#Strike back fanfic

[abubblingcandle]

Augusnippets Day 4 - Stalking - Strike Back (TV)

cw - aftermath of torture, implied eye trauma

Will never thought he would have to defend attacks from his own team but the Project Tennebrae reveal tore everything apart. He runs. Before Donovan can do anything to stop him he runs. But his head hurts. He doesn't really know where he is. All he knows his he needs to run. AU where Jensen doesn't die but not everything ends up ok when Donovan's murder fails

Here on AO3 @augusnippets

Will stumbled, falling against the upcoming wall. The grit scraped at his palms as he frantically pushed off to get his feet underneath him.

The world spun around him and his footsteps pounded in his ears as they pounded the pavement. Will used the wall as a crutch, like someone lost in a maze, to get as far away from here as he could.

He had to get somewhere safe. There was nowhere safe. Everything was wrong. Everything was lies. Everything hurt. He couldn’t think through the pounding behind his eye. Gracie had been right. He should have stayed in hospital. He wasn’t fit to be in the field. He shouldn’t be in the field anyway. He was just the fucking computer guy.

Someone honked as Will dashed across the road. He just had to get as far away from here as possible. Then he could stop. Then he could rest. No, no he couldn’t because the team had to know. He had to tell the team they couldn’t trust Donovan.

Another wall. This time on his blind side sending Will sprawling on the floor. No, no. Adeena would be following him. He knew too much she had to be following him. He didn’t have time to stop. Will stumbled up to his feet but his head swum, spinning on his neck as he tried to work out which way was forwards. Hospital, yeah he should probably be in the hospital. But then people would ask questions. Questions that would lead back to Donovan and Section 20. No, no hospitals.

“Sir, sir are you ok?” a faceless voice matched with a distant hand on his arm. He was going to throw up. The pain was a phantom of that chisel pounding into his skull. Even his remaining eye couldn’t see anymore. Why was he running? Where was Gracie? Wyatt? Mac? Why was he in the field without his team? He shouldn’t be in the field anyway. He was just the fucking computer guy. Although he got in just as much trouble when he was in front of the computers.

And there it was. He remembered. He needed to run.

“Will, there you are.”

No. No No No.

“Thank you miss. I was so worried,” Adeena cooed, her cold harsh grip replacing the faceless woman’s soft one on his elbow.

“No, no,” the begging fell out of Will’s mouth desperately instead of rattling around his brain.

“So sorry. My brother here has a serious concussion and must have forgotten where he was. I need to get him back to the hospital,” Adeena’s words faded in and out between Will’s struggles. Nothing he could muster was enough.

“Oh don’t worry about it I was just concerned. He really should be in the hospital,” the woman’s voice became more distant. She was leaving. No, she wasn’t leaving, Will was leaving. Adeena was pulling him backwards.

Next moment they were moving. A car? Must be a car. “What am I going to do with you Will?” Adeena sighed.

“Help,” he managed to choked out, a sob coming with it as his muscles spasmed with the pain.

“Yes. Ok. Let’s get you some medical care. You shouldn’t be running around with an injury like that. Maybe I was too hasty in taking you out of the equation. For some reason the rest of our team are quite fond of you.”

Will knew he should be doing something. But neither eye would open. Neither arm would move. He needed to tell Gracie something. He needed to run. But maybe he could do that after.

[middleearthpixie]

Asks Master List

A Walk in the Woods - Thorin x reader (Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives)

Absolute Beginners ~ Thorin x reader (Post-BOTFA Where Everybody Lives)

In This Moment ~ Thorin x reader (Desolation of Smaug Slight AU)

Blind Date ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU

Stroll ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 2

Dessert ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 3

Lockdown ~ Guy of Gisborne/ John Porter Crossover AU Part 4

Cake ~ Guy of Gisborne/John Porter Crossover AU Part 5

Hot Apple Cider ~ Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (Post-BOTFA AU Where Everybody Lives)

Fireworks ~ John Porter x Reader

The Fountain ~ Lindir x fem!reader

Moonlight ~ Lindir x elf!reader

The Escape ~ Thorin x ofc Carys Greenleaf

The Escape, Part Two ~ Thorin x ofc Carys Greenleaf

The Harp ~ Thorin x fem!reader

Fair Enough ~ Éomer x fem!reader

[mel-kusanagi]

something about saving horses....

new ghoulcy drawing + hanleia because they have the same vibes

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Whipped - Luke Skywalker X GN Reader

Title: Whipped

Luke Skywalker X GN Reader (Han X Leia included)

Additional Characters: Han, Leia, Chewie, R2D2, C3PO (Mentioned), Yoda (Mentioned), Rebel Alliance people (Mentioned), and TIE Fighters (Mentioned)

Requested by @micheleamidalajedi

WC: 2,325

Warnings: Luke is smitten, teasing, taunting, anxiety, nervousness, wingman Han, wingwoman Leia, baby angst, bets, joke fighitng mentioned, fighting mentioned, blasters mentioned, killing so of briefly mentioned, set sometime during The Empire Strikes Back, confession, friends to lovers, cute name-calling (on Leia's part), and fluff

Luke sighed, his hand resting on his chin as his half-lidded daydreaming eyes gazed at you from afar. You were brushing your hair, talking to Chewie and Leia about something, your occasional laugh echoing throughout the base. The sound of your voice was enough to make him smile in an idyllic way and he wished for nothing more than to hear that melodic voice forever. He didn't know if this was a crush or not but Luke couldn't help it; he had been smitten ever since your first encounter a while ago. He thought you were beautiful, the most beautiful person he'd ever encountered. He felt a pang of sadness whenever he thought about the fact that he couldn't have you all to himself, and so often he would find himself fantasizing about what could happen between the two of you. And every time, he would melt into a puddle of goo.

You had taken a liking to Luke, thinking he was quite adorable. It wasn't long before you found yourself gravitating towards him even though you couldn’t go a couple sentences before freezing up. You didn't think you'd be so shy, usually, you were good at conversation with others, but with Luke... You stumbled over your words. Every time you opened your mouth to speak to him, you found yourself unable to utter a single word. It was quite strange because he seemed so nice, kind, and funny. You didn't understand how anyone would be able to not resist such an angelic-looking face, yet here you were doing just that, falling hopelessly in love with him.

Leia saw right through you, she saw the way you looked at Luke, almost longingly. "What are you waiting for?" She teased when she noticed your fidgety state. "Go talk to him." She encouraged, trying to contain her own happiness over the fact that you had a crush on the young man. "He has been staring at you for days now." She pointed out. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he liked you too."

"He doesn't." Your cheeks burned at the accusation. "He couldn't possibly." You muttered sadly, shaking your head. You had only known the boy for a few months, after all. You weren't sure he liked you back. But there was a small part of you, deep down, that hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, he did. That hope was the only thing keeping you going as you continued to brush your hair and occasionally glance up to gaze dreamily at Luke. You loved this boy already. You were hopelessly in love with him and you wanted nothing more than to tell him.

Looking up, you watched as Luke's eyes widened before he quickly looked away, turning to face Han instead with his hidden blushing face, making you second-guess. You chuckled at the sight of him getting flustered either way, your heart swelling with joy. His attention warmed your heart more than you could ever express to anyone else. You smiled fondly before you returned to your brushing, before placing down your brush and turning back to Leia and Chewie. They gave you a knowing look, a silent message for you to just do it already. But you stayed sitting, your nerves getting the best of you.

Han smirked as he watched Luke look away from you with a blushing face after he got caught, his lips curling upwards, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "I think they like you, kid," Han spoke up, his tone amused. "They're just too shy to say anything."

The blush on Luke's face darkened at the statement. "Really? It doesn't seem like it." He muttered. "It seems like it's just..." He trailed off again, unsure what he wanted to say. "Like they don't really want me around them. Like I'm annoying them."

Han let out a bursting laugh, surprising Luke as he stared at Han with furrowed brows, "Luke, buddy, as I said... They are just shy. You need to make the first move if you truly care about them." He paused, "Besides, it isn't their fault you're too blind to see that they like you."

Luke pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly, "How do you even know about all this? How can you be so sure?"

Han smirked lightly, shrugging as he stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, "Oh, you know... I know when someone likes me." He answered, his eye glancing over to Leia briefly. "It's a talent to know when there's romantic tension in the air."

Luke gave Han a look, "Uh-huh." He said slowly, eyeing him suspiciously, "And what makes you think there is romance?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes. "Maybe they think of me as a friend and are still just shy." He concluded.

"That." Han waved his pointer finger in the air, and Luke's eyes followed confused, "Do you see it?"

"See what?"

Han sighed, "The love in the air."

Luke groaned and got up, rolling his eyes, "I'm done with you..."

"Hey! Luke! Don't run from love!" Han called out to Luke as he quickly walked away, embarrassed.

You, Chewie, and Leia walked over to Han, confused. "What's up with Luke?" You asked as Leia and Han gave each other a brief glance before both shrugging.

"It's probably nothing," Han replied. "He's being dramatic again."

"You should go check on him," Leia suggested to you. "You always know how to cheer everyone up."

You bit your lip, "Okay..." You mumbled before walking away in search of Luke, gaining the confidence you needed. 

"Who do you think will confess first?" Han asked, crossing his arms, watching as you left the room. "My credits are on Y/N."

Leia mimicked Han's stance, crossing his own arms, "Sppf, oh no, my credits are on Luke."

Han smirked, glancing down at Leia, "Well, if I win, I get to have a drink with you."

Leia rolled her eyes, "And if I win, Chewie and I will braid your hair."

Han furrowed his eyebrows, "My hair's too short to braid, princess."

"That's what you think," Leia smirked.

~~~

You wandered over to find Luke in the cockpit, he was sitting in the corner of the room, on the corner booth; just staring off into the distance as the ship hummed deeply. "Are you okay?" You asked as you sat next to him, causing him to jump in surprise. "Sorry," you apologized with a chuckle, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Luke shook his head, smiling softly at you, "No, it's alright." He responded. "Is everything alright?" He inquired.

You gave him a small smile, "You didn't answer my question first." Your voice grew serious, "Are you alright?" Your tone was soft and you stared up at Luke with concern, swallowing hard as you pushed your nerve down.

Luke took a moment to respond, before pursing his lips and nodding, "Yeah, I'm okay." He then turned to you, "What about you? Are you okay?"

You nodded your head as you averted your gaze from his, "Yeah, I'm fine. Everything is alright."

"Good..." Luke hesitated before continuing, "So, what were you, Chewie, and Leia talking about?"

You shrugged, "Nothing much, just asking Chewie about Kashyyyk." You muttered before taking a glance at the young man before you, "What about you and Han? What were you two talking about?"

Luke quickly glanced away from you, rubbing the back of his neck as he let out an awkward laugh, "Nothing special. Just Han messing around with me."

"Do you want me to talk to Leia about him? You know she'd kick his butt if anyone asked." You offered and Luke chuckled lightly.

"Could you? That'd be great." He joked as the two of you laughed together for a moment, before falling into a nerve-racking silence. 

You glanced nervously at Luke, as he gazed at you. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're awfully quiet today." He commented as you tilted your head to the side. 

You frowned, "Am I?" 

He nodded his head, "Yeah, but I... I mean you're quiet most of the day... But, are you really okay?" Luke asked worriedly, and you let out a little giggle.

"Yeah, I am okay, Luke. Don't worry." You sighed, your hands fiddling in your lap, "You worry too much."

"I'm not that bad." He pouted.

"You're worse than me," You corrected as you playfully nudged him in the arm. "But I'm okay, really. I'm sorry that I've been acting weird lately."

Luke shook his head, noticing your fidgeting hands and taking one of your hands in his. "No, no, I get it. You don't have to apologize." Your fingers tightened around Luke's hand in response. "You know... I... I really admire you. I admire you so much, Y/N. You're strong, smart, beautiful... A wonderful person." You looked away from him, feeling your cheeks flush. 

"Thank you, Luke. That means a lot. And... You're all those things and more too." You bit your lip nervously, looking back up at him, "I admire you too. So much."

"Y/N, listen-" He began, but something hit the ship, cutting him off.

Han ran into the cockpit with Chewie, landing in their seat to get out of autopilot before flying around; trying not to get hit by any more blasts.

"Kid, I need you at the blaster!" Luke stood quickly and ran to the blaster, leaving you at the booth.

"Can you get away from them?" Leia asked, stumbling over to hold tight to Han's seat.

"You know I can, your Highness, would you kindly sit down?" Han asked through gritted teeth as he turned the wheel, maneuvering past another blast.

"How long until we get to Hoth?" You asked, and Chewie belted, and you sighed. It was going to be a long and bumpy ride.

~~~

It had taken a while, but Luke was able to shoot the TIE Fighters, and soon after that, you went into hyperspace; entering Hoth's atmosphere. Time was moving so fast, it felt like right as you landed Luke was going off to find some Jedi Master. You hardly had any time to really spend time with him. He could hardly talk to you, having to get ready to go along with going to mission debriefs. You spent most of your time on the sidelines, watching Luke rushing around, and Chewie working on the Falcon as Han did... Whatever he was doing, as Leia spoke with other Rebel leaders, and R2 and 3PO bickering in the corner.

As Luke rushed by, wearing his orange suit, carrying his helmet in his arms, you rushed over. The large metal claw grabbed R2 and placed him in the back seat of the X-Wing, R2 whistling and beeping in annoyance. Leia and Han peeked out behind a hall, watching as you said your goodbyes to Luke before he flew off to Dagobah. They watched as Luke pulled you into a long hug, holding onto you for just a little bit longer than necessary; you even seemed like you never wanted to let go. And you didn't.

"Do you have to go?" You asked softly, digging your face into Luke's neck as he held his arms tightly around your waist.

"Yeah," He muttered, "I do."

"Can't I come with you?" You asked, practically begging as Luke chuckled gently, pulling back. 

"My ship won't have enough room. It'll only hold R2 and I." He spoke, and you glanced up at R2D2 as he whistled, making you sigh. 

You pouted lightly as you stared into his deep blue eyes, "You'll be safe, won't you?"

"Of course, I will." He smiled softly down at you, reaching forward with one hand and stroking through your hair soothingly, "Besides, I'll get to see you again soon, okay?" You nodded slowly, before stepping back to give him space. 

Luke bit his lip briefly, as he stared at you, before turning around to head up to the ladder. Pausing halfway, Luke quickly turned around and rushed over, taking you into his arms, and kissing you deeply. Surprised, you slowly melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pressed his body against yours, kissing you hard and passionately. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and lifting you slightly off the ground. Pulling away, he buried his head into your neck, gripping you as he breathed heavily.

When he pulled back, you smiled softly at him before pecking his lips once more. "Be careful." You whispered, resting your forehead against his.

He nodded his head, "I will." He promised, pressing one last kiss to your lips before pulling away from you completely and climbing up the ladder. Luke glanced at you once more before slipping on his helmet and closing the X-Wing hatch closed. You sighed, walking backward slowly, giving room for the Wing to lift off. Han and Leia stood beside you, the three of you waving as Luke flew off. You let out a sigh, and Leia rubbed your shoulder.

"He'll be fine." She assured you.

You nodded your head, letting out a sigh, "I hope so..." You trailed off. "I know so."

Leia squeezed your shoulders comfortingly before she turned to Han, "I win, fuzzball."

Han's jaw dropped in offense, "Fuzzball!? Who are you callin' Fuzzball!?" He asked indignantly as the two of them walked off, leaving you to stand alone in the center of the hangar.

You let out a chuckle before running your fingers through your hair, sighing contently, staring off into the distance as you thought about Luke. Your mind drifted back to when he kissed you, how his hands felt so soft against your skin, how his lips felt so warm against yours, how perfect his kiss tasted, how amazing he felt against you; everything. He made you feel like nothing else mattered in the entire universe, and you loved every minute of it.

[iszapizza]

I sketched out one of my favorite scenes of Twin Suns at the Door of Night by achrmy .

Loved the concept of Leia being the one to purify Vader’s red Kyber crystal. Lovely fanfic, it played around a bit with certain things like Vader’s relationship with both Luke and Leia and I loved it so much. Please give it a read!

[pomplalamoose]

a cute/hot scenario: luke going around the house topless because he find his clothes only to find you wearing them 🙈

Oooh anon I absolutely LOVE that idea👀

Also I couldn't decide whether to focus on the cute or the hot aspect so I just did both lol

obviously some slight nsfw under the cut

• it's not only fun to steal his clothes but you also get to see him half naked, which I'm sure we all are a big fan of

• plus I think he has very nice soft shirts that are super comfortable to wear

• he has pleasantly thin and flowy ones for the summer and warm ones for the colder seasons

• he definitely likes seeing you in his things too but has fun pretending otherwise

• it's something you both majorly enjoy

• secretly (probably not so secretly) he's checking you out when you're not looking

• because of course his clothes are way too big for you and while he thinks it looks absolutely adorable he can't deny the fact it turns him on a little bit (a lot)

• listen, I see him playing little mind games with you:

• he wants to see you like this often but doesn't tell you so outright

• instead he acts annoyed because he just knows how much you like to tease and that you'll definitely go for his wardrobe instead of your own to have a giggle

• VERY coincidentally that shirt with the slightly too loose collar lays right on top too

• in no way has this anything to do with the fact that he likes when it slips off your shoulders!!!

• it thrills him to wonder whether you are wearing anything underneath

• he hasn't told you yet but often day dreams about taking you to bed wearing nothing but his shirt

• he imagines pushing it up slowly to uncover more and more of your smooth skin, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake until you're laying completely bare before him

• save for his shirt bunching atop of your breasts of course

• you won't be able to wear it after without thinking about all the things he did to you

• you'd totally have play fights too in which he chases you around the house or tries to pull his shirt over your head while you wriggle around and aren't complying at all

• he is much stronger than you and you know if he wanted to he could remove it faster than you could process

• sometimes, he does just that and then laughs at your pouting face

• "you're no fun!" you tell him then

• alternatively he walks in on you very clearly with his clothes on and is like "Bunny, have you seen my shirt?"

• you obviously tell him no and he goes along with it because it amuses him just as much

• I see him trying to squeeze into one of your tops or dresses while you're away

• and then acting like absolutely nothing is going on when you return

• maybe he wears a bathrobe on top so it isn't immediately visible

• IMAGINE: the evening turns kind of heated and, with your clothes already off, you want him to get rid of his robe as well

• and when you give a fierce tug you see he's not naked like you originally thought but wearing YOUR clothes instead

• he'll put on his poker face and ask if something is wrong because you're laughing so hard

[seoafin]

i have seen the craziest things in the past 15 hours gojo's effect on people NEEDS to be studied because why did i just see a gojo fan threaten the taliban after asking them to take out akutami

[avxlyse]

A/N: Hi guys! I’m fairly new to fic writing and brand new to tumblr (in a sense, I’ve been ON Tumblr since like 2016 but I’ve never really posted), so I’m not really sure what I’m doing tbh. I’ve been writing for awhile but I’ve never really posted anything, so let’s just see how this goes! PS Constructive criticism is welcome! I'd love some tips :)

Han Solo x Reader

Prompt: “Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m in love with you!” + Kissing to hide from someone

The funny thing is, you were probably the best pilot in the rebellion before Han. And you absolutely resented him for it. There were few things you hated more than someone upstaging you, but there was nothing you hated more than them being smug about it. And Han Solo without smug is like Hoth without winter, impossible. So when you found yourself crammed nose to nose in a maintenance closet staring back into that smug, shit eating grin, you came to the conclusion that if you made it out of here alive the first thing you were going to do was rip the wires out of that cocky assholes prize winning ship and shove them down his throat.

The morning was typical, breakfast in the Cafeteria and some training in the Gym, then straight to the meeting that was scheduled for that afternoon. Unfortunately, you never actually made it to that meeting, because half way through your training session the emergency alarm went off. You dropped your practice weapon and turned to run towards the center of the base.

“Damnit!”

You forgot to take off the resistance band tied around your ankle and ate shit on the training room floor. A mocking laugh echoed through the room as you felt firm hands grasp your wrists and pull you up.

“You should really be more careful, we wouldn’t want you to do any damage to that pretty face of yours now would we?”

Han grinned, sarcasm dripping from his tone. You groaned in frustration, face flushing from a wounded ego.

“If you haven’t noticed we’re in a bit of an emergency, so if you could be a little more helpful and untie my leg so that we can make it to the meeting before The Galactic Empire blows up our base that would be great.”

“As you wish, Princess”

He leaned down to pull the band off of your thigh, lingering a beat too long in his particularly flirtatious manner. You shoved ahead of him, tactlessly hiding your blush. You know it meant nothing to him, but that didn't mean it didn't drive you nuts. You just didn't operate like Han. He was so casual. Sometimes it seemed like he couldn't help but charm anyone that walks by, just to prove he could. You're pretty sure he would flirt with a coffee pot if it was wearing mascara, while you, on the other hand, had barely managed to seduce half a dozen people in your lifetime. It was for this reason that Hans nature was so irritating to you. When he first moved to this base, you had assumed he was making a pass at you. It's just that no one had ever been so bold about it. At least not with you, the plain looking girl from Batuu who's hottest feature, in the literal sense, was her perpetually flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. It had barely been a week before you fell hard, giggling like a child every time he made one of his frisky remarks. Bless Leia's heart for being the only person kind enough to burst your bubble. After what must have been a few too many puppy eyed stares, she pulled you aside to tell you Hans' deal. That he was an egotistical bastard who got a kick out of making people fall in love with him just to see if he could. You crashed back down to Earth pretty swiftly after that, and had now spent the better part of a year rolling your eyes every time he entered a room. Now you're stuck being second best to the man who stole your heart and your rank.

By the time you both reached the meeting room, the alarm had stopped and Leia was the only person left there.

“Y/N, Han! There you are. Where were you two?”

“Long story, what’s up?”

“ok...”

Leia raised her eyebrow suspiciously before continuing 

“There’s a Galactic Empire ship flying in our atmosphere. We’re not sure if they got a tip off about our base or if they’re doing a routine scan of the planet, but either way we can’t risk allowing them to continue. We only have one stolen TIE Fighter at this base, which means the rest of the crew will be working from land to shield the base and prepare for battle in case we’re spotted-“

“Great, where do you need me?” You interjected.

“I was actually hoping you and Han could fly the TIE fighter...”

“Oh?” You questioned, a bit shocked.

She eyed you with a sympathetic look, the two of you still close enough for her to be well aware of how you feel about Han.

“I don't need to tell either of you that you're the best pilots we have on site, and we need this mission to succeed. We can’t risk sending anything but our best, I’m counting on you two to destroy the ship by sabotaging the main engine.”

“Just tell me where to fire and that ship’ll be out of the sky before it can get within 100 miles of our base.” Han said, rearing for battle.

“Not so fast”

Leia sighed, clearly not willing to deal with Hans' rash nature at this exact moment. 

“There’s a reason I’m squeezing Y/N into a single-pilot TIE with you, Han. You need someone who actually thinks rationally, this is too much of a risky situation for you to just go in there and fire at will like you usually would. You need to be calculated and precise, which is why you’ll both be undercover.”

“Hey! I’m calculated and precise...” Han frowned.

You gritted your teeth and turned back to Leia.

“Where’s the engine?”

“It’s on the north end of the ship, right next to the escape pod, you can’t miss it. A few hits should do the trick, especially since we’re using a stolen Empire ship with stronger blasters. By the time they realize you two are there they’ll already be toast. Here are your Uniforms, just in case anything goes south and you have to come face to face with Galactic Empire soldiers.”

You nod and take the uniform out of Leia’s hand, two Stormtrooper suits probably taken off of the soldiers from the stolen TIE fighter.

“Be careful, they’ll be on high alert if a ship just flies at top speed towards their engines. Don’t be suspicious.”

Han scoffed,

“Yeah, great advice ‘Don’t be suspicious’. And how are we supposed to do that? A random TIE fighter that’s probably already been reported as stolen flying up to the ship during what seems like a routine check? How are we going to be sure they don’t stop us immediately and blow us out of the sky?”

Leia took a deep, patient breath,

“You really have no faith in me, do you. We’ve been monitoring the ship and can see that there are TIE fighters flying in and out. Just follow the path that the rest of them are taking to avoid standing out. We know the ship hasn’t been reported as stolen because when it crashed the pilot died, so there was no one to alert them when we recovered it. We don’t have much time, I just need you to trust me. Put on the uniforms, fly in if you have to, but fly out and destroy the engine. It’s our only chance.”

A grim look passed over your face, this mission was risky, and you knew if she was going to put the two of you together it really was her only option. Things could very easily go south and if worse comes to worse her best pilots would have the closest shot at getting out of there alive. You turned to Han and realized he must’ve gotten the message, because for once in his life he didn't have anything witty to say back. He just nodded and went to change into the stolen uniform

You turned back to Leia and took a deep breath before wrapping your arms around her. She returned the hug before pulling back and putting her hands on your shoulders.

“Just, please make it back, ok?”

You smiled “I will. I might leave Han on the ship though, he’s already starting to get on my nerves.”

Leia laughed “As much as he’s a pain in our asses, he’s one of our best. Try to keep him in line for me, you know how he gets...”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I will. See you later, okay?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

You walked off to go change before meeting Han at the ship.

...

By the time you squeezed into the stolen uniform Han was already in the pilot seat of the TIE. You truly wish you had the energy to argue about it, but there wasn't enough time to be petty. He was a better pilot, plain and simple, and your pride wouldn't change that. You also wouldn't change anything by slamming on a non-existent brake pedal as he took off with an all too aggressive jolt, but that certainly didn't stop the instinct.

"Can you slow down?" You snapped, tension seeping into your shoulders. "We're supposed to be blending in, and your narcissistic flying style gives you away to literally anyone who has ever seen you pilot."

"'Narcissistic flying style'?" Han scoffs "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know, shut up." You blushed, doing your best to avoid his gaze.

"You've got to get better at that, you know"

"At what?"

"Being mean. It doesn't suit you"

"Unless you want to figure out how well my foot suits your ass, I suggest you just shut up and fly"

He lets out a warm chuckle, laughing through his response -

"See what I mean? It just sounds weird coming out of your mouth. It's like a youngling swearing for the first time. To much bite, it's not natural yet"

"Well if you're so sure it's unnatural to me maybe I should take notes from you, you seem to have no problem being an asshole."

This one came out with a real bite, he's pissed you off now.

"And what does it matter? Maybe it's not natural to me because you're the only person who makes me feel like saying rude shit. Now what does come natural to me is flying, and maybe if you weren't so focused on how things sounded coming out of my mouth you'd have noticed the TIEs flying on either side of us."

"Oh shit!" He exclaimed, caught off guard for once.

"We're going to have to land on the ship."

"what? why?"

"We don't have access to their channels of communication and we're going to have to explain what the hell we're doing flying off Crait. If we start flying towards the reactor now they'll just gun us down. We can pretend to be the soldiers that crashed on this ship, explain that we were only missing because the engine failed and we needed time to repair it. The communicator broke in the crash, and that's why we haven't called for help, got it?"

"Got it, captain" He said, with an impressed lilt in his voice.

You smiled, tallying this as a win against him. If it was impressive to him that someone could come up with a plan that wasn’t whatever made the most explosions, then so be it. He’d just better be prepared to be impressed for the next few hours.

As Han flew the TIE into the landing bay, it became increasingly clear that this was going to take more convincing on your part than you were prepared for. The two TIEs guarding either side of you followed you into the port, and a group of high ranking soldiers began to gather where your ship was landing. You shot Han a concerned glance before remembering it was useless through your helmet. He seemed to get the message anyways, giving you a short nod in response. You just hoped that meant he was taking this as seriously as you were and wasn't planning on doing anything rash. 

The both of you slowly stepped out of the TIE, unsure of what the soldiers around you were planning. You tensed as a burly looking man approached, eyeing the both of you suspiciously-

“CF-0065, TZ-1764. It’s been quite some time since we’ve heard from you. Your vessels had been reported missing and it was our assumption that you had crashed or been captured. Explain what has kept you from reporting to your posts immediately.” 

He snapped, authority evident in his voice. You decided to cut in before Han could say something stupid-

“Yes, sir. Our vessels crashed on Crait, and we have spent the time in between now and then repairing the engine of the more salvageable ship. We were able to get it functioning yesterday, and we're working on getting the communication systems functioning next. We spotted your ship flying over and hoped to explain ourselves and have aid in fully repairing the TIE.”

“Ah, yes, well I’m glad you were able to recover your vessel and return to work. We could use the extras hands on board.”

“What exactly is the mission of this vessel?” Han chimed in. “We’d like to help in whatever way best suits our skills.” He added, nonchalantly.

The man, who you had now gathered to be the chief officer, began to walk. The two of you followed, doing your best impression of the mindless soldiers surrounding you.

“Well, we were sent to a maintenance level scan of this star system, but have since detected some suspicious activity on this planet in particular.”

 Your shoulders immediately tensed, and you shot a sideways glance at Han. 

“We would like to get a more comprehensive idea of the situation before moving forward, so as of now we have not reported anything to the other fleets in the area. We’d prefer not to alert the planet of our suspicions yet, and give them the least time to prepare if we decide to strike.”

You silently thanked the stars that they haven’t allerted anyone else of their suspicions. You know Han did too, it’s going to make what you have to do here a whole lot easier without an entire fleet against you.

"Well, we’re both especially skilled in repair and maintenance,” Han jutted in, “so if you could point us towards the engine room we would be happy to make sure everything is working in order while you further investigate the planet.”

It was a risky move, and the general eyed you suspiciously.

“The both of us were able to repair a damaged TIE fighter engine with nothing but the materials we were able to trade for on Crait, if you have any issues we’d be happy to help.” You added, hoping it would convince him.

“Actually,” he conceded, “I have been concerned about the operation system in one of  our navigation ports. We’ve been having quite a few rough takeoffs recently. I was going to wait until we landed to get it looked at, but since the two of you clearly possess enough skill to repair that TIE I’d rather you just take a look at it now.” 

He led the two of you down a series of long, winding hallways, which you did your best to memorize if a quick escape became necessary. The room he brought you to was a small one, with about a hundred buttons you barely recognized. You may be an experienced pilot, but Empire technology was something else entirely. You just hoped the general wasn’t planning on staying, or you and Han would have to put on a pretty convincing performance.

“So,” Han coughed, “what seems to be the matter?”

“Well since you two are such experienced mechanics, shouldn't you be the ones telling me?” The general questioned suspiciously.

“Of course, Sir,” You turned, praying to god that you could make some sense of this mess in time to keep your cover. “It looks like-”

A loud thud echoed behind you and you whipped around to see Han standing over the unconscious general. He just shrugged, turning to replace the wrench he pried off the wall to club him with.

“Han!” You whisper-shouted, trying not to alert more people than he probably just did by being his typical, impulsive self.

“What? He replied, “He was totally on to us and It was more trouble than it's worth to try and convince him we know anything about Empire tech.”

“Right, so you decided braining him with a wrench was the next best option?”

“We don’t have time for this, Y/N. At this point we’re going to have to sabotage the reactor from the inside, which might take more effort than we anticipated.”

“And what are we supposed to do with him?” You both eyed the unconscious general, and Han shifted his gaze to a utility closet in the corner.

A few good thunks with the wrench for extra measure later, the both of you began to fold, shove, and contort the general into a crate in the navigation room closet. You had taken your helmets off, sweating uncomfortably with the effort it took to lift the fairly bulky man across the room. You wiped your forehead, staring at the now properly concealed general, and shot a concerned glance at Han, 

“How long do you think it’ll take before they notice he’s gone?” 

“I think we’ve got some time,” He said, reaching for his helmet.

It was at that moment that the doorknob began to jiggle, and in a blur of movement Han had you up against the wall with his lips on yours. It didn’t even register at first, shock and adrenaline coursing through your veins hard enough to freeze you completely.You weren’t exactly sure what the rules were in The Galactic Empire about soldiers kissing, but you had a feeling the punishment for being caught would be less severe than killing a high ranking general. Plus, this was probably the easiest way to hide both of your helmetless faces, yours may not be recognizable, but his certainly is. It took a second before you began to kiss him back, but by the time you let yourself reciprocate, you heard the door click shut and Han pulled away. You kicked yourself and your neurotic brain for running through all of the possible plans of action before you even got the chance to soak it in. You’d dreamed of this so many times, and in so many ways, and the one time it’ll probably ever happen you let it get away from you. As you looked back up at Han, he was stuck with the same searching look you couldn’t wipe off your face. You stared back at him for a second, trying to gauge his reaction.

Han butted in, cutting right through your thoughts. “Maybe we should do that again. You know, just in case they come back.” He said, dazed.

“Yeah…” You muttered, “Yeah that might be best.”

His lips crashed back into yours, and you kissed him with a renewed sense of purpose. Han kissed with a passion you had never felt before. With everyone else it had been awkward and fumbling, but the two of you seemed to fit together so naturally. You took a metal note of every part of him, from the rough feeling of his lips to the bold flick of his tongue. You tried to memorize everything you loved about this, because you knew it was never going to happen again. You’re sure you were going to torture yourself with this moment forever, so you might as well remember it as clearly as possible. The way his hands grazed your waist, not grabbing, but just hovering above your hips with a feather-like touch as if he was afraid you were going to burn him. How his adams apple bobbed when you kissed his neck, swallowing hard out of desperation. The way his hands felt in your hair, not tugging, but carding through it with a sort of reverence. He pulled away too soon, tearing you out of your blissful analysis of his body and back into the present tense. 

“We can’t keep doing that,” He said, panting.

“Yeah, I think we’re in the clear and we need to find the reactor” You replied, trying your best to hide how it stung and moving towards your helmet.

“No.” Han put both his hands on your shoulder, holding you in place, “No, we can’t keep doing that because if we do I will want to do it again.”

“What?” You paused, shocked.

“You know what I mean, Y/N, don’t make me say it out loud.”

You stared back at him blankly, truly at a loss for words.

“Jesus Y/N, Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m in love with you!”

“What?” Seemed to be the only word your brain could muster in this moment. You felt as though your whole world view was crashing around you, as though the very ground beneath you was shaking… On second thought, the ground might actually be shaking, because judging by Hans face you weren't the only one feeling the rumbling beneath you.

“We’ll deal with this later.” He shot you a look before grabbing his helmet and running out the door, following quickly after to discover what was the matter. 

It became clear as you walked that the ship was preparing for takeoff, but you weren’t sure why. Your nerves were on fire, and you know you’ve wasted too much time to get it wrong now.

“That general sure wasn’t kidding when he said their takeoffs were rough. We need to get to the reactor before they can get the ship up and running or we’re screwed.” Han said, eyeing you nervously.

“Do you think if we go back to the landing bay we can tell them we have orders to go back to Crait and investigate some of the suspicious activity we saw on-world? If we take a nicer ship than the TIE we came in we won't have to worry about the blasters not being strong enough to take down the ship.” You replied, already in go-mode.

“Sounds like a great plan,” Han said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “except how the hell are we supposed to find our way back to the landing bay with no map of the ship?”

“Just trust me.” You said, grabbing his arm and leading him down the hall. Your freakish memory is good for more than memorizing Hans lips, and you were able to bring the two of you back exactly the way you came. You strode up to the nearest pilot you could find, and with the confidence of somebody who has no other choice, demands he give the two of you access to an ST-70 Assault Ship. 

“For what purpose?” He responds, taken aback by your assertiveness.

“We are the two soldiers who we’re just recovered from Crait, and were ordered back down there to investigate suspicious activity on the planet. We don’t have time for this, just give us the vessel.” Han repeated what you had planned to the pilot, striding towards the ST-70. 

“I haven’t been told of such an order, the two of you are going to need to wait until I receive the command from higher up to authorize use of this vessel.” The pilot replies sharply.

“We’ve already been held up by engine maintenance,” You added, not exactly sure where this was going but hoping you found something convincing to say in the midst of your rambling, “and spent much of that time relaying to a general on this ship the reason for our brief disappearance. We are part of a high clearance mission to uncover rebel activity on the planet Crait, and are close to infiltrating one of the largest branches of their military. We came here to dismiss your vessel, as we were worried your presence would alert the Rebel Alliance of our presence on the planet.”

Han joined in, stepping up to the unarmed pilot with his intimidating stature. 

“If you don’t hand over this vessel, the failure of a months-long plan to eliminate one of the largest branches of the Rebel Alliance will be on your head. Whatever you think we might do with this ship that is ‘unauthorized’ cannot possibly have consequences as dire for you as that will.” Han rolled his shoulders back, taking one more menacing step forward.

The pilot stepped aside, granting you and Han access to the ST-70. If the two of you make it out of here, you would have to be permanently assigned as partners for missions like these. You have never felt more invigorated or on your game than when you were with Han, the idea of the word ‘partners in crime’ finally settling in your skin. You weren’t out of the woods yet though, and as Han began to start the ships engines, a very rumpled looking general marched into the landing bay.

“Shit!” You exclaimed. “Go, Han, Go, go, go go GO!”

“I hear you Y/N!” Han shouted back, kicking the ship into overdrive and jolting you violently into space.

 You got a few feet out from the ship before three TIE fighters started tailing you, and Han took a sharp left before nose-diving under the belly of the ship. You whipped around to the laser cannons, doing you best to aim as Han whipped the ship around to try and find the main engine. Just as you took one TIE out, two more appeared.

“Do you have eyes on the engine Han?” You shouted, limbs tingling as you shot down two more TIE fighters.

“Got it!” He yelled back, and you swiveled to face the ship's surface as he flew at top speed towards the engine.

You began to count down, preparing Han to nose dive the second you blasted this thing out of the sky.

“Three… two.. One!” You fired directly at the engine, and your stomach did somersaults as Han dodged the blast.  

“Yes!” He screamed, and you laughed with manic joy as you felt relief wash over you. 

The TIE fighters following you weren’t prepared to dodge the blast, and the two of you watched joyfully as they went down with the ship. You barreled towards Crait, with more than just a successful mission to show for it. The two of you had just destroyed a high ranking Empire ship, and come back with an ST-70 Razor Crest M-11 ship as your bounty. Han landed the ship and ripped off his helmet, smiling from ear to ear. The excitement was electric, making its way through every limb and out your fingers to charge the atmosphere around you. You turned to Han and before you knew it you were crashing your lips into his, desperate for an outlet. He kissed you back with double the vigor of the last time, and seemed to be determined to explore every inch of you. Your mouth, your waist, your hair, your thighs, he groped and fumbled at all of you as you pushed back with just as much energy. Kissing Han felt like, for lack of better word, winning. Winning your first race as a newly vetted pilot, winning a mission against the empire, winning the man you thought wanted nothing to do with you and you thought you wanted nothing to do with. You laughed into the kiss as he bit your lip, giddy with an amount of energy you didn’t know how to control. 

“What?” He said, sporting that smug grin you always wanted to slap off of his face.

“Nothing,” you replied, deciding firmly that kissing it off was the better option. “I’ve just been so in love with you forever and can’t believe this is happening.”

FIN.

[phoenixcatch7]

The thing I like about my writing is that I never write a story the same way twice. Everything I write demands a different flow.

For example, of the two stories I'm writing now, one wanted present tense (which I am, it turns out, terrible at) and lots of Internet slang/grammar, and the other one decided it had to be made of very short snippets, with one or two longer scenes forming naturally and lots of run on sentences. Both of them I originally tried in my 'more typical' style and both times it failed miserably to click until I scrapped it entirely and restarted.

Ironically enough, the present tense one I'd been intending to write in more episodic bursts, and the snippets one is the start of a long and twisting story delving into deeper themes than I ever have before. But that's the way they wanted to be written! It's more thinking on my behalf than I might have wanted (I am truly fighting my instinct for past tense), but in return I'm finding a rhythm and pattern that's working so well!

I guess the morale of the story is that if you've just started a story or art piece or whatever but it's just not working out, try approaching it from an unusual angle, something you haven't tried before. Something about it isn't clicking, so try a new method entirely!

But most importantly, have a folder somewhere you can move all the little bits and pieces you made but had to take out. It's old advice, but the problem is usually further back than you think. Doesn't mean you have to lose your progress.

[wisteriasymphony]

Pulcinelle - Strikeback...back.

ok fine i vagued about it guess i have to share now

“Whatever damage I can cause, I will not stop! Unless, someone brings me Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous!” 

A slow clap made itself known from the far corner of the observatory. Slow, pronounced, and condescending. Monarch didn’t remember being followed. He hadn’t noticed a second presence in the room at all, actually. And yet there it was, this unseen apparition heralding itself with a pitiful. mockery. of congratulation. Just. Like. This. 

Monarch turned to face this spirit, but found himself incapable. A paralysis like no other shot through every vein, his body suddenly turned to stone. The gaze of a basilisk—no, a cockatrice. Gabriel was suddenly acquainted with a twist on the feeling of being unable to breathe; Rather than holding a breath, his lungs were petrified and utterly devoid of air. As such, he could not even be comforted by the sounds of his own respiration to know he was alive. By all means, he was stuck in his own dead body. 

Golden heels struck the floor as the phantasm approached, now with a thin glass of white wine in one hand. The stranger took a long, deep breath (as if it knew Monarch’s plight, and mocked him), and simply said: 

“Do you really think things would be so easy for you?” 

The cockatrice walked around the frozen Monarch to face him. Through those eliptical glasses, Monarch took in what he could through his already bloodshot eyes. That red feathered mask and vermillion cravat, two golden claw-rings on each hand. Though his hands were devoid of feeling and his eyes rigid, Monarch knew on his right thumb he had the Rooster Miraculous. He strained in an effort to move even the smallest fraction, to speak even a single command. It was futile. 

“Tell me, in a few days I’ll make my own speech, and then we can compare the two, yes?” The cockatrice smiled, slipping off the claw-ring first. Rather than pocket it, he simply slipped it on his thumb, letting it turn the same bright shade of golden as the rest of his rings. “Oh, but you must want me to explain myself. Look at you, you’re practically seething.” 

There was something so familiar about that face that was eluding him. —Felix! Felix had betrayed him after all, that little monster. After regaining the true peacock miraculous, Felix must have simply created another of his kind to retrieve them just when Gabriel was sure he had finally won. Felix had swapped the Dog Miraculous for the Rooster, or had planted a fake in Ladybug’s yo-yo somehow. Perhaps this sentimonster was simply masquerading as a holder? Yet with every question Monarch could raise to himself, the cockatrice stripped him of his power. 

“The name is Pulcinelle,” the young man spoke, slipping off every choker and necklace off Monarch with a single hand. “Now, I want to stand in your way just as much as I want to stand in Ladybug’s way. Ergo, I’ve decided the best course of action is to withhold these miraculi from the both of you. That way, neither of you are winning!” 

Pulcinelle bent down to sever the braided thread of Monarch’s anklet with the nib of his quill, making sure to keep his glass upright as he did so. He could admit he’d had a few ideas for restraining Monarch–summoning iron chains, outright suffocating him, even transforming him into a small cube—but the paralyzing gaze was working wonders for how simple it was. Even as he plucked the clips and comb and circlet off Monarch’s head, not a single hair would move! 

“Now, as a final warning,” Pulcinelle spoke assuredly, fiddling with all of his newfound jewelry, “…I’m fully willing to kill you if I see fit. There’s nothing I want more than to see you fail.” 

Monarch still couldn’t move, couldn’t even cower or gasp or even sneer at Pulcinelle’s self-satisfied sedition. The cockatrice smiled coldly, breaking into a laugh at Monarch’s hideous frozen scowl. 

White wine was splashed onto Monarch’s face and directly into his eyes as Pulcinelle poured the remainder of his drink on top of his head. 

“The game is on, Gabriel! Do make it interesting for me.” 

And so he left Monarch standing there, for three breathless hours, before the man could finally feel the air rush through his throat once more and scream. 

[abubblingcandle]

You have a lot of fun projects coming up, and several WIPs running at the same time. With the caveat that you are obviously not beholden to the answers—

Do you have a rough idea for the order of publishing? Which is next to come, an idea of when, etc? Really this is a chance to warn that something is a long way off or tease us with something being right around the corner. 💜

Great question my beloved!!! ❤️ So as you've said this is likely to change with swings in motivation and if I get more gift fic requests and with work.

With that all said this is currently my priority list:

Death Fruit (hopefully this weekend)

There's No Place Like Home Ch1 (next week)

A Treatment Room Doors Moment Ch6

Other Doors

Dutch Sky Blue

Untitled Will Jensen One Shot

Have You Noticed You Are Breathing Ch8

Cuddlepollen Ch4

Then everything else 😂 My current main priorities are the top three with Death Fruit and ATRDM nearly done and TNPLH being my November fic priority (I have committed to writing 30k of it this month and hopefully finishing it)

Disclaimer that the best way to get something up the list or on the list is to ask me for it 🙈

[seventh-district]

I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. ���I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

-

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought.  “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand,  reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

-

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

-

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

-

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

[lukesqber]

when a ff writer hits you with the

“sorry english isn’t my first language”

you already now that shit is going to be most top tier, having you slamming your phone down, screaming into your pillow, needing to take a break and do a lap kind of writing you will ever read in your ENTIRE LIFETIME!!

TELL ME IM WRONG!!

[ave09]

Ooh may I please request a cute romance fic of Han Solo falling in love with and marrying fem!Reader (princess of her planet) who is really sweet and patient and kind yet has anxiety so Han becomes a better person through loving her and helping her (I just want aaaaaaall the cuteness)?

yessss i love this!!

princess

han solo x princess!reader

note: the things this gif does to me.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, captain solo, i’ve heard much about you.” 

“good things i hope,” han replied with a short laugh, “and please, han is fine.” you smiled, pleased with the man standing before you.

he was far different from what you imagined.

when leia organa was contacted by your advisor in search of protection, this was the last person you believed she’d send. 

despite the empire being gone, you, who had been crowned the princess of mogrouria, had fallen victim to many assassination attempts. these enemies believed you to be a weak ruler, which you were the complete opposite. but you understood why.

you were young, new to the throne, people constantly underestimated you.

which is why your advisor reached out to leia. she was a strong leader, similar to you, and considering she’d led the rebels who’d destroyed the empire, surely she knew someone who could be worthy of protecting you.

which is why you were surprised when han solo arrived in the legendary millennium falcon. many had heard of the general who’d helped the rebellion, but you’d known of him before that.

who else could make the kessel run in twelve parsecs?

“well, han, welcome to mogrouria, would you care to walk with me?” you asked. the man nodded, turning to his wookie friend who’d accompanied him, “stay with the ship, alright?” the wookie growler softly in response. 

you took the pilot to the large gardens, where you could talk somewhat privately. “so, i’m sure you know why you’re here.” han nodded, “my mission is to protect you, princess.” 

“i’m very grateful you are here. the assassination attempts are getting worse and worse.” you said calmly, but the man took notice of your slightly shaking hands and the way you were picking at your fingernails. 

he decided to press a little bit, “if you don’t mind my asking, what sort of attempts?” 

you bit your lip nervously, “um. it ranges from a lot of things. it all started with an attack at my coronation ball. one of the servants was hired by someone still loyal to the empire, pulled out a blaster, taking two casualties… and they just worsened from there..” you stopped walking, sighing deeply. 

“so many lives have been lost, han. i just want the suffering to stop.” 

the man dared to reach forward, placing a comforting hand upon your shoulder, “i’ll do everything i can, princess. you and your kingdom will remain safe.” 

he sounded sincere. and if leia trusted him with you and the safety of the kingdom, then so did you. 

— — — —

since the day you were born, your entire life had been planned out for you. the only wrench thrown into the life plan was the passing of your father, which had driven your mother to absolute insanity, leaving you to take the up the throne three years ahead of schedule. 

but one thing you absolutely didn’t plan on was falling for the man who was sent to protect you. 

han solo was unlike anyone you’d ever met before. he was charming, charismatic, stubborn beyond compare. but you’d also seen the kinder side of the man, something he seemed to rarely show. 

but he showed you. constantly throughout his actions. and that was enough to make your heart yearn for him.

if only you knew how hard he was falling for you. 

“so princess, what’s the plan for the day?” han asked as he strolled into the dining hall. you reached for your mug filled with caf, lifting it to your lips, sipping the drink before speaking, “well, i have to give my speech today.” you said as han slid into the seat beside you. 

“fun. can i hear it?” 

you shook your head, “absolutely not!” the man frowned slightly, “and why not?” 

“because i said so.” you replied. “i suppose i must listen to the princess.” he said, reaching for a biscuit, “are you nervous?” he asked softly, seeming genuinely concerned. you shifted slightly in your seat, your hands falling into your lap as you began to pick at the fingernails of your trembling hands. 

“a little bit.” you answered honestly. this was the first time since your coronation that you’d actually be stepping out amongst your people. and you had to fight to be allowed to make this speech, your advisor had explained that this could be fairly dangerous, but you needed to be out there.

your people were becoming restless, they wanted justice for all those who’s lives had been lost. 

han glanced at her, catching sight of your shaking hands. slowly, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, “you’re gonna be great out there, princess.” he said softly, to which you smiled. 

you then took this moment to tell him something that you’d been wanting to for a while now. 

“han, i want you to stand beside me.” he stared for a moment, blinking slowly, “you what?” 

“i want you and chewie to stand beside me today.” 

“is that because we’re your protection? or..” you shook your head, “not only that.” han arched his brows, “oh really? well sweetheart, don’t leave me in suspense.” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair, his hand not leaving yours.

you bit your lip nervously before clearing your throat, “you both mean so very much to me, i’d feel very comfortable with you up there by my side.” 

the corner of han’s lips quirked lightly into a smile, “aw, you’re makin’ me blush.” you let out a laugh, “so will you?” 

he nodded, “i’d be honored.” 

— — — —

your nerves were off the charts. never had you been so nervous in your entire life. 

but you were a princess now, not that shy little girl. you had a job to do. as you approached the podium, you could hear mumbling amongst the crowd. 

they didn’t seem happy.

you reached the podium, exhaling deeply. “greetings my subjects. i have come to you today to discuss the matter of these attacks-“

“oh to hell with you!”

you were taken aback by the outburst. you hadn’t even made it past the opening and yet people were already angry.

“you are up there parading around in your palace while we are out here dying!” you bit your lip nervously, glancing over at han who stood a foot or so away. he gave you a reassuring nod. so you tried to continue. 

“i understand your frustrations, i do. but i am here today to tell you-“

“we don’t wanna hear it! you’re a shitty princess! were we under queen charlotte, we’d never have to deal with this!”

“people are dying! our people, and you do nothing!”

“when will justice be served?!”

“our children are dead and yet you dine in your  palace!” 

it was all becoming far too much. your heart was pounding rapidly, your chest tight. you feel as though you couldn’t breath. 

so you ran. as far away as possible.

gasps echoed through the crowd but you did not stop. 

han immediately broke into a sprint, rushing after you. “princess!” he didn’t know where you were now. “princess!” he shouted again. 

he turned the corner, and then he found you curled into a ball, head buried into your hands. he dropped to his knees, “hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“i-i can’t breathe.” you muttered, voice strained. han didn’t really know what to do now. “uh.. okay.. okay..”

“i think i’m having a panic attack.” you whispered. ah, this made sense. you’d been nervous, and this whole ordeal obviously has shaken you. 

“oh-okay. uh. just-“ han was never good at comforting anyone, nonetheless helping someone through a panic attack.

“what.. what can i do? how can i help?” he questioned, his voice soft. you glanced up at him, eyes bleary with tears, “hold me.” is all you said. 

and he did. he inched closer to you, carefully wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. he took a large hand and ran it down your back soothingly. “breath in ‘n out..” he didn’t know if this was even helping you, but he was trying. 

the two of you stayed that way for a long time. and slowly but surely, you began to feel a little bit better. your heart rate slowed, your breathing returned to normal.

you sniffled, glancing up at the man with bloodshot eyes, “don’t leave me, han. please-“ your voice cracked slightly, “please don’t leave me.” you begged.

han smiled softly, leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “i’m not going anywhere princess.” 

— — — —

you stood on the balcony of your chambers, overlooking your kingdom that was in shambles. how had things come to this? 

there was a loud knock that echoed throughout the room. “door’s open!” you called. 

the door was pushed open to reveal han. you smiled at the sight. “hello captain.” “hey princess.” he greeted, walking towards you, his hazel eyes peering over the edge of the balcony. “this is one hell of a view ya got here.” you nodded, “yeah, it’s nice.” you glanced up at him, “what are you doing here han?” 

“i wanted to see you. see how you’re doing.” your smile grew a little larger, “i’m alright, han.” the man took a step closer to you, “y’know, none of what those people said was true. you’re doing an amazing job.” you averted his gaze, “but they’re right. i could be doing more. and i’m trying, i really am-“

“sweetheart,” he placed his large hand over yours, “you’re doing great. okay? who gives a shit what other people say? you are doing great, you understand? your leadership could be compared to that of leia organa, you are a phenomenal princess, and i am happy to serve you.” 

your eyes glossed over with tears, and before you could even stop yourself, “i love you.”

han furrowed his brows, hazel eyes wide, “huh?” 

you wished to take it back, but at the same time, you didn’t. and yet, you found yourself saying it again, “i love you, han solo.” you watched nervously as the man’s lips quirked into a smile. “yeah?” 

you nodded, biting your lip, “yeah.” 

he took another step towards you, “funny..” he began, leaning down slightly, “i love you too, princess.” he dipped his head, smashing his lips against yours. it caught you by surprise but you responded with a deeper passionate kiss. there were fireworks, everything anyone had ever said about kissing the love of your life was true. 

after a moment, you pulled away, taking a moment to admire the man before you, who had a grin on his lips. “never thought i’d fall for a princess.” 

“and i never thought i’d fall for a scoundrel.”

[pomplalamoose]

DILF Luke headcanons / story draft pt. 2

🌹modern day AU🌹

A/N: Guess who's back with more dilf Luke content!🤠 Thank you SO so much for liking the first part as much as you did🫶🏻 I hope you'll enjoy this second part as well!

part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5

• his possessiveness isn't something he allows to be seen on the outside

• he is aware that he has no right to call you his own, even though he desperately wants to

• but you're so much younger than he is and, above all, have grown to become his child's best friend

• he does not want to take you away from them

• nor does he want to cause an awkward situation that might threaten to break your friendship

• and while objectively speaking all three of you are adults, he still views himself as the one that should be the most responsible

• this however won't stop him from thinking about you basically every minute of the day

• maybe he can't have you but nobody said anything about not buying you little presents here and there and offering his help whenever he can

• he wholeheartedly enjoys the way you are unable to hide your blush of excitement when he surprises you with a pretty necklace or a new pair of earrings

• he loves to hear your weak little protests and how easily he can make them fizzle out with a soft smile and the gentle promise that no, it wasn't expensive at all

• no, he isn't just getting you things out of the blue

• just take a look at the calendar, soon it's Christmas!

• soon it's your birthday!

• it's the beginning of summer!

• you have known each other for a year now!

• he always finds a reason

• of course you make sure to always wear his gifts too, they're beautiful and well chosen, matching your style perfectly

• oh how his heart sings whenever he can be a witness to it

• everyone is supposed to see and know that he was the one who got them for you

• it's his secret way of claiming you, of making sure to tell everyone else that you're taken, that someone already has their eyes on you

• if it wasn't for your lovely smell he would have liked to buy you a perfume to wear as well

• meanwhile you are absolutely clueless and think nothing of it, surely he's just being extra nice because he's finally used to your presence in his household?

• maybe he wants to make up for how he acted before?

• similarly your friend doesn't think it's weird either, after all that's just how he is, you know?

• he cares so much for the people in his live and of course he'd eventually come around to liking you a lot too

• after all, how could he not? You're around his house most of your free time

• secretly you are a little bit disappointed

• it may be foolish to hope for your friend's father to have taken an interest in you but your heart isn't interested in common sense

• I think you'd struggle admitting to yourself that you have a crush though

• he's your friend's father

• how would this work anyways?

• nevertheless your attraction stays

• it's the only thing you don't dare to talk to your friend about

• in your day dreams you fantasize about his big hand resting on your thigh while he drives and find yourself wishing for it to travel just a little bit higher

• you feel giddy with barely concealed nervousness whenever he touches you, hoping that this time he will make a move

• he never does

• and never does his touch find you outside of his car

• See? This gesture is altogether innocent, you tell yourself

• after all he never comes this close to you in any other situation and yet...

• "oh, he's being such a dad!", your friend says when you ask them about it

• "he keeps his hand near me as well so he can easily catch me when he needs to abruptly hit the brakes"

• and they're right, Luke does indeed reach out with his right arm to stabilize your upper body whenever he slows down the car

• still, his hand isn't just conveniently near to do so, it's literally on you during the whole ride

• maybe you've failed to mention that exact fact to your friend though

• you are conflicted and confused and eventually, despite your stupid heart insisting to speed up whenever you see him, decide to let it go

• from an outside perspective nothing about your relationship changes

• you continue to spend much of your free time with your friend

• their father further upholds his offer and drives you home at night

• every time, without fail, does he hold on to you

• and despite this going on for a long while you are none the wiser

• you are still uncapable to read his emotions

• you have not the slightest of clues about what goes on inside of him

• you remain in the dark about his past

• in many aspects he is more of a mystery to you now than he used to be when all you knew was his name

• yes, his demeanor has softened towards you

• but regardless there are certain moments in which you catch yourself being slightly frightened of him

• just like at the beginning

• your friend never mentions the peculiarities he puts on display and so you keep silent as well

• not seldomly does he get a call from work during dinner and while he always leaves the room, too polite to answer the phone at the table, you still are able to overhear how sharp and commanding his voice turns

• you seriously struggle to meet his gaze when he returns after

• sometimes during car rides, you try to make small talk

• you always mean well

• you want to pick up a topic you had earlier that day or to ask about a recipe he made for you and your friend

• maybe this way you'd get him to spend more time with you?

• but often his grip will grow hard enough to bruise

• it catches you off guard every time and when you squeak in pain he throws you a quick sideway glance, loosening his hand immediately

• he never speaks nor lets go of you completely, although his thumb will be rubbing soothing circles into your leg in silent apology

• should you try to initiative a conversation again after, he might answer; though in such a clipped way it shuts you up soon enough

• more often he'll simply shake his head, asking you to remain silent

• the first time you spend a night at your friend's house you feel as if there were a pair of hungry eyes watching your every move

• there is absolutely no reason for anybody to do so though, and nobody around that would have a reason to anyways

• and yet...

• of course you wouldn't mind Luke noticing the pretty top you chose to wear, the one who's neckline goes just a little bit lower than usual

• though unfortunately he seems to be very distracted and never looks your way

• so you simply strike it up to be your nerves and lively imagination; staying in a foreign place is always exciting after all

• staying with a handsome older man even more so

• as a matter of fact, however, Luke's eyes never leave you and as it gets late it takes all he has to restrain himself from snatching you away and dragging you to his own room

• you're lovely on a normal day but look absolutely ravishing in your soft pajamas

• the knowledge you won't be far away for a whole night being all too tantalizing

• maybe you are wearing short pants and so there are some faint bruises visible around your left knee

• ironically you're not aware of their existence, yet it's one of the first things Luke catches sight of and it makes him feel some kind of way

• not only are you wearing his necklace but clearly showing off what he did to you as well

• he likes it a lot, even though not the way in which they came to be

• so while you're contemplating slight paranoia he eventually has to remove himself from your immediate vicinity

• it's not becoming to lust after a young woman during late night dinner

• and the fact that you are afraid to get lost in unknown rooms in the dark doesn't help either

• your friend thinks it's hilarious and discusses it at length

• "the house won't swallow you whole because you take a wrong turn once"

• "it's only a little portion of the rooms you haven't been to yet, stop worrying!"

• "you're not prone to sleepwalking why and how would you even end up there?"

• good humoredly Luke laughs along at his kid's and your bickering but has to discreetly change his seating

• his pants grow uncomfortably tight at the thought of you accidentally walking into his bedroom

• he knows he doesn't have the strength not to make a move

• suddenly he sees himself demanding a kiss or making you beg to let you leave again

• he has to excuse himself early

• your friend and you are listening to a voice message some random guy from university/your job sent you, their father is in hearing distance but you think nothing of it

• innocently and rather excited you start talking and giggling about it, you can't believe he asked you out!

• when all of a sudden Luke gets up and leaves abruptly without a word

• you freeze and are immediately upset

• did you do something wrong? Maybe used a word or expression he didn't like? Is he angry?

• your friend just shrugs their shoulders and continues as if nothing happened but you can't stop thinking about the cold gaze he threw your way

• for the first time since meeting him he doesn't say goodbye or offers a drive home when you have to leave

• later your parents ask why your face is stained with tears, yet you can't give them an answer

• little do you know his anger was not directed at you but at the little boy who dared to show his interest in you

• he didn't even mean to listen and now has only himself to fault for the raging jealousy raising its ugly head

• additionally he's furious and ashamed at himself for his feelings

• his usually endless patience simply vanished into thin air at the prospect of another getting the chance he's been dreaming about for over a year

• he's acting like a teenager and he hates it

• he desperately needed to rein himself back in, he needed air

• and so he made a run for it, afraid to accidentally leave his anger out on you

• had he known what his disappearance caused, he would have acted differently

• you never went out with the guy who sent the message

• you are hesitant to return after what happened, despite your longing to go back and somehow fix your mistake

• whatever its is you did, you have the urge to throw yourself down at his feet and ask for forgiveness

• you don't even care for what you would be apologizing

• you could text him if course, he gave you his number, remember?

• but you don't dare to

• your friend repeatedly assures you that everything is fine and keeps passing on their father's greetings and inquiries about your person

• nobody is mad at you and least of all him

• so eventually you give in, despite feeling quite anxious about it

• to make it worse you receive a message when you arrive that your friend is still stuck in traffic and that it might take them a while

• "my dad will let you in though, no worries"

• all of a sudden you feel very much like your lungs stopped working, you are panicking and seriously consider turning around to leave

• but of course Luke knows you are coming and of course he knows the exact time as well

• he has opened the door before you can fully make up your mind on whether to wait outside or to ring the doorbell

• your words fail you

• just the sight of him makes your heart soar

• he greets you nicely enough and asks you to come in

• "it's great to see you again, it's been a while"

• however it's not like it used to be before

• something feels different

• and quickly you realize: parts of his walls came back up

• the realization chokes you

• Luke senses you're upset and despite vowing to keep his distance once and for all can't hold back from asking if everything is okay

• of course it's not

• and the way his gaze softens into familiarity is too much for you to take

• you leave to go home without waiting for your friend, instead telling them you were feeling quite ill all of a sudden

• it's not even a lie

• Luke knows exactly what just happened but forces himself to remain firm; it's for the best

• sadly I think this would put a strain on the relationship with your friend too

• you don't exactly grow apart, you're too close for that, but of course they realize there's something going on and your decision not to talk to them about it hurts their feelings

• don't you trust them anymore?

• it's during a dark autumn afternoon that you're caught by a seemingly endless downpour

• you're far from home, you don't have the money to call for a taxi and all your trains got delayed

• you think about your friend; they live near

• but you also know they aren't home, as they're currently visiting family in another part of the country

• their dad however...

• he said to call him whenever, you remember

• but what if he doesn't pick up? What if he doesn't want to see you again?

• maybe he's more willing to help when you're standing in front of him?

• despite your anxiety you have no other choice and so decide to check if he's home

• it's still pouring when you arrive and by now you're soaking wet

• Luke isn't home, probably still at work

• pressing close to the front door you sit down on the steps, trying your best to stay out of the rain

• by the time you see the headlights of Luke's car you start crying from relief

• there is not a single patch of your clothes that remained dry and you're more than freezing cold

• your teeth are chattering and you struggle to move your fingers, let alone your legs

• you hear the car door slam shut and then his steps on the path leading up to you

• he's wearing a black suit

• (this is important because even in your horrible state you are aware how absolutely hot he looks)

• when he spots your huddled together shivering form, he's momentarily at a loss for words

• still crying you raise your eyes to look up at him and for a few short seconds you're afraid he doesn't recognize you

• then his face drops

• he reaches for you, and holding you close, unlocks the door to let you in

• now able to take a proper look, his eyes travel up and down your body while he rids himself of his jacket and runs his hand through his wet hair

• it's like you can see the gears in his brain switching as he draws himself up to his full height

• when he speaks it's in such a stern tone that you can't help but wince

• his following orders are sharp and you have to RUN to follow him as he basically drags you upstairs to the master bathroom

• he tells you to undress as he's already turning on the shower for you

• he's not asking, he's commanding

• "Yes, Mr. Skywalker"

• you're so caught off guard you oblige as fast as you can

• no longer do you dare to call him by his first name

• when he sees you struggling with your frozen limbs, he helps pulling your soaked sweater over your head and assists you in getting out of your jeans before leaving you to yourself

• he informs you he'll be waiting outside

• once you are done he immediately is all over you again

• he tells you exactly what he wants you to wear, puts a pair of extra thick woolen socks on your feet and swaddles you in a blanket like a burrito

• only when you're so tightly wrapped up that you're basically unable to move, does he seem to calm down

• he places you on the big sofa in the living room and makes you a tea

• he towels off your hair while you drink it

• he takes your face in his hands and asks if you're okay

• you nod and then he goes OFF, pacing back and forth in front of you while giving you the lecture of a lifetime

• what in God's name were you thinking to not immediately call him? He would've left work early!

• you could've died walking through this weather by yourself, look at you, you're still shivering!

• you weren't dressed appropriately whatsoever! A car could've run you over, they wouldn't have seen you at all!

• under no circumstances is he allowing you to go home tonight, you're staying here where he can have an eye on you!

• his voice is getting louder with every sentence and then you're crying again

• it takes him a moment to catch himself but then he apologizes

• he asks if you would like to call your parents and hands you back your phone when you nod

• still sniffling you comply

• he remains next to you, listening in closely and throws you a stern look whenever you try to leave something out

• you know he expects you to tell them that you're staying the night too, so you do

• he softens and tells you how good you did once you hang up

• he cooks dinner and insists for you to eat even when you tell him you're not hungry

• he makes you another tea after

• "are you warm enough?"

• there is a lot you want to ask him about but hopefully it can wait for tomorrow

• he offers to accompany you to his child's room so you can go to sleep

• you shyly tell him you'd rather stay downstairs with him, maybe you could watch some TV together?

• after a moment he agrees

• you really wish he'd change out of his work clothes, it's more than distracting

[silawastaken]

i think I've genuinely just written the sweetest, cutest, most romantic, most emotionally devastating paragraphs of my life and i blame it on boygenius, skk, and melatonin side affects