around his length, the Girl flattens her tongue on his underside and sucks—generously hard, might he add. 

There’s an ache in his abdomen, a crack in his knee as it jerks, and he’s forced to gnaw on his lips to refrain from spewing out shameful noises from deep within his throat. His sonic detectors pick up the faintest of audio; the squelching of his cock slipping in and out of her throat, her short puffs of exhales, and her cut-off gagging noises she makes each time he explores a little more than she can withstand. It’s unrighteous how turned on he’s getting from the noises alone, but she makes her presence well known when her lips glue around at the base just sits there taking in his entire length in her throat; tears brew in the corners of her eyes and she swallows a heap of saliva—consuming all of his rationality as her throat tightens around his width.

“Oh, f-fuck, shit. St-sto-op.”

He reflexively yanks her head up until only the head of his cock is situated in her mouth, twitching, leaving the remainder of his length sodden with stringy pools of her saliva that streak to the brown curls.

Mando observes the mess she’s made, mouth drowning with lust. As much as he could sit there and fuck her mouth like this, he aches for more contact—requires it like the oxygen he breathes.

“I want more, pretty girl, need you.”

His hand travels from the base of her neck along the curve of her spine and rests on the soft of her rear, indicating his proposition. She reluctantly pries her lips from his tip and glances up at him with filthy eyes to murmur, “Need me?” she swallows. “Need me to take care of you?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

“Need me to ride you -- to fuck you?”

“Yes, mesh’la.” His fingers bite into the flesh of her ass and dip in the waistband at her tailbone, lazily tugging at the material but it fails to budge against the defence of her belt. 

“Fucking so needy,” she sings.

Mando is needy—dehydrated and starving for her—utterly insatiable. 

She unclasps her belt and unbuttons the two little dimes at her groin, but he beats her to the belt loops and slips either thumb on the farsides and tugs. His eyes soak in the exposed flesh; how cushiony her thighs look, how they must feel squeezing the sides of his head. There’s a rumble in his chest and it finds its exit through his filters, shooting straight to the Girl’s core.

The Girl guides a leg out from beneath her and he continues undressing her from the waist down until she’s only left in her undergarments, the length of her legs being explored by crunchy leather. She doesn’t allow him the opportunity to take initiative and remove his gloves—he wouldn’t be able to control where his hands led if he had—and tosses a leg on either side of his thighs, the underside of his cock rubbing against her clothed pelvis to evoke a muffled moan from his throat.

One of her hands rests on his side atop of the bacta patch and she gazes into his helmet, silently inquiring her concerns.

“I’m okay.” She continues eyeing him, her pupils flickering to the bottom side of the helmet his lesion laid in slumber. “Mesh’la, I’m good.” He proves it with a minor thrust of his hips that has her scooting against his lap, distributing her weight among his thighs.

She seems pleased with his condition, tearing her hands from his wound to bunch up the overhanging fabric. Mando stops her, clinging to the hem of the shirt. “No, keep - keep it on. Looks good on you.”

An imposing heat rises to her cheeks and paints them hues of reds and pinks at the implication Mando gets off on her wearing his clothing. He’s watching her, she feels the leer of his visor, and she bows her head and strokes his length in an attempt to hide away, to distract him from the mortifying blush gracing her cheeks and nose. Mando’s insistent, stubborn, refuses to look away from her ‘pretty little face’—his words, not hers—and just scouts as her features contort shyly.

He won’t look away.

Especially not when she lifts her thighs and hovers over his readying cock, the head nudging against her clothed sex; warm and damp from her secreting through the fabric. She wants this, he acknowledges, just as much as himself.

She dips her hips enough, just barely, so he’s firmly pressed against her; his twitches travelling through to her, sparking her fingers to dig into the pads of his shoulders in shock. Mando groans, powerless underneath her, and bucks his hips plenty to maintain a pleasant caress against the tip of his cock.

“You’re taunting, pretty girl.”

She smirks. “Why not do something about it?”

Oh, he will—he’ll make her applaud the ground he walks on if he has to.

With one foul swoop, Mando plunges his hand between her legs and eases the garment aside, positioning himself between her folds and collecting the slick with his head. It makes something erupt inside of him, in his abdomen, and he freezes like that; his cock scarcely pressing against her entrance - she flutters against him.

The throbbing at the back of his head pulls him out of his relishing but he’s not willing to interrupt—not when he’s waited so fucking long to feel her like this. “Sit down,” he breathes, lightly pushing on her thighs. “S-slowly.”

She abides by his commands and gradually sinks on his length—so fucking slowly. He asked for it, but she’s just torturing him at this point. His eyes tear from what lays between them back to her face, her eyes squeezed closed and her teeth latching onto the flesh of her poor hand. His muscles lack, his hands caressing her legs. “Sweet girl,” he coos, “you can do it.”

“Gods, what else are you hiding under all that beskar?” she moans and continues, stretching herself around his impressive size; Mando’s not small in the slightest.

His helmet inclines with a soft chuckle, clashing against the wall behind them—the wall he was ready to die on and now he’s fucking her against it - he hadn’t even cleaned himself of the blood soaked into his cowl and caking his hair - it’s fucking dirty.

He hums her name in reassurance. “Should’ve - should’ve prepared you with m-y fingers first.” 

“Yes,” she winces. “You should’ve.”

“Doing so well, so good. That’s it. Nice and slow-ly.”

There’s a silence that fills the air once he’s completely sheathed inside her, the both of them tardily comprehending the reality of the situation—they won’t be able to return to normal after this, won’t be able to look at each other without thinking of the other naked. This is their new normal, at least for today, and they carefully descend back to the scene with clarity. 

Her - his shirt’s hem rubs against his garbed stomach, loose and large on her, and he slithers his hands up the back of it to clamp down on her shoulders; holding her firmly against his pelvis so she’s restricted and refuses her the opportunity to move—he wants to savour the feeling of her stretched around him, the feeling of her warmth welcoming him. She hisses at the cold steel of his vambrace along the muscles of her back and arches on him.

Mando basks in her warmth, shifting his hips side-to-side to rub against the inside of her canals, and resting the peak of his helmet against her sternum above the pendant’s residence to breathe in her scent. It’s faint with the helm’s filters stripping the air of her but there’s a hint of sweetness that he jostles around among his tongue and a speck of her musk, alongside a whiff of his personal scents from his shirt—gun oil, leather, his own musk fusing together with hers.

“Mando, I got-ta move.”

The grip on her shoulders loosens, enabling her to move slightly but doesn’t allow her to take initiative this time; his ass flexes against the ground as he thrusts up into her, pulling soft gasps from her tongue. It’s so hot, so enticing, a sound he’s dreamt of hearing but actually triggering the noises from her is intoxicating. He could bury his face between her legs and listen to her all night if she’d allow it; if his Creed allowed it.

“Pretty girl.” His hips slam into hers. “Always - always taking care of me.”

“Fu--fuck, Mand-o,” she chokes, her breathing staggering each time his groin rolls into her pelvis. A delicate hand runs along the front to the back of his cowl and sweeps underneath the steely brim, never breaching his comfort zone until he imparts his consent with a faint nod. She inches her digits up till they disappear inside his helmet—there was a time he wouldn’t let anybody get within arm’s length of his helm and now the Girl was freely raiding the unexplored depths of his skull for the second time that day. 

There’s a slight pang around his lesion when she tugs on the curls and it only roams upwards when she shoves her palm up as far it’ll reach in the cramped space, her fingers working out the tight knot. He jerks at the sensations, all so foreign, so new and exciting he’s struggling to withhold himself from doing something stupid.

“Been thinking about this for so lo-ng,” he whispers, quickening his pace to drive up and nudge against her cervix that has her flinging her head back. “Thought about fucking——fucking you over the control panel ea-ch night.”

“Maker,” she purrs. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Nearly crawled in your fuck-ing bunk with you.”

Mando groans. “Yeah? I’ll fuck you in my bunk whenever you want, mesh’la. Name the time.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Mando.”

“Din,” he slips, freezes, muscles stretched and tight—he went and did something stupid. The Girl notices his wavering, his thrusts having abruptly stopped, and joins his absence of movement. A layer of nervous sweat breaks out across his forehead, his heart paced faster than a Kaadu. Everything is distanced, the Girl seemingly klicks away, thoughts clouded with analysing his psyche’s outburst; a foolish slip of the tongue in the heat of the moment. 

He hasn’t heard that name since he was a boy—hadn’t uttered it aloud since he became a foundling—so it’s a huge fucking shock when he hears the syllable trip past his lips.

And it’s an even bigger shock when the Girl repeats it back to him, “Din?” 

It does sound nice coming from her, though. He can’t deny that. Like his name is made of nectar, sweet and thick that dribbles from her tongue and down her chin—he could just lick it up from her, catch the remnants before it plummets the duracrete.

She grinds herself against him to pull him back to reality, twirling a curl around her finger curiously; cloyingly. 

“Din,” he repeats, firmer, with authority, “Say it, mesh’la, say it for me. Please.”

She tugs on his locks, forcing his helmet to tilt up to look at her and his heart misses a beat when she parts her lips and moans into his visor, “Din.”

Dank Farrik—she always knows just what to do to get his blood pumping. She doesn’t even know the significance of the word, just acknowledges how his cock quivers inside her from speaking it and then she’s a mewling mess muttering along a never-ending string of Din, Din, Din’s.

“Hold still,” he warns, a sturdy vambrace wrapping around her coccyx and propelling himself upwards and unto his knees with her below him, a gloved hand at the back of her head to protect it from slamming against the hard duracrete.

She’s even more sublime from this angle; spread out underneath him, the backs of her thighs pressed against his hip joints—purely on display for him and only him. 

Din can’t stand not being inside her, not feeling her slick walls hugging him so fucking tightly it drags pleasure through the core of his shaft, and he sheathes himself back into her quickly. Propping up his weight with a forearm beside her head, and pounding his hips into hers vigorously - the clap of their skin snapping through the air. 

She grinds her hips upwards into his lap to massage the swollen nub of her clit against him, jerking at the sensitivity - though she’s so restricted between solid flooring and a just as solid beskar figure that she more-or-less humps into Din’s body - her fingers slither behind the beskar margins of his cuisse’s to stabilise herself.

The abandoned cantina air is hot, sweltering, thick with sweat and sex—versus the dry, dusty stench prior that left his lungs ticklish. They’re fucking each other so desperately they’re emitting a skyrocketing heat, it’s dumbfounding.

Her lips are pulled invertedly to force back the whiny incoherent moans. Beads of sweat along her forehead. Eyes glued close. 

What a beautiful sight. All for him. It’s contrasting to the last time they were in a similar scenario—her hands on him, him sitting there licking every crumb off the plate of food she served him—but their positions had changed and now he’s the one working those noises out of her. A flurry of youthful pride rushes through him and he slips two fingers to touch where they connect, feeling the ridges and veins of his cock through the leather as he pulls out and slides back in - feeling what she’s feeling - memorising what she’ll memorise.

“I - I can’t…shit...Din,” she croons.

She’s close to her apex—her walls tighten around his cock even further. If she gets any tighter Din will come right here and now. He’s still not done - still needs more of her - thirsts for it.

“I know, mesh’la, I know. A - a little longer. Just a little longer.”

The digits between her thighs compile a coating of her slick seeping down the sides of her leg, applying it to her clit and drawing fast circles. She doesn’t complain about the scratchy leather on the sensitive bud, doesn’t gripe that he’s not allowing her the touch of his bare flesh—she thinks it’s fucking hot; he can’t take his hands off her for a fucking second to rid himself of the confines, can’t keep her waiting to inch his pants down past his thighs. He’s still completely clothed, permitting only his cock and thighs to spring free of his flight suit enough to fuck her into the ground—into the ground. It’s unadulterated filth through and through.

Din’s tattered and slashed cloak droops to the side of him and the Girl wads a horde of the scratchy fabric in her hand, tugging on it that brings him to meet with her hips like she’s coordinating his movements. “Oh, fu-ck. Right there, Mando, right there.”

“Din,” he growls a reminder all-while maintaining the pace and posture she’s arching into, her moaning of his name an addicting motivator, “my - my name is Din.”

If he wasn’t hitting something so unreachable—something so itchy she never knew existed—she might’ve wrapped her arm around his neck, pulled his helmet in for a kiss, and whisper sweet nothings in response to his confession. She can’t though - he doesn’t give her a second's worth of breaks. Unable to demonstrate her appreciation, she wrenches her head to the forearm beside her and administers a laden press of her lips to his leathered wrist; a small but incredibly sweet gesture that has his lungs tugging on his heartstrings.

She whispers his name as if testing it out on her tongue, this time with more sentiment. It’s a soft, short, and rounded-sounding name—everything he’s not—such a breathy syllable it doesn’t require much mouth manipulation and the Girl takes advantage of that; chorusing the word in sync with her pleasured writhing. 

Din extracts his cock from her gradually and sharply slams back into her, shoving her spine across the ground that she jumps from her position an inch, the grip on his cloak tightening.  “Fuck, Din!” Pearly whites sink into the leather surrounding his wrist and he grunts at the stimulation, his thrusts beginning to stagger as he reaches his climax. He won’t allow it - he’ll postpone his relief until she’s had hers if he has to; she deserves it.

“Come for me, pretty girl. You take care of me so-so well, let me feel you relax; come.”

She does relax, becomes nothing more than a boneless pool of flesh and blood beneath him that yelps at each smack of his hips, tingles at the squelching of his cock slipping through her lubricant and coating the base of his groin in a wet sheen of her. 

Din’s fingers continue on her nub only periodically stopping to delve deeper and amass her juices. He hits a sweet spot and she writhes into his chest, ripping her teeth from the leather to sink them in the thick padding of his shoulder where she freely moans into the fabric—deliberately putting on a show for Din that makes the head of his cock twitch.

Din increases his pace, maintaining a speed that compensates for his lack of back with the explosion—delivering a steady tempo fit for a week's worth of workouts.

She’s so close to his ear, if the beskar wasn’t there she’d be pressed right up against the cartilage, her risque whining intruding the tunnels of his eardrums. It’s too much to consider, too fucking much. 

She clamps down on his cock, tight and vice-like that he struggles to move inside of her. Her body rocks and jolts as she cums on his cock—he can feel the warmth dripping over the head and running along the sides like syrup sliding down his throat. “That’s it, pretty, do-ing so good.” She transmits a low drone from his words of praise, her bite deepening enough to leave a groove of her teeth in his muscle.

Din pinches her nub once, twice, savouring the impact of her chest against his with each jerk he pulls out of her. He aids her descent back to Tatooine, luring out the remainder of her orgasm with slow lazy circles until she politely relieves his hand from her clit—too sensitive and sore to continue.

The Girl shakes and trembles below him, feuding with the hot air that won’t stay in her lungs. She’s glazed in a gloss of sweat from her forehead all the way to her thighs; drained and overstimulated, but she extends a helping hand to the base of his cock and pumps the few inches not inside her. 

“Can’t - can’t stay there all day, Din,” she teases.

It’s on the verge of abusive how she engages him, every inch of her knowing exactly what to touch and how to touch it as if he’s just constructed of mere text on a holorecord. 

He disagrees; he could stay here for eternity.

Although, he takes her laboured breathing into consideration and rewards her with his sympathy; dragging out his own climax. Din experimentally rocks his pelvis, his cock pulling on the tightness of her channel—feeling all the grooves so distinctly, the gentle flow of warm cum trickling past his length—he’s managed his own undoing, his fingernails digging into the leather of his palm, cock rigid and violently palpitating. 

She observes his shoulders tightening, his breathing shake, his thighs flexing as he anxiously pulls out of her sex—buries it somewhere safe in her memory for later—it’s a glorious experiencing watching a Mandalorian—The Mandalorian share something so vulnerable with her; like the after-effects of a meanspirited storm, all tranquil sounds and apprehensive touches. She seizes a hand and presses the leader against her cheek, mildly gnawing on the thumb that impishly slips past her lips, her remaining picking up the pace on his cock drawing out his high.

It’s so cordial watching her tear at his thumb, pull on his length, stare into the visor knowingly; too personal, too spellbinding. He takes the bait. “Fuck, fu-ck,” he moans, staggering on his knees and firing out a sticky white that pains the insides of her thighs—trademarking her.

She’s unrelenting, milking every drop out of him until he’s lagging and softening in her palm. When she’s finally conducted his orgasm, she presses a quick peck to his thumb and retreats her skull to the duracrete, officially out of stamina for anything more than a breathy: Shit, Din. That was-fuck.

Her thighs are wet with their combined juices—a shiny translucent mixing with the softening white. He gathers it up on the tips of his fingertips and lifts it to the Girl’s mouth, wiping the sex on her tongue she’s poked out in compliance. “So good to me. So pretty,” he strums. “How’s it taste? Did we do good?”

She nods, humming and rolling her tongue around inside her mouth to blend the liquids with her saliva. 

“Sweet,” she exhales. “Salty.”

Din can only imagine the flavour they spawned together; a mouthwatering syrup that leaves a savoury aftertaste from the sweat laminating her thighs. He longs for a taste, salivating with need, but resolves. 

The Girl’s slick coating his softening cock sticks to the insides of his pants as he fixes the hem back to his hips—rubbing the remnants on his thighs and gluing the short hairs to his flesh. Din reaches behind him to detach his cloak and uses the edge to wipe away the accumulated mess he’d created between her thighs, mindful of keeping the bloody end far away from her, taking his sweet time to cherish how the flesh judders in the direction of his digits and the muscles tense when he delves closer to her sex.

She props herself up with her elbows and observes him still firmly planted between her legs, a pink blush encroaching her cheekbones at the sight of her nakedness compared to the Mandalorian. 

He notices her shyness and decides not to comment, simply places a hand on either of her knees and trails them up to her torso and across her arms where he interlocks his fingers with hers - bending down atop of her to tuck his helmet in the curve of her neck, shielding her from the prying eyes of the twin spheres peeking through the window.

She rests her cheek against the side of his helmet, murmuring soft praises. Fucked me so good, she whines, gonna leave me sore all night.

Din groans into the helm and settles his weight on her, too exhausted to move, but she welcomes his physique—invites the dense muscles to recuperate on her for as long as he requires—and she wraps an arm around the back of his helmet, cradling him into her sweat-slicked neck.

“So about that break…”

_____________

“ner” - my/mine “mesh’la” - beautiful “cin vhetin” - fresh start/clean slate “Resol’nare” - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life “Ba’jur bal beskar’gam, ara’nov, aliit, Mando’a bal Mand’alor- An vencuyan mhi” - Education and armour, self-defense, our tribe, our language and our leader, All help us to survive” “dar’manda” - one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​, @tanzthompson​, @djarrex​

[dreadpoetssociety]

I Just Want My Brother

TW: Kidnapping, Abuse, Death, Drugs, Mentions of blood. 

Prompt: hi! i loved ur reid x sis!reader!! i was wondering if u could do one with reid x teen sis!reader and maybe she was a witness to something or got kidnapped and survived or something so they have to give her a cognitive interview and she refuses to do it unless spence is there or the one asking her the questions

Note: I really liked this request. I feel like I may have gotten off topic a littttttttle bit, but I tried my best! Also, sorry for any grammatical mistakes! 

()()()()()()

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3589

You were never really one to defy your elder brother’s rules, given how lenient he was with you, but it was supposed to just be one fun night out with your friends. The night scene that your friends adored was never really your cup of tea due to the horror stories Spencer would come home with. Girls getting kidnapped going on a run, girls being drugged and killed at a party, girls just going missing off the streets never to be found until it was too late, things like that. After a while, he slowly stopped giving you the gory details when he’d noticed the actual effect it had on your own life, whether or not you chose to acknowledge that when begging him to tell you more, but not knowing what was out there did scare you. Especially after stealing one of Spence’s files and looking at the photos that it held.

But, you were feeling daring on this particular night. Your friends finally convinced you to sneak out of the house. Spencer wouldn’t be back from his current job until morning, and even if you did get caught, you were generally a good kid. You bent the rules from time to time, but most high-schoolers you knew were sneaking out regularly, skipping class, doing hard drugs and even getting arrested from time to time. How bad could you be? At least, that was the reasoning your friends put into your head.

So, you thought hey, if you ever have kids, mind as well at least have one cool story to tell them. You didn’t even bother to go through the apartment window, you just walked out the door and met your friends out on the street. It was nearly midnight, but the night had just begun. 

It was hours of going to this person’s house and that person’s apartment, stopping by a random party and making noise in the streets, until finally, your friends made it to a bar. 

“You know,” you laughed a little anxiously, “maybe we shouldn’t. I mean I don’t even have a way of getting in there.”

“Y/N, chill. I know your brother freaks you into obeying the rules, but those things he sees have like a .0001% of actually happening. Like what are the chances really?” your friend, Elliot, smiled at you. 

“Actually, about one out of 300,000 people get kidnapped, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but the actual percentage is-“

“Y/N, we’re fine! Kids do this all the time. Plus, I already paid that Barry kid to make you a fake. Consider it an early birthday gift.” your other friend, Sheila, pulled out her purse and passed you the piece of plastic. Although incredibly concerned, you were impressed by how realistic it was. You sighed. 

“Fine, you’re right.” you laughed, “But there’s no way I’m convincing that bouncer that I’m 21.”

“Confidence is key. Just stroll past him like you know what you’re doing. If you look nervous they’ll know. I swear, Y/N, those dudes can smell fear.” Elliot laughed. The three of you made your way to said club entrance, and although the bouncer did seem suspicious of you, he just let you in anyway. 

The club was loud, there was a band on stage and lasers going throughout the room. Alice and Elliot didn’t hesitate to drag you to the bar first. You’d drank a little before, but you’d never gotten buzzed, let alone completely drunk. It wasn’t really your style, and thankfully, Elliot and Alice respected that. They pressured you to do a lot of things, but not anything like drugs or alcohol. They merely pushed you out of your comfort zone sometimes, and irregardless of whether or not the adults around you thought they were a good influence didn’t matter to you. 

“We’re going to go dance, but we’ll be nearby if you don’t want to join us! Just make sure not to go too far alone, Y/N” Alice stated, knowing you would absolutely not agree to dance with them. You smiled and nodded and the two went off to do their thing within your sight. 

“What can I get you, young lady?” the man at the bar caught you off guard. 

“Oh, uh, maybe just a glass of water?”

“Ah, designated driver I presume?” he laughed.

“Yeah, something like that.” you replied, “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on those two.” you nudged your head towards your two friends who were living it up with some other people in the crowd who you think might’ve been your age, too. You were sort of surprised at how easy it was to get into this club, considering so many of your peers get thrown out of it or get caught. 

The man passed you the water and walked off almost a bit angrily. Understandably, though, because water is free.  You made a note to leave the man a tip later anyway. It was the least you could do. You played with the straw, took a few sips, and watched as your friends danced the night away. 

After a while, though, you began to feel off. Dizzy even, and you couldn’t think clearly. It was a hot summer night in a hot crowded club, the one cup of water you drank all day was right in front of you, so you figured it was the heat. You decided to take a quick trip outside to try and catch some air.

It was when you left the club that it really hit you. The world was turning, and you were barely able to stay awake. 

The club was located in an area that wasn’t super lit other than the one club sign. The bouncers must’ve been in the midst of switching shifts because there wasn’t one outside. 

“Hey young lady, you okay?” a man’s voice was all you could make out of him. You could see him, but you couldn’t, and it didn’t make sense. Someone grabbed you and the world went dark.

()()()()()()

You woke up slowly. You didn’t recognize your surroundings, the walls were concrete and disgusting. The room reeked of something. 

You tried to stand, but something was holding you to the floor. Having looked down, you noticed sort chains attached to both wrists. Your heart sped up, but you didn’t scream.

How the hell. . . you thought. How did they get me here? 

The last thing you could really remember was the water. What was in the water? It was too slow to be ketamine, too fast to be rohypnol. You wondered. Oh my god, gamma hydroxybutyric acid. Or cherry meth. 

You heard someone make a noise and instantly forgot about the debate in your head. Being able to think more clearly, and your eyesight less blurred, you began to take in your surroundings. There were windows in two two of the walls without glass. Taking a look, you noticed three other women in you line of sight. One in the room with you, who was starting to wake up, and two through the left and right windows. Straight ahead was a doorway that showed a room with a table on in the middle.

It was then that you really began to understand what was happening. The exact thing you were afraid of this whole time. Your breath sped up, your heart was nearly coming out of your body, your blood ran cold. 

“Hey,” the girl was awake now, “I’m Charlotte.” you looked at her wide eyed. Here you two were, chained against a wall, she was bruised and bloodied up and down, and she decided that it was appropriate to introduce herself? 

“What’s happening?” you didn’t even think to reply back to her. She could be anyone. She could be the person who took you, acting as your friend. Your paranoid mind raced through multiple scenarios.

“Look, you’ll be fine as long as you listen.”

“Listen? Listen to what? To who? Who took us? What are they-“ 

“You need to calm down.” she whispered, “If they hear you they’ll come. They haven’t been so nice to the noisy ones.”

If anything anybody had never shut you up before, that certainly did. You could feel the fear in every nerve of your body. he other girls around you faced the floor. One was in a party dress, the other in a pan suit. Looking at them, the girls had nothing in common. One had dark hair, the other had her hair dyed a faded blue, and the last was blonde, each with a different eye color and skin tone. You tried your best to think like your brother, but you couldn’t. Unlike him, you weren’t a genius, you were just average.

You heard a door creek open and all the girls instantly looked up. Through the doorway of your room, you saw a masked man walk in. You could almost hear the other girls’ hearts pumping. You watched in terror as he began to step towards you. When he got into the room, though, he turned towards Charlotte, and began unchaining her.

“No, please!” she cried, “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” 

Charlotte went quiet. He aggressively picked her up by her arm and dragged her to the table, of which he pinned her down onto and began to strap her in. It wasn’t long before he opened a cabinet out of your view, and pulled out various rusty tools.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you asked. You didn’t even think out what you were doing. What the hell do you think YOU’RE doing, Y/N? you thought to yourself. Unconsciously, you knew that you can’t profile this guy like Spencer could, you couldn’t talk your way out of this, but you could protect the girls around you. How? By pissing him off. 

“Don’t speak, woman.” he growled.

“What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” he slammed a knife-like tool straight down into the table a millimeter next to Charlotte’s abdomen, “What? Did I hurt your masculinity, big boy?” 

He unstrapped her quickly. You figured what was coming for you next, and it wasn’t long before you were on that table. The leather restraints were on way too tight, there were splinters in your back already from the poorly sanded wooden table, which you figured was on purpose. And all you could do was watch, and scream, as this man did whatever he wanted to you. hitting you, cutting you, seemingly testing out tools you’d never even seen before. The camera on the ceiling told you that he was recording this all to watch later.

And all you could do was scream out your brother’s name.

()()()()()()

You didn’t know how long you were there. Hours, days, weeks, you had no idea. Time didn’t exist down there. Ever since your first encounter with the man, you tried to deter him from the other women around you any time he came around. And fortunately for them but not for you, it worked.

All of the pain and screaming left you numb, but it wasn’t until you saw him get angrier with one of the other girls that you weren’t able to comprehend your situation anymore.

She hadn’t been doing well, the one in the party dress. The color in her skin was drained, making her paler, her eyes sunk. And you watched as the man pulled a knife from his pocket, and stuck it right through her heart. The screams from you and the girls flooded the room, and it was like the air in the building was being sucked out. 

You would never forget it.

()()()()()()

You were asleep when suddenly you heard the door open again and your body began to shake. But it wasn’t the man who came in.

“Reid! I got her!” the sound of Morgan’s voice echoed in your ears. Spencer burst into the room, and while Morgan Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi tended to the other three girls, Reid and Hotch came straight to you.

“Y/N? Oh my god, Y/N, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.” Spencer panicked as he tugged at the chains, “Come on!” 

“Y/N, do you know where the unsub went?” Hotch asked. You looked at him, you understood his words, but all you could manage to say was,

“Liquid cherry.” 

“Y/N?”

“No, cherry E.” you were so distorted, either from the pain, or from the shock.

“Y/N I don’t understand.” Hotch said.

“Liquid cherry?” Reid repeated, “Y/N, do you mean Liquid E?” you nodded.

“Cherry meth.” Hotch confirmed. You don’t even know why you brought it up. It wasn’t important, and although that’s what the man used on you, it wasn’t even relevant at this point.

The rest was a blur. Being free had a different meaning to it for you then. But yet, you were brought into an interrogation room after the ambulance had deemed that you didn’t have any truly hospitalizing injuries, just horrible bruises along with scars that would probably never fade away. You looked down at the table.

Emily Prentiss and JJ sat on the other end of the table. 

“Y/N, we know you’ve been through something traumatic, but that man is still out there. The other two girls aren’t conscious, and you’re the only one who knows what he looks like.” Prentiss explained, “You might not remember, but we if you’re able, we want to do a cognitive interview with you. It might help you remember details you didn’t know you picked up on.” 

“I don’t want to be here alone.” you whispered. JJ sighed sadly for you, “I don’t want to do it unless it’s Spencer.”

“I know, Y/N, but your brother is personally involved now. He can’t work on this case.” she said. In your heart you knew why, and you understood completely. But your mind just didn’t follow, and you shook your head. You looked up, and the color of the room and placement of the mirror seemed to eerily familiar, and the scene switched.

There you were, back on that concrete floor, screaming out for Spencer. All you wanted was for your brother to come save you. You saw the man walking towards you. You screamed louder as he got closer.

You felt someones hands on your shoulders and the scene had changed again. You were breathing heavily, the interrogation chair was on its back, and you were in the corner of the room. Emily and JJ were crouched with concerning eyes in front of you.

“Y/N? It’s us.” 

“I can’t do it.” you sobbed, “Not without him. I won’t.”

Emily and JJ looked at each other and nodded. Emily walked out of the room while JJ sat on the floor with you.

“You’re safe now.”

“He’s still out there he’s not going to stop.” you whispered, “I just want my brother. I just want Spencer.”

She held you tight.

“We won’t let anything happen to you. Spence won’t let anything happen to you.” she reassured. 

It wasn’t long after that Spencer finally entered the room and signaled that it was okay for JJ to leave.

“Y/N,” his voice was soft, and you instantly felt safer in the presence of your brother, “are you sure you can do this?” you nodded in response. As much as it terrified you, you didn’t want that monster hurting any other girls. He was still out there somewhere. Spence helped you up and fixed your chair. You sat across from each other.

“Y/N, I need you to close your eyes.” he said. You did so, “Now think. What’s the weather like before you met the unsub? Was it cloudy, light, dark?”

“It was night. The sky was so clear.” you replied, imagining the time in your mind.

“You’re going out. Who are you with?” he asked.

“Alice and Elliot. Spencer, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the rules.” you cried. Spencer hadn’t even considered the thought of you sneaking out until now, but had decided that it was a talk for another time, if he thought you’d ever be able to handle it.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N. I’m just glad you’re safe.” he said. With your eyes closed, you couldn’t see the tears pricking your brother’s eyes. He’d seen many tragic things, done some of the most gruesome cognitive interviews, seen the most disgusting and vile actions done by the most heartless of monsters, but none of that beat this. His own sister. He’d watched the tapes that the man had recorded , and his heart sunk every time you screamed out his name, but his anger grew just as much, “Where did you guys go right before you met the unsub?”

“The club on 16th street.” you stated, seeing yourself and your friends right outside the doors, “Alice and Elliot convinced me to go in.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Alice and Elliot went to dance. I don’t like dancing, so they stay near me while I sit at the bar?” you realized that you talked as if you were presently there.

“Who is around you? Anyone you recognize?” he asked.

“No, I’m alone with the bartender.”

“Is he talking to you?” Spencer questioned. It was then that you recognized something.

“What can I get you, YOUNG LADY?” the bartender’s voice echoed in your mind, and aligned with the man who asked if you were okay outside before you were taken. You realized that the size and stature of the man who had tortured you matched with the bartender. You gasped and opened your eyes quickly. You were visibly distraught, so Spencer grabbed your hand in a quick attempt to comfort you.

“Y/N, are you okay? If it’s too much we can-“

“The bartender, Spencer.” you huffed out, “He said something to me and spoke to me outside after I was drugged.”

“Do you know what he looks like? Or his name?” he asked. Your thoughts were so fragmented now that you couldn’t remember, and a few tears slipped down your face as shook your head, “Do you want to try to keep going? You don’t have to Y/N I don’t want to put you through this again.”

“No!” you yelled, “No, it’s okay. It’s important. I can do this as long as you’re here.” He smiled slightly at how much you trusted him, but it quickly faded.

“The bartender,” he started, “He’s talking with you, what’s he saying?”

“He asks me if I want a drink. Calls me ‘young lady.’” you replied, as you saw yourself seated at the bar. The man just looked like a blur to you, and you tried so hard to remember him.

“What’s around him?” Spencer asked. 

“Well drinks, obviously. Alcohol.” 

“What kind?”

“He’s got all kinds of fancy bottles. Jim Beam, Captain Morgan, Patron, Bacardi,” you paused, “The Smirnoff is the same color as his shirt. A red shirt as a bartender. He stands out in an odd way.”

“His shirt, is he wearing anything? A name tag?” 

“He has a lanyard. It’s got pins on it and a picture with his-“ you see his name in big black letters on the end of the lanyard, “Andrew Vaughn. The drug is started to hit me now Spencer I-“

“Hey,” his voice was soft as he quickly got up and hugged you, “you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

“I’m so sorry!” you sobbed into his shirt, grabbing onto him. He put his head on yours.

“It’s not you’re fault Y/N. You’ve been through something traumatic, you can’t be sorry for it.” he said.

“If I hadn’t gone out like you told me, Spence! And those other girls. The one in the party dress! I watched her die! He just stabbed her and she bled out in agony, Spencer!” you nearly yelled. You almost couldn’t breathe, and your face was wet with the tears.

Spencer’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Reid knew some what of what you were going through. He reminded himself of what it was like when Tobias Hankel, and tried to think of how he wanted people to treat him then when he was freed, and how long it took for him to be okay again. He never really was, and he was afraid that you would never be able to feel safe again, but understood why you wouldn’t. He just wanted to take care of you, and blamed himself for not being there.

Within the next few hours, Hotch had refused to let a very angry Spencer go with the team to the unsub’s house. The BAU, although, successfully brought your kidnapper into custody.

“You don’t have to worry now, Y/N” Morgan said to you, “We’re gonna make sure he never sees the light of day again. He’ll live the rest of his life behind those bars.” 

“Yeah.” was all you managed to say with the slightest smile as you walked through whatever precinct you were in. 

“Y/N, Garcia told me to tell you that if you ever need anything, she’s here. I think the same goes for the rest of us.” Rossi explained.

“Thanks. I owe you all everything.” you said.

“Let’s get you home.” Spencer put his hand on your shoulder, careful not to touch any of your injuries, and the two of you walked out together.

You would never be the same after that, but at least you had your brother by your side.

[queenxxxsupreme]

I was wondering if you could write something with a plus sized reader? It can be any of the witchers and/or Jaskier (although I think esk, lam, & jask would work best). Can be more focused on them finding the reader attractive/hot? I see lots of fics and headcannons abt plus size readers that are all about insecurities and finding the reader beautiful and aethestically pleasing. I'm plus size and I think I am beautiful, just not... attractive. looking hot and looking pretty/beautiful are different. idk if that makes sense I just want someone to think I'm hot. It can be NSFW or funny and fluffy. if you aren't comfortable writing this that's cool too. I just really like your writing. You have created a really welcoming community/page and I felt comfortable enough asking. I appreciate it so much. Thank you. 💜

A/N: I love this ask!!! Though I’m not sure I followed the prompt properly…. :( I wanted to do Lambert very badly which is part of the reason why it took so long to do but I couldn’t make it work with the prompt so I ended up doing Jaskier. I hope you liked it babe!

Warnings: no smut but Jaskier is a cheeky bastard and suggests NSFW 18+ things so if you aren’t into that please don’t read! also mentions of poor self image but Jaskier makes it better

***

You watched the tailor and seamstress murmur to each other in a language you didn’t understand. The seamstress said something, gesturing to the skirt you wore. Then she looked back at the tailor who shook his head disapprovingly. 

Their eyes seemed to drill holes into you. You suddenly felt so stupid for letting Jaskier talk you into coming to this expensive shop to be professionally fitted for a dress to match his outfit for the gala in two nights. 

But he was just so excited about the gala. It was the first time you’d be meeting the famed Geralt of Rivia as well as a few of Jaskier’s other friends he had met on his journeys with the witcher. 

You felt saddened that he was so eager to take you to the gala. Surely you'd only make him look like a fool in front of his friends and comrades. 

“Dear? Are you listening?” Jaskier placed his hand on the back of your calf as he moved around the stool you were balanced upon. 

You brought your eyes down to him. 

“Hm? Oh, erm, yes. Of course, I-I was.” 

He frowned. 

“No, you’ve got something else on your mind. What is it?”

You shook your head, smoothing out the material to your dress. 

“Nothing, Jask. It’s fine.”

“Tell me, please.” He reached up to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. 

You kept your eyes on him for a few moments before looking in the direction of the seamstress and tailor. They no longer looked at you but they were still gesturing in your direction. 

“It’s just silly, Jaskier.” You shook your head. 

“You look upset, darling. It’s not silly if it’s upsetting you. Step down for a second, my sweet.” Jaskier held your hand as you stepped down from the stool. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, looking at you with furrowed brows. “Please tell me. Did something happen?”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Can you understand what they’re saying?”

“Of course.” Jaskier nodded. “They’re talking about putting ruffles in your skirt. Alma thinks a few would be a good idea to add some at the bottom but Derion is completely against the very thought of ruffles.”

You could practically feel the weight lift off of your shoulders. You almost laughed. 

“Really?”

“I know. I don’t think ruffles are a good idea, but Alma is an incredibly talented seamstress. She has an eye for creating beauties. But sadly ruffles will not be happening today.” Jaskier waved the two over. “With all do respect to you, darling Alma, I think we should pass on the ruffles this time.”

“Bastard.” Alma swatted her hand in his direction. 

“Let’s move on from the skirt.” Derion waved his hand dismissively. “For the bust. It’s the most important part. It will take Alma hours to bead together intricate detailing to match your doublet, Master Julian. She needs to know how you’d like it done in order to begin working.” 

“Right.” Jaskier placed his hand on the small of your back. “I’m thinking a rather cheeky neckline. Perhaps an off the shoulder neckline that goes a little deeper than what’s traditionally seen.”

“Jaskier!” Your cheeks flushed as you looked at him. 

“Darling, it will be absolutely fantastic! Show a bit of your chest off! Show everyone how sexy you are.”

“Jaskier.”

“It appears as though you have yet to come to an agreement on a top.” Derion spoke, looking between you two. “When my lady decides on what style of top she’d like, please do let us know. Until then, Alma, let’s continue with the skirt while they chat.” 

You watched the two move towards the desk off to the side of the room. 

“Jaskier–,”

“Just picture this, my love.” Jaskier cut you off, his hand leaving your back as he moved to stand in front of you. “The corset is supporting your bust, holding the girls up and putting them on display–,”

“For the entire gala to see?” You widened your eyes. “What are you trying to do? Make your friends think I’m some strumpet?”

“No! No! Of course not! I think you’d look sexy like that.” Jaskier put his hand on your hip. “And the corset will accentuate your figure–,”

“The figure I don’t have.” You turned away from him, making your way towards the chairs that sat near the windows. You were thankful the curtains were drawn. This gave you some privacy from the outside world. 

“What? That’s ridiculous. You have a figure. A marvelous one at that.” Jaskier followed behind you. 

“I have the same figure as an apple, Jaskier. Or a pumkin. Round and-and large and just.... There’s nothing you should be so eager to show off at the gala.” You sat down in one of the seats, your voice quivering as you fought to keep your emotions at bay. 

Jaskier knelt down in front of you, his hands taking yours in his own. His touch, calloused from years of playing instruments, was warm as he gave you a squeeze. 

He didn’t know what to say at first. He was upset with himself for having not noticed that you were uncomfortable earlier. He was upset with himself for making you uncomfortable.

“Love-,”

“And don’t- Jaskier, please don’t try to tell me I’m not.” You whispered, unable to meet his gaze as tears blurred your vision. “I know I am. If you deny it, it’ll be like denying that the sky is blue or that-that grass is green.”

Jaskier nodded softly, understanding your words. He let the silence sit between you for a few more moments. He reached up to wipe your cheeks. Then he moved to sit in the seat next to you, keeping your hands in his.

“You know, my favorite shade of blue is just after the sun sets.” He murmured. “It’s dark and it’s ominous, but it’s stunning to see planets begin to show even though the sun hasn’t set yet. It’s like they’re beginning to come out of hiding. And my favorite shade of green is much more specific than that. Do you remember that time we laid in the lupin field just outside of Cintra all day?”

“Of course I remember that.” You sniffled, a little smile coming to your lips. “You read and sang to me all day. It was a beautiful day.”

“That day is my favorite shade of green.” Jaskier rubbed the back of your hand. He leaned in to kiss the corner of your eye. “And that night…. That night was when I realized my favorite shade of blue, you know?”

Your heart began to race a little quicker. That evening in the lupine field had been rather romantic and intimate. It was one of your favorite memories with the bard. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, looking across the room to the seamstress and tailor for a moment to make sure they were occupied with something else. 

“Dear heart, you know I would make sure the dress they create makes you look nothing short of the goddess you are.”

“I-I don’t…. I don’t have that same faith, Jaskier.” You shook your head, looking away from him to one of the paintings on the wall. It was of a beautiful woman in a stunning violet dress. She was thinner than you and the dress she wore made sure to show what curves she had off.

“You don’t have faith in me?” He asked softly.

“I don’t have faith in myself. You keep saying I’m going to look sexy and that you want to put me on display-,”

“Y/N, I was only joking. I’m so sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I meant absolutely no harm by it.” Jaskier put his hand on your knee. “I just- My gods, Y/N. The very idea of you in the dress I envision. Everyone is going to be fucking staring. On second thought, perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to put you in a dress similar to that. In the off chance that I’d be able to take my eyes off of you, I’d have to fight anyone who dared to look at you.”

He wore the biggest grin on his lips and you knew he meant well by it. He really did. But your stomach churned at the thought.

“They’ll be staring because I’ll look absolutely ridiculous.” You turned your head away from him. “Ladies like me weren’t made for galas and ballgowns.”

“I happen to think you are perfect for a ballgown, my dear.” He leaned over to kiss your ear. “I know you don’t see it, but you are absolutely sexy. Hell, if I had a say in it, you wouldn’t even be wearing a gown. But there are going to be other people there and I can’t have anyone else seeing your gorgeous body.” 

Your cheeks flushed.

“Can I offer you a little deal? A peace treaty?” Jaskier suggested. You looked at him, meeting his blue gaze. “They have a dress cut similar to the one I’d like to be made for you. Can you try it on for me before we make any decisions today?”

You nodded your head, letting out a little breath. You would at least try it on and let him see how ridiculous you’d look. If you proved him wrong now, maybe he’d listen to you in the future. 

“Will it fit me?”

“They can make it work for you so you can at least get an idea of the style.”

“Okay.”

“Excellent.” He gave you a kiss on the temple before going across the room to Alma and Derion. He spoke to them in the language you didn’t know. It was a beautiful language. As he said the words he had the ability to make it sound otherworldly. How could one man, a human no less, make words sound angelic? 

Derion and Alma left the room together. Jaskier clasped his hands behind his back, leaned forward to watch where they had disappeared. Alma returned moments later alone. In her hands she held a dress. 

The dress was dark green but that was all you could tell.

“I’ll give you a moment to get dressed. Take good care of her, Alma.”

“I will. You worry about yourself, Master Julian.” Alma waved him away. 

You wanted to object, to say that you could get dressed by yourself, but you knew very well you wouldn’t be able to. You didn’t want to rip the dress. The material was probably more expensive than you could afford. 

“Take off your dress, darling.” Alma placed the dress over a nearby chair. “I’ll grab pins so that we can pin the dress in place.”

“Pin?” You repeated. “In place?”

“Yes, darling. It wasn’t made for your body. We need to make the dress work for your figure so we do that by manipulating the fabric with pins. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

***

Alma called for Jaskier after the dress was situated properly on you. 

You nervously moved back and forth as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other to get a better look in the mirror. 

The dress fit you decently. It was loose fitting in the chest but Alma fixed that with pins. She pinned a few other spots too but they were in the back so you couldn’t see all that well. 

The material was a beautiful emerald green silk with darker green embroidery around the bust. The off the shoulder neckline wasn’t terribly low in the middle where it dipped down, but it was lower cut than what you would usually wear. 

“Now remember, darling. The corset will be tighter on you and be providing support.” Alma spoke as she moved around the stool you were resting on. 

“My gods, Y/N! I love it!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Just wait until we get it in the blue to match my doublet!”

“Alma!” Derion called for Alma. 

Alma excused herself, leaving you alone with Jaskier. 

He moved around the stool, admiring the dress on you. 

“Before I lose myself in my own thoughts, love, what do you think?” Jasier clasped his hands together and held them near his mouth. 

You looked back to the mirror, shifting a little. 

“I don’t…. hate it as much as I thought I would.” You admitted. 

“But do you like it? Are you comfortable with the style? Be completely honest with my, darling. If you aren’t, there is no worry at all! I’ll have them make a style you are comfortable in. I want you to be comfortable first. No matter what you wear you will be absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and I will be ripping the dress off of you come the end of the night.”

“Jaskier.” You scolded. He gave you a cheeky smile. “I do like the cut and I like the off the shoulder part, but perhaps if we could add sleeves to it?”

“Of course! Oh that would be stunning! I’ll let Alma and Derion know. Anything else you want to add or take away?”

“I don’t think so.” You looked back to the mirror. “I think I’ll like it more once it’s in the blue. I do like the green, but the blue will match your doublet for the gala. And the green makes me sort of feel like a melon.”

Jaskier frowned.

“I wish you’d stop comparing yourself to fruits.” 

“Would you rather a toad? ‘Cause I look like one of those in this dark green too. A rather large toad.”

“If you are a toad, then what would that make me?” He held his hand out for you so he could assist you in stepping down from the stool.

“My pretty princess.” You giggled. 

“Hmm. Well you are the sexiest toad I have ever seen.” He pulled you into his arms. “But I rather like calling you a fruit. You taste just like one-,”

“Jaskier!”

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If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[tooyoungngolden]

Prompts:

1 - “My heart feels so full with you,”

2 – “I’m so in love with you and it’s scaring me,”

3 – “There she is. I love your smile,”

4 – “I have never loved you as much as I do right now,”

3K words

——————

Y/N absolutely hated the fact that she was distancing herself from Harry. Hated the fact that she wasn’t around him as much as she used to be. Hated the fact that her feelings had stopped her seeing her best friend.

Y/N had first met Harry four years ago when one of their mutual friends decided that they’d be better suited as best friends to each other than to them. It hadn’t bothered her or Harry- an almost instantaneous bond was made and they were best friends.

Fast forward five years, and she knows pretty much every single thing there was to know about the Harry Styles. Every single little thing- the good things and the bad. How he always wastes tea – no matter who it’s from- how he always meditates first thing in the morning no matter what, and how he always washes his hair with conditioner twice whenever he showers. And all of the things that other people don’t know. How making music sometimes stresses him out so much he can’t sleep. How he sometimes doesn’t want to get out of bed because he doesn’t want to disappoint his loved ones. And how he smiles, his different smiles for different situations, for different people. All of the little things that nobody else but her knew.

She knows everything about him. And it makes her fall in love with him every day, over and over again, every day since she met him.

But now here she was. Locked inside her flat, wrapped in two blankets on her sofa watching the saddest movies she could find on her shitty Netflix account. Which was also shit, because her whole Netflix was full of movies that her and Harry were planning on watching together whenever her got breaks from the studio or just needed somewhere to go when he finished working.

It wasn’t the fact that they were movies that they were planning on watching together. It wasn’t. It was the fact that it was always Harry. Everything that she wanted to do- she wanted to do with him. They’d been best friends for years and she’d never let her feelings get in the way of her spending time with him.

But here she was. Sitting on her sofa, crying over some stupid line in some stupid movie that Harry would completely love. And she missed him. Like crazy.

Y/N knows that she’s always been pretty open about her feelings. She talks about them, let’s people know how she’s feeling. She wants people to know what’s on her mind and what going on with her- the person she spoke to most about that was Harry, and he did the exact same thing. They were each other’s person. The one person in the whole entire world that they could trust and turn to no matter what.

And right now Y/N didn’t have anyone. Harry wasn’t here, she hadn’t spoken to him all day and she missed him. And she loved him. And all of these things she kept to herself.

She’s so engrossed in watching the trashy movie and wiping at her eyes and nose that she doesn’t hear the lock on her front door clicking open. She doesn’t hear the door sticking and being shoved, she doesn’t here shoes being kicked off, or him shuffling down the hallway and into the living room. She definitely hears the small “oh sweetheart,” that his raspy voice lets out as he sees the state she’s in.

Her head snaps round to see that Harry was standing beside the couch, watching her dab at her eyes and wipe her nose. She fells her whole body tensing at the sight of her best friend. She knows why, she just doesn’t want him figuring it out.

“What are you doing here?” She sniffles, reaching up and wiping at her nose again.

“You’ve been ignoring me love,” he shrugs back, as if that was the perfect answer.

Y/N feels her body tense further at the term of endearment that Harry usually uses for her. She loves it, loves when the pet names just slip out. They usually make her feel soft and warm inside. Right now however, they’re making her panic.

“’ve not been feeling well,” was her response to him, she doesn’t want to give too much away. Doesn’t want to make him upset- lord knows she can’t stand when he’s upset.

“You should’ve called love, you know I would’ve helped you,”

“Your not meant to be home for another few days,” Y/N whispers back, she knew that she wanted to get over herself in the few days that it took Harry to wrap everything up and come home. She wanted to be back to her normal self before he even realised something was wrong with her.

Harry nods down at her, shuffling his way over to the sofa before he sits down beside her. He doesn’t touch, and for that Y/N’s slightly grateful.

“I got home a little early, you weren’t answering any of my calls or texts so I came here as soon as all my stuff was dropped home.”

It’s now Y/N’s turn to not back at Harry. She doesn’t know what to say to him, he’s seen her cry before- she knows he has. But he’s always been there when she starts, or he’s the first person she calls. She’s never ignored him to cry. She’s never done it before and he’s confused as to what’s going on with her.

“What’s wrong love?” Harry whispers, moving so that he’s sitting closer to her.

She shakes her head, tears creeping back into her eyes,

“Don’t call me that, please H,” she croaks

“Talk to me then, your scaring me lo-“ he cuts himself off, stopping the full name from slipping out.

Y/N reaches up to brush at her eyes again, trying to swipe the tears away before they even escape her eyes. She doesn’t know how to talk to Harry about this. Doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m not- not really sure what to say,” she stutters, moving her jeans back to to grip at the blankets that were still spread across her legs.

“Start with telling me what wrong, please,” Harry starts, moving so that his body was more angled towards where Y/N is sat at her end of the sofa.

“I, I- my feeling are just a little confused. That’s all, it’s nothing Harry. I promise,” she starts, rambling at little at what she was trying to get out. She doesn’t want to come out and say that she’s completely and utterly in love with her best friend. Harry doesn’t feel the same about her, that much she knows. She doesn’t want to get her heart broken.

“It’s not nothing is it love, your clearly upset about this person so talk to me about it. Tell me what’s happening inside that incredible head of yours,” Harry ignores the stab of jealousy that tugs at his heart of the mention of Y/N being in love with or having feelings for someone.

“I can’t, I don’t know how to talk about it,” she whispers, not even realising that Harry had called her love again.

“Can you tell me who it is then?” He questions, trying to prompt her into to telling him what’s wrong.

Y/N shakes her head, she doesn’t want Harry knowing this secret. Doesn’t want this getting out.

“Can’t,” she whispers, pulling the blankets a little tighter around her body.

“Why not love, you know you can always talk to me. I’ll never judge you for anything, you know that,” he murmurs to her, moving his hand over so that it rests her against hers where her own hands lays against the blanket.

“I know, I know I can H. Just can’t about this,” she sniffles.

Harry nods at her, he wants to know what’s wrong with his best friend, wants to know what exactly is making her so upset so he can try and fix it for her.

“You wanna just watch some movies? We don’t have to talk, okay? We can just watch something,” he murmurs back to her, trying to make her relax a little more.

Y/N nods again, moving back into the sofa so that Harry can sit more comfortably, she moves the blanket away from her legs so that Harry can shuffle under the warm fabric as well.

“Something funny yeah?” Harry questions, moving to take the remote out of her hands and scroll through a list of films.

“Maybe something, like. Romantic? Or happy? Something happy.” Y/N replies, wanting to watch something with a happy ending. Something that wasn’t going to make her cry, potentially.

Harry nods at her, “Okay love, something happy it is,” and continues scrolling through the films on her- basically their – list on Netflix.

Harry stops on a film that piques his interest, stopping and looking over at Y/N to see if she wants to watch the film as well. She doesn’t even bother looking at the description of what the films about, just nods her head at him and continues to sit there and stare. If Harry notices that she’s staring at him he doesn’t say or even mention it.

Harry clicks play on the movie and snuggles closer to Y/N so that she’s leaning on his body. She moves her head down, resting it on his shoulder and focuses on the opening credits of the film that Harry had picked for them to watch. It’s probably something that Harry’s already seen to be fair, and it’s probably something that they’ll watch again- when she’s more capable of actually looking and taking in what’s happening on the screen in front of her.

She spends about five minutes looking at the tv screen before she shuffles her body around, moving so that she was further away from Harry so that she could not so discreetly watch him watch the film. And that’s exactly what she does, she moves around, her body still mostly resting against Harry but her head is moved so that she can angle it perfect and watch Harry.

Harry doesn’t comment, he can feel her watching. Has always been able to tell when something was bugging her. Was always able notice when something was wrong and when she needed to talk. He wasn’t going to push, he was going to sit here, pretend to watch whatever movie he’d picked and wait for her to feel comfortable enough to talk. He always does.

It’s about 35 minutes into the film before Y/N even makes a sound, she whimpers, the sound snaking it’s way out before she can stop it. Tears sneaking there way back into her eyes. Harry snaps her head around to look at her, his own heart hurting at the look of pure sadness on her face.

“Oh love. What’s the matter,” he questions again, wanting her to talk to him this time.

Y/N chokes back another noise, shaking her head a little as small globs of tears fall down her cheeks.

“I’m so in love with you and it’s scaring me,” she whimpered, not meeting Harry’s eyes. She can feel his body tense slightly where they’re resting against each other. She knows that he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of her mouth.

Harry turns his body to look at her, “You- you love me?” He stutters, not fully comprehending the words that she just said.

Y/N knows that there absolutely now way that she can go back from what she just said, there’s no way that the words that are now out in the open can be taken back. There out there. And Harry definitely hears what she said- and it’s certainly not the way she usually expresses her love for him.

“I- I’m. Yes. Yeah I am,” she whispers, looking down at her hands that are gripping the blanket that’s resting in her legs, she doesn’t want to look at Harry. Doesn’t want to see his face and the rejection that she’s bound to get.

“Look at me,” he murmurs at her,

Y/N shakes her head, as more tears silently work the way down her cheeks.

“Look at me love, please.” He says slightly louder.

Harry can see that she’s clearly not going to move her head, knows that she’s not going to look at him after her confession. So he moves, moves so that he’s sitting closer to her, legs resting practically on top of her. He moves his hands, moves them so that he can gently grasp her chin and force her face to look at him.

“Say it again,” he whispers, gazing at her.

Shaking her head again, she try’s her hardest not to look Harry in the eyes. If she did, she would’ve seen that he’s looking at her with so much love his gorgeous green is almost fully taken over by black.

“Say it again, so I can say it back.” He whispers again.

Y/N snaps her eyes up to look at him. Meeting his eyes for the first time since she’d let those words slip out.

“I- what?”

Harry smiles down at her, soft dragging his thumb across her cheek. “Say it,”

“I-“ she stammered, not sure she actually heard the word right.

“I love you,” she whispers, moving her eyes back down slightly, still looking at his face, but no longer in his eyes.

Harry laughs, letting out a small little huff that moves the hairs that have fallen out of Y/N bun and are resting against her forehead. Y/N sees when his lips spread into a grin, can see that his dimple is beaming and that he’s not mad. He’s happy.

“I love you too,”

Y/N snaps her eyes back to his, her own filling with happy tears this time around. She stares as him as his mouth spills out more words that she’s not fully comprehending.

“I’ve loved you for so long. I love you and every single things about you, I love your hair, and the way you hate having it up except when it annoys you. I love how you get all fidgety when your bored and how you always have some form of book on your phone to read. I love how you never drink your teas and how that you always have to have three sugars in absolutely everything hot. And how you make the most silliest jokes that I can’t help but steal, I love every single face that you’ve ever made and how you always complain about my taste in movies even though you love them” he rambles, the last little bit registers with Y/N and she laughs, her smile working it’s way back onto her face.

“There she is, I love you smile,” Harry grins at her, this thumb still resting on her cheeks moves down to brush against the skin right by her lips.

Y/N can feel the blush that spreads across her face. Can feel the pink as it rushes to her face. She also knows that Harry can clearly tell that she’s blushing.

“I love you,” Harry repeats.

“I love absolutely every single thing about you. My heart feels so full with you,” he whispers down at her, still smiling.

Y/N feels her heart swell. She can feel herself fall in love with Harry all over again. Can feel every single happy emotion that she’s ever had for Harry come rushing to the surface of her chest. She’s so full of him.

“I know. I love you too,” she whispers back, her voice small and so full of love.

“I’ve never loved you as much as I do right now,” she states, her voice more confident the more she knows and understands that Harry loves her too. He actually loves her too.

“Yeah?” Harry questions, grinning down at her.

“You really love me?”

She nods, her own hands coming up to grip Harry’s wrists where they’re resting against her face. She rubs her thumb against the anchor tattoo that sits against his wrist. Feeling the heat of his skin against her own.

“I really really love you H,” she smiles.

“I really really love you too,” he grins back, bending his head down so that he can rest his forehead against hers. Sliding his hands down so that they now rest against the skin on her neck.

Harry stares at her, not saying anything. They both just sit there and look at each other. Absorbing in all of the love and feelings that they’ve both just confessed to each other. They’ve never been as happy as they were right now, with each other.

“Y/N…” Harry murmurs.

She hums, choosing to not saying anything, just continuing to look at Harry.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for Y/N to hear.

Once again she chooses not to use her words, she shuffles around so that she’s now resting on her knees next to him on the sofa. Her head closer to his with how’s she seated she nods, wanting him to finally kiss her.

Harry bites his lip before he finally bends down and connect his lips to Y/N’s. It’s gentle. And sweet, and absolutely every single thing that she’s ever wanted in another person.

It doesn’t last long, neither of them experienced in kissing each other. Neither of them really knowing understanding how right and completely good it was going to feel. But it does. It feels so good that Y/N moves up to kiss him again. Moving her body so that her lips reconnect to Harry’s. Shuffling her body closer to his again so that she’s nearly siting on his lap.

They’ve never been happier. Lost and so so in love with each other that the world around them doesn’t exist anymore. It’s each other. Forever. Harry knows what’s wrong with her now. Knows that all she needed was him. And he’ll always know that now.

They’ve got each other. Completely and utterly in love with each other. They know that there never going to love another person as much as they love each other.

They couldn’t be happier, absolutely nothing else could make them happier than they are right now- with each other. Couldn’t be happier with how in love they are. They’re wrapped in each other. And nothing else matters. Nobody else matters but them.

———————

Another onee!! Wanted a little bit of yearning in this one! Don’t know how well I did so let me know loves!!

Feedback is always loved and appreciated! Tell me what’s up! Let me know what you want! I’m always open to a request! And I always, always, always need new things to write!!

Be nice and treat people with kindness!

Love Dari!🌻

[fckinsupreme]

If you're comfy with it, here's a smut request (or at least a hinting at). Reader and Montana just chilling and talking about their fantasies, reader says she's always wanted to be on someone's lap in a public space with her skirt or jacket and table being the only things hiding what's really going on. Her boyfriend Xavier walks in and the first thing he says is, "is that a challenge?"

The aerobics studio was bustling this time of day. People poured in and out, a steady flood that filled the lobby and the other rooms within the building. You weren’t paying much attention, however; you were too busy talking with Montana Duke. She was a girl who was in your class, and one that you became pretty good friends with over time. The two of you hung out frequently and partook in deep conversations when nothing else was happening around you.

This evening’s discussion, however, was a first for your friendship. You were both talking & laughing while seated on one of the lobby’s couches, sipping water and eating fruit. The conversation had started innocently enough, with Montana detailing her busy morning getting her hair touched up at the salon and complaining about how it wasn’t even done correctly. But then the topic had changed course to something that caused you to spit your water, nearly choking as she said: “What’s your top sexual fantasy?”

Your eyes widen, sputtering as you gently slapped your chest to stop choking. People were giving you odd glances, but you weren’t paying much attention. You were still stunned by what Montana said, and all you could manage to say was, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Montana says with a smirk. “We all have that one fantasy that we wanna try, but we’re too embarrassed to tell. What’s yours?”

“That’s a little too personal,” you say, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll tell you mine,” she offers. “I’ll tell you mine, you tell me yours. Deal?”

You sigh, already knowing that you aren’t going to win against Montana’s insistence. You’ve been down this road before with her, albeit with a different topic. It was a losing battle, and there was no need to resist it. “Okay, yeah. That might make me feel better.”

“I want someone to hold a knife on me while they fuck me,” she says, taking a calm bite of apple. It’s as if she just told you that her top fantasy was being fucked doggy style, rather than something /that/ dark. “To my arms, to my thighs, to my tits, I don’t care. I just want someone to cut me, to make it hurt.”

“Wow,” you say with a soft chuckle, shrugging a little. “Mine isn’t quite that intense. You’ll be disappointed if you were expecting something in that same vein.”

“Tell me!” she says, practically bouncing in her seat. “I won’t tell, promise.”

You take a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before it comes out. “I’ve always wanted to have sex in public. Like not somewhere out of sight where you can be heard; I’m talking about /public/. I want to sit in a guy’s lap, let him fuck me with my dress or a jacket kinda hiding it, and people don’t really know that’s what’s going on. They may suspect it, but they don’t know for sure. The guy would have to keep from being too obvious, but I dunno if he could pull that off.”

“Oh, babe,” you hear a familiar voice from in front of you. “Is that a challenge?”

Montana snickers next to you, her eyes wide before a grin forms on her lips. Your gaze slowly turns from her to see your boyfriend, Xavier Plympton, standing in front of the couch. Montana grabs her water cup with her free hand, waving at you before winking at Xavier. She walks away, and you look at Xavier with red cheeks. The embarrassment you feel is almost overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to run and never face him again.

Before you have a chance to, though, he sits beside you. His hand runs up your bare thigh, stopping just below the skirt of your dress. His knuckles slowly drag along the skin, his lips finding your neck as he kisses over it. He closes his eyes, humming against your pulse point before drawing back to look at you. As his eyes make contact with yours, his hand slides beneath your dress, your breath hitching as he rubs your inner thigh. His fingertips ghost over your cunt, moaning softly when he realizes that you didn’t put your panties back on after your post-workout shower.

“Is this for me?” he asks with a chuckle, circling his thumb around your clit. “Hoping that I would get a peek when you bent over to pick something up?”

“Mmm hmm,” you hum, blinking at him when he meets your gaze.

He continues playing with your pussy, pushing his fingers through your folds as he swirls your arousal all around, his lips on yours as he kisses you hungrily. You moan against his mouth when his tongue pushes inside, licking the roof of your mouth as he traces rapid, hard circles around your clit. You can feel eyes on you, people staring in disgust at the public display of affection, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Thanks to the slightly high table that was in front of the couch, and the angle you sat in, all they could see was the two of you kissing. They couldn’t really see what was going on under your skirt, unless they were really close to the table. Fortunately, as you saw when you pulled back, no one was that close.

“Do you want me to make your fantasy come true, baby?” he pants between kisses, muffling your moan as he applies more pressure to your clit. “I can do it right here. I’ll fuck you in front of all of them.”

Fresh arousal drips from your pussy at his words, and you can’t help but nod rapidly. “Please. I don’t even care if they can tell or not; I need it so fucking much.”

Xavier glances around, seeing that no one is really paying attention. He tugs his erection from his shorts and coaxes you into his lap, facing you forward, your wet cunt positioned over his cock. You glide over it for a moment, feeling his hard, throbbing shaft against your folds, his breathy moans sounding in your ear. He guides your hips downward, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning too loudly. Your dress & some of the table cover your lower half, and you’re thankful for that. You want people to be as oblivious as possible, and the less they knew about what was going on, the better.

“God, fuck, you feel so good,” Xavier whispers in your ear, holding you in place with one strong arm around your torso. The other smooths your dress down a little, assuring that it’s concealing everything. “So fucking tight.”

“Mmm,” you hum, gasping sharply as he rolls his hips upward before starting to slowly thrust. One woman at a nearby table looks at you with a frown, but soon goes back to her book and juice. “I don’t know how quiet I can be.”

“Try,” he hisses in your ear. “The whole point of this is for no one to know, right? You can’t be drawing more attention than is necessary, so you have to try and be quiet.” He pauses long enough to leave a hickey below your jaw, and then: “Do you want to bounce on me, sweetheart? Do you want to ride my cock?”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut as he grabs your hips over your dress. He guides you up and down for a moment, before you take the reins and start bouncing of your own accord. You keep the movements slow, subtle, not wanting anyone to see you vigorously fucking yourself onto his big, thick cock. You rotate your hips on occasion, finding that it’s easier than bouncing when people start throwing the occasional curious look your way. But when no one is paying attention, you ride him properly, his breathy moans in your ear as your own groans roll from your lips as silently as possible.

“Look at them,” Xavier whispers in your ear, his free hand moving some hair from your ear before he tugs the lobe between his teeth. “They have no fucking clue what I’m doing to you right now. They probably think you’re just innocently sitting on my lap. If they only knew what was going on under your dress, they would probably clear this room. Do you think so?”

“Or maybe they would wanna keep watching,” you say, turning your head to give him an amused smile. “More people are into it than you might think.”

“You would get off just as hard on that, wouldn’t you?” Xavier asks, a hint of a grin in his voice as he thrusts roughly against your G-spot. “You want people to see me drilling this sweet pussy of yours. Don’t even deny it.”

“I’m not,” you say, eyes rolling back as an audible moan spills from your lips. “I would love that, actually.”

“You’re kinkier than I thought, Y/N,” he breathes, ignoring the stares of two women around your age. They are pointing at the two of you, confused expressions on their faces as they observe you. You try to stop bouncing, wanting to switch to the subtle rotations, but Xavier makes you keep going. “Let them stare. They’ll either figure it out or they’ll get bored trying.”

Your head lolls against his shoulder as he reaches under the dress, his fingers on your clit. You can’t hold back your moans now, letting them flow from your mouth as more people start casting looks at you. Xavier doesn’t care; he keeps going, his breathing loud in your ear. You can only drink in people’s expressions as they glance at you, and between that, Xavier’s touch, and how wonderfully he’s drilling into you right now, you tip over the edge. You cum so hard that you see stars, eyes closed as your head tips all the way back. Xavier’s hand clamps over your mouth & nose to silence any sounds you make, and the absence of air only intensifies your orgasm. You aren’t sure how long he keeps your airways closed, but he’s gently praising you as you hit your high. He’s calling you a good girl, saying you did so well, coaxing every last second of your climax out of you.

You gulp air into your lungs when he releases your nose & mouth, panting heavily as almost everyone in the room turn to look at you. Many don’t stare too long, but it’s long enough for Xavier. He cums inside of you, whining and groaning as you milk him of every last drop. You rock your hips a little, getting everything you can from him before he hugs you close from behind.

“Stand up,” he pants in your ear, and you do so on shaky legs. You can feel a small drip of his seed trailing down your inner thigh, and Xavier sits back smugly on the couch as he watches. He licks his lips, his eyes flicking from the cum on your leg to your face. “Did you have fun, babe?”

“Yes,” you say, lifting your dress a little to give him a better view of your pussy. “Very much.”

“Mmm, fuck baby,” he breathes, pulling you a little closer to him before running his tongue over your clit. He buries his face in your overstimulated cunt, deeply inhaling both his scent and yours. “Let me clean you up now, pretty girl. Right here, right now.”

——

Baby tags: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @liliesintherain @melodylangdon @thorohdamnson @guiltyfiend @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @lvngdvns @blakewaterxx @langdxn @apocalxpsetime @duncansshephard @frenchlangdon @lovelylangdonx @littlegirlsdontplaynice @dark-mei-rose @ahsbitch

[petri808]

@thenaluarchive winter wonderland snow activities prompt. How about some sledding in Hawaii 🤗🏂🌨

For college student Lucy Heartfilia, if there was one thing she missed about home, it was the snowy winters. Being in Hawaii for the last 3 years, she enjoyed the beach days, of sun and fun, and all the new friends she’s made, but the autumn and winter months was such a different experience here. For starters, the leaves don’t change color in the Fall! Before she’d come to the University of Hawaii at Hilo, Lucy never realized how much she would miss such a trivial thing.

And that January was colder than the last one according to her roommate Levy McGarden. Honestly, Lucy couldn’t really tell the difference because to her cold was like 20 degrees Fahrenheit not 70. That first year was amusing to her as she walked around in a tank top and the locals in hoodies complaining about the chill in the air. But she had to agree with Levy as they sat in their rented house. That night was a bit chillier than most. Hawaiian winter storms were really just deluges of rain, and based on how much it was pouring outside, that’s exactly what hit that evening.

“Bet there’ll be snow on the mountain by morning,” Levy chirped from her blanket burrito. “Maybe enough to play in too.”

Lucy excitedly popped up from her textbook. “You guys get snow here?!”

“Yeah,” Levy chuckled. “I heard there’s even a skiing club on the island. When there’s a lot of snow people ski and snowboard up there.”

“Darn,” Lucy deflated in her seat, “if I’d have known, I would brought my board.”

“Tell ya what, if it turns out there’s snow I’ll get Gray to take us up in his truck.”

“But I don’t have my board.”

“Don’t worry,” Levy winked. “We’ll show you the island style.”

The storm lasted for two more days, so no one could really see what was going on above the clouds. But according to the observatory’s on top of Mauna Kea, snow was in fact building on the mountaintop. The question became how much? It was finally on the third day, that the sun came back and clouds disappeared, when Lucy got her first glimpse of snow in Hawaii. She could see the mountain clear as day from the third floor of the UCB building on campus.

“Natsu! Natsu!” Lucy ran up to him as he was existing his last class of the day. “Did you see?!” She squealed and pointed towards the mountain. “It’s covered!!” Natsu Dragneel was best friends with the girls other friend Gray Fullbuster. Lucy had met both men in classes at the university her Freshman year and since they were local to the area, they often took the girls to see places around the island.

He laughed with a smile. “Yeah, I saw it.”

“Levy said maybe Gray can take us in his truck?”

“I’ll ask him, probably could go tomorrow morning as long as the road is open.”

“They close the road?”

“Just until they can make sure it’s safe to drive it.”

“Yay!! I can’t wait!”

At 7 am the following morning, Lucy and Levy piled into Gray’s Toyota Tacoma truck along with Natsu and headed up the mountain. The drive would take about an hour to get to the visitor center, where they’ll be required to acclimate for an additional hour before moving onto the summit. When they arrived, Lucy was absolutely in aww, the snow had come all the way down to the center, blanketing the building in white fluff.

They got out of the truck and Lucy played the typical tourist, fawning over the gorgeous view. With a cloudless, light blue sky above them, they could see a great distance down the mountain and it was amazing! The parking lot was already half full of other park goers ready to take advantage of the snowy opportunity.

“Come on,” Natsu prompted Lucy into the center. “They’ve even got souvenirs if you’d like a memento.”

Lucy smiled, a light blush coating her wind swept cheeks. He knew her too well already. “Thanks.”

The hour passed by quickly at the center, with the friends eating a breakfast they’d packed along with purchases like hot chocolate at the center. And yes, Lucy purchased a couple of souvenirs, including a picture frame to commemorate the day. She really wished she had her snowboard, but just being able to hang out with her friends was enough for her. Maybe they could even have a snowball fight!

As they piled back into the truck for the last leg of the journey, Lucy noticed something in the bed of the truck. She laughed. “Boogie boards?! Are you serious?”

“I told you we do it Island style here,” Levy laughed too. “Sometimes we just bring inner tubes. Trust me, it’s just like sledding and fun.”

The last time Lucy had gone sledding she was 7 years old, but of course those sleds were built for snow and the children’s type had something to hang onto. These did not. Well, guess she’ll just have to trust they know what they’re doing. As for the drive, this portion of the road was both a little scary and amazing. It had been cleared but still icy, so everyone crawled along the skinny road, giving Lucy a chance to stare out the window and take pictures.

“Oh, wow theres some trippy rock formations,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” Natsu turned to see what Lucy was talking about. “Oh, yeah, that’s like layers of old lava rock or something.”

“The colors are beautiful.” Some had an oily sheen, brownish-reds and golds in horizontal waves along the rock faces. Yup, Lucy was definitely glad they brought her here.

Gray drove until he found a decent spot to park that was close to the heaviest snow areas, yet away from the majority of crowds. Families with children stayed closer to the scattered observatories or where the snow would not be as difficult for children to maneuver in. Lucy even noted some trucks were simply shoveling snow into their beds. She was told many took the snow back down the mountain for those who couldn’t make it up.

“Stay away from any pink or yellow spots in the snow,” Gray warned.

“Pink?” Lucy asked in confusion. Yellow she figured out but why pink?”

The man shrugged, “sometimes it looks pink up here.”

“Weird,” She laughed but carried on, helping to grab a boogie board. The guys had brought enough for each of them.

They climb up a decent sized hill, trudging through the snow. It wasn’t too deep, and actually it was a bit icier than Lucy was expecting but not too bad yet. She couldn’t lie that she’d hoped for powdery snow, but this was better than nothing. After a quick group selfie, Natsu started explaining how to use the boogie board.

“We hold onto the leash to steer and use our feet as brakes. Since it’s just a short hill, you probably won’t pick up too much speed where you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

“Okay, I think I got it...” Lucy gripped onto the edge of the board as she looked down the hill. Snowboarding never made her nervous, but this did. She wasn’t used to having such a short area to move in, and definitely didn’t wanna think about running out of snow to slide on.

“If you’re nervous, I could go with you till you feel more comfortable,” Natsu suggested.

That brought a new flutter and wave of heat back to her cheeks. The board could fit two people sitting on it, if she was practically on his lap!

“It was just an offer, you don’t have to—.”

“N-No, thank you. That might be a good idea, for at least the first time so you can show me what to do.”

Both Lucy and Natsu hadn’t noticed the silence coming from their friends who stood on the side whispering and snickering through the unfolding scene. Levy had even pulled out her phone ready to record the event. They watched the pair settle the board onto the snow, Natsu digging it in to keep it still a moment as he got on first, then directed Lucy to sit between his legs with her feet on the board for now. He then had her grab the leash where he was holding it, and placed his other arm around her waist for security.

“I got ya,” he whispered near her ear.

She swallowed thickly, his heat was radiating against her body and suddenly the cool air of the mountain had disappeared. “O-Okay.”

“All you gotta do is watch how I use my feet to break at the end and have fun. Ready?”

“R-Ready.”

Natsu used his feet to scoot them initially, then let gravity do the rest. The pair slide down the hill, picking up a decent rate of speed, not too fast, just right. Lucy screamed in elation, this was so much fun! It was only a short distance and Natsu easily dug his feet into the snow to bring them to a stop. Her heart was beating rapidly from the exhilarating ride and she was still giggling after they’d come to a full stop.

“Did you like that?” Natsu chuckled and got off, holding his hand out to help Lucy to her feet.

Lucy looked up and blushed, then took his hand. “Yes, a lot more than I’d expected to.”

Once she stood up the pair pause, breathing slowing, as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Natsu’s hold on Lucy’s hand tightens. Her heart fluttered, spellbound at the handsome smiling face, and rosy cheeks from wind burn. Natsu’s smile always captured her like a siren pulling her in. He brushed a stay lock of hair from her face, causing her to gasp lightly.

“Finally!”

“Just kiss her already!”

With the spell broken, the pair look up the hill to see their friends laughing, and Levy holding up her phone, pointing to it. Lucy giggled, they were totally busted, but a long time in the making. Who would have thought that a snow capped mountain in the middle of a tropical island would break the unrequited stalemate.

Natsu turned Lucy’s face back to him, tipped up her chin, and lowers to within an inch of her lips, “may I?”

“Yes, please...”

Bonus picture of a couple of kids on the mountain with boogie boards I found online. But yes, lol we have snow in Hawaii 🙃

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Won’t You Stay (Part 16)

Summary: The movie has wrapped and is in post-production phase now. With a bit more free time, the reader and Jensen’s parents meet for the first time in Texas...

Masterlist

Square: Mirror Sex

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 4,000ish

Warnings: mature (language, anxiety, smut (protected sex, mirror sex))

A/N: Please enjoy! Also written for @spnkinkbingo​​

_____

Three Months Later

“Y/N, would you calm down. You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor,” said your mom as she moved about the kitchen. You whined and paced back over to the front room, glancing out the window. “Ethan. She’s doing it again.”

“Sweetie,” called your dad, popping up from the family room and walking around the corner to you. “They are the Ackles, not a pack of wolves.”

“I just really want this to go well,” you said. “They should have been here by now. Waco isn’t that far a drive from Dallas. Maybe they got screwed up with their hotel or something.”

“We told ‘em they could stay here. No use in having a guest room if the guests don’t use them,” said your dad. You looked over at him slowly, rolling your eyes. “That was a good one. I give it a 9.5.”

“Dad! My boyfriend’s family is not staying over our house! What were you thinking? What if they hate you! Or mom! I can’t believe you.”

“Direct a multi million dollar movie? She’s fine. Introduce her parents to her boyfriend’s parents? Apparently it’s the end of time as we know it.”

“Dad,” you groaned, your mom slipping away from the kitchen over to you. “Mom, why would you let him do this?”

“Why are you so nervous? We love Jensen and I’m sure we will love his family too,” she said. 

“Cause what if you guys don’t like each other?” you said.

“If we don’t, then we don’t. It doesn’t affect you and Jensen though, kiddo. Relax,” he said. He rubbed your shoulders and you sighed. “Now go finish setting the table.”

“I already did that,” you said.

“Don’t worry,” said your mom, giving you a peck on the cheek. “They’ll be here real soon.”

You threw your head back and walked away, your parents laughing to themselves as you wandered out the front door and under the front porch. It was a very different style home than the house in LA. That was a massive mansion with beams and dark wood and looked grand. The Waco vacation house though, that was something more like you wanted for yourself someday. It was nice and updated but it was still just a house. A large one but nothing like in LA. 

You remembered picking it out with your dad when you were about five years old. The house didn’t interest you too much but there was a swing on the tree in the backyard that you absolutely fell in love with.

You smiled as you saw a car pull in at the end of the driveway. It wasn’t like you were meeting his parents for the first time. Maybe it was the second time but things would turn out okay. They always did with Jensen.

“Hey,” said Jensen, ducking out of the backseat when the car parked near the garage.

“Howdy partner,” you said, Jensen’s parents and sister getting out as well. “Hi.”

“Nice to see you again, sweetie,” said his mom as you walked over to help with the bags. She gave you a hug and you got a nod from his sister.

“How’s the semester going?” you asked.

“Probably flunked my biology midterm but otherwise awesome,” she said. Jensen rolled his eyes behind her back and she scoffed. “Oh shut up Jenny.”

“Alright, nerd. Most people don’t consider an A- flunking by the way,” he said, handing you over a few bags. “Mac, get your stuff.”

“Are you ever going to relax?” she asked, rolling her eyes as she pulled out a duffel bag. “I cannot believe you date him.”

“He has his moments,” you said. “You may need to end up bunking with my little sister if that’s alright.”

“Ella and Anthony aren’t too much younger than you. I’m sure you three will all get along and find ways to annoy us,” said Jensen.

“Don’t challenge me, Jensen,” she said.

“Behave. You’re a guest,” said his father. He looked at you and nodded before heading towards the front door. 

“He likes you,” said Jensen. 

“He does not,” you said quietly. “He thinks I’m some stupid actor’s stupid daughter.”

“No, he doesn’t,” said Jensen. “I promise. I was super nervous around your dad at first and now we’re good friends.”

“You were also coworkers. Oh God this was a mistake,” you said. 

“Hey, honey. If it is, I promise we can runaway and stay in a hotel room for the weekend, okay?” he said. He kissed your temple and you nodded, helping carry some bags over to the front door where his family was waiting.

“Guys, they’re here,” you called, stepping inside and leading the way for them.

“Hi!” said your mom, coming around the corner from the kitchen quickly. “I’m Dani, Y/N’s mom.”

“You look like her older sister,” mumbled Mackenzie. Jensen elbowed her in the ribs and shot her a dirty look. 

“Ah. Yours are like ours I see,” said your mom.

“You should see them when the oldest is with them,” said Jensen’s mom. She gave your mom a hug, Jensen’s dad giving her a friendly smile. “This is Alan. I’m Donna and this is our youngest Mackenzie.”

“Hi,” said your mom, your dad walking in with your siblings in tow. “This is-“

“He’s the guy!” said Mac, whacking Jensen on the arm. “That guy that’s in that movie you were obsessed with when I was little.”

“Aw, I’m flattered Jensen,” teased Ethan.

“I hate you, Mac,” said Jensen, your dad chuckling.

“Well I’m Ethan and these are our other kiddos, Anthony and then Ella,” he said.

“You’re kinda young if you don’t mind me saying. Sport,” said Alan. You cocked your head, your dad smirking. 

“I always knew that Jensen looked familiar but could never quite figure it out. Alan Ackles. You scared the crap out of me that day,” he said.

“You gotta tease the rookies. I hear Jensen’s gotten plenty of that,” he said.

“Um, do you two know each other?” you asked.

“Not really but we worked together once, way back on a local commercial in Dallas. It was my very first acting job before I moved to LA. I must have been seventeen years old,” said your dad, shaking Alan’s hand.

“I wasn’t that old, probably the kids age or just a hair older,” he said. “Obviously that acting thing worked out for you.”

“Eh, just a little,” said your dad. “Come in. Y/N, bring the bags up to the guest room.”

“And you thought they wouldn’t like each other,” hummed Jensen as your parents headed off together.

“You did too!” you said. You spun around and Jensen’s sister was staring at him, your siblings doing the same. “Why don’t you guys hang out with Mac while we bring this stuff up? Maybe show her around.”

You left before they could say anything, urging Jensen to follow you. 

“I totally was not expecting this,” said Jensen. “It’s so different than your parents house.”

“Truth be told I think we all prefer this one,” you said. “But you know, gotta have the house if you’re Ethan Y/L/N.”

“I can’t believe our dads worked together, even if just for a day once,” he said.

“Maybe this was meant to be,” you said. Jensen grabbed your waist and kissed you, making you giggle and nearly fall backwards. 

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he said, grabbing you tight. “Falling for me again?”

“Such a loser,” you said, popping into a bedroom and setting down most of the bags. You walked farther down the hall and set Mackenzie’s down in Ella’s before pulling Jensen to the end and into your own.

“Wow,” he said, dropping his bag by the door as he stepped inside. “I gotta admit, I think you got the best bedroom.”

“First dibs has its perks,” you said. Jensen walked over to the window, staring out at the rolling wheat field far out behind the house and trees. 

“Sometimes I really forget how you grew up.”

“Money isn’t everything. Ask my dad and you know he’d give all of this up in a heartbeat to have not have gone through what he did. What I did. What everyone did with the car accident,” you said. You stopped beside him, Jensen lacing your fingers together. 

“Y/N. I don’t mean the bedroom or the houses. I know you didn’t get what most of us do but your dad did a good job of trying to give that to you, a normal life,” he said. “Also, you have a Nintendo 64 over there that we are totally taking home with us.”

“We’ll have to see if we can sneak it out,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “Your parents don’t know that my mom isn’t my birth mom, do they.”

“If they have a problem with your family, I think they’re just going to have to get over it,” he said. “Why’re you so scared, Y/N? I get being nervous and wanting everyone to get along. I’m exactly that way right now too.”

“Because if there was a problem, I would never want anything to come between you and your family. I would never ask you to pick me over them,” you said.

“Y/N.”

“Because you make me happy,” you said, lifting your head to look at him, cautious green eyes looking back. “I think it would rip me apart for good if I screwed this up.”

“I love my family Y/N. I love your family. But if they ever put me in a position to choose them or you, then they aren’t the people I love. Where’s this really coming from?” he asked.

“My parents got along really well with Logan’s,” you said quietly. “They all clicked instantly. Your dad doesn’t...I don’t think he approves of me but he’s too polite to say it.”

“You are by and far the best girlfriend I’ve introduced to them. Pretty. Smart. Badass. Did I mention pretty?” he said, kissing your cheek. “You met them for three hours once when he had a cold. You are worrying over nothing. I promise.”

“Well those three seem to be thick as thieves,” said your mom as she came outside to the back patio after dinner, carrying a few drinks. You glanced inside to the kitchen, your brother and sister chatting up a storm with Mackenzie at the counter.

“To think she didn’t even want to come,” said Donna. You watched your dad put another log on the fire, your mom handing you a beer. You nodded and took a sip, Jensen rubbing his hand up and down your back. “Everything alright, Y/N? You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“Probably just jet lagged,” said your dad. “Kiddo’s been working on editing like crazy lately now that we’re wrapped.”

“What are you doing in the meantime Jensen?” asked his dad.

“Kind of relaxing. Trying to learn how to cook. I can only make chicken casserole for Y/N so many times,” said Jensen with a smile.

“It’s yummy,” you said, taking another sip.

“The movie comes out in about six months. We can be sure to snag you guys some tickets for the premiere,” said your dad. 

“Jensen already invited us but unfortunately that’s exactly when we’re supposed to be on a cruise for a few weeks. He wouldn’t let us skip for it,” said Donna.

“Eh, you guys can come to the next one,” said Jensen. “We’re set to start the second movie not long after the first comes out.”

“I just picked up the prequel book. Oh, I feel so sorry for poor Lyle,” she said. “Do you mind if I ask how you came up with him, Y/N?”

“Overactive imagination,” you said with a smile. 

“It was good,” said Alan, your head turning towards him. “The first book. I liked it.”

“Thanks,” you said, Jensen giving you a smirk.

“You know what we need? S’mores,” said your mom. “Jay. Hm?”

“Sure thing, Dani,” said Jensen, standing and heading back inside with her. Donna got up to help and soon it was quiet with just the three of you out there, your dad glancing to you.

“You know Dani isn’t Y/N’s biological mother,” said your dad. 

“I didn’t realize you were married before,” said Alan.

“I wasn’t. Y/N wasn’t exactly planned. Her birth mother died in a car accident and they had to deliver early,” said your dad. You stared at him, your dad ignoring it. “I was only eighteen when this happened. I know we’re a little younger than you probably were anticipating.”

“She seemed to turn out just fine,” he said. “Jensen never shuts up about her.”

You gripped your bottle, your dad biting his bottom lip.

“I see where she gets it from,” chuckled Alan. “The both of you are so nervous around me for some reason.”

“I think your son is very important to my daughter,” said your dad.

“I think your daughter is very important to my son. Not sure what the issue is there,” said Alan.

“There’s not an issue,” you said. You stood up and walked away, over to the pool before sticking your feet in the warm water.

You felt a presence behind you and sighed.

“Dad-“

“Not your dad, kid,” said Alan, taking a seat beside you. You watched the water while he rolled up his pants and stuck his feet in, a quiet sound leaving him. “I will admit I was a bit grumpy last month when we met. It had nothing to do with you, Y/N.”

“Why do I feel like you don’t like me then?”

“Maybe because you’re like Jensen in a way, which explains why you fit together so well. Maybe it’s why this seems strange, because part of him is like me too,” he said.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Honestly, maybe it’s because my son seems like himself again and we couldn’t do that. Your family did. Maybe I’m a little jealous of that,” he said. 

“My family didn’t do anything.”

“You did.”

You shrugged and took a sip of your beer, his dad smiling.

“Jay ever tell you he wants to try making beer sometime?”

“Once. Told me you nearly tore him out a new one when he tried it in your backyard,” you said.

“Yeah, well. Parents aren’t perfect,” he said. “Maybe we don’t have the opportunity to get to know each other like Jensen did with your family but we do want to know you. We don’t disapprove by the way.”

You turned your head and he shrugged.

“Jensen worries.”

“I’ve noticed,” you said. “This is going to sound a certain way so don’t take it that way please. I just-“

“You don’t have to justify the way you feel,” he said. You nodded, wiggling your toes in the water. “He loves you and we will too. Give me some time is all.”

“I can understand why he is the way he is,” you said with a smile.

“A dork?” he teased. “He gets that from his mom.”

“Sure he does,” you said. He bumped your shoulder and you gave him a smile. “The whole single dad, accident baby doesn’t bother you?”

“Don’t ever refer to yourself as an accident. Also, no it doesn’t. Is it unconventional? Yes. But all I care about is that my children are happy. So don’t worry about the other stuff, alright?” 

“I’ll try,” you said. It was quiet for a moment, his dad sitting back.

“You know he calls once a week to check in. He spends most of that time talking about you,” he said. “It’s pretty adorable to be honest. Turns into a little boy all over again.”

“He is pretty adorable,” you said.

“Well I know you are incredibly busy at the moment but some quiet weekend, come visit. We’d like it,” he said.

“We will,” you said. There was a rustling behind you and you looked up, Jensen carrying a plate with two s’mores on it.

“You guys want some?” he asked, mouthful of his own.

“Sure,” you said. You took a bite and gave him a thumbs up.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah,” said his dad. “I think we’re all good now.”

“Good morning,” you said, smiling as your parents headed into the kitchen. Your mom raised an eyebrow as your dad took a cup of coffee Jensen handed him. “What?”

“She’s awake. Before us. I don’t think she’s ever willingly done that,” she said. Your dad put a hand on your head and you swatted it away.

“I don’t feel a fever,” he said.

“We wanted to be kind children and make our parents breakfast,” said Jensen over his shoulder as he got out some butter.

“Ah. I see they’ve forgotten we’re going to brunch later,” said your mom. You threw your head back and put the eggs back in the fridge.

“Going back to bed?” asked your dad.

“Yup,” you said, grabbing Jensen’s hand and pulling him upstairs with you. He yawned as you wandered back to your bedroom, smiling when you fell back on the mattress. “More sleep. My favorite.”

“Or we could have morning sex and then go back to bed,” he murmured. “Both your favorites.”

“You want to do it with both our parents in the house? Jensen Ackles. I didn’t realize you were such a bad boy,” you said, rolling over onto your back.

“Only for you,” he teased, locking your bedroom door. 

“You have a streak hidden in you. Don’t deny it,” you said.

“Oh, I’m not,” he said, rolling back onto the bed, sliding his hand up your shirt. “I even came prepared.”

“That’s my boy,” you said, stretching your arms up, letting him push the shirt off of you. 

“You get rid of those pesky clothes and I’ll be right back.”

He kissed your cheek and hopped up, going to his bag and digging around. You were lazy in taking off your shorts and underwear, tossing your bra on the floor in time for him to come back with nothing but a condom on.

“I would like to try something if you’re up for it,” he said. You sat up with a sleepy smile and nodded. He gave you a lazy kiss before he sat back down, grabbing your waist and pulling you around to the middle of the bed, settling in behind you. 

“What are you up to?” you asked.

“Your dresser here has a mirror,” he said, your eyes flickering across to the other side of the room. You saw yourself naked, Jensen snaking a hand down to your folds and slowly rubbing you. “I want you to see how absolutely fucking hot you are when you get fucked.”

“Jay,” you said, turning your head away.

“Please?” he hummed. 

“I’m not going to get in the mood by looking at myself.”

“Looking at you naked gets me in the mood all the time,” he said, kissing your neck. You rolled your eyes but looked ahead, watching his free arm cross your waist and press you back against his chest. His arm’s looked larger than normal and you noticed the muscles flexing in his shoulders, the strong thighs that were moving the two of you to sit up. You sat back on your heels, Jensen rutting his cock against your back before pulling you up and settling you over his cock. You lowered yourself down, fluttering your eyes shut.

He snapped his hips back and rocked into you, eyes flashing open and catching his own in the mirror behind you. In the mirror, you started to ride him, Jensen meeting you with every roll of your hips. 

“Look at my cock, fuck looks like it barely fits,” said Jensen. Your eyes went down and you watched yourself lift up him, nearly all the way before slamming down. 

“Okay. That is pretty hot,” you said, Jensen chuckling as he kissed your jaw. “Fuck. You’re so fucking strong. Shit, Jay.”

“Feels like you’re milking my cock. How are you so tight?” he panted against your skin, warm air hitting your face.

“Because of your big cock,” you whispered, moving your arms behind you to hold onto him, Jensen plowing in harder. You’d never noticed how your own body bowed and arched before, never noticed muscles in your thighs working hard, never noticed the light blush that covered your skin as you got closer to an orgasm. “Harder.”

He tightened his grip and rubbed over your clit, fucking up into you, nailing your g-spot.

You grabbed his ass and he did it again, your head knocking back onto his shoulder. Your whole body tensed as you came, your face soft as you bit your bottom lip, Jensen growling into your neck to hide his grunts as he followed quickly after. With a quiet laugh you let go of him, Jensen pulling you to fall back straight on his chest, rolling you to his side.

“The only thing that could have made that better was seeing your ass too,” you said.

“You can look at my ass anytime you want,” he said, shakily getting to his feet and tossing the condom in the trashcan. 

“Uh oh,” you giggled, spotting the red marks covering the small of his back and his creamy cheeks. “I think I might have given you a few new bruises.”

“Please mark me up,” he hummed, sliding back into bed under the covers, laying his arm over your waist. “Makes me feel like yours.”

“God you are too attractive,” you said, kissing his nose, Jensen nuzzling closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too, honey,” he said. You shut your eyes, ready to fall back asleep when your phone buzzed, a text from AJ coming in. “Work again?”

“Premiere date got moved up a week,” you said, tossing the phone back down. “No big deal.”

“I can’t wait to walk down a red carpet with the hottest director, writer, actor there ever was and know that she picked me,” he said. 

“I would prefer not to go,” you said. Jensen nipped at your bottom lip and you laughed. “But I’ll go as your date.”

“Score one for Ackles,” he said. You kissed him quickly, Jensen closing his eyes. “Sleep?”

“You read my mind, fan boy.”

______

A/N: Read Part 17 here!

[iffeelscouldkill]

Mission Log: REDACTED

A/N: Now that Yuletide reveals are revealed, I can go ahead and own this fic I wrote for the awesome Mousek for Yuletide! It’s quite long (14,999 words), so I’m not going to post the whole thing here, just enough to give people a flavour and lure them to AO3 for the rest.

This fic is written in an “audio narrative” format, in the same style as the From the Archives ficlets if you’ve read those. Slightly spoilery warning (skip over this to remain unspoiled but please read if you’re concerned about potential triggers): this fic features people’s memories being modified (though not completely irreversibly) without their consent.

Enjoy, friends!

Summary: Canon divergence AU from mid-episode 9. Instead of executing Plan B, the Rumor crew learns about a top-secret Regime project that is being carried out at ADVANCE Labs - and that the fate of the crew of the Iris is not what they thought it had been.Violet Liu goes in undercover, posing as a member of the lab team. But can she undo what the Regime has done to the crew and free them - without losing herself in the process?

Read on AO3!

---

“This is Agent McCabe. Two weeks have now passed since our last update. Based on the continued lack of audio input via this swarm of Strain H, we can assume that the crew of the Rumor have acted on the intel given to them by the insurgents, Thasia and Violet Liu, and successfully cured themselves of the VCN nanocloud infection.

 “As a result, pending further developments in this case, the Strange Case of Starship Iris is now considered closed. Footage from the case remains available in the archives and can be accessed on request by submitting form B7-081 with a superior’s signature.

 “My thanks to Major General Frederick, Agents Bauman and Cross, and the specialists at Procyon, as well as Junior Agent Goodman for their assistance in this case. Long live the Republic.”

*

SYSTEM: E.L.L.A.

USERNAME: EMILY CRADDOCK

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED 26 JULY 2191.

REVIEWING DRAFT...

“Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to check in and say that I’m fine, I’m safe and I passed the background checks without any problems. I kept thinking the whole time that someone from the intake process would recognise me, but – none of them seemed familiar, and I guess I wasn’t either. Just a very small cog in the vast machine of the Reg- the Republic. God, I’ve got to get used to saying that again.

“I’m all settled in in my apartment – it’s twice the size of my room on the Rumor, but I can’t help thinking how much I miss that space.” Quiet laughter. “And you all. I… guess I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll have more to update you with tomorrow, after I start work at the lab. And I’ll be able to let you know whether our intel was good.

“Until then… Violet Liu out.”

*

“This is uh, lab report 05, week two? Analyst Brannon reporting on behalf of Gamma Team at ADVANCE.

“Over the past few days, our lab has continued work on synthesizing the NDMA proteins, and Specialists Chang and Yeboah report that they have made some positive advancements in this area. We have provisionally moved up the timeline for the first round of testing with this in mind, though Specialist Yeboah cautions that we need to monitor how the new proteins react with other molecules in the solution first, and then with the blood cell samples.

“A new member also joined our team today – specialist Huang. I wasn’t aware that we’d actually been hiring for our vacancy, but uh, she seems very qualified? A little over-qualified, even. In addition to her qualification from Brightwell she has extensive experience with this type of lab work, which makes us lucky to have her as part of the team. She’s joined Analyst Vázquez and Assistant Hudson in their work on the histone deacetylases.

“My specialism is in a completely different area, and I’m pretty sure our work histories have never overlapped, but – she seems familiar somehow. Except she said she was based on Mars up until six months ago, and I’ve been working on New Jupiter since… uh…

“Sorry – lost my train of thought for a minute there. I’ve been getting these persistent headaches… I think it’s all that poring over modelling data. Though I never get them while I’m working, so maybe they’re delayed-onset headaches? Heh. It could be the lab lighting; I might ask Supervisor Kaaka if we can swap out the bulbs for a lower wattage.

“Uh, anyway. This is Analyst Brannon signing off. Long live the Republic.”

*

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED: 27 JULY 2191.

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“Hey, it’s me. Oh my god… oh my god, I can barely process what’s been happening. I was going to send this message as soon as I got back to my apartment, and instead I’ve just been sitting and staring into space because it’s just so… surreal…

“They’re alive. They’re all just… alive and working in a lab at ADVANCE on New Jupiter.

“I mean, we haven’t ruled out the possibility of highly advanced duplicates, but why would the Repub- the Reg- the IGR go to all that trouble? The simplest explanation - even if it still sounds pretty far-fetched - is that they're the same crew.

“Brian, if you’re listening to this – Alvy's alive. I know I didn’t work with him that long but I’m sure, I’m so sure it's really him. But it’s like Thasia and Other Violet said – none of them remember who they were, or their real names. Everyone here calls him Analyst Brannon – Michael Brannon.

“We’re not working very closely together, but I found an excuse to go over to his workstation and introduce myself, and – it seemed like he recognised me. I’m gonna try and find ways to talk to him – the real Alvy Connors is still in there, Brian, I’m sure of it.

“Is there anything you want me to… ask him? Maybe a question that only he would know the answer to?

“Sorry, I don’t have much more time – the IGR has listening devices planted throughout every Republic-issued apartment; everywhere except the bathroom. Even they have to draw the line somewhere. I scanned it, and it’s clean, but if I remember right there are still sensors that will activate if you go above a certain noise, light or heat, threshold – y’know, in case anyone takes it upon themselves to… build a bomb in here or something. And I don’t want the bugs outside to pick up what I’m saying, which is why I’m whispering.

“But I can’t stay in here too long, or they’ll get suspicious, so – I’m fine, and so far I haven’t messed up or called the Republic the Regime or anything in earshot of anyone. And no-one has recognised me. Well, except for Alvy, maybe.

“I’m still trying to figure out what exactly they’re working on, here. If you’re going to go to the trouble of staffing a lab with the crew of an… of an exploded space ship, it must be important, right? Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just a test, to see how well they assimilate.

“I’ll let you know when I know more. Until then… stay safe. I will too. Violet Liu out.”

*

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“Hi, Liu. It’s me.

“I’ll keep this to the point, since I know you probably don’t have much time to spend playing back these messages. We’re all fine here. Kind of in a holding pattern, since there’s not much to do until we hear more from you or from Thasia and the other Violet, but it’s not too bad.

“Jeeter’s really happy, by the way, since he listened to your message. I mean, I think he’s still – processing – because he thought Connors was dead, he even wrote to his parents, and now we find out he’s alive, but not… y’know. Not Connors any more.

“But he’ll be fine. Krejjh is helping, which means the two of them are being even more nauseating then they usually are, and that’s saying something.

“Anyway. Listen, I know you want to try and get through to Connors, but… just be careful, okay? None of us, including Jeeter, wants you to get hurt or – worse – on the off chance that we might be able to bring him back. We always knew it was gonna be a long shot.

“Tripathi said to tell you the same, by the way. Well, she said it in a more… Tripathi… way, but the idea was the same. Find out what you can, but don’t get caught. We can’t afford to lo- to mess this up.

“Okay, I should go. Arkady Patel out.”

*

“This is lab report 06, week three. Analyst Brannon reporting on behalf of Gamma Team at ADVANCE.

“Since my last report, we have introduced the synthesized NDMA proteins to the solution and tested their interactions with samples representing different blood types. Six out of eight of the samples produced expected results, but two of the samples produced some unexpected interactions with the AB type blood cells, which warrants further testing and study.

“Specialist Huang, Analyst Vázquez and Assistant Hudson are progressing with their work on the histone deacetylases, which should be ready to introduce in the next phase of the solution, pending resolution of the AB blood cell issue.

“Okay, what else… Oh, Specialist Huang is integrating well with the team. She and I have had a couple of conversations, though our second one was unfortunately cut short when my headache started up again. Maybe I should bring it up with Dr. Starling…

“Damn it. Is that the time? I was supposed to go for my treatment a half hour ago – damn it, damn it.

“Uh… I should probably redact that from the final report. This is Analyst Brannon, signing off. Long live the Republic.”

*

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED: 30 JULY 2191.

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“Hey guys, it’s me again. Violet. It feels kind of nice to use my own name for a change instead of being called ‘Specialist Huang’ all the time… I almost forgot to react to it once, though luckily Vázquez thought I was just focused on my work.

“Not a whole lot to report still – I’m still trying to figure out what it is the Regime is doing in these labs. It’s something to do with DNA methylation and synthesized NDMA proteins – well, I won’t bore you with the science, but why would the IGR be working on that? Could be they’re trying to develop a neural enhancer, but for what? I haven’t ruled out the possibility of there being some kind of link to the nanobots, but no-one here has mentioned nanites, and there are no nanotech specialists working in the lab.

“They keep us very siloed, too. I know what I’m working on, or at least what I have to do, but I don’t know why, and none of the people I work directly with seems to know what we’re developing here. Just something about a solution and blood cell samples. We might not even be the only lab working on this, which means I’ll have to find another way to get at the bigger picture.

“I spoke to Alvy a couple times – I was careful, Arkady, don’t worry. We didn’t manage to talk for long anyway – people don’t socialise much here. I’d kind of forgotten what it was like to work in this kind of environment, where no-one trusts anyone or lets their guard down, because people will backstab each other for the slightest thing. Maybe they had a professional disagreement, or don’t get along, or they wanted to get the credit for the other person’s work. It doesn’t take much of an insinuation to get someone transferred or – worse.

“Nothing’s happened, not yet, and it’s still nowhere near as bad as that student internship I did during the war. But it feels… tense, almost hair-trigger. I think I heard we’re having an inspection later on this week.

“Anyway, Alvy – I didn’t get to talk to him for very long, not just because of the environment, but because he had this headache come on the second time we talked. I’m not sure if it means anything – he said he gets them often. Brian, do you… remember him saying anything about that before?

“He seems a little different to the way I remember him on the Iris – a little more serious, less laid-back, though he’s still the friendliest person on the team. I didn’t… get to know him under the best circumstances, so I’m not sure if that’s due to the memory wipe or not.

“He also mentioned that he’s been seeing a doctor for these treatments – they all have. It could just be something to do with the away shuttle explosion, some kind of recovery program – there was an explosion, even if it didn’t really kill anyone, and Alvy’s got these – support struts in one of his legs, I think they’re carbon fibre. He walks with a slight limp sometimes.

“It could be nothing, but I feel like it might be worth digging into? Arkady, are you able to poke around in ADVANCE’s systems a bit, see if you can find anything that resembles medical reports?

“I’d better go. I brought my makeup bag in here as a cover for taking a bit longer – I don’t even know if the IGR has cameras in these apartments, but better to be safe than sorry – but there’s only so long you can take to put on the bare minimum I wear.

“Send me a message when you can. Violet Liu, out.”

*

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED: 30 JULY 2191.

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“Hey, Liu. Good instincts on the medical treatment thing. I didn’t spot anything like that in my initial sweep of the system when I forged your interview and acceptance records, but I wasn’t on the lookout for it either.

“There’s a limit to what I can access without jacking directly into ADVANCE’s mainframe computer or piggybacking on their local network, but I’ll dig around as much as I can.” Jokingly: “ Worst comes to worst, we could always send Jeeter in with an earpiece and make him pose as a computer technician.

“Oh, also, Jeeter says he doesn’t remember Alvy ever mentioning any kind of migraines or head pain. Apparently he’d go on these all-night coding benders and then sleep for two hours and be completely fine the next morning. Maybe it caught up to him, but – well, I’m not gonna jump to any conclusions. I’ll see what I can find in the medical records.

“Also – be careful with the inspection, okay? Your ID will hold up, Campbell doesn’t skimp on the quality, and you look different enough from the physical description they have on file, but those Regime higher-ups will ask some weird shit to catch you out.

“You’ve got the comm if you need us for anything. Just… keep your head down.

“Arkady Patel, out.”

*

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“Hey, Liu, listen. You were right. There’s something weird going on with these treatments.

“I managed to track down the medical records for the whole crew. Wasn’t easy, but I’ll save the tales of my security-defying exploits for another time. Anyway, I managed to hack into an account belonging to someone called Dr. Starling. They were brought onto ADVANCE’s payroll on June 1st – two days before the away shuttle exploded.

“There are files for all of them, and the scientific stuff doesn’t mean much to me, but from what I can tell, they’re monitoring them all for signs of what Starling calls ‘leakage’ – memories from their previous lives. Five of the other crew members have reported experiencing head pains, and it’s not a physical injury – Starling seems to think the pain is set off by them thinking back beyond a certain point, or being reminded of something from their past life. They upped the frequency of the ‘treatments’ to try and counter it, but so far it hasn’t worked.

“I think that’s what they’re for, the treatments – they’re keeping the crew’s memories suppressed. Which means, if they can be interfered with somehow…

“Bad news is, I can’t get into the scheduling system, not without access to the local network. But in Starling’s notes it says that Alvy was meant to come in for a treatment earlier today- well, yesterday technically, since it’s after 3am. But he didn’t show. So maybe you could get through to him.

“Obviously, don’t blow your cover, but if Alvy’s been getting these headaches a lot, it could mean he’s trying to remember? You said he got a headache when you guys talked – what were you talking about?”

A stifled yawn. “Shit, I’d better sleep, Sana wanted me to help encrypt some intel to send to Thasia and the other Violet Liu first thing in the morning. I’ll talk to you later. Arkady Patel out.”

*

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED 31 JULY 2191.

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“Arkady, you’re a genius! Oh my god, I could kiss you.

“I’ve only skimmed the records you copied, but they make references to a solution that sounds a lot like the one we’re developing in the lab. What if that’s the answer? What if that’s what the IGR is having the crew develop, another version of the treatment – maybe one that’s more permanent…

“…Oh god, that’s so dark. They’re having the crew work on erasing their own memories. It’s so inhuman, so – exactly what the IGR would do.

“–I have to go, I’ve got work in half an hour, but – this really helps. And I’ll try to talk to Alvy today, see if he seems any different after his missed treatment. Violet Liu out.”

*

ACCESSING RECENT DRAFTS... YOU HAVE ONE RECENT DRAFT. COMPOSED: 31 JULY 2191.

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“You, uh—” The sound of awkward throat-clearing. “You are welcome. Yeah. Like I said, it’s uh, it’s what I do! So, no, uh thanks required. Though if you wanted to, I—

“Shit, I’ve gotta go, Sana needs me. Uh, Arkady Patel out.”

Read the rest here!

[allsassnoclass]

maybe I wrote an off-screen epilogue scene.  maybe I didn’t. click the keep reading button to find out

warnings for mentions of weed and a mention of meds

December 26th dawns slowly over the mountains of Colorado, the sun creeping over the landscape like molasses, and Luke wakes up in the same way.  He stays in the murky space between dreams and waking for a long time, floating through his subconscious until Ashton’s gentle fingers trailing up and down his arm finally pull him back to earth and wakefulness.

“Hey there, angel,” Ashton says, shifting to kiss his bare shoulder.  “Good morning, my love.”

“Morning,” Luke hums, turning on to his back so he can see him.  This bed is smaller than the one at their LA house, pushing them closer together and reminding Luke of the months in Utah back when they first got together and earlier this year, when Luke stayed with him for most of fall semester.

Ashton smiles at him, hazel eyes crinkling around the edges.

“Waking up to you is the best way to wake up,” Luke says, voice scratchy from disuse.  It’s something he’s told Ashton multiple times, but it always bears repeating, and it never fails to make Ashton melt a little.  He reaches forward and brushes Luke’s hair out of his face, hand curling against his cheek.  Luke leans forward and kisses him, warm and slow, stubble scratching his face and mouths stale with morning breath.  Ashton hums contentedly when they pull away, eyes staying closed half a moment longer than Luke’s.

“What time is it?” Luke asks.

“Mid-morning,” Ashton replies.

“Petunia?”

“Already took her out and gave her breakfast.”

“I love you,” Luke says.  Ashton can claim to dislike Petunia all he wants, but that doesn’t change the fact that over the course of quarantine he has been the one giving her more treats and belly rubs.  His willingness to get up with her in the morning means Luke is free to stay in bed as long as he wants, and since Ashton returned he can keep him here, too.

“What do you want to do today?” Ashton asks.

“Be with you,” Luke says.  That was partially why they decided to come to Colorado for Christmas.  Ashton wanted a little bit of snow and Luke wanted to spend uninterrupted time with him.  When spring semester starts, Ashton will be heading back to Utah alone.  Luke has been writing and recording a lot of smaller projects in his home studio that will likely never see the light of day, but beginning in January the band is going to have recording time together again.  He’s needed with them, so he and Ashton will be long-distance until the semester ends since the university isn’t having a spring break and they won’t be traveling more than necessary in the pandemic.

“You don’t have a choice out here,” Ashton says.  “The cabin isn’t that big, my heart.”

“Good,” Luke says, hand sliding down Ashton’s waist.  His pet names have been getting increasingly diverse throughout quarantine, and each one still manages to give Luke heart palpitations, even the weird ones like thunder cat and lemon zest.

He leans forward to kiss him again, shifting easily when Ashton tugs to guide him on top, thighs bracketing Ashton’s waist.  Ashton moves his palms to rest heavily on his legs, and when Luke leans back he’s met with the sight of his black hair messy against the white pillow, a ray of sun illuminating his face and making him glow.

He runs his knuckles along the scruffy beginnings of a beard Ashton has been letting himself grow since classes ended.  It’s prickly, but Ashton doesn’t stop him, just watches with a smile.

“You’re so handsome, Ash,” he says.  The eclectic mountain man vibe he’s been leaning into shouldn’t work, but somehow Luke looks at him and is still as enamoured as he was with the adorable boy he didn’t realize he loved and the beautiful man he married.

“Take a picture.  It’ll last longer,” Ashton says.  Luke moves his hands to the smooth planes of his chest, keeping himself propped up.

“I think that’s your expertise,” he says, reminded of the hundreds of photographs stored on Ashton’s phone or various sim cards around the house, all filled with Luke in various moods, positions, styles, and states of dress.  One of Ashton’s goals for their summer together was to bring his photography skills up to par with his painting, and with lockdown Luke was the only convenient subject.

They have some pictures that they’ll never show anyone, and there are a few that Luke has considered showing the world.  Needless to say, Ashton is his favorite photographer.

“I wish I had my camera now,” Ashton says.  “Every inch of you is exquisite, and with the way you’re backlit by the sun you look ethereal.  If I could capture the expression on your face I would never take another picture again, because none of them would compare.”

He doesn’t yet have the words to respond to that, so he leans down and kisses Ashton again, and again, and again.

-/-

After wasting the entire morning together under the covers and grabbing something quick to eat, Luke and Ashton go for a walk.  It’s not cold enough to be unpleasant, and the cabin has woods to one side with paths stomped down throughout.  They soon lose sight of the house behind them.  Luke hopes they’ll be able to find their way back when the time comes, but if they get lost at least they’ll be together.

“This year was a lot better than it should have been,” Ashton says.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a global pandemic going on.  There have been thousands of needless deaths, cancelled plans, and teaching was significantly harder and less fun, but I think this year was my happiest year since I can remember.  I feel really good about my art.  I feel like I’m more aware of the world around me.  I’ve stopped feeling as self-conscious.  I finally got put on meds that work, and I’m actively enjoying my life.”

“You smoked a lot of weed.”

Ashton laughs.

“Yeah, I smoked a lot of weed, but I kept it professional at school.”

“Some of your students’ works would’ve been even better if you were high while seeing them for the first time.”

“Luke,” Ashton admonishes.  “I’m not trying to get fired.  I need the administration for reference letters since I’m job searching near LA now.”

Luke stops walking, letting Ashton carry on without him for a few steps.

“You’re job searching?”

“I am.”  He backtracks, meeting Luke where he is and taking his hands.  “Luke, I’m not stupid.  I know that the reason this year didn’t suck was because it was the first year I got to fully spend with you.  You are the love of my life, and I don’t want to try living my life without you for eight months of the year anymore.  When you’re not traveling around the world dazzling people with your talent, I want to be with you at home.  I love teaching, and I’m going to keep trying to do that, but after this semester I’m moving to LA permanently whether I have something else lined up or not.”

“Oh,” Luke says.  “I thought you loved Utah.  You have friends there, and students.  Are you sure you want to leave that?”

This past semester, Luke was able to fully witness Ashton as a teacher.  When he wasn’t on campus, Luke got full exposure to his joys and frustrations.  He sympathized with him over administrative decisions and safety protocols and got to see pictures and video tours of the art submissions that Ashton wasn’t able to see in person.

He gave Daisy an encouraging voice note for finals, because she’s been struggling with trying to complete her senior project given the circumstances and Ashton asked him to since she’s his favorite.

“I have friends here, too, and there will be other students,” Ashton says.  “Even if that wasn’t the case, being with you would be worth it.”

Luke’s heart feels full to bursting.

“Really?” he asks, needing one more confirmation that his dream is going to come true before he lets himself believe it.

“Yes, my sweet.  I’m moving to LA with you for as long as you make that city your home.”

Luke kisses him because the other option is to start crying, something which he doesn’t want to do when they’re out in the cold.

“I think this was one of my best years, too,” Luke confesses.

He came out and then almost immediately deleted his social media from his phone.  He’s learned more about what it means to be a good ally.  He’s grown as a songwriter, stretching himself with different genres and working on his piano skills more, writing dozens of love songs for Ashton and silly ones for Petunia, bad ones, good ones, and amazing ones for himself and for the band.  He figured out what it really means to be a husband, sharing his life with Ashton and able to physically be there for the bad days they both had and celebrate the joyful ones.

Things haven’t been perfect by any means.  They had to postpone the tour, they can’t see anyone, and it often feels like the world is on fire.  Still, though, he’s had Ashton.

Through all of this, he’s had Ashton, and after this semester he’ll always have him with him.

“You’ve been glowing,” Ashton says.  “I’m glad I got to experience it with you.”

“Me too,” Luke says.  “I love you.”

Ashton kisses his nose.

“I love you, too.”

They continue their walk hand in hand, enjoying the fresh air.  Ashton points out signs that animals had been there and Luke ensures that he doesn’t run into any trees while he’s not paying attention to where he’s walking.  The path turns out to be a big loop, and soon they can see other cabins again and then their own back door.

“Wait,” Ashton says before they go inside.  “I want to jump in the snow.  Film it for my instagram.”

Ashton has a professional artist social media, but he also has a private instagram that he posts on frequently.  Luke has gotten very used to snapping pictures or videos for him, always endeared by which pieces of his life Ashton wants to share with the rest of the world.

Ashton takes off his coat for the video and faceplants with a kerplunk.  As soon as he’s done filming, Luke is laughing.

“That was fun,” Ashton says when he hands his phone back to him.  “Want to make snow angels?”

“No, Ash, I want to go inside,” Luke says.  He gets no warning before Ashton has arms around his waist, tackling him down into the snow and making Luke shriek.

“You’re so lucky I love you,” Luke laughs, poking Ashton’s pink nose with his glove.  Ashton beams above him.

“Can we go inside now?” Luke asks.  Ashton hums, then snaps a picture with his phone.

“Now we can,” he says, getting up and offering Luke a hand.  Luke lets Ashton haul him up, then they finally enter the cabin again, stomping snow off their boots and brushing it from their coats.

They don’t have any plans for the rest of the day, or the rest of their stay in Colorado in general, but Luke couldn’t care less about what they’re going to do.  He gets to spend the rest of the holiday with Ashton, and then the rest of his life with him.  Soon they’ll be permanently in the same house again, and he couldn’t be happier.

If Ashton managed to transform an awful year into a good one, Luke can’t wait to experience all of the amazing years ahead with him right by his side where he belongs.

[callmeunstable]

Angels & Demons - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla

Summary: Alva tries her best to adapt to her current lifestyle. Savilla helps her by teaching her the ways around this world. But some dangerous forces are on their way. And a familiar face shows up.

Warnings: Monsters, Cursing, Blood

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the third part of my fic. I accidentally deleted this part as well as the second part so I had to reupload. I hate myself and I cried .

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song: I thought this fitted the scenery

Alva adapted slowly. It was important that if she wanted to pass as a villager she had to develop. Where she came from, who her parents were and why she came.

And they came up with an easy background story. Alva was the daughter of two Medics, Drarnoz and Isada of Verden. Verden is one of the minor kingdoms in the North, located at the very mouth of the river Yaruga, with Kerack and Brokilon on its northern borders and Cintra in the south, just on the other side of the river. After her parents died in a brutal raid of their village Alva sought a sanctuary by a family friend Savilla living in Riverdell. She took the orphan in.

James brought Alva the Ducates he had collected over the years which made up a small fortune. He promised to bring her every coin he’ll find in the future.

That’s how Alva started her life in a small village. Savilla had an extra bed for her and she didn’t mind sharing her food and clothes.

“You are pretty bad at healing you know that? You’ve been here for almost a month.” Savilla always made fun of the way the girl was bandaging or trying to figure out which plant was good for the specific treatment.

“I just don’t understand how you can separate all of these. They look all the same.” Alva sighed and took a seat. Trying to figure out which herbs were able to calm a burn.

“This isn’t your desire and I get it. It’s not your fault. And I maybe have something set up for you.” The mage smirked while she picked big orange blossoms from her garden. “Merigold, Alva. One of the herbs that can potentially save lives.”

“Don’t change the subject. What did you do?” The girl gave her a doubtful look while watching her picking even more blossoms.

“The tavern in the village. They need a servant. The old one got scared off because the olds kept trying to seduce her and she felt uncomfortable. But I figured you’d be perfect for the job.” She walked inside with a full basket in her hands.

“Are you insulting me or what are you trying to say?” Alva hurried after her, stumbling while getting up.

“You need to get better at walking when you want to serve the folks.” The maid laughed and started to cut the flowers into small pieces.

“But to get back to your question, no. But you are tough and have a huge temperament. Exactly what a good servant needs. The old douches won't have it easy with you.”

Alva let out a loud sigh.

“And I should warn you. They acquire you to look … a certain way.”

“I’m not going to dress like slut and shake my booty.”

“Yes…alright. Anyway, that was not what I was trying to say. They want you to wear your hair down and a dress that will make you look pretty but still can get stained.”

“That’s fine by me but why exactly do they want me to keep my hair down?”

“Maybe they liked it. You know the time we got some bread? That’s when the tavern owner offered me this position.”

The girl hummed in agreement.

“They’ll pay you well. You need that money if you want to find a way back. Mages aren’t cheap. They usually work for kings and queens.” Sevilla stopped with the chopping and went still for a couple of seconds. Her gaze went up and she looked Alva straight into the eyes. She hated that look. It never meant something good.

“You want me to find a different mage?” The girl was confused. How was she supposed to find one? She has no contacts whatsoever and it’s not like she could call the information desk to give her a number.

“I’m not sure who I want you to find for now. It's dangerous out there. I need to find out who I can trust with you. I don’t want you to get captured.” The mage was serious. She liked the girl and felt the urge to protect her. She was sure it was her duty in this life. To help this girl around her world and keeping her safe until she found a way to get back.

“Why would they? I mean I’m not that special and I pretty got at acting old like you.”

“I know. But if they see anything strange in you, just some glance. They don’t need a good reason anymore to imprison the people. It’s getting rough out here. Cintra will lose the next battle. Nobody in this kingdom wants to hear it but you can feel the tension in the air. The Niflgaards are coming and we need to be prepared when they do.”

“Are they like Germany in the Second World War?”

“You do know that I have no information about that.”

“Let me explain. World War II was a global war involving fighting in most of the world and most countries. Like shit went down. Most of the world's countries, including all the great powers in our world, fought as part of two military alliances. They fucking hated each other. World War II was the largest and deadliest conflict in all of our history. It involved more countries, cost more money, involved more people, and killed more people than any other war in our history. About 80 million people died. It included massacres, the Holocaust, strategic bombing, starvation, disease, and the only use of nuclear weapons against civilians in history. Like they could fly bombs from one country to the other through the air and just let them explode wherever they wanted to. It was horrible but I wasn’t alive when that happened.”

The mage had listened carefully only to realize that their worlds aren't that different. “You have to understand that the Nilfgaardian Empire is the most powerful in the history of the known world. It is located in the southern part of the Continent and boasts both a thriving economy and a strong, well-trained army with talented commanders.

It has expanded mostly through the conquest of foreign countries, which were then turned into provinces of the Empire. The Empire's inhabitants believe that "real" Nilfgaardians are only those born in the heart of the Empire and not those born in the conquered provinces. All of them are ruthless. Killing anyone and anything that’ll come in their way. We need to be careful and prepared.”

“So you think they’ll just walk in here like they own this place.” The girl felt she was pulled into something like Lord of the Rings style. Everyone wants to kill the other race. What was happening in this world?

“They won’t pretend that they own these lands, they will fight until they own the whole continent. Saying they want to protect the citizens but slaughter the like an animal for fun. I want you to be prepared that not everyone in our world will respect you, especially because you’re a woman. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Sevilla meant every word she said.

“That’s why I want you to be protected. Here.” She opened the wooden closet and pulled out a silky cloth. “Take it, I have my own. And I won’t need it, I still have the chaos inside of me that’ll help me if needed. I hope you never need it.”

Alva received the loth and lifted the cloth. Underneath there was bedded a silver dagger. It was heavy, but still manageable with one hand.

“Come on, I’m not going to stab anybody. This is not Assasin’s Creed.” She held up the dagger and inspected the weapon. It was beautiful, looking exactly like something a video game character would keep under their robe.

“I’m not joking around Alva! I want you to work so we have enough Ducates in the case of an emergency. If you’re not willing to protect your one life no one else will. I can protect you as far as my power goes but everything is limited. At this point, you don’t have a choice. If you want to get back to your world you need to adapt completely! Do you understand?” Sevilla handed her a scabbard possibly fitting for the dagger.

“No need to be rude.” Alva took and let the weapon slide smoothly into it.

“Attach it to your belt. It's best if you keep it on you at all times. Even while you sleep.”

The girl nodded and pulled her dress up to gain access to the pants she was always wearing underneath. She tied it around her waist and let loose of her dress.

“I understand but I hope I’ll never have to use it.”

“Me neither.”

-

The next weeks went on smoothly. Alva tried her best to lie to herself. If she realized that she left her entire family and friends behind, everything she loved. She didn’t know if she could handle the pain and panic that would appear again. She remembered her first week here. It was exhausting. She didn’t want to stand up and live in a world she didn’t belong. The only thing keeping her from ending it all was the promise Sevilla gave her.

She will bring her back. No matter what is going to happen. She’ll find a way out. And if she could get back, she can’t give up. That wasn’t an option. But she couldn’t think about it anymore. The pain that would crawl up into her chest even if she only thought about it for a second. It was unbearable.

Alva tried to act like new her role this life. At least for now. Her dad was Drarnoz of Verden and her mother was Isada of Verden. She was an orphan. Currently serving at the tavern where she was allowed to live with a family friend. Sevilla. That’s all she needed to remember.

Usually, no one asked about her past. That wasn’t a thing in this village. As soon as Alva said the word ‘orphan’ no more questions were asked.

She liked her job at the tavern. It was an easy way to meet new people and experience the world fully. Adapting day by day. But still being herself. Everyone loved the way she talked. Foolish but skeptical. No man was able to win her or flirt with her. She shut them down real quick.

Today was such a day

It was an afternoon and everyone was ending their work for the day coming to the tavern to get a well-deserving drink and sometimes a meal, but Alva knew by experience you shouldn’t eat the food of this tavern. Dossar, the owner, didn’t know how to cook but he surely wasn’t giving up on an opportunity of getting more money.

The folks around the area knew never to ask for a meal but it was always a pleasure to see the look on a travelers' face.

Alva was serving everyone with a kind smile but some men interpret this as a sign to flirt with her. Woldor, a farmer, decided to try his luck today. He was trying to gain her attention by whistling at her and holding up his cup of beer. Only for her to come and check if he needed a refill. But at his point, she was ignoring his calls and gestures.

But the man didn’t stop. So Alva thought it was her time to shine.

“I’m not an animal! You can’t win my attention by whistling at me and calling me with sloppy pick-up lines! Cut it before I start acting like one.”

“I’ve never been threatened so adorably before.” Woldor and the men sitting beside him star to burst out into laughter and continued drinking.

“Yes well, I’m about to adorably kick your fucking arse.” The laughter silenced and the men stared at the girl.

“This isn’t going to end well is it?” Her coworker Cozlo walked up to her and tried to calm her down, by laying his arm around her shoulder. Alva liked him. He was a good friend and was amazing at keeping her out of trouble when she had a tantrum. This was one of them.

“Fuck no.” The girl wanted to jump at the man and rip his eyes out. He was the one that couldn’t take no for an answer. He was harassing her since the day she started to work as a servant.

Getting ready to throw some punches Cozlo grabbed her by her waist and picked her up.

“Let me down! Let me show this bitch what my adorable hand can do around his throat! I want to see if he still thinks their pretty when I choke him!”

“I think I’m in love with you my dear!” Woldor called out for her while sipping on his beer.

“That’s fucking unfortunate!” Alva was yelling across the tavern while trying to fight her way out of Cozlo's grip.

“You are significantly more destructive than I was anticipating.” That was Cozlo's response after Alva successfully freed herself and was ready to throw fists.

“Enough!” The dark voice of Dossar echoed between the walls. “Woldor get your arse out of here before I tell your wife that you're harassing my servant again!” The tall and bear-like built man stepped in front of the counter and was ready to throw him out with his own hands.

“Can’t take a goddamn joke, can ya?” The farmer grumbled some swearings under his breath and tossed his payment on the table before leaving the bar with his men.

“Next time leave a fucking tip, bastard.”, Alva shouted out through one of the windows and held up her middle finger. “Fuck that dude.”

“You did well Alva, let me admit that.” Dossar gave her a thumbs up and headed back to the kitchen area.

The conflict calmed down and the girl started to clean the table the men had left as a mess. Scrubbing the sticky beer of the top.

“May I compliment you on your skill of handling this rude of a man, my beautiful Lady.”

Alva turned around and in front of her stood unmistakably a bard. The usual costume they were wearing gave it away in an instant. But the lute that was strapped on his back made it even clearer. The man wasn’t older than probably 30 years old. His clothing had seen better days and his brown hair was all messed up.

“Thanks, I guess.” The girl wasn’t in the mood for a conversation so she continued scrubbing the table.

“My name is Jaskier if I may introduce myself. I’m the new bard in town.”

“What brings a bard like you in a village like this?”

“I expected a job, which was me kindly offered by the master of this tavern. A nice man. Allowed me to show off my talent every evening.”

“Good for you Jaskier.” She wasn’t trying to be mean but the bard was definitely flirting and she just wasn’t in the mood for another thirsty mean.

“That makes us workmates if I’m not mistaken? I look forward to seeing more of you…?” It was obvious that he waited for her name and the girl let out her sigh while turning toward him.

“Jaskier, I don’t mean to be rude but I had men trying to marry me at least 4 times today. And a dozen of them were just trying to bring me to bed. So please, if you stop that flirty behavior I will see you as my workmate and friend. But that’s all I can offer.

“Of course, Alva. I didn’t mean to upset you in any way. I’m glad I found a friend already. My last company wasn’t that welcoming.” A half-hearted smile was on his face and he scratched the back of his head.

“Why? Were you trying to flirt with them too?” Alva smirked and put her hand friendly on the shoulder of Jaskier.

“Oh no. Trust me. That would have been very … disturbing, may I say so. I see around Alva.”

“Yes, Jaskier. I’ll see you around.”

[sassy-pelican]

Flower Tattoo

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Premise: Flowers show up on your body every time your soulmate is injured. Unfortunately for Y/N and Bucky, neither of them is very good at staying uninjured.

Prompt: (36) “You have flowers all over you all time. What the hell is your soulmate doing!” (bolded)

Warnings: language (this like a for sure thing now), fluff, angst (just a bit), allusions to abuse but no description, blood, mild violence and gore (canon typical), some nsfw, 18+, allusions to smut, brief sexual nudity

A/N: I wrote this for  @jbbuckybarnes Writing Challenge 2020. Also, for the sake of this story, we’re going to pretend that the Avengers won Infinity War, and everyone is alive. I wrote this in third person because I’m switching the point of view every once and a while and this makes it flow better for me. This is what I picture the reader’s tattoo looking like. (The link doesn’t work on mobile no matter what I do, it does work on my laptop thought)

This is unedited (for the most part)

All of my translations are from Google Translate (ew I know) but I don’t speak anything but English and, well, it’s easy to access.

Solnyshko – little sun (Russian);  Suka – bitch (Russian)

1938

Even at twenty-one Bucky still had yet to see a flower appear on his skin. His Ma had told him to stop worrying about it, saying that maybe he was one of the few people that didn’t have a soulmate. Steve said the same thing, and as hard as Bucky tried to hold onto that idea, he never could. Something about it didn’t seem right.

“Got another date tonight Buck?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “What about you?”

Steve stares at him flatly. “Buck, you know I don’t go on dates.”

“You should. There are plenty of dame out there that would love you,” Bucky reasons.

“I’m not you,” Steve says. “Girls don’t like me.”

Bucky stares at his friend, and at the small little flowers littering the parts of him visible. “Clearly someone is meant to. You’ve got flowers everywhere Stevie.”

“Well unlike you, I want my soulmate to feel special.”

“And unlike me you’re not gonna know how to talk to her.”

2018

Y/N’s nerves were on edge as Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff surveyed the room. Every potential recruit being scrutinized under their gaze. Unlike so many of the others, she refused to lower her eyes when they came closer.

“Obviously you’re all good,” Stark begins. “You’ve made it this far.” Natasha rolls her eyes, something Y/N’s fighting not to do as well.

“What Tony means,” she says, “is that we can only take a few of you from here and we need the best.”

“You’ll be going at lot of different types of missions if you do move on,” Tony continues, “so, we need to make sure you’re ready for anything.”

The next thing Y/N knows, one of Tony’s gloves is aiming right for her. Not thinking much about it she eyes it, hears it getting ready to fire and ducks just before a blast shoots from it.

“Good reaction time,” Natasha murmurs. “I expected more though.”

“With all due respect,” Y/N interjects. “I’ve found that the reaction with the least physical strain is often the wisest and the least expected on the field, and almost always just as effective.”

Natasha smiles. “L/N, right?”

“Yes.”

“I like you.”

 Hours later, too many for Y/N to count, sweat dripping between her eyes, and already two recruits down, Stark calls it a day. Never has she ever felt such relief. “L/N!” Natasha yells from across the training room.

“Yes?”

“You’re on the team.”

“Excuse me?”

“You did the best out of everyone today,” she says, “and I think you’d mesh well with everyone.”

“Thank you, but shouldn’t I continue with everyone else?”

“No,” she replies. “Start packing your things. You can move into the tower next week.”

“Thank you.”

 Everyone was welcoming, although Tony had informed her that the Cap Trio – who she later learned were Steve, Sam, and Buck – were away on a mission and they were the ones that were hard to impress.

“Fuck girl!” Natasha says as Y/N enters the gym. “You have flowers all over you all time. What the hell is your soulmate doing!”

“Something stupid probably.”

“I never asked what the tattoo was about.” Natasha says, her question still unspoken.

“I was born with flowers around my shoulder and upper arm. Figured my soulmate was a litter older and had a scar there. I just made it darker and added to it over time.”

“You were born with it?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah,” Y/N says. “Apparently it freaked my mom and the nurses out when I was born. I’ve always thought it was pretty. Of course, I doubt my soulmate is fairing much better, not with the bruises you keep giving me.”

Nat smirks. “True, still I think it’s weird that you were born with flowers.”

“So does everyone else.”

 “Nat says there’s a new recruit at the tower,” Steve says. Sam barely looks up from his lap, head still drooping. Bucky however, his head spun as he looked to Steve.

“Do we know who it is?”

“She said her name was Y/N L/N,” Steve chuckles. “She was apparently the only one to duck when Stark shot his blaster.”

“Good tactic.”

“How old is she?” Sam asks.

“You don’t ask a woman her age,” Bucky snarks.

“Just makin’ sure she’s legal.”

Steve gives him an incredulous look from the pilots’ seat. “Of course, she’s legal! Nat wouldn’t let a kid join.”

“Um, need I remind you of Parker?”

“He’s got you there Stevie.”

Sam looks over to Bucky. “The flowers still showin’ up?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “They’re everywhere. I’m a little worried about her. This woman gets a lot of bruises.”

“Kind of reminds me of me and Peg,” Steve comments.

“It does me too,” Bucky replies. “Although, I think even you had fewer.”

“What do you think she does anyway?” Sam asks.

“It’s gotta be something like us, either that or she’s an extreme klutz.” Bucky doesn’t bother saying the other thing running through his mind, doesn’t need too; Steve and Sam know what he’s worried about.

“I’m sure she’s fine Buck.”

“I hope so.”

 Natasha look up from her phone and glances at Y/N. “They’re on their way back. Do you want to meet them at the hanger?”

“Is that the best idea?” Y/N asks. “They’re all fresh from a mission and I don’t want them to feel pressured into being sociable.”

“It’ll be fine, but if you want to wait then that’s fine too.”

“Do you think they’ll be hungry?”

“They’re men, two of which are super-soldiers. They’re always hungry.”

“How does ravioli sound?” Y/N asks, hoping to do something nice for everyone after their mission.

“Perfect as long as it’s cheese.”

“I can do that.”

Getting up to start the pasta, Y/N decides that food is always the best welcome. She might be the world’s best chef, but she knows her way around the kitchen well enough that she can feed three men she’s never met; at least she hopes.

 Steve smiles when he sees Nat waiting for them in hanger. “No new recruit?” Steve jokes, Natasha just smiles.

“She thought it might not be the best idea to force you three to be sociable right after a mission.” Natasha eyes the two other men, sluggishly walking over to Steve. “She’s in the kitchen making ravioli.”

“Cheese?” Bucky asks.

“I made sure.”

“You’re the best.”

Steve slams his hand on his chest, Sam following suit. “I thought I was the best!” Steve mocks. Bucky smirks.

“Nah, you’re just a little punk,” he looks over to Sam. “And you, you’re punk two-point-o.”

“I take offence to that,” Sam says.

“You were meant to.”

 “Nice tattoo,” a strange voice says from the entryway into the kitchen. Unfortunately, Y/N jumps like a scared kitten.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t scare people like that!” Y/N yells, pointing at her offender with the spoon cover in marinara sauce.

“You looked easy enough to scare,” he says. “I’m Sam.”

“I figured that out,” she says. “Nat warned me about you scaring everyone for fun. It didn’t seem to prepare me though.”

“It sure didn’t,” he laugh. “I’m sure the two super-soldiers will be here in a minute. Had to shower and all that.”

“Must take long showers,” she mutters.

“Bucky does, Steve just doesn’t want him to come down alone.” She nods but refrains from saying anything. “Go on, say it.”

“It sounds to me like Steve might coddle him a bit much,” Y/N comments. “If he’s well enough to go on missions with you guys, he sure as hell is going to be well enough to meet the new girl making food.”

“I’ve been telling him that for months kid, doesn’t do a damn thing.”

“Fix yourself a plate, this is buffet style tonight.”

“My kind of food,” a new but familiar voice says from the doorway.

“I think a buffet is just about everyone’s style Cap.”

“Don’t need an introduction then,” he mutters.

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Your face is plastered all over the news Steve, I doubt there’s a person alive that doesn’t recognize you.” She turns to the other man, “and you must be Bucky.”

“In the flesh,” he pauses, “and vibranium.”

“I’ll certainly know who to ask when I can’t get jars open that’s for sure.”

“She doesn’t even know you five minutes and you’ve already got a new nickname,” Natasha says, smiling as she pushes past the two soldiers. “I’m gettin’ mine first, you two eat everything.”

 She felt a pull to Bucky but wasn’t sure why. Even after only weeks, she was the only one he allowed to snuggle up next to him on movie nights, the only one he would let into his room besides Steve or Sam. Y/N was almost the same way. Now that he was here, she very seldom found herself seeking out Nat or anyone else for comfort, she always went to him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you two had a thing going,” Wanda comments one morning, Y/N’s bedhead at its worst, eyes still not completely open.

“Mmmm,” she grumbles, “what makes you say that?”

“You’ve come out of his room three nights in a row.”

“It’s just nightmares.”

“He didn’t sleep with Steve when he went to comfort him,” Wanda points out.

“She’s got a point,” Nat says. “The two of you are practically joined at the hip for people who met only a few weeks ago.”

“It’s not that bad!” Y/N counters. “Besides, I haven’t had enough caffeine to have this conversation yet.”

“If you say so,” Nat says, smirking over the steam of her cup.

 It happened before either of them could react. The guard both Y/N and Bucky thought dead turned out to have a bit of life in him. The sound of the shot echoed in the deserted hall, filled with dead Hydra agents. Y/N screamed. One faltering shot to the guard and she fell to her knees.

“Y/N!” Bucky screams. Pressing a finger to his coms he shots for medical, all Y/N can seem to do it stare at the blood seeping from the hole in her abdomen.

“Fuck,” she growls, trying her best to sit up.

“Don’t move!” Bucky shouts. He glances at it and goes pale. “Shit, okay.” Throwing his guns on the ground he starts to peel off his tac-gear before ripping the undershirt off. “Doll, I gotta cut this off you,” he mutters.

Blinking harshly, she nods. “Do what you gotta do.”

His metal hand pulls at the fabric of her gear and rips it, exposing her bleeding stomach and black sports bra. Bucky immediately presses the remnants of his shirt to the wound, “I’m sorry Y/N.”

Barely opening her eyes, she looks at him an winces. “It’s okay Bucky.” Her eyes fall to his bare torso and she gasps. “Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

“L-look,” she hisses when he presses down a bit harder, “at your stomach.”

“Doll I don’t see how that is going to he-”

“Please.”

Reluctantly, Bucky glances down at his exposed stomach and his eyes go wide. “Let’s get you on the jet.”

Loud footsteps ring as he goes to pick Y/N up. Without thinking much he reaches for his rifle and points at the doorway. “Woah! It’s just me Buck,” Steve huffs.

“Get my stuff. I’ve got her.”

Steve pales. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“If we get to the jet in time.”

Steve’s eyes blow when he sees the flowers on Bucky’s stomach. “Buck.”

“I know. We’ve got to go Steve,” Bucky says. “She has to be okay.”

 The beeping is what wakes her, not the intermittent squeezes of her hand, nor the yells of the doctors and nurses while she was transported. Even so, Y/N doesn’t open her eyes, she can tell the room is bright.

“You’re awake,” Bucky comments when he feels you squeeze his hand.

“Yeah,” Y/N mumbles. “I guess everyone knows huh?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“I’m sorry we found out like that,” she says.

“I’m sorry you were born with flowers,” Bucky mutters. “And that you have me as soulmate.”

“I’d argue with you, but I don’t have the energy,” turning her head Y/N opens her eyes a bit. “Raincheck?”

“Sure.”

“Bucky?”

“Huh?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since you got here,” he looks down, “which is about three days.”

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he laughs. “So do you by the way.”

Y/N glares at but it doesn’t hold any fire. As soon as she starts to laugh, she winces, the muscles in her abdomen protesting their use. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry,” he replies. “Raincheck?”

“Sure.”

 It had been a month, and while Y/N was still sore when she moved the wrong way, she was healed from the gunshot almost completely. Much to her dismay however, she still wasn’t cleared for active duty. She was cleared for activity though, which made her days much harder.

“You know,” Bucky says from the doorway into the gym, “you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“Bucky, I’m bored out of my mind!”

“And you were shot!”

“A month ago!” Y/N yells.

“And you still wince when you twist the wrong way,” he points out.

“Maybe I’m just getting old,” you tease.

“I’m old,” Bucky argues, “you’re still recovering.”

“I need to do something Buck. I’m losing my mind here while you all go on missions and leave the fucking compound.”

“Why don’t we go on a date? I can take you to that Italian place Tony raves about.”

“Would you?”

“Yeah. We’ll call, make a reservation and everything.”

 Less than twenty-four hours later, Y/N stands in front of her mirror, Pepper behind her, and can’t help but question her choice. “Are you sure this is fancy enough?”

“It’s fine. The place might be fancy but isn’t that fancy. This will fine.”

“What’s Bucky wearing?”

“Something that will match.”

“That’s helpful.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Pepper says smiling. “It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Despite knowing that everything will be fine, Y/N can’t help but feel nervous. It was her fist date in a long time, not to mention her first date with her soulmate. The added pressure for it to be perfect is almost too much. “He won’t care,” Pepper says, interrupting her thoughts.

“What?”

“He won’t care if it’s perfect or not, all Bucky is going to care about is that you’re there with him.”

“I know, but I still want it to be perfect.”

Pepper shakes her head, already exhausted with Y/N. “Are you always like this?”

“Always like what?”

“A worry wort, a person that is constantly overthinking things, you name it.”

“I take offence to that.”

“Good,” Pepper snarks. “Now get your ass downstairs and meet your man.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

Y/N smirks. “Yes sir,” she says, mock saluting her.

“I’m going to let you fend for yourself next time.”

 It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Y/N that the minute her and Bucky stepped into the upscale Italian joint, she froze up. Truth be told, she wanted to freeze too. It was far fancier than Pepper had led her to believe. As much as she appreciated the effort, she knew both her and Bucky would bee more comfortable in a hole-in-the-wall pizza place.

“Reservation?” The hostess asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, “should be under Barnes.” She checks over her list and smiles. “Right this way.”

Stiffly, Y/N and Bucky follow the hostess. “A server will be by shortly.”

“Thank you,” Y/N mutters before pulling out her chair, seconds before Bucky’s hand reaches out to just that.

“I was going to do that,” Bucky says under his breath. Y/N’s shoulders droop, the thought not crossing her mind.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so used to getting my own chair,” she smiles. “Next time?”

“Thank you.”

Glancing at the menu, Y/N sighs. “Um, Buck, can you read this?” He furrows his eyebrows before opening his own menu.

“Oh,” he says. “Is this all in Italian?”

“I think so,” she replies, staring blankly at the words she can’t read. “Do you know Italian?”

“Wasn’t one of the languages Hydra thought I needed to know unfortunately.”

“There’s not even any pictures so we can go off that.”

“Nope,” he mumbles. “It seems similar enough to Spanish though, maybe that will help?”

“Right,” she mutters. “Oh! I recognize spaghetti.”

“Cinque ziti di formaggio looks like five something ziti,” Bucky says.

“Five cheese ziti. I love that,” she replies. “Ravioli al formaggio is probably cheese ravioli and ravioli di carne is most likely meat.”

“Makes sense.”

“So, what are getting?”

“Probably just the spaghetti, with meatballs of course. You?”

“Of course. I’ll probably get the cheese ravioli, it’s simple.”

 Minutes after the food is set in front of their faces, she hears the whispers. She knows Bucky is trying to ignore them, but since he can hear them clearly, it’s hard. “Bucky, we can leave.”

“No, I want you enjoy your dinner.”

“I won’t enjoy it if you’re miserable.”

“I’m fine Y/N.”

“You are not. You can hear every words they’re saying, and it bothers you.”

“I’m used to it Y/N.”

“You shouldn’t have to be!” She knows not staying as quiet as Bucky would like but it’s far quieter than she wants to be.

“Do you need anything else?” The waitress is kind but even she can feel the tension rolling off Bucky.

“Some more water would be lovely,” Y/N replies.  

“Y/N, just leave it.”

“What is that man saying Bucky?” She can see the man eyeing him, whispering loudly to his wife across the table.

“Nothing that isn’t true.”

“What is he saying?”

Bucky sighs, shoulders dropping in defeat. “That I’m a killer.”

Without missing a beat, she stands, Bucky trying to grab her, frantically whispering for her to sit down. “I will not sit down!”

“Y/N, please.”

“No,” she states. Approaching the table, she squares her shoulders. “Do you have a problem Sir?”

“Yes, I do,” he says. “That man is a murder and he’s sitting in a nice restaurant!”

“That man,” she starts quietly, “is the longest serving prisoner of war in history. He has been through things that you wouldn’t dream up in your worst nightmares. And in case you’ve forgotten, he’s been acquitted.”

“He’s a killer!” The man’s wife has the decency to look uncomfortable, but not enough to make her say anything. “He deserves to be locked up!”

“He deserves the same respect you give to any veteran.”

“Most veterans aren’t murder’s,” the man argues.

“What do you think happens in a war! People die! People get killed! Soldiers kill! He didn’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice!”

“No, they don’t. And I pity that you can’t understand that. I pity your wife that she has to live with such an unsympathetic and nonunderstanding person.”

“You both deserve to go to hell,” the man spits.

“Perhaps,” Y/N replies smiling. “But we’ll see you there.”

 “How was it?” Natasha asks. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to reply before Bucky is racing off without so much as a goodnight. “That bad?”

“It wasn’t terrible. The food was amazing. People are just asshats.”

“What happened solnyshko?”

“I may have gotten into it with a man over Bucky and now he’s embarrassed.”

“Go to him,” Nat says.

Y/N doesn’t argue with her, walking briskly to Bucky’s door. Tentatively, she knocks. “Bucky? Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Pushing open the door she sees him hunched over himself on the bed. “Why did you do it?” Bucky asks.

“Do what?”

“Stand up for me.”

“Because you deserve someone who does. That man had no reason to hate you so strongly.”

“He was right.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Yes, Y/N! He was!” She’s never heard Bucky yell before, and no matter how much she doesn’t want to admit it, it surprises her.

“Why are you so hell bent on thinking the worst of yourself! Can’t you see that you aren’t the monster in this!”

“I am a monster!”

“You were a VICTIM!” Y/N’s breaths come in shallow pants. “Why can’t you accept that who you see in the mirror is not what I see?”

“What do you see?”

“I see someone with a kind heart,” she steps closer. “I see someone who was forced to become a fighter instead of a protector. I see someone who had their goodness exploited,” Y/N whispers, brushing her hand over his shoulder. “I see someone who was broken and is still in the process of gluing themselves back together.”

Leaning forward, Bucky buries his face in her stomach, arms circling around her tightly. She can feel him crying more so than hear him; can feel the dampness starting to form on her clothes. Her hands find his hair, running smoothly through it as she lets him sob.

“It’s okay,” she mutters. “I’ve got you.”

 The slight tightening of Bucky’s arms is what wakes Y/N first; his whimpers are what keeps her awake. She thought the nightmares were getting better, but it must’ve been the incident that brought memories back.

“Bucky, wake up.”

“No,” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing. “Stop.”

“Bucky!” Y/N says, combing her fingers through his hair. “Shh, it’s just a nightmare. It’s not real.”

“Please!” He screams this time, his arms tightening almost painfully. She can feel the dampness starting to accumulate on his shirt.

Bucky shoots up, bringing her with him when does and looks around, panicked. As soon as he realizes he’s holding her, he runs. Y/N’s heart breaks as she looks at him curled in a ball, back against the wall. “Bucky?”

“Please don’t hurt me.” Ver seldom does he ever get nightmares he can’t come out of, but it seems this is one of them. Slowly, a single tear rolls down her face.

“I’m not going to hurt you Bucky.”

“Everyone hurts me.”

Approaching him slowing, hands help up in surrender, Y/N crouches down to his level. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”

“They all want to help me.”

“No one here will hurt you,” she tries to reassure. “Do you think you could get into the tub, take a bath?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to give you clean clothes and if you’re all sweaty, they won’t be clean,” Y/N explains.

“Will you be there?”

“Only if you want me to be,” she says. “Would you like some water?”

He doesn’t answer, only stares blankly at her. Her heart sinks. He can’t answer, has been trained to never give in to a request, not one that pertains to him. “You can speak freely here Bucky. I won’t hurt you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise I won’t ever hurt you. Now would you like some water?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m going to go get you some water, will you get into the bath for me?” He nods, almost not enough for Y/N see.

She sees Steve in the hall, already making his way to Bucky’s room. “What happened?” Steve asks.

“He had a nightmare. I’m getting him some water.”

“Should I go in?”

“No, he’s,” another solitary tear escapes. “He’s didn’t come out of it. He’s still there Steve. He won’t know you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“So am I.”

 Sweat dripped down her face as she crouched down on the mat. It’s the fourth time Natasha had knocked her on her ass, something she isn’t proud of at all. “You’re distracted solnyshko.”

“No shit,” she gasps.

“Just stating the obvious.”

“You’re a suka sometimes, you that?”

“Only when I need to be,” Nat says. “But really, what’s going on?”

“Ever since we went on our date, the nightmares have come back with a vengeance. Most nights I have to wake him up, and when I do, he’s almost always still there. He’s Bucky, from the early days, when he was first captured.”

“You’re tired solnyshko, you need to rest. No amount of training is going to help you right now.”

“I need to stay in shape, I need to keep up with my routine.”

“You need to sleep. Alone,” Nat replies, voice holding a finality even Y/N doesn’t feel like challenging at the moment.

“Fine.”

“Good,” she nods. “I’ll wake you up in three hours.”

 Bucky knew he was dragging you through the mud, keeping you from what you needed. He didn’t know how to stop. The incident at the restaurant affected him for than he cared to admit. Old memories, old nightmares he lived through keep coming back. Sleep just makes it easier for them slip through.

“Barnes, we need to talk,” Natasha says from the doorway.

“What happened.”

“Y/N’s distracted, worried about you.”

“What do you want me do Nat! I can’t just turn the nightmares off!” She levels him with a scalding stare.

“That’s not what a meant and you know it. I think you need to start talking to someone again.”

“I don’t need to go to another goddamn therapist Natasha. I just need to sleep.”

“Even if you don’t do it for you, do it for her.”

 Bucky held Y/N hand tightly as he stared down the outside of the intimidating building. He knew Nat was right. He needed to do this; it doesn’t mean he wants to. “You can do this James,” Y/N reassures.

“I hope so.”

“I’ll go with you if you want.”

“It’s just, it’s been so long since I needed to come it feels daunting.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you too.”

Without warning he turns and grabs her face, slamming his lips against her in a needy and emotional kiss. Y/N brings her arms slowly around his neck, pulling him down to her. The pads of his fingers trail down her neck, over her arms and find themselves stopping at her waist. It’s there, in the daunting therapist’s parking lot that the two of them realize that they need each other; more than they will ever admit.

 Two Years Later

His hands roamed her back with practiced ease, teasing the buttons of her dress just enough to drive Y/N crazy. Her own hands found their way to his shoulders, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Stop teasing me James,” Y/N moans, his hand closing over her knee and pulling it over his hip, grinding against her.

“You first,” he groans.

“Fine,” she grumbles. With equally as practiced hands, she slips the jacket off his shoulders, the buttons of his shirt soon being torn open and discarded without care.

“That shirt was expensive doll,” he mutters, lips finding the sweet spot on her neck.

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t either,” he moans. The buttons of her dress are carefully undone, as much as Bucky wants to feel her skin, even he doesn’t want to feel her wrath. The fabric the dress pools at her feet, leaving her almost bare before him.

“You’re over dressed,” Y/N mutters, fingers closing over the button of his pants.

“You aren’t,” Bucky says appreciatively, eyeing the swells of her exposed breasts, the tiny lace number she says is a bra doing nothing to hide the peaks forming.

“You gonna touch?”

“Fuck yes,” he groans before his fingers are rolling the nubs between them.

“You guys could at least wait until the honeymoon!” Natasha calls through the closed door, both Y/N and Bucky’s faces burning.

“Ready to leave yet Mrs. Barnes?”

“We’re finishing this first,” Y/N replies. “Everyone will just have to wait; I need to fuck my husband.”

His fingers trace the flowers on her shoulder lovingly. “I still love these you know,” he says.

“And I do too. I’ll always love them.”

“Even when you’re old a grey?”

“Even when I’m old and grey.”

They don’t care about the groans of protest from Natasha from the other side of the door as Bucky seals his lips against Y/N’s again, pressing her bare back against the wall.

Everyone waits as Natasha returns. “The newlyweds started the honeymoon early.” The collective groan drowns out the loud moan coming from down the hall.

[caffeinated-mendes]

desolate palaces - a shawn mendes one-shot

masterlist

previous work

synopsis: (written intentionally in lowercase) you’re the daughter and heir to the throne of your parent’s country. while away on a business deal with a foreign country, visitors arrive, the son and niece of an allied country to yours, shawn and kennedy mendes. you’ve been longing for someone to talk to, and you wonder what could happen in the month that they’ll be there.

a/n: hi! sorry for not uploading sooner, school has been hectic. i love royal fics, so i wrote another one! also, a new updated masterlist is coming soon :) love you guys!

word count: 2k

warnings: none

*if you prefer, you can read this on my ao3 instead of here

today was the day someone would arrive. after months of your parents being overseas, two people would show. you hoped your palace would be less empty and gray, maybe filled with a little more cheer, as maids and cooks didn’t do much. sitting at your vanity, in the expanseful room you occupied, you applied light makeup to your face to give some color back to it. your room, although vibrant, was always dulled from the lighting coming from the windows. where your family’s home was, there was barely a day of sun until summer arrived.

a maid had told you that of the two people coming, they were cousins: one, a little girl, a toddler, and the other, a boy your age. they were of rich parentage and experienced the lifestyle you had, which comforted you. looking into the mirror, your hair was swept up into dutch-braided chignon, and your face adorned jade earrings that complemented your skin. you wore a black, flowy blouse with cuffed sleeves, and plaid pants with combat boots. you liked to mash an elegant style with edgy style, much to the distaste of your mother. but she wasn’t here now, so it didn’t matter.

you couldn’t help but wonder what the boy would look like. creating a certain tanned, blonde-haired figure in your mind, you imagined him arriving up into the foyer with a golden glow emanating around him and his adorable baby cousin, bringing shreds of happiness into your life, at least for a time.

you’d spent the afternoon reading on your nook, overlooking the window that faced the circular driveway. you waited and waited for a black car to turn along the greenery-laden paths, and your heart sank every time when it wasn’t there. finally, after dozing off nearly till the sun set, a rumble of an ignition woke you, and you pressed your hand to the glass as you saw the sleek car pull up to the steps of the palace. placing your navy-blue hardcover on your blanket, you shot up from the nook and ran down the winding corridors, hopping down flights of stairs, and almost knocking over several people until you reached the big, brooding oak doors of the castle.

guards winked at you as you breathlessly waited for the doors to open.  your cheeks were in no doubt flushed from the excitement and running, and you had to hold your hands behind your back to keep yourself from shaking.

after what seemed like an eternity, the doors opened to reveal the exact opposite of what you imagined. he was beautiful, just not in the way you thought he would be. but somehow, you already knew you liked this better. he was tall and pale, with broad shoulders and muscled arms, and flushed cheeks. his smile was charming, and his curly hair sometimes swept into his face, covering his brown-green eyes. looking down, you saw a tiny figure holding his big hand by the fingers. she had the same hair as him, curly as ever, with a beautiful blue bow tying it up into a ponytail. the blue of the bow matched her striking eyes exactly, and you could tell she was going to be quite the fierce lady.

“lady y/n, i present to you, shawn and kennedy mendes.” you bowed your head as shawn took your hand to kiss. his lips were warm, but didn’t stay on your hand very long. his cousin, kennedy, did a small courtesy, picking up her white dress and shyly smiling. it reminded you of how you acted as a child. always hidden away, not being great at confrontation.

you flushed, looking at shawn, and then smiling down at kennedy, “it’s such a pleasure to have you both here. come walk with me, i’ll show you your rooms,” you hated this formal speaking that spewed from your mouth, but years of practice ingrained it into your mind. the guards began to follow you, but you motioned with your hand to stay down on the first floor. taking the winding staircase, you walked with shawn and kennedy to a expanseful white hallway. the crown molding of the walls were delicately carved with golden detailing and the floor, a dark hardwood, was adorned with a blue rug that ran along the halls. 

“kennedy, your room will be first,” you opened the first door on the right with a smile to reveal all that a child could want: board games stacked along shelves that also held countless books. next to it, a child’s bed with a thick, yellow plaid duvet. pillows with embroidered sunflowers were placed neatly at the head of the bed. in the corner, a dollhouse sat collecting dust, as it had been untouched since you were a child. although kennedy didn’t seem to gravitate towards that, as she drifted across the room to a child’s science playset. toy flasks with neon green and blue liquids sat on the black table next to a lab coat, which kennedy put over her dress. 

“she seems to like the science table,” shawn quietly spoke to you, leaning into your ear, as the two of you watched from the doorway.

you grinned, “i think we should leave her to her experiments. we can’t disturb scientific discoveries in-the-making.” shawn nodded and grinned at you, and the two of you turned out of the room. a maid rushed down the hallway to watch kennedy while you led shawn to his bedroom. “your room is just next door to mine. they keep the children's rooms together, but we’re still in the same hallway.” towards the end, on the left side, you led shawn into his room, which was much emptier than kennedy’s. there was a nightstand with blue-covered bed, and a closet. the whole room seemed very unlived in. “whatever you want to put in here, i can ask. i know there’s not much, but i can get anything you like. books, instruments, clothes…”

“thank you, lady y/n.” i think i’m fine for now, but all i ask is, where’s your library and music room?”

you waved your hand dismissively, “just call me y/n. they’re down our hall, the first rooms to the left.”

“thank you.” his smile seemed to make you feel warm inside, and you longed for something that you couldn’t describe, as you didn’t really know what it was.

later that night

you awoke in a cold sweat, hearing knocking on your door. pushing your covers aside, you got out of bed and walked to your door, opening it. there stood shawn, in his pajamas: flannel black and gray pants, and a white t-shirt. “sorry to bother you, but i just heard you calling for someone. and it sounded like you were in pain, so i came to your door to see if you were okay.” at this point you felt very vulnerable, seeing as you were wearing a tank top and shorts, and you didn’t look as put together as you did in the morning. your long hair fell across your back, tickling your neck.

“oh, i guess i had a nightmare,” you wiped sweat from your forehead, “thank you for checking on me, shawn. i’m sorry i woke you up.” you nervously put a piece of hair behind your ear.

“don’t be sorry, i was awake. it’s hard for me to sleep in new beds.” on his face crept a pink flush, and you couldn’t help but think he looked best this way. no fancy clothes, fluffy hair that wasn’t styled.

somehow, a different, less rational part of your brain spoke, “do you want to come in? i don’t think i’m going back to sleep anytime soon.” shawn seemed a little nervous, like he didn’t want to intrude, but you beckoned him in anyway. 

“you have a lot of books and puzzles,” shawn laughed, looking at your shelves. you turned on a lamp, illuminating the room. 

opening your closet and putting on a jacket, you replied, “it passes the time. it’s pretty lonely here.”

“do you have any siblings?” shawn asked. he sat on your nook, looking out of the window, into the bleak, grassy fields. you came out of your closet.

“no, my parents decided they’d have me and then leave me with the maids,” this sarcastic humor seemed to resonate with shawn, as his lips turned the slightest bit. “do you want to do a puzzle?” shawn nodded, looking at the ones on your shelf. getting up, he picked one of a small, suburban home, and sat on your floor. you joined him.

how ironic it was that he picked the one you would’ve picked. it was only what the two of you dreamed of.

“how long are you staying here?” you asked shawn.

shawn shrugged, “i think a month or so. our parents are off to make some sort of deal with a foreign country. they had the great idea of let’s keep our kids locked in the same place so that we can keep an eye on all of them without the extra work! you snorted at that, suddenly so embarrassed that you made that kind of sound. shawn seemed to find it hilarious, doubling over and laughing.

one week later

shawn and you had gotten very close over the past few days. on the rare sunny days, you’d go outside and bring kennedy to pick flowers from the garden, and without the guards seeing, climb trees. the three of you had become quite the team, but sometimes it seemed as though you and shawn really were the ones connecting, watching kennedy have fun from a distance. 

the maids would scold you from down the halls as you stole buttered rolls for dinner from the kitchen, running out in a flurry with shawn, a dozen of rolls in your arms. he was quite the prankster. sometimes, he’d play guitar for you, asking if you liked it. you’d been trained in music theory as a child, so you knew most of the things he talked about.

one evening, after checking that kennedy was asleep, the two of you went into your room, singing together while shawn played the guitar. it was one of your favorite songs he had written. the melody made you feel like you were floating on a cloud, and the words spoke of a love so strong, that even if the two separated, they’d always be connected somehow.

“i love it, shawn,” you’d said to him, while the two of you sat on the window nook. the window was open, and cold air gave you goosebumps along your arms. “the melody’s so sweet and vulnerable-” shawn took your hand in his, and put the guitar against the wall. 

“it’s about you. what i hope for us to be.” shawn looked straight into your eyes, his gaze never wavering.

you quirked your eyebrow, “what?”

“i’ve been in love with you ever since that night i arrived. i didn’t know it, but every morning when i woke up, there was someone to see, something to do.” 

your stomach flipped in on itself, and your heartbeat quickened. you realized that feeling you’ve felt all along, it had been about shawn. he leaned forward, pushing your hair over your shoulder, and kissed you so tenderly and with so much fear that you’d almost told him to stop, if it wasn’t for the feeling of bliss that coursed through your veins.

you gained confidence, kissing him back, and as you separated, your smile felt genuine, like something you hadn’t felt in a long time. he leaned back against your wall of the nook, shutting the window. you leaned into his side, somehow fitting perfectly on the incredibly small space. with a sigh, you put your arm around his neck, saying, “i hope you don’t have to leave soon.”

shawn grinned and pulled you closer to him, whispering, “i never want to leave.”