#all while his ass was running away from apparent flooding

[adriles]

tried to oppose the godlike powers of a turbulent river and got myself concussed. got dragged down stream & kept getting my ass obliterated by the current and the small stones along the river bed

[missaengg]

An Indecent Massage

Day 2 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore Featuring: Ikemen Villains | Ellis Twilight x f!reader Tags: mdni, nsfw, vaginal fingering, cum swallowing (f), massage, massage foreplay, pwp Prompts: Handjobs/Fingering | "You have to say it. Use your words." ao3 link here.

It started innocently enough. After a mission for Crown, which involved a lot of walking, your calves had become so sore Ellis offered to massage them. He had you lay face down on your bed with your skirt hiked up to your knees, nothing out of the ordinary for a calf massage. Once you were comfortable, Ellis fetched a bottle of fragrant lotion, the scent of which made you wonder if he “borrowed” it from Victor’s room. 

Ellis started working on your calves with his thumbs, sliding them upwards in a ‘V’ formation. You sighed and closed your eyes allowing yourself to sink into your soft bed. His fingers felt heavenly on your tired muscles.

“Is that enough pressure?”

His soft voice lilted to you like a soothing melody, a song you could listen to for hours. You hummed in reply, lost in his touch rubbing circles into your flesh. Ellis switched to his palms, kneading the muscles in your lower legs. You quietly groaned. Between the warmth of his hands and the release of knots in your muscles, you felt the tension of the mission leave you, all the anxiety, fear, and adrenaline melting away. 

You didn’t object when his hands began kneading higher up your leg. Calves were connected to thighs, thighs were also used when walking, your thighs were tight from activity, and his hands were working their magic. Relaxed, you allowed yourself to drift off, feeling content and cozy.

Until Ellis slid his hands even further up pushing your skirt past your waist in the process. His hands were kneading your glutes in a firm, circular motion, though the way his hand gripped you felt more like a fondle rather than a pure massage.

“Ellis?�� “Hm?”

You paused. While this wasn’t quite what the two of you had originally agreed to, it wasn’t unpleasant or even unwanted, and you were thoroughly enjoying what his hands were doing to you, both in the massage therapy sense and in the butterflies-in-the-stomach sense. Throughout the course of your time at Crown, you noticed how elegant his hands were with their long, slender fingers, elegant, but surprisingly strong, and you always wondered what they’d feel like caressing you. Apparently, they felt just as good as you had fantasized.

“Never mind.”

“Okay.” Ellis pressed his palms deeper into your glutes, his fingers curling around the sides of your hips. “Does this feel good?” “Mmm, very,” you sighed happily, eyes closing once more.

“Can I make you feel better?”

“Sure.” You weren’t sure what more Ellis could do than what he was currently doing to make this massage even better, but you knew you wanted to find out. This recent mission had been particularly brutal, but you were so relaxed you couldn’t even remember anything that had occurred in the previous days.

You heard Ellis hum in satisfaction. He squeezed your ass, and then trailed his hand down to between your legs running his pointer along the entire length of your slit.

“Ellis?!” you yelped, jolting at the unexpected touch. “What are you–”

Ellis shushed you. “I’m making you feel good.”

You felt a furious blush spread across your cheeks as his finger continued to slide along your underwear, embarrassed at knowing he could feel your arousal grow with each pass. “I thought you were just going to massage me.” You clenched your pelvic floor, both at how good his finger felt, but also in hopes of halting the evidence of your arousal, which you also fully knew wasn’t how it worked.

“But I am,” Ellis said with a wide-eyed innocence right as his finger landed on your clit.

You sharply exhaled at the jerk that ran through you, a rush of heat flooding your body. Technically, he was right. This would still count as a massage just not in the expected sense of the word.

Ellis leaned forward brushing his lips against your ear. “Do you want me to stop?” You knew you didn’t want him to stop. You dreamt about his hands, constantly, touching yourself, imagining it was his fingers pleasuring you in the privacy of your room. You shook your head.

“You have to say it. Use your words,” Ellis commanded with a hint of mischief in his soft, melodic voice. Hearing the usually soft-spoken man you fantasized about speaking with authority felt spine-tingling thrilling. 

You licked your lips, shivering at the prospect of Ellis teasing you with his hands. “Don’t stop,” you hoarsely croaked.

“Will that make you happy?” he murmured into your ear, his breath tickling you as he spoke.

“Yes.” Your face grew hotter knowing you just admitted to wanting Ellis to touch you indecently.

“Turn around.”

You obliged, flipping around on the bed so that you were lying on your back with Ellis hovering above you. He quickly pulled down your underwear, gliding his finger through the wet evidence of your desire. “You’re so wet.” Ellis gazed at you with intense lust, so intense you trembled beneath him. 

He slipped two fingers in deep, all the way down as far as they would go, curling his fingers inside brushing against your sweet spot. You bit your lip to keep yourself from crying out.

“It’s okay if you make noise.” Ellis stroked your sweet spot again. “You look so cute like this.”

Your toes curled when Ellis pumped his fingers in and out, the sensation of his knuckles dragging on your walls driving you temporarily insane. Without warning, he added a third finger right as he slammed his fingers back into you.

“Ngh… Ellis!” The breathy moans escaping you fueled Ellis to quicken his pace, his fingers making a squelching noise every time they moved in and out, your walls clenching around him.

“It’s exciting how much you’re sucking my fingers in.” Ellis stared intently at the way his fingers worked their magic, his face clouding over with desire. “Tell me how good you feel.”

“So–” you gasped as he added his thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit in rapid circles. “So damn good.” You bucked your hips against his palm trying to take him in deeper, grasping the sheets in ecstasy.

“Mm… can you cum for me?” Ellis slammed his palm against you with every thrust, his thumb drawing clumsy half-circles in its attempt to keep up. “I want you to cum for me.”

You writhed at the overwhelming stimulation, a throbbing bliss overtaking your senses. “Ellis…” you moaned repeatedly. “Ellis… Ellis…” You closed your eyes as the bliss consumed you, and you cried out his name. “Ellis!”

Ellis removed himself from inside you and as your walls clenched, Ellis placed his mouth on your pussy lapping up the honey resulting from each roll of pleasure ripping through you. Your chest heaved from panting, the waves stilling into a glowing contentment.

“You taste nice,” Ellis mumbled, trailing kisses and licking any signs of arousal still left on your inner thighs. “Are you feeling better?”

You weakly nodded, still basking in the glow of your orgasm. Ellis palmed your cheek, pressing a tender, yet searing kiss on your lips. 

“I want more.”

He moved down to your neck, grazing you with his teeth, sucking down on your skin leaving a small, red mark.

“I want to feel all of you.”

Ellis gazed into your eyes, dark with desire and tender.

“Will you give all of yourself to me?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You found yourself drowning in his twilight-colored eyes, intoxicated by his desire for you. You crashed your lips onto his, hungry for all of him and whispered, “Take all of me.”

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, flighty!reader, reader works in forensics, prohero!katsuki, aged up (around mid 20s)

a/n. this was fun to write lmao. this is definitely not self-indulgent :0 again, would surely appreciate reblogs and comments <3

You’re a runner.

And no, not in the dystopian, getting-out-of-a-manmade-maze sense.

You run from feelings.

And that happens to include the kind when someone gets a little bit too close for comfort.

But you also do run in the literal sense.

In fact, you just did.

Panting, you round the next corner of your office building’s hallway, what was once a sprint (at least, the type that was possible in a crowded skyscraper in Tokyō) now faltering into a light jog.

Huffing, you chance a peek behind your shoulder, a sigh wracking your body when you conclude that the man of the hour is finally out of sight.

“What’s up with you?”

The man’s red-headed best friend quirks an amused eyebrow at you when you halt at the sound, startled.

He slows down in his steps as he appraises the mess that you currently are; from the looks of it, he’s heading in the direction you’re desperately trying to run away from, and for a split second, you’re half your mind to drag him with you to the elevator and vanish before the man could spot the both of you.

Why the fuck are you acting like this?

“I—Was just wanting to—” At this point, you’re severely out of breath. And you’d chalk it up to the physical exertion you definitely aren’t used to, but you know it’s more than that.

The warmth of your cheeks seems to suggest that, too.

“Hold up.”

You look up at Kirishima, one hand still on your hip to help keep you upright despite the exhaustion.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with Bakubro?”

Even just the mention of his name triggers your fight-or-flight response.

It also happens to send a flood of longing right through you.

“Yeah,” you rasp, before checking over your shoulder again. Coast: still clear.

“What are you—” Kirishima starts, eyebrows pinched in confusion, before what looks like realization and amusement flash across his features.

“Did he—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off before he could say it.

Apparently, being confessed to out of the blue by the man you’ve been in love with for a year cuts your sentence-formation capabilities to not more than one worded ones at a time.

Just as you expected, worry dances its way across Kirishima’s face.

“Are you running away from him?”

You choke on your spit.

“Hey, easy, Y/N,” Kirishima says while awkwardly rubbing your back as you cough your lungs out.

You stand upright when you finally gather your bearings, ready to explain, or attempt to explain to Kirishima (but more to yourself) why you just fled the meeting room where you and Bakugou were discussing the forensics of his new case.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.

The feelings, not the outright confession.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and his other friends have made it pretty obvious with their background teasing that the emotionally constipated blonde has taken a particular interest in you.

(Background because the aforementioned blonde would indubitably kill them if he found out they were teasing you, let alone about him.)

You just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it and hell—start to hope—until a while ago, when the Bakugou Katsuki himself slammed his fist on the table, spitting out the three words you’ve been dreaming to hear from him since you first worked on that gory ass mission together.

Well, four. If you count the curse slotted among the ‘I like you’.

But as it turns out, the reality of it all—Bakugou’s vulnerability, mutual feelings, and possibly dating a Pro Hero—scared you.

And so you ran.

And you were about to confess all this to poor Kirishima when a booming voice echoes through the hallway, effectively triggering your (definitely) flight response once more.

At that, you bolt to the elevators, leaving behind a speechless Kirishima.

Luckily for you, Bakugou has always been good at chasing what he wants.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

HI ALL! This is a weird one but do you know any stories where Mercedes is heavily in instead of Rachel? I always preferred that friendship and was disappointed in how that friendship changed on the show. I would love to read stories where Mercedes is Kurts best friend. (Bonus if Sam's in it too). Thank you in advance)

That's not a weird Ask - happy to find more Mercedes and Samcedes for you! ~Jen

Hey Mister DJ, Put a Record On By @honeysucklepink

It's Valentine's Day, and single coworkers Kurt and Blaine are stuck at the campus radio station playing sappy love songs and dedications. All the cheese is giving them indigestion, but who knows? Maybe by the end of their shift, they'll be humming a different tune...

~~~~~

My Heart, It Pounds, Yeah You Got Me by @nineofhearts4

Kurt gets drunk and records a TikTok entitled “Guys I Had A Crush On In High School”, in which he talks about, rates, and shows pictures of his various crushes— embarrassing, unrequited, and otherwise — thinking he set it to friends only or private. When he wakes up the next day, he has a flood of notifications that prove otherwise, a hangover, and a text from Blaine Anderson. The longest part of Kurt’s now viral video.

~~~~~

Like A Firework by beautifulunseen

Kurt, who has tried to stay away from the music industry, meets a beautiful stranger one night at a party and falls hard. The only problem is the beautiful stranger is Blaine Anderson, rockstar.

~~~~~

Regrets Collect Like Old Friends by Fearlessly

After the engagement gets called off, Kurt turns to Mercedes. Will she be able to help while she’s on her first national tour? This is a story about friendship and self-discovery.

~~~~~

Operation Secret Santa by @chasingkerouacwrites

Kurt can’t stop staring at the cute guy who comes by the coffee station near his desk every morning, but can never muster up the courage to say hello. Until the assignment for their office Secret Santa is revealed and his reads ‘Blaine Anderson’. Written in pieces for Klaine Advent 2017.

~~~~~

Soon by prettyskylark

Set during 4x21. Mercedes gives Kurt the talk during their double coffee date when the guys go get their coffee. Because someone must have told Kurt to pull his head out of his ass and finally open his eyes.

~~~~~ They are Unicorns By KillerQuen80

Kurt and Blaine let Sam and Rachel talk them into a bachelor party instead of the upscale dinner they'd originally planned. Which leads to them finding an unconventional centerpiece at the party.

~~~~~

Clinging to This Hating Game by notarelationship

Kurt and Blaine couldn’t stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school.

~~~~~

Hiding in Plain Sight by @nineofhearts4

Blaine is famous and decides to take a break from it all by putting on a disguise and going “backpacking” through Europe with his best friend Sam. What happens when they run into fellow Americans, Kurt and Mercedes, at one of the hostels?

Loosely based on the time Niall Horan apparently went backpacking in disguise in Asia

~~~~~

and one blaine mercedes friendship that could have been

The Roommate chronicles by killerqueen80

Living together is an eye opening experience in different ways for Blaine, Mercedes and Sam.

[gaysindistress]

Sad Girl - six

summary: James has an interesting new business’ proposal and one hell of a condition to deal with.

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, guns, violence (it is a mob au after all), Bucky’s smartass, John Walker being a dick, arguing

word count: 1.4K

part 5 | series masterlist

taglist:  @missvelvetsstuff @angelsincident @spencerreidisagorgman @  goldensunflowe-r   @i-have-no-life-charlie @esposadomd @reader-without-a-story @unaxv @iateall-yourcookies  littlelizardlizzie @alana4610

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

 Two weeks and not a single word from James about what had happened that night at the fundraiser and the suspense is starting to get to her. Did he regret it? Did he not mean the things he had said? Was it all just a show of power? 

The anguish of not knowing what it all meant and being too willful to bring it up is giving her a raging headache as she rubs her temples sitting in her office at Stark Tower. The edge of her tapered square nails digs a little too much into her soft skin, leaving red marks and causing her to rub at them even more. She’d gone back to work a week after moving into the Barnes’ house and having to drag around his security detail along with her fathers at work proved to be more work than she wanted. 

Her father, ever the gentleman, wouldn’t let her ditch Scott or the new young recruit Peter until she was officially married to James and he wouldn’t let her go anywhere without Natasha or Steve close by. Having armed guards as well as carrying herself didn’t exactly sit well with her clientele but then again they were going to her because of the Stark name and all that it offers. 

“Well, I can’t lie to your probation officer if they ask about this. I can claim client provider privilege however until you can get everything sorted out,” she explains to the large man awkwardly sitting on her couch. 

“I can’t go back to prison, ma’am. It was a mistake,” he pleads with her. 

“A mistake means you didn’t intend to do it. Punching a buddy at the bar after he’s been pissing you off all day is not a mistake but again I will keep it under wraps,” she says, closing her notebook and smiling at him. 

“Thank you, Miss. Stark. Really I appreciate it,” the last name that slips past his lips freezes her. 

“Please keep your hands to yourself from now on Frank. I’ll see you in two weeks,” she forces a fake smile and turns her attention to her phone which hasn’t stopped buzzing for nearly the whole hour. 

Frank leaves her office while she’s completely engrossed in the hundreds of messages that had flooded her phone. Apparently, John Walker didn’t appreciate how James treated him at the fundraiser and decided that she needed to hear all of it. Not even bothering to read all of them, she blocks his number again and tosses her phone away from her. It’s amazing how much of a weasel he can be when he feels he has been wronged. 

The phone rings again, this time a call. 

“Hello?” She answers, already knowing who it is. 

“Hello, sweetheart.” 

“Jesus Christ walker. We went on three dates, what the hell do you want?”

A dark chuckle comes through the other end, “You.”

“Well that’s not going to happen so kindly delete my number and leave me alone.”

“Does this have anything to do a certain mercenary?”

“Goodbye,” she hangs up as fast as she can before Walker can drag her further into whatever bullshit her father got involved in. 

She sends her father a quick text, “JW’s up my ass again. Call your dog off.” 

Her next appointment walks in before she gets the chance to read her father’s reply. 

______________________________________________

“Sissy!” Morgan Stark screams as she runs down the steps of the Stark Estate. 

“Mo Mo!” Doll shares her younger sister’s sentiment as she throws her arms around her and spins her in a circle. 

At the top of the steps, Pepper stands with her arms across her chest, staring down at the older Stark daughter. Morgan giggles when she’s sat back on the ground and takes her sister’s hand, leading her up the staircase. 

“Good morning,” Doll nods to Pepper who reaches out a hand to stop her from going anything further. 

“Morgan honey why don’t do you go inside? I have some things to talk about with your sister,” she says to the young girl before turning her gaze back to Doll. 

“Anthony was quite upset with you for leaving the fundraiser earlier without a goodbye. You know he wouldn’t say anything to you because of how much he seems to adore you but it hurt him quite a lot. He really wanted you and John to work out but with the whole Talokan and Wakandan deal going wrong, it just made things worse, didn’t it?”

“Excuse me? What are you talking about?” she demands of Pepper who is slyly smiling at her ‘slip-up’. 

“Oh, James didn’t tell you? Stark Industries was using Wakanda as their vibranium supplier but Talokan offered it for cheaper so Anthony went with them. John, being ever the gentleman, was helping us with the transfer when something went wrong and we had to go to James and Steve for help. We’re still not sure what exactly happened but John is again helping us figure it all out.”

Doll scoffs at Pepper’s explanation, spotting holes all over it. 

“When exactly did John offer to help? Was it before or after he tried to blackmail me for breaking up with him?”

“That’s not important. He has apologized profusely for that whole situation,” she says, waving a hand around as if to clear the air for John. 

She goes to push past her stepmother but her hand grabs Doll’s bicep, stopping her, “You need to apologize to your father for the fundraiser and play nice with John until the whole thing blows over. He’s already spent your life cleaning up after you so make things a little easier on him for once.”

She rips her arm from her stepmother’s grip, “John can go fuck himself for all I care.”

Leveling her eyes with the blonde before her, “You were the one who suggested I get married off, aren’t you? I bet you saw the chance to marry me off and get rid of me for good and you took it. Doesn’t matter if it’s actually beneficial or not, as long as you get your fucking way, Pepper Potts.”

Pepper sighs, annoyed at her stepdaughter, “Apologize to your father and play nice. Now say goodbye to Morgan and leave.”

“Wow, you really are the evil stepmother from every goddamn story. Morgan!” shouted, her eyes never leaving Peppers. 

The impossibly happy four year comes bounding down the hallway, swinging her arms as she jumps in front of Pepper and Doll. She wraps her arms around her older sister, bouncing up and down in excitement.

Doll bends down to her eye level, “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, Mo Mo. I promise I’ll come back and visit soon. Kisses and be good.”

“Awe but sissy!” 

“I promise okay? And you know I don’t break my promises,” she places one last kiss in Morgan’s hairline before standing back and flashing Pepper a death glare. 

The two disappear back into the Stark Estate she was no longer welcome in. It’s her turn to storm into her own SUV, Steve sitting in the driver’s seat. She slams the passenger door shut, buckling hastily before setting her eyes on the dashboard. Her phone starts to buzz in her pocket but she ignores it knowing exactly who it is and not wanting to deal with his bullshit at the moment. 

“You going to answer that?” Steve peeks over at her as he pulls out of the driveway. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Sticking his hand out, “Give it to me.”

“What? No.”

“Hand it over.”

She just pulls her coat tighter over her body, “I’m not a child and you’re not my dad so no.”

“If you’re not going to answer it, I might as well,” he drops his hand to dig into her coat pocket, fishing out the still-buzzing phone. He quickly flashes it up to her face to open it and begins scrolling through the unread messages from John. 

“Buck know about this?” He asks, gesturing with the phone. 

“No, and he’s not going to.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not important.”

The SUV rolls to a stop at the end of the too-long driveway, “There are well over a hundred messages here. I think he should know about this.”

She yanks the phone back from him, “No he doesn’t. We are not in a real relationship so he doesn’t need to know when someone is bothering me. If he threatens me, then I’ll say something but for me, this stays between us.” 

“Can’t make any promises, Doll.”

[2dmenenthusiast]

Last Night on Earth Pt. 8

(Ethan Winters x Gn!Reader)

bye this part took a million years to write and im sorry!!! There's also no Ethan in this chapter since this covers the Not a Hero DLC, but he will be back in the next one or the one after! I hope you all enjoy it even though I'm not super satisfied with this chapter hah

Alsoo quick note for chris's characterization, im sort of switching it up a bit? They made chris super rigid in re7 and re8, which is understandable considering all he's been through and all that, but I want him to keep a bit of his personality from re5 and vendetta. So if it switches up a lot, thats why!

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

"Just so you know, if the mine collapses on us and we get trapped, I'm not giving you permission to eat me."

Chris sighed as you put your headgear on, switching to the nightvision to make sure it worked and promptly blinding yourself.

"Hopefully it won't have to come to that. You were debriefed, correct?"

You gave him a thumbs up while turning your rifle over, closely examining it. The weapon felt heavy and familiar in your hand.

"Lost contact with the first team, Lucas, the Connections. I pay attention."

Chris didn't seem amused at all. Just raising his eyebrows before diverting his attention forward.

"Just follow my lead and keep an eye out."

"Right. And if we end up weaponless and cornered I can defend us with the stick up your ass."

He huffed, and you straightened your shoulders as the elevator came to a stop, and you stepped back into the mine. You were immediately flooded with the not so far away memories of Eveline worming her way into your brain as the caves had collapsed around you and Ethan. The long claws of the monster that had slashed through your back, and apparently killed you. Your chest felt tight, shallow breaths clouding your mask as an overwhelming anxiousness clouded over you.

That’s right.

You died down here.

Chris’s hand landed on your shoulder.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

You gulped and quickly nodded, pushing down every instinct to run and silencing all of your screaming thoughts. Your breathing calmed, and you locked eyes with the Captain.

“I’m fine. Can we get this show on the road?”

He just gave you a look and walked ahead. You took that as your que to follow. You weren’t surprised to see a couple molded monsters still brambling around. Just because Evie was dead didn’t mean the mold wasn’t still alive. From what you’ve read, you knew she didn’t necessarily control it, she was more of a conduit.

You were quick to react when one stumbled around the corner, your feet stepping into a trained and remembered stance while your arms raised. Two silenced bullets took the monster’s head off. Chris said nothing.

Both of you worked as a team to take out any creatures you saw, and you were like a well oiled machine. Chris would go left while you went right, watched your six while you went ahead. Ethan was a good fighter for a man who’d been thrown into a situation he’d never been in before. But everytime you came across one of those things, a twinge of fear would spike through you before you had to force it down and push forward.

Now? You felt strong. Confident. Chris was a well trained soldier, one you could hopefully put your full trust in. And working with him reminded you of how damn good you used to be at your job. It gave you a sense of pride.

Of course, you deflated a bit when a molded came out of nowhere, and Chris absolutely annihilated it with a single punch to its head. He had barely even made a grunt of effort when its head squashed like a moldy grape on impact, and you were glad he couldn’t see your face through the mask, otherwise he’d see your jaw currently touching the floor. When he moved ahead without another word— like it was completely normal— and realized you weren’t moving, he stopped and turned to face you.

“What?”

“Christ, you punch fuckin’ boulders for a living?”

He cleared his throat.

“Uh—”

You moved past before he could properly answer, knowing you wouldn’t be surprised if the answer was yes.

Imagine if that was part of your drills.

“Alright, maggots! Give me twenty boulder punches!”

The mental image made you snicker, and you ignored the curious tilt of Chris’s head. When you heard a cough in the distance, it made you freeze. Chris silently pointed forward, his gun raised, and you followed him up a set of metal stairs and into a familiar room. You instantly recognized the grimy tubs and the smashed computer on the floor from when you found out Lucas was working with The Connections, and the memory made you clench your teeth. You held so much anger for that slimy bastard that it made your chest hurt.

What was different about the room, though, were the two soldiers clad in the exact same gear you both wore laying on the floor. One awake and clearly injured, while the other one lay prone. You assumed he was probably killed by one of the creatures lurking down here. Chris immediately moved to help, while you stood back.

“We’re gettin’ you outta here.”

The soldier shook his head. “Leave me. It’s too late,” he strained, and his head moved back to expose the explosive wrapped around his neck.

Shit.

“Chris—”

“We’re all walking out of here, alright?”

“I got news for you.” The body you thought was dead sat up and slapped something around Chris’s wrist, and you immediately recognized the voice. “That’s not gonna happen!”

Your gun was aimed at his head before you could even think about it, and so was the Captain’s, but Lucas quickly threatened to blow him up if he even tried anything. You wanted to scream, curse him to hell and blow his fucking brains out. But, you kept your cool with a shuddered breath. He couldn’t see your face under the mask. It was possible he didn’t know it was you.

He took off his head gear, and when he cast his gaze towards you, you almost froze.

“You. Get over here. Or I uh, might get a little trigger happy with this switch, here.”

His thumb hovered over the button to the detonator, and you hesitantly made your way forward. Securing a similar bomb over your wrist, you stumbled away from him before he could do anything else. Not like he needed to be close to you to kill you now. One push of a button, and you both were both done for.

How funny. You spent what felt like an eternity tonight barely making it out of this hellhole by the skin of your teeth, only to throw yourself back in. But, it was your choice. And you’d be damned if you let Lucas get away.

“Now you can try and take that off all you want, but I’d advise against. My hand might slip and uh… boom!”

Chris shouted his name while he pressed on the detonator, and the soldier’s head exploded in a visceral mess. The force knocked Chris on his back, and everything screamed in you to react. To do something. But you were scared to even move, not knowing what Lucas would do if you did, and too afraid to find out.

“Now here’s the deal. Y’all don’t follow me, and I won’t have to bounce your heads off the ceiling. The same goes for your other little soldier friends, too. Adios, muchachos.”

Lucas laughed, and as soon as he stepped out the door, particles and gas began filling up the room. Another one of your brother’s sick tricks. You grabbed Chris’s arm and helped him to his feet, while a female voice spoke through your earpiece.

“I’m picking up airborne spores. It’s the E-type mutamycete. Your mask will switch automatically to rebreather mode. Make sure you’re keeping an eye on your oxygen tank.”

“Thank you, beautiful, disembodied voice.”

You and Chris rushed through room after room to get away from the gas, the woman warning you whenever your tank got too low. It was like a race against the clock, the longer you spent in the infected air, the closer you were to infection and maybe death. Once you were finally free of the contamination, you let out a deep breath and noticed that Chris wasn't even phased. Of course, he's got a couple decades on you. He's probably been doing this almost as long as you've been alive.

"You should head back and get that bomb on your arm deactivated," the voice said.

"Absolutely not," you interrupted. Chris just gave you a look. "There's no time, we're not letting him get away."

He sighed, but didn't protest. "They’re right. We can't let him get a head start."

"Understood. Just be careful."

When she got off coms, Chris cleared his throat. "You're calling the shots now, I take it?"

"What? Can't give up control?"

He let out a huff that bordered on a chuckle, and wordlessly continued forward. You wished you could get a read on the man. He had obviously seen and experienced things you couldn’t imagine, working for an organization that dealt with dangerous bioweapons on the daily. If this was the man he is now, you’d like to imagine who he was before he was exposed to such a harsh life.

The further you got into the mine, the more you ran into those creatures and were exposed to contaminated air. You were surprised Lucas didn’t lay more traps for you along the way, but you guessed he didn’t need to when the sweet promise of death was currently strapped to your arm.

Finally, you walked into a larger room with abandoned mining equipment scattered everywhere, along with some type of control system in the middle. There was a clown face painted on it, a big red button making up its nose, and there were three metal shutters— two on your left and one on your right. Blue, red, green.

“What color you feelin’?”

“What?”

You pointed to each door. “Green. Red. Blue. Which one?”

Chris sighed. “Red, I guess.”

You gave a thumbs up and started towards the door, when Chris placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Stay behind me, okay?”

“Aw, look who wants to protect me.”

“Yes. From yourself.”

The shutter rose, and whatever humorous air lingered around you was immediately weighed down by the seriousness that suddenly radiated off of Chris, and you knew it was time to get serious, too. You immediately realized why he was deemed Captain. He oozed authority. Every move and action was purposeful and swift. Not to mention he was an absolute brute. He could probably wrap his arm around your head and crush it like a grape with his bicep.

Soon, you came across a gated cell door, and one of Umbrella’s men was locked behind it. His arms were trapped on either side of him in one of Lucas’s machines, and his clothes were covered in blood.. You could only imagine what horrible things he had planned for him.

“Hey, you alright in there?”

The man lazily lifted his head, letting out a pained groan.

“Redfield?”

“We’re gonna find the key and get you out, okay? Don’t worry.”

You hoped Chris was right. That you could save some of these men. But knowing your brother, you had a strong feeling that you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t voice that, though.

Taking an elevator up into another large area of the mine, an eerie feeling immediately shot through you, and you wondered if Chris felt it too. You also wondered how the fuck you were supposed to find a damn key in this place!

“Chris, I don’t—��

He quickly shushed you, and you paused. He shushed you?!

You opened your mouth to say something else, but stopped your own thoughts from spewing out when he pointed to a green crate. Dismembered mannequins sat inside, and an arm was taped upright with a single key dangling from the hand.

Oh.

Well now you just felt stupid.

Your arm reached out to grab it, but before your fingers even grazed the key, the crate was raised up high in the air and out of your reach. You dropped your hand to your side with a defeated sigh.

Of course.

“Fuckin’ asshole.”

“We have to find some way to get it down.”

He wandered off, you assumed to find the controls to bring the crate back down, and you shook your head. You solved enough of Lucas’s puzzles for the rest of your lifetime. You weren’t about to participate in any more when the solution was much simpler.

“Nope. Fuck this.”

Raising your pistol, you aimed carefully and pulled the trigger, watching the bullet hit the mannequin hand at lightning speed before the key fell out of the crate and into your open palm. You turned to Chris, who stood silently, and dangled the key from your finger. For your own satisfaction, you imagined his face was currently slack-jawed in awe.

The loud thumping behind you mixed with the ground shaking under your feet cut your celebration short, and you turned to see a large, smoking figure brambling towards you.

“Oh, fuck.”

This thing was way bigger than any other creature you had dealt with, smoke emanating from its white skin as it only seemed to get bigger with every step it took towards you. You both attempted to shoot at it, but you were immediately met with a message in the top left corner of your mask.

“HIGH REGENERATION TARGET UNAFFECTED.”

“Oh, that’s just awesome!”

As the thing got closer to Chris, you grabbed his wrist in a death grip and yanked him out of its path.

“We gotta run!”

The idea of running away didn’t seem to compute with him for a moment, but he had no choice as you were dragging him away and towards the elevator. You practically leaped inside and slammed your hand down on the button, slumping against the metal wall in relief once the doors slid closed and you began descending

“Your guys can take care of that thing. Holy shit.”

He wordlessly put his hand out towards you, and it didn’t click until you suddenly remembered that you went through all that for a stupid key. You placed it in his hand, and he didn’t hesitate to move forward once the elevator doors opened. The man was still in the same place you left him, (Of course he was. Not like he could just walk out of there.) and Chris quickly unlocked the door. You carefully examined the room as you went forward, making sure there weren’t any traps waiting for you to trip on, while Chris went to console his comrade. You didn’t like this. It felt too easy.

“Everything’s alright now,” Chris said.

The man shook his head. “That’s just what he wants you to think. I’m just the bait. And you both fell for it.”

Couldn’t have told us that sooner?

As soon as he finished speaking, the room began to fill with contaminated air, and Chris muttered a curse to himself. You noticed this strain was stronger than it was previously, your oxygen going down by the millisecond.

“Take my filter. Hurry!”

“But you’ll die!” 

The soldier shook his head. “I’m dead anyway.” 

He said it like he accepted it a long time ago, and you were hit with the familiarity of it. It was only hours ago you felt that way, too.

It was almost too quick to catch, but a spinning blade zoomed forward and began descending towards the man’s head. Chris screamed Lucas's name in protest and shot at his crude invention, but it was no use. So, you stood, and watched in horror as this man met an inevitable, painful death.

The blades sliced through his neck, and his head hit the floor with a disgusting thud as blood spewed onto the ground. You’ve watched plenty of people die, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen it done so horrifically. The sight made you nauseous. You couldn’t imagine how Chris was feeling.

You realized then not only was this a trap for you and Chris, it was also a sick show of control. Even if Chris wouldn’t die from Lucas’s gadgets, he still wanted the satisfaction of putting the man through hell by making him watch his comrades die. And that sickened you the most.

Does he ever talk about this stuff? Does he confide in anyone about what he’s seen? You hoped he did. After seeing what he has, you wondered if he ever slept. You couldn’t most nights after you went on leave, even less when your whole life and family was flipped upside down. You began to think about how similar you were. He dealt with bioweapons for a living, and you lived under the constant watch of one for three years. He probably had plenty of stories. Could probably tell you things you couldn’t even imagine.

You felt sorry for him.

Bending down, he took the high grade filter off the mask— since he clearly wouldn’t need it anymore— and held it out towards you. Your eyes widened.

“Are you serious? I can’t take it. You need it!”

He shook his head. “I’m not letting a civilian die!”

“And I’m not letting you die! This is not a negotiation!”

He said your name through gritted teeth, but as you watched your oxygen get lower and lower, nearing zero, you snatched it out of his hand and attached it to his mask before he could move away, the piece fitting in with a satisfying ‘click’.

“Are you insane?!”

You don’t know why you did it. Why you constantly felt the need to put the lives of people you barely knew in front of your own, but you never regretted it. Even if it meant your own death. You watched as your oxygen finally hit zero, and you swallowed thickly, ready to choke on your weak attempts to breathe.

But nothing happened.

You blinked in surprise. Why do you feel perfectly fine?

You imagined Chris was just as surprised by your lack of struggling to breathe, and you proceeded to lift your hands towards your mask. He snatched your hand..

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just let me try somethin’, okay?”

He continued to protest, but you didn’t listen, the seal of your mask coming undone as you lifted it off your head and took a breath.

Nothing. Not even a cough.

“What the hell…” Chris muttered.

“Come on, there’s no time to talk about it right now. We gotta get out of here before your oxygen runs out.”

He nodded and followed you until you were back in the main area of the cave, but your mind was still reeling. Why weren’t you affected by the contagion? Was Lucas tricking you? No, that didn’t seem right. The goal was to kill you, not scare you. So what did that leave?

Were you…? No. There’s no way you were immune.

You didn’t realize Chris was speaking until he tapped your shoulder, and you blinked out of your zoned out state.

“Huh?”

“Can you explain what happened back there? Why didn’t you mention you were immune to the virus?”

You stuttered for a response. “I-I… I don’t know what happened. You’re about as clueless as me.”

Your coms came to life with the sound of a familiar female voice.

“It could be due to your prolonged exposure to the E series, your body naturally created the antibodies needed to fight the virus on its own.”

You shook your head. “That’s insane. That’s…”

You thought back to when Ethan said you died, how you came back and felt better. Then back to when you got the vaccine, and how you didn’t feel any effect. You must’ve already been cured when you woke up. Still, that didn’t explain the miraculous healing of your injuries.

“We don’t have time to dwell on it now. Keep your headgear on, though. We don’t want Lucas finding out that it’s you.”

You nodded and placed your helmet back on, while Chris muttered what he’d do to your brother when he found him.

“Just remember we need him alive, Chris,” the woman said.

You grit your teeth, trying not to let your emotions spill out. You knew that’s what Umbrella wanted, to get information out of him. But like hell you were letting him walk out of here alive. And you didn’t care who you pissed off by killing him.

Doing a quick ammo check, you and Chris decided the green shutter door was next on your list, doom settling deep in your gut as the door slowly screeched open. You were met with a short set of stairs leading through a narrow pathway, and resigned yourself to standing behind Chris. There was no way you'd be able to walk next to him in here.

The layout was almost like a maze, walking down one path only to turn and walk through an identical one. You felt like you needed a map to navigate this place. Of course, more contaminated air was blowing through the vents, but with your newfound immunity, you didn't worry about it much.

In the distance, from what you could see through the thick fogginess of the air, smoke began rising from the wall as mold seemed to congeal together to form a tall, monstrous creature. The smoke reminded you of the big guy you ran into earlier, and when you tried to shoot at it, the same message in your mask popped up.

"Shit, it's regenerating too fast. Normal bullets aren't gonna cut it!”

"I'm open to suggestions," Chris said.

Your brows rose in surprise. He did have a sense of humor! A very dry one, but still there.

Your coms buzzed to life. "You'll need RAMRODS to stop it from regenerating lost tissue. You have to fall back."

You frantically looked back and forth, the monster beginning to trap you into a corner, before you grabbed Chris's arm.

"This way!"

You had no idea where you were going, but anywhere was better than near that thing. You took down the hall and turned the corner, repeating the same thing over and over until you were sufficiently far away. You took a breath, and hoped to fuck you'd get out of this soon.

"You keep doing that."

You raised your head to look up at him. "Huh?"

"Pulling me out of danger. Like you need to protect me."

Your eyes slightly widened and you stuttered for an answer. "I-I mean… I was a soldier, you know."

He didn't say anything, just hummed to himself before walking on ahead. Faces flashed in your mind, and you squeezed your eyes shut as your grip tightened around your gun. Now wasn't the time.

You began to debate if you were lost as you went further into the mine, and you prayed to fuck that Chris knew his way back. 

“Did you know that was gonna happen?”

Your steps slightly faltered. “What do you mean?”

“Back there, when Lucas killed that man. Did you know he was going to die?”

The question made you pause, and you swallowed the lump that formed in your throat.

“Yes.”

He didn’t say any more, but you felt your answer was dissatisfying without an explanation.

“I grew up with that psycho, and I had to experience every sick trick he had once he was graced with Eveline’s influence. Once I saw that man, I… I knew he was doomed. I just didn’t want to say anything because even if I did, I knew you’d wanna try and save him anyway. I knew you wouldn’t just let him die without a fight.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and you almost spoke again to try and fill the silence when he interrupted you.

“Would you have saved him? Even knowing all that, would you still have at least tried?”

You didn’t have to think about it as you nodded. “Of course.”

“Good. That’s all I need to know, then.”

The trip through the rest of the cave proved almost fruitless, minus the box of RAMRODS you found just chilling in a random room. You didn’t bother to question why they were down here in the first place, because at least now you had something that could deal with those high regen bastards. You were able to make your way back to the shutter entrance with little difficulty, only running into more of Lucas’s puzzles, as well as tiny little bug fuckers that you could only compare to something out of an old video game you used to play.

What was it? Half… Half something…

Whatever.

As soon as you went through the last shutter, you were immediately met with darkness. Your mask automatically kicked on the nightvision, and your sight was nothing but shades of green. When you tried to step forward, Chris put his hand on your shoulder.

“Wait.” He gestured towards the ground, pointing at the pressure plates.

Of course.

“Guess we gotta be extra careful.”

It didn’t take long to run into similar traps, including automatic gun turrets and fucking lasers. There was also a point where you and Chris had to shove around mining carts, your muscles straining whilst you used your legs as leverage to push them out of your way.

“God, this is fucking stupid.”

You gripped the handles of the last cart and shoved it forward, watching as the wooden wall beyond it gave away and revealed a hallway behind it with more lasers.

“He’s been watching too many spy movies, I swear.”

Crouching and stepping over the lasers, you opened the door at the end of the hall to reveal a room that was entirely filled with them.

“Yeah. Way too fuckin’ many.”

“Just try to focus on moving through them.”

Despite Chris’s words, that piece of logic was almost thrown out the window when he saw one of the missing soldiers lying in the middle of all the chaos.

“Marquez?”

You grabbed his arm before he could move. “Hold on there, big guy. Even if we get to him through all this mess, there’s no way Lucas is just gonna let us drag him out of there. We have to turn the lasers off.” You grinned to yourself and placed a hand on your hip. “I bet you're glad you brought me along, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Fine, you stay here, and I'll shut them off.”

Chris shook his head. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you—”

“Are you forgetting my background? I’m not just some helpless civilian you have to look after. Besides, I don’t need your burly shoulders bumping into every goddamn trap in here and setting something off.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Burly?”

“Have you looked in the mirror?”

You heard a distant cough, and were quickly reminded of where you were. Right. Injured soldier, needed saving, blah blah blah. Holstering your weapon, you were careful and precise with every move you made, being sure not to make any sudden movements. Fuck getting this far only to die by damn lasers.

You made it to the man with ease, avoiding touching him, but asking him to give you a sign that he was okay. He gave you a thumbs up, and you relayed it to Chris who stood across the room watching you like a hawk. Finally able to stand up straight, you walked over to the control switch and pulled it down, the lasers disappearing right after. You heard Chris let out a relieved sigh before walking over to the man and helping him to his feet.

“Hey, you still with us?

Marquez nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I was beginning to think we’d be left behind.”

“Please, he’s too stubborn for that,” you chimed in, earning a look.

Once he was standing on his own two feet, he began limping to the exit, and you and Chris remained close behind.

“Lucas is a fucking psycho. Not sure what’s worse— him or those things.”

“Definitely him,” you said.

Chris hummed. “Let’s just focus on getting you out of here.”

Beyond the door he took you through was a smaller room with a ladder leading upwards, telling you that this was the way out. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, the bomb that you both failed to notice on his neck came to life, a red light blinking furiously.

“Fuck! Get this thing off me!”

He was tugging and scratching at the bomb, desperateness and fear clear in his voice. And once again, there was nothing you could do but watch him die. His head exploded, blood spewing from the base of his neck as his limp body fell to the floor. Chris just stood there, looking at the lifeless form of his comrade, before both of your masks projected the image of your brother.

“Now, I don’t know about you, Christopher, but—” he stopped, eyes widening a bit before a sick smile spread across his face.

Shit.

“Ohohoho! Now this I did not expect. My dear ol’ sibling is working with Redfield.” He clicked his tongue. “How fun. I would’ve prepared somethin’ a bit more grand if I knew you were gonna be coming.”

Your eyes narrowed and your jaw clenched, but Chris wouldn’t let Lucas change the topic.

“Three of my men are dead because of you, Lucas. This ends, and it ends now.”

“I don’t think so. It’s about to be four— no, five dead soldiers in a minute,” he laughed, and his image faded to static.

It was only then that a timer appeared in your interface, counting down from ten minutes as the bomb on yours and Chris’s arms began blinking with the same red light. Panic settled deep in your stomach, and you heard Chris speak into his earpiece.

“Okay, we got a situation here.”

“We’re on it, Chris,” the woman said. “Head back to the central cavern and wait for further instructions.”

“Don’t let me down.”

“Ah, yes. I love waiting while my arm is about to be blown to smithereens.”

You did as the woman said and made your way back, running into creatures along the way that only seemed to be there to waste your time. Every time you looked at the timer, it only seemed to be going down faster, and almost a whole minute had gone by since you first looked.

Nine minutes. We got nine minutes. That’s plenty of time. Plenty of time to get this stupid fucking thing off of me!

“Alright, good news.”

Oh, hallelujah.

A couple images popped up on your screen. “Our video logs from the first unit show canisters of liquid nitrogen nearby. You might be able to deactivate the bombs by freezing them.”

She let you know that the canisters were behind the red shutter, and you wasted less than no time rushing through it. You knew it probably wasn’t smart to be going through the area so hastily, and that you should remain calm, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to. But when you looked at Chris, he was as cool as a cucumber. Like this was a normal Tuesday afternoon for him. You’d be jealous if you weren’t so focused on the death trap currently strapped to you.  

When a molded creature stepped in your way, grit your teeth and put three bullets in its oversized head, pushing its body to the side whilst it fell forward. When it landed and squirmed and your feet, you stomped your boot right onto its mushy skull, goo and viscera spraying the ground.

“Get the fuck outta my way!”

Chris grabbed your arm and tugged your forward, and as this section of the cave began to look more familiar, your eyes slowly widened. This is where that big fucker was that you had to run away from earlier. He was nowhere in sight now, but you didn’t bank on him not showing up eventually. You were never that lucky.

“The liquid nitrogen is just beyond that room.”

An anxious feeling crawled through your stomach and up your throat, and you looked at the timer again. Less than seven minutes. Okay, not bad. But, as soon as you tried to go beyond the room like the woman in your ear said, a stack of blue crates fell directly in front of you, effectively blocking your path. Words were crudely spray painted on them, and you almost broke a few teeth from how hard your jaw was clenching.

“EAT SHIT AND DIE!”

You heard something grotesque forming behind you, and didn’t even want to look. Instead, Chris looked for you.

“Well. That’s lovely.”

With an infuriated growl, you grabbed the AR that was strapped to your back and let bullets spray from the creature's middle and up to its head. If Lucas was going to kill you, he certainly had to try a lot harder than this!

You tried flanking the creature, but the area proved to be too small and too crowded for it to work effectively. It was full guerilla mode, and you gave it everything you got. There wasn’t a single bullet wasted, pumping everything into its rubbery form. The more you hurt it, the more the creature seemed visibly affected. Parts of its body began to split open, pouring blood and other viscous liquids that you didn’t want to hazard a guess as to what they were.

Fucking disgusting!

You were soon at its back, its eyes set on Chris, and fear spiked through you. The more he backed up, the closer it got, and he was going to be trapped in a corner soon if you didn’t think of something fast. You looked around, picking up an oversized rock out of one of the mining carts, and aimed at its giant head.

“Hey, ugly!”

The stone hit with a disgusting “thwack,” clattering to the ground as the monster stopped moving. Its feet stomped against the ground whilst it turned towards you, and let out a visible huff.

“Oh, shit.”

Chris desperately shouted your name as it barrelled towards you, swiping its hand against your side and sending your body slamming into a pile of stones. The glass of your head gear shattered on impact, oxygen hissing through the opening, and you gasped for air when white hot pain surged through you. You found it difficult to even breathe. With a pained grunt, you propped yourself up on one hand and gave a thumbs up.

“I’m okay! Just kill the bastard!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, leading it a sufficient distance away from you as he shot RAMROD bullets into its thick head. While you were concerned about how much time was remaining, you found yourself more concerned about the man fighting in front of you. You knew you probably didn’t need to worry, but you couldn’t help the deep-seated feeling from bubbling up inside you. And despite the pain you felt, you wouldn’t just sit and let him take care of the rest of this mess either.

Struggling to your feet, you took a shaky breath and resumed your attack on the creature, but were stunned into stillness when Chris landed an uppercut to the thing and sent it flying through the air.

Is he Captain America or something?!

Its fat limbs flailed, struggling to roll onto its stomach to get up. It didn’t make it that far before its skin began bubbling under the surface, and it exploded into mushy bits.

“Target down, Chris. Now find that nitrogen!”

She sounded as desperate as you felt.

Rushing up to the Captain, you both worked to push one of the crates over, your salvation just beyond it. Chris didn’t even give you the opportunity to let him go first, grabbing your hand in his instead and plunging both of the bombs into the liquid nitrogen. You could feel how cold it was through the thick fabric of your glove,and you flexed your fingers to make sure you could still feel them.

“That did the trick.”

“Take it off before it thaws and restarts!” she urged.

You gripped the bomb and yanked it off your wrist, throwing it across the room as the light began blinking again. It exploded as soon as it hit the opposite wall, and Chris’s own bomb followed suit. An immense weight was immediately lifted off your shoulders, and you placed your hands on your knees with a deep sigh.

“Thank fuck.”

“Hey.” Chris put a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to stand up straight and look up at him. “You okay?”

You nodded, lifting your hands to take off what remained of your mask. You didn’t notice it until now, but the pain in your side had slowly faded away, and when you pressed your hand against your ribs, you felt nothing but a dull ache.

What is happening to you?

“You ready for this?”

You locked eyes with the tinted glass of his mask and smirked, huffing out a quiet chuckle.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for the past three years. I’m more than ready.”

Chris nodded, hand clapping against your shoulder.

“Alright. Let’s get this fucker.”

tagged: @taytaylvr @xdarkcreaturex

[negative-speedforce]

Your OCs are waiting for the bus when a young woman at the bus stop suddenly collapses, screaming in pain as burns spread across her skin from no apparent cause. It's Gia - something's happened to her flower shop, her clover is going up in flames, and it'll kill her if it continues to spread like this.

What do your OCs do?

Siv: In between their shit-ass audio processing (thank you, ADHD) and their unwillingness to help others, Siv will probably have no idea what's going on, so the most they will do is call an ambulance for Gia- from a payphone about three miles away, so no one can track her.

Hailey: Since she's trained to understand what people are saying even through screams of pain (thank you, CIA torture training), Hailey's able to figure out what's going on pretty fast. She goes fully intangible, runs straight through cars, buildings, and people and gets to Gia's flower shop in record time, where she uses her ghostly powers to drop the temperature in the shop enough to extinguish the flames. The clover will have to deal with frost, but it's better than fire.

Jay: Again, CIA torture training, so he figures out what's going on pretty fast. He calls one of the other superhumans to take care of the fire, since there's not much he can do, while he attempts first aid on Gia.

Cassandra: Can sense something's sapping Gia's life force, so she'll use her magic to cut Gia's connection to the clover- the flower shop is still going to burn, but at least Gia will live.

Esme: If she can figure out what's going on, she'll teleport to Gia's shop and start dumping rose buckets on the flames in hopes that the water will douse the fire. Thankfully, Esme is immune to heat, so she'll be able to fight the fire until help arrives. If she's unable to save the store, she'll start digging up as much clover as she can with her bare hands, and throw it all into her purse.

Gina: Can't really do anything, but will call an ambulance for Gia and the fire department for Gia's shop and hope for the best. Gina will pull out her Rosary when she gets home and go through it a few times, praying for Gia.

Arya: Will use their siren calls in an attempt to break Gia's life force from the clover, since they're normally able to control a person's body to the point of being able to force them to stop breathing entirely. Unfortunately, this has the added effect of enchanting anyone within earshot.

Ember: Calls the fire department. If he's able to drive to Gia's flower shop fast enough, they'll use their earth-based powers to summon clouds of sand in order to smother the blaze. Hopefully Gia won't mind finding sand in her stuff for the next two weeks.

Cat: She'll call 911, but she's probably not going to notice the burns and she'll think that Gia is just another crackhead who took too much and is now having a screaming nervous breakdown. Living in Cat's neighborhood will do that to you.

Kyle: Can't really do anything, since he can't call an ambulance or anything without sapping the electricity out of the phone, but he'll stay with Gia while someone else calls an ambulance.

Max: Summons one of his mech suits and flies to Gia's shop, then kicks over a fire hydrant and floods the place to put out the fire. Hopefully, the clover being waterlogged doesn't drown Gia or anything.

Eric: Severs Gia's life force from the clover with his magic. He'll call an ambulance for her after, but his main priority is cutting her off from whatever is sapping her life force.

Jacob: Same as Eric, except he'd probably stay by Gia's side until the ambulance came, using magic to cool her skin so the burns don't hurt quite as much.

Khalil: At first, he'd be hesitant to step in, since he doesn't really like using his magic that much, but he'd cut her off from the clover and then portal her to the nearest hospital, showing off his magic to normal humans be damned.

Antonio: Probably wouldn't be able to help that much, but he'd try to telepathically turn off the pain receptors in her brain so she wouldn't suffer so much while someone else called an ambulance.

Reggie: Isn't quite sure what to do or what's going on, so xe will call xer parents and ask them to help, then call 911.

Ameerah: Gia's fear and pain will likely completely overwhelm Ameerah's empathic senses, so Ameerah will probably spend the next ten minutes hyperventilating and/or vomiting into the nearest gutter.

Rania: Immediately knows that this is superhuman drama, so she keeps walking. She has no interest in getting involved with superhumans, good or bad. Their lives have too many issues. When she gets back to her lab, however, she will call to make sure that someone called emergency services.

Director Hawke: Would cut Gia's life force off from the clover, because she'd see it as her "curing" one of those "wretched awful deviants" that she hates so much. Then, she'd try to recruit Gia to her cause by guilting her with the fact she saved her life.

Kelsie: Runs to Gia's shop, where she'll use a nearby fire extinguisher to put out the blaze, then uses her plant powers to revive Gia's clover and bring it back to its fullest health. The whole ordeal will be absolutely exhausting for her, but worth it.

Cory: Assumes it's some kind of weird ass allergic reaction, like those people that are allergic to sunlight or water or something. They'll call 911 for Gia, though.

Meredith: Wouldn't really know what to do. It can't hear a word that Gia is saying, since she's deaf, and with Gia writhing and screaming, it's near-impossible to lip read as well. It'd probably look to see if someone else is calling 911, then leave so it doesn't get in the way.

Torryn: I mean, his main power as Exorcist is to negate other people's powers, albeit temporarily. They'd probably be able to block Gia's connection to the clover, though I don't know how long he could keep it up.

Kausar: Wouldn't do anything. I mean, she's a supervillain, what does she care about other people's suffering, at least, other than causing it?

Onnie: Keeps walking. She doesn't know Gia, nor does she want to. Gia just seems to ooze goody-two-shoes, and Onnie wants no part of that, conscience be damned.

Pippa: Once she figures out what's going on, the fire will be out within seconds as Pippa repeatedly runs to and from a local fountain with a bucket, scooping up water faster than one could blink then dumping it on the fire.

Jessi: Honestly wouldn't care. She's not even waiting for the bus, she's awaiting the arrival of her limo driver. When he arrives, she steps over Gia, bemoaning the fact that her driver made her wait for him with all the poors or whatever.

Hyun-Ki: Wouldn't really be able to do anything, between Gia's screaming and the fact that English isn't his first language, he has no idea what's going on. He'll call an ambulance, but he can't do much else.

Marie: Would request immediate emergency medical transport back to the Tchaikovsky, then she'd probably be able to stabilize Gia with a combination of 25th-century medical science and Borg technology, because let's be honest, it's the 25th century, they've figured it out. Gia might end up a little more cyborg-y than she was before her flower shop caught on fire, but hey, it's better than being dead.

Qiara: It'd probably exhaust her for a couple days, but she'd put Gia and her flower shop back to the way that they were before the fire. One of the benefits of being an omnipotent space god and all.

Liah: Requests emergency transport, and lets Marie take care of the rest. Gia needs a doctor, not an engineer. When Gia wakes up, however, she might have a new futuristic high-tech prosthesis waiting for her.

Athena: Depending on her mood, she might try to stabilize Gia with her medical knowledge, or she'll just look the other way. Hopefully, for Gia's sake, Athena will be in a helpful mood.

Laila: Probably thinks she's doing Gia a favor by attempting to put her out of her misery via lightsaber. Laila's sense of morality... isn't great, to say the least, and living with Athena just makes it worse most of the time.

Reyna: Wouldn't be able to do much, since she's an engineer, not a doctor, but she'd call one of her medic friends to hurry over and help Gia. Like with Liah, Gia might wake up to find that she's been offered a new, high tech prosthesis, however, Reyna being eccentric as ever, this one probably has a missile launcher and can cook microwave burritos.

Thalia: Force healing, baby! Depending on how many people were around, since it's not exactly safe for her to reveal herself as a Jedi, Thalia would probably reach out through the Force to Gia and attempt to fix whatever was wrong with her. Thalia might end up passing out because Gia's kind of a mess right now and Thalia only has so much energy to give.

Pyrrha: She's quite literally a doctor-in-training, so that might be one of the best pairs of hands for Gia to have fallen into. She might be able to break Gia from the clover via Force, then, with her extensive knowledge of scar care (from both personal experience and medical training), she'd be able to take care of Gia's burns.

Samira: Went to medical school, so she'd do her best to stabilize Gia, even though she doesn't really understand any of this, given that the only big supernatural thing that the general public in her world is aware of is vampires.

Aldrich: Might actually try to turn Gia, since she's very obviously going to die and there's nothing that he could do. He gets a free meal out of it, too.

Sohelia: Would probably call for a medic- she has no idea what to do, and if she gets involved she'll probably just make things worse, all things considered.

Vanessa: Calls for a medic. She has no idea what to do, and all this is probably going to send her into a panic attack or something. She's... not the best at handling stress.

Matt: Is already a trained field medic, so he'd attempt to treat Gia's burns as best as he can. Unfortunately, he's never even heard of anything like her whole "life force is connected to a plant" thing.

Victorie: Victorie and injured mortal... don't exactly mix that well. Mostly, she'll try to get as far away from Gia as possible, so she doesn't accidentally make things worse.

Dolores: Might try to help, depending on how recently she's fed- she worked as a nurse during the Korean War, so while her training might be a little outdated, she can probably help. If she hasn't fed recently, she steers clear of the whole situation.

Kayla: Recognizes Gia off the dot, crosses the street to get the hell away from her, and takes the long way home. Normally, she'd try to help, but she is NOT getting involved in any more HYDRA bullshit than she already is.

Dori: Same as Kayla, except they'll probably keep an eye on Gia from a rooftop or something, just to make sure that someone calls an ambulance or something.

Ellis: Miracles away GIa's injuries and the fire. They're an angel, it's well within their capabilities.

Gabi: If she's able to call Ellis to help, she will. If not, she calls 911 and hopes for the best.

[drewmorg4n]

Oh! Hey 😊. Could you do a Regan AU fic where they're younger and going right to the college?. ( I think we barely get to read this kind of concept of them being at university). It could be enemies to lovers or any direction you want to give it ofc 😉.

No Way Out

pairing: rick grimes x negan smith (college au)

wc: 5k

ao3 link

summary: When Rick runs into a group of guys who have been bullying him, he finds himself in a rough situation. How will he get out unscathed?

The warm, uncomfortable breeze hits him face first as he walks out of his building, attempting to make it to his first class of the day. He’s running late - as usual - so he quickens his steps, almost sprinting.

Fuck, he’s already out of breath. Rick doesn’t know why he decided to enroll himself in a class located all the way on the other side of campus. Not even a full week in and he already wants to drop out, not to mention the handful of frat guys from last year that are still on his ass for whatever reason. He’s not even halfway done with college and he desperately wants it to be over; wants to move out of his shitty dorm, find an actual full-time job doing what he loves. He can only dream.

Quite literally dream. He’s suddenly pulled out of his daydreaming by a hard shove to his shoulder, almost knocking him to the ground completely. He stumbles, drops his coffee then his book which of course happens to land in the puddle of coffee; said puddle growing by the second, flooding his book.

“Shit!” He yelps, bending down and grabbing his book as quickly as he can. He pays no attention to where the sudden shove came from, simply focusing on saving his book while he still can. If he still can.

“The hell are you reading anyway?” A voice comes from his side, harsh and demanding. Before Rick knows it, his book is snatched from his hands. He stares up at the guy - blonde, tall - and recognizes him immediately as one of the frat boys who bullied him throughout last year.

He quickly skim reads the back of the book, laughing. “A fucking gay book? What, dreaming about your fantasies because no guy wants you? Huh?” He pries, voice dripping with malice. The few other guys standing around him begin to chime in, laughing.

Rick’s heart just now begins to beat out of his chest, suddenly hammering hard beneath his ribs. No one knows he’s gay except for a few of his closest friends. Now, a bunch of idiotic frat guys know, which really shouldn’t be a big problem - they’re not in the stone ages - but these guys don’t like that apparently.

“Can you just give it back? I have class.” His voice is soft but he manages an eye roll, hopefully showing them he’s done with their bullshit.

They all laugh again, the tall blonde throwing Rick’s book right at his face, connecting with his nose. Of course, the one hardcover book he has is the one that gets thrown at his face.

He stumbles back, wincing in pain and reaching up to gently cradle his nose. He has no clue what the fuck to do. He can’t just fight these guys off; he probably can’t even fight off a single one. He might have a decent amount of muscle but he’s a bit short, so that immediately puts him at a disadvantage. The moment he looks up at them, realizing his hands are covered in blood, he knows he’s fucked.

“Hey! Dipshits!” A voice booms loudly from behind Rick, making him flinch with fear. He’s honestly afraid to turn around, afraid to face the person who holds a voice so recognizable to him. He doesn’t even get the chance to actually turn around, though, as the man comes around his side, stepping in front of him. “The hell are you stupid fucks doing?” He asks genuinely, softer than before.

Surprisingly, all of their faces go slack with shock, maybe a touch of fear, too. Silence fills the air, making Rick uncomfortable.

“I’m waiting for a goddamn answer!” He snaps, stepping closer and getting in the blondes face, easily towering over him. Said blonde backs away, mouth opening and closing as he searches for something to say.

“N-nothing…” The blonde - Gareth, Rick remembers - stammers softly, face pale.

Rick watches in awe as Negan mumbles something under his breath, too soft for Rick to hear. The group of guys immediately disperse once Negan goes quiet, practically running away. Meanwhile, Rick is still standing there, beyond confused, blood dripping from his hands and nose. He sees Negan’s shoulders rise and fall slowly - taking a deep breath.

Negan spins around, face to face with Rick again. “You alright?” He asks gently, possibly in the softest tone Rick has ever heard him speak in.

Rick is at a loss for words. Why the hell did Negan do all that if he practically does the same shit to him almost everyday? Well, maybe not the book to the face thing, but the teasing, yes.

“What-I…” He falters for words. Does he thank him? Tell him to fuck off? He’s starting to wish Negan never showed up; he’d much rather have taken the beating those guys were about to give him. “You tell them to fuck off just so you could tease me yourself? That it?” He snaps, somewhat surprising himself.

Negan’s whole face scrunches up in confusion, taken off guard. “What?” He asks bewildered, dropping his voice a bit. “I fucking told them to fuck off because they were about to beat you the fuck up, that’s why.” He raised his voice, unable to contain his anger and confusion towards Rick.

Rick rolls his eyes, not responding. He picks up his book again, shaking off the coffee dripping from the pages. He spent twenty dollars on this fucking book and now it’s absolutely ruined.

Negan stood idle, watching. The look on Rick’s face once he saw how destroyed his book was broke Negan’s goddamn heart. He might pick on Rick often, probably too often, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He just likes to rile people up for no reason; call it his hobby, if you will. Doesn’t mean he dislikes Rick - god, why would anyone dislike him? He’s the definition of fucking beautiful, soft and caring towards every person he meets. What’s not to like?

Maybe he just should’ve been nicer to Rick. Negan knows his teasing and smart ass comments can sometimes get to people - make them upset - but he assumed Rick didn’t care. At least that’s what it seemed like by the looks of it. After all, Rick is absolutely gorgeous; there’s no way in hell Negan would ever get a chance with him if he’s just an idiotic asshole who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

“You should probably do something about your nose.” He comments softly, gesturing to his own face. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” He adds, consciously making an effort to keep his voice calm and soft, the complete opposite of how he normally speaks.

“Yeah.” Rick replies blandly, no hint of emotion behind his voice. He tries to keep his fingers pinched on each side of his nose, applying firm pressure but regardless, the flow of blood doesn’t let up.

“C’mon, I’ll take you to my apartment. Clean you up.” He offers, nodding his head in the direction of his home.

“You have an apartment?” Rick asks, eyes wide and brows raised. He doesn’t even register Negan’s offer to help him, he’s more focused on how the hell Negan has an apartment as a college student.

“Yeah.” He nods, beginning to walk off, hoping Rick will follow. Only a short moment passes and Rick is by Negan’s side, keeping up with him with interest.

“How do you even afford that? Daddy’s money or somethin’?” He asks stubbornly, still not entirely convinced that Negan genuinely wants to help him. But, he’s quite literally following Negan to his apartment, so if this ends up being a trap of sorts, he asked for it.

“Oh, fuck off.” Negan chides, softly bumping his shoulder into Rick’s. “Well, half daddy’s money, half my own. So, you’re right I suppose.” He concedes, sighing heavily just to be dramatic.

Rick only huffs heavily, rolling his eyes. He has so many questions to ask, so fucking confused why Negan is helping him. He can’t find it in himself to ask anything, though, continuous waves of embarrassment flowing over him as he walks throughout campus with an extremely obvious bloody nose.

They walk in silence for a bit, maybe a few minutes until Negan notices the immense amount of blood pouring from Rick’s nose. “Shit.” He says, urgency and concern filling his voice. He begins to dig through each of his pockets, trying to find something Rick can use to slow down his blood loss. His hand digs into something soft. He pulls it out, retrieving a red scarf. He forgot he still carried it with him. “Here.” He holds out the scarf, waiting for Rick to take it.

Rick stops in his tracks, staring down at Negan’s hand. He’s holding out a red scarf. Rick contemplates on taking it but with the way his nose is bleeding, he’s surprised he’s not dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost.

“Rick, just fucking take it.” He sighs, waving around the scarf, beckoning Rick to accept it. When he doesn’t, Negan doesn’t hesitate to do it himself. He folds the scarf a few times, making sure it’s thick enough to soak up blood, then steps closer to Rick, removing his bloody hands from his nose. He quickly pinches Rick’s nose, the cloth between their skin. He settles his other hand at the back of Rick’s neck, pulling him closer so he can get a better grip on Rick’s nose.

It takes every single atom of energy inside of Rick to stop himself from making a desperate little noise in the back of his throat. He hasn’t been touched like this in years, and the jolt of want it sends up his spine is familiar to say the least. He wants to be touched, sometimes even feels like he needs to be. But this sudden touch from Negan doesn’t mean anything, there’s no way it could.

“Thank you.” Rick says softly, moving to replace Negan’s hand with his own. Negan backs away at that, removing his hands; removing his soft touch.

“Course, darlin’.” He smiles softly, offering a quick nod. He quickly begins to walk again, feeling a bit unsure about keeping eye contact with Rick for so long.

Rick’s body takes a moment to actually start moving again. He got so thrown off by what Negan said; what he called him. Darlin’. Fuck, he needs to get out of his head. He’s heard Negan call countless of people ‘darlin’’, it doesn’t mean anything significant, just a simple name he uses often. On the other hand, Rick isn’t exactly sure why he’s internally freaking out over this. Negan has been picking on him for almost a year now, which in turn caused Rick to dislike him. Why does he care so much about being called a stupid pet name from a guy he’s never even liked, let alone been friends with?

Nonetheless, Rick quickly catches up with Negan, once again trailing beside him.

In a few short minutes they arrive at Negan’s apartment. It’s nothing fancy - not that Rick expected it to be - but it’s better than the dorms.

They enter through the front entrance, hit with a wave of cool air. Rick hadn’t realized how much he was sweating until the sweat on his skin began to quickly cool off, sending a chill up his spine.

Negan leads the way, stopping at the third or fourth door; Rick wasn’t sure in all honesty. He unlocks it, holding the door open for Rick. When they’re inside, Negan is quick to run off somewhere - down a short hall - returning not even a minute later with a first aid kit. He pulls out a few packages of gauze.

“C’mere.” He mumbles, walking over to the small couch and sitting down. He unwraps the gauze, waiting for Rick.

Rick once again hesitates, eyeing Negan’s hands to see what he’s unwrapping; it’s gauze. Something softens inside him as he watches Negan, who’s looking at him with worried eyes. He knows there’s most likely no reason to be so hesitant now, considering Negan gave him his own damn scarf to try and stop the bleeding, even going as far as applying it himself, walking Rick all the way back to his apartment just to help him clean up a bloody nose. He doesn’t need to keep his guard up, at least he thinks he doesn’t.

Rick sets his backpack and book on the dining room table before walking over to Negan, sitting down next to him but making sure to keep some distance between them. Negan closes that gap between them, bumping his thigh into Rick’s as he gets closer. Fuck, this is not helping at all, Rick thinks. He needs to get away from Negan before he does something he’ll regret.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, you know. I’m not like those bastards. I just like to tease people and piss ‘em off for fun; it’s harmless in my opinion but not everyone thinks that.” He shrugs, rolling his eyes. He pulls out the gauze from the package, reaching up to replace the soaked bandana. Rick visibly flinches at the contact.

“I know. Just kinda thought you didn’t like me or somethin’.” He says softly, feeling somewhat embarrassed still, if not even more by his confession.

“Nah, takes a lot for me to really not like someone.” He says easily, tightening his grip on Rick’s nose in another attempt to stop the bleeding. He notices Rick’s hands, just hovering in front of him instead of resting on his thighs. They’re still covered in blood, of course but he can’t just leave him like that. “Let’s go get your hands cleaned up, yeah?” He stands, fingers still firmly gripping Rick’s nose.

Rick simply follows Negan’s lead, keeping quiet. When they start to walk, though, Negan’s still holding his nose. He’s walking beside Rick awkwardly, kind of shuffling sideways as they walk to the bathroom. They look absolutely ridiculous but this seems to be the easiest way to do it without being extremely close to one another.

When they finally get to the bathroom - albeit slowly - Rick washes his hands, scrubbing away all the dried and fresh blood. Negan still stands beside him, idling as he waits. The few times Rick has glanced up, looking at the mirror, he sees Negan staring at him. Whether it be the side of his face or his eyes, or even his lips and neck. His expression isn’t exactly easy to read, though. He doesn’t look disgusted at all, which surprises Rick to some extent. Instead, he seems intrigued in a way. Rick has no clue how this makes him feel; shy, embarrassed, flustered? Probably all of the above.

Once Rick is finished he quickly dries his hands off, reaching up and replacing Negan’s hand with his own. He couldn’t bear the other man’s touch for much longer, it physically pained him in a way; a way that confused him beyond belief.

They returned to the living room shortly after, sitting side by side again but farther apart. Rick has his head tilted back, resting against the couch. Hopefully this’ll get the blood to stop flowing permanently now.

Negan somewhat mimics Rick’s position, resting back against the couch. His head is tilted to the side, staring at Rick - again. Something about him is so alluring but Negan can’t put his finger on what it is. Maybe it’s his icy blue eyes, his dark curls, his pink and plump lips. Fuck, everything is alluring about him.

“I completely forgot I had class.” Rick says suddenly but soft. This would only be his first absence in any of his classes but that doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty, even though he almost got beat up and still currently has a bloody nose.

Negan is quiet, uncomfortably so. Rick had expected a response like, ‘fuck class’ or ‘you literally have a bloody nose and that’s what you’re worried about?’ but he hadn’t expected the piercing silence. Nonetheless, Rick goes silent again, too. He starts thinking about his book and if it’s still salvageable; probably not.

“I’m sorry about all the teasing and shit. I hadn’t really realized you took it the wrong way and thought I hated you because of it.” He explains monotonously. He watches Rick, trying to gauge his reaction. There’s not much to gauge, though. Rick’s expression doesn’t change at all - no body movements, no sounds, nothing. “Look, you don’t have to accept my apology or anything, I just want you to know I’m sorry and I regret it.” Negan is surprised by his own words. Somehow, Rick has such a tight hold on him it’s making him regret his behavior towards him, which has never happened before. Negan doesn’t regret shit, ever.

Rick is somewhat shocked by Negan’s apology. He doesn’t know the man well but he assumes he doesn’t apologize often, probably thinking he’s always right and never wrong.

“It’s ok, I forgive you.” He concedes, glancing to his side to look at Negan. He really doesn’t know why he didn’t hesitate to accept Negan’s apology; he didn’t even have to think about it, he just simply forgave him.

Silence falls over them again as Negan thinks. He hadn’t expected that to be so easy. What he did expect was for Rick to maybe go off on him, hit him with a few select words. He’ll gladly take this reaction over any other, though.

His eyes glance over to Rick’s things at some point, noticing his ruined book, still soaked with coffee. It reminds him of Rick’s bloody nose, how those worthless fucking frat guys had no problem with throwing the book at Rick’s perfect face - which is still perfect by the way, thank god. After observing Rick’s features up close, Negan still can’t comprehend the man’s beauty.

“Why’d they throw the book at you anyway?” Negan thinks out loud, realizing it later rather than sooner.

Rick sighs. He really doesn’t feel like explaining this. Of course if Negan finds out what the book is about, he’ll connect the dots easily and immediately know that Rick is gay. Not that Rick is ashamed, he never has been and doesn’t think he ever will be, but he prefers to keep his sexuality to himself when it comes to people he doesn’t know; or rather in this case, not familiar with.

“I don’t know. Guess they didn’t like what the book was about or somethin’.” He offers nonchalantly, hoping Negan doesn’t get too curious, but of course he does.

“Well now I gotta know what it’s about.” He smirks, standing from the couch and starting over to the table with Rick’s things.

“Negan, don’t. Please.” Rick tries, sounding completely wrecked, more than he actually looks.

Negan chuckles, rounding the table. “What’s so bad about a fucking book? Is it porn or some shit?” He teases, that devious smirk still planted on his lips. He picks up the book, reading the cover to himself - Red, White & Royal Blue - then flips it around. He reads the summary, beginning to end, word for word. “I don’t see what’s so bad about a gay book, Rick.” He deadpans with a soft roll of his eyes.

“I didn’t say it was bad, I just-“

“Hold the fuck on.” Negan interrupts, coming to a realization. “Did that fucking asshole throw this at you because of what it’s about?” He asks incredulously, brows furrowed.

Rick closes his eyes and sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore; he doesn’t want to have to practically come out to the guy who’s been teasing him since freshman year. Though, he assumes Negan isn’t homophobic, considering his nonchalant reaction to the book.

“I don’t really know. I guess? I mean, he made fun of me for readin’ that stuff, said I only read it because…no guy wants me or whatever.” Rick muttered, sort of hoping Negan didn’t catch that last part.

Negan puts the book down then makes his way back to the couch, sitting down. His knee brushed against Rick’s, eliciting a soft shiver from the smaller man.

“I’m sorry.” Negan says softly, turning himself towards Rick. He places a gentle hand on his lower thigh. “No one should be making fun of you for that shit. That’s not even something I would do.” He insisted, voice full of rage and disgust.

Once again, Rick is surprised. It’s not that he expected Negan to be homophobic, but he really didn’t expect the man to apologize for the second time, either. He appreciates it, though, especially coming from someone like Negan who is very rough around the edges.

“Thank you.” Rick replied quietly. Negan’s hand on his thigh felt warm, almost too warm - like electricity was emanating from his hand. As a quick distraction, Rick removes the bundle of gauze from his nose, checking if he’s still bleeding. Surprisingly, it’s finally stopped. He takes a moment to wipe away any remaining blood on and around his nose. When he’s done, Negan interrupts his train of thought.

“Here, let me take it.” He says, holding his hand out, palm facing upwards. Rick gives him an unsure look, brows furrowed. “For fucks sake, Rick. Just give it to me.” He pesters lightly, cracking a soft smile.

Rick hands the gauze over hesitantly until it’s abruptly snatched from his hand. “Thanks.” He offers shyly, somewhat awkwardly. He watches Negan get up and retreat to the kitchen, coming back within a few quick seconds.

The silence that falls over them is comfortable. Rick is still resting his head against the back of the couch, just in case his nose starts to bleed again. Negan is almost mimicking him, though his head is turned towards Rick, simply watching him. Despite the silence being comfortable, Rick is nervous and still a bit on edge about all of this. His knee bounces up and down continuously, his fingers rubbing at the hem of his shirt. Apparently, Negan hadn’t noticed any of it.

“Has anyone ever told you you have the most gorgeous fucking eyes?” Negan asks, voice low and raspy. He watches for Rick’s reaction which is only a soft, red glow smeared across his cheeks, eventually gracing the tips of his ears. How such a normal compliment managed to fluster him is beyond Negan.

Rick is quiet for a moment, trying to process what Negan just said. Many people have complimented his eyes before, so surely Negan isn’t flirting with him. There’s just no way; he won’t believe it.

“Well, uh-sometimes yeah. Usually not as vulgar, though.” His attempt at a joke is extremely lousy. He just needed a distraction from his own awkwardness, though.

Negan huffs out a small laugh. “Well, they’re fucking gorgeous, Rick.” He wants to add more, say how his eyes are just as pretty as the rest of him, but quickly decides against it. After not realizing his teasing was making Rick uncomfortable, he doesn’t want to push it.

Rick cracks a soft smile, more to himself than to Negan. “Thank you.” He says, finally having the courage to turn his head towards Negan and actually look him in the eyes. The same soft smile on his own lips is also on Negan’s, which makes his heart skip a beat. Rick quickly finds that Negan’s eyes are also gorgeous - they’re a soft hazel with streaks of green mixed in. “Yours are too.” He offers, unaware he had actually said that out loud. Negan’s soft smile is quick to turn into a devilish smirk, but it’s the most endearing thing Rick has ever seen.

Negan manages to subtly inch closer to Rick, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Would you be mad if I kissed you?” He asks, voice low and barely reaching a whisper.

Rick internally freezes when Negan wraps an arm around him. His touch is hot again and very foreign, but Rick finds himself leaning into it just slightly. The question is the next thing that makes him freeze even more, though. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? He doesn’t know. He’s quiet as he thinks, pondering for a response that doesn’t sound stupid. How would he feel if Negan kissed him? That’s another thing he has absolutely no answer to.

“Sorry.” Negan grimaces, only at himself, though. He really didn’t want to fuck this up anymore than he already has, but it seems like that plan fell through. He backs away a bit as he continues speaking. “If you couldn’t already fuckin’ tell, I get way too ahead of myself sometimes and-“

“No.” Rick interrupts firmly.

Negan furrows his brows in confusion. “What?” He asks a moment later, voice soft and wary.

“That’s my answer to your question.” He states simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Negan’s expression doesn’t change, though, so Rick tries again. “I wouldn’t be mad if you kissed me, Negan.” He reiterates soft and quiet. His knee has stopped doing that nervous bounce, so he supposes that’s a good sign.

“Oh.” Negan nods once, understanding. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Rick spits out quickly; quicker than he can even comprehend. He decides to take the reins, shuffling closer to Negan until he’s snug against the other man’s warm body. Negan takes it from there, though, leaning in slowly and hesitantly. Their lips brush against each others softly, barely even connected until Rick takes that bit of control back and presses in further. The warmth from Negan’s lips is so much more intense than his hand resting on his thigh - it spreads through his entire body like fire, reaching every crevice.

Negan’s free hand rests on Rick’s hip, gripping him softly. He wants nothing more than to snake his hand under Rick’s shirt, feel his warm skin against his hand. He refuses to push any further, though. For now, the soft, slow movement of their lips is enough for him.

It’s not enough for Rick. Within a very short amount of time, he opens his mouth, slipping his tongue out to lick against Negan’s lips. Negan’s mouth opens almost immediately, allowing Rick entry. He explores as he pleases, licking Negan’s tongue, lips, teeth - anywhere he can reach.

A surprised little moan slips out of Negan. He’d normally not give a shit, but with Rick it feels different. He has this need to go slower, to be more gentle with him. He still wants to peruse his plan of not fucking this up. He doesn’t relent, though. He digs his fingers into Rick’s clothed flesh, but much softer than he actually wants. The arm wrapped around Rick’s shoulders curls around his neck, slipping his fingers into Rick’s hair which is much softer than he expected.

As their kiss intensifies Rick’s hands are gripping each side of Negan’s neck, rubbing his thumbs across his soft skin every now and then. He’s so caught up in all of this that he doesn’t even realize he’s moaning, throaty sounds slipping through his lips almost every second.

Negan pulls away shortly after, lips pulsing. “If we keep going I’m gonna get too worked up, darlin’.” He breathes heavily, throwing in a soft wink just because he can.

Rick sort of shrinks into himself, feeling a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh-sorry.” He apologizes softly, retracting his hands from Negan’s space. He can’t help but stare at his lips - they’re swollen and pink, shining with spit. All he wants to do is lean in again and kiss him, but he knows he shouldn’t, as tempting as it is. “I have class soon anyway.” He adds after a long moment of silence.

“Me too.” Negan says, suddenly scrambling for things to say. He doesn’t want Rick to leave in all honesty. He’s enjoyable to be around, even the multiple times where Negan was just teasing him. Now that they both seem to be on the same page, Negan doesn’t want to leave his side. Call him clingy, but people don’t genuinely like him very often. He understands it’s hard for some people to be around him with how vulgar and bold he is.

Rick stands abruptly, heading over to the table with his things. He slips his backpack on and grabs his book, which is still soaked. “Thanks again for uh-cleanin’ me up. You really didn’t have to.” He concedes softly, stepping towards Negan again.

Negan stands, shaking his head back and forth. “It’s the least I could do after treating you like shit for a solid year.” He offers. He quickly scans Rick’s form up and down, taking all of him in for the millionth time. Negan won’t allow himself to think about all of the explicit things he wants to do to Rick, so he quickly interrupts his thoughts. “Let me walk you out.” He steps past Rick and makes his way to the front door, clearly hearing Rick’s footsteps trail behind him.

They stop under the doorway, both men suddenly becoming quiet and awkward. They only stare at each other for a moment, as if saying something with their eyes.

“Maybe we could hangout sometime? Get coffee or something?” Negan offers with a slight tilt of his head; just like Rick does so often.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Rick agrees with a soft nod, accompanied with a smile. Negan smiles in return and suddenly Rick loves the way it looks on Negan’s face. His white, bright teeth, his dimples; he looks perfect.

Negan leans in without thinking, pressing his lips to Rick’s. It’s a quick, chaste kiss but it’s more than enjoyable to both men. Once Negan pulls away, Rick’s cheeks are quick to turn red, color creeping down his neck. Negan wonders how far it goes.

“See you soon.” Is the last thing Negan says. He watches Rick’s retreating back and admittedly, his ass too. Nonetheless, Negan thinks he’s far beyond attached now with no way out.

[firxga]

Maybe he told her in passing, or perhaps she was a good enough sleuth to find out on her own, though it seems more likely the former, but she’s been eager to test out her baking skills and a tiny cake had been the perfect idea.

When Tifa had seen a red glazed cake with a galaxy pattern on it, she knew she had to make an attempt. The ingredients, at least most of them, were readily available and what she already had on hand, but the less than perfect results outnumbered the successes. At least nothing went to waste and when someone asked if this was her adding to the Seventh Heaven menu, she just said yes.

Although not a galaxy or spatial motif, the glaze settled perfectly on the small round cake that was then decorated with buttercream frosting roses she had painstakingly learned to make. Her strive for perfection would mean more struggles but Tifa felt it was worth it.

And, in the centre of the cake, sat a dark maroon ribbon with the words, Happy Birthday, written in a cursive font made with some chocolate glaze.

She places the cake in front of him and they’re alone in the now closed bar, deciding to take the night off as she had been eager to show off her hard work—but not before going around the slums and running the errands he had wanted to do.

“I’ll light a candle and you can blow it out, but not on the cake. I worked too hard on it to be punctured with holes and globs of wax.”

She disappears behind the bar and rummages through a drawer until she pulls out an unopened chocobo-shaped candle and lights it.

“Make a wish!”

Genesis entertained the thought of simply not showing up to Seventh Heaven as promised. He had a selfish streak within him, where promises were made to be bent or outright broken at whim — honestly, he'd prefer the brooding quiet.

It was just a date. Just numbers on a calender. But it was like his body remembered, because when this time of year passed on by he was flooded by memories of a past and of people that were long gone.

Though far be it from him to disappoint someone who had given him a chance. That must have been why he dragged himself out into the night.

Tifa was important, even if he hadn't fully admitted it to himself. If he didn't acknowledge it maybe it would pass on by, just like this date, just like his memories. He didn't particularly want to leave his heart unguarded. That opened the door to things like foolish thoughts and boyish smiles. If he learned one thing from his own sorry history, letting people in only led to him causing them great harm.

But how bad could it be, to sit at a bar for a little while?

Well.

Apparently he had underestimated more than how the night might play out. Not as much as he had underestimated Tifa's sleuthing abilities, Genesis had been all but certain her invitation was one to keep her company because she had new menu ideas bubbling away in that brilliantly busy mind of hers.

He was at a loss for words.

Genesis fucking Rhapsodos could not will himself to form words, a hum, any sound whatsoever to break the silence of the empty bar.

Tifa placed down the most beautiful cake he had ever set his eyes on, and it was a birthday cake to further add to the record-breaking silence from him. Then in an off-handed comment she revealed she made it all herself. For him.

His eyes only lifted away from the cake to witness another heart-touching gesture take form as she lit a fresh candle for him. For him.

He must have looked like a complete ass, just sitting there, the wax already dangerously close to dripping over her fingers and the countertop.

Finally he exhaled, the breath heavy enough to make the flame shudder, but not extinguish. It was his first audible reaction. He blinked and a tear streaked down his cheek. How long his eyes had been welling up, he was unaware, completely numb to the sensation. He blinked again and another couple tears dripped, along with some of the wax.

Genesis blew out the candle with a sharp breath, fingers delicately plucking the intensely yellow candle to set it aside. Then he pushed up from his bar stool to drag Tifa into a hug. Drag being the optimal word, given how he pulled her upwards in his embrace, his face shoved almost childishly to the curve of her shoulder.

"... thankyou." he whispered, unfortunately proving he hadn't lost the ability to speak.

His hug eased slowly, his hand hopelessly mopped some of the wet from his face when he fully eased back. A sniff and the corner of his lips twitched up in a lopsided smile that suited the messiness of his mood. "I couldn't possibly wish for more."

Because just like that, Tifa had given him something that he could never have requested. He had a new memory. One that could sparkle and outshine the others to a degree he didn't think possible.

[nobully]

Thank god his villain settings in this novel were "stupid rich."

The servants hurry to them soon enough, some of them already bringing first aid kits and the family doctor in the wake of the obvious accident in the gardens. Wang Yi spots the head butler and tries to grab his attention, but dammit, Break is keeping him there and rambling like a madman, muttering about dying out of the blue.

' How is he? ' Wang Yi asks the doctor instead, who nods tightly as he checks his patient.

"He's lost a lot of blood, but if we can get him to the household clinic—" And then Break is suddenly demanding for his cane.

He must mean that thing he was holding when he got picked up. Wang Yi's barely sent someone to fetch it from the wreck (' Okay okay, we'll get it ') when Break is sitting up, blood pouring in a flood like the idiot he apparently is just to rant about the dog, and it's all he can do not to knock the guy out while the doctor shouts new instructions and the help prepare a stretcher. He can't even get out of the way while Break keeps gripping his wrist and leans in as if he's going to say his last words that instant.

Wang Yi strains to listen over the shouts of "we need more bandages!," "careful, don't step on the rubble!" and his own heartbeat pounding in his head but—Break's just telling them to go. To get inside. What does he think they've been trying to do this entire time? Stupid Break with his stupid mouth saying stupid things while blood keeps dripping from his lips, his wounds, their hands coated in the stuff, warm and wet and looking beautiful as he suffers but he's dying, dammit, bleeding out in real time.

' You know what— '

Something inside him snaps.

' Fuck you and your shitty little stick! '

' If that stupid dog of yours comes to bite our asses, I'll tear its throat out with my teeth! Just shut up before your crappy body starts spilling its guts on the pavement! You’re such a— '

Someone stuffs an object in his lap; looking down, Wang Yi catches sight of the coveted cane as a young servant scurries out of reach. He doesn't waste time grabbing it with his bloody fingers and shoving at Break instead.

' Here you go, dipshit. '

Then he wrests himself free and the world starts moving again, a team of people slipping in to take his place, help Break on a stretcher, and push him away, more shouting and footsteps and hands everywhere as the whole crowd rushes towards the mansion as fast as they can. Wang Yi squints towards the woods bordering their grounds, sees his (novel) father's security team already rushing to sweep the place and hopes that'll be enough for the moment. Finally, he runs—oops, limps—after the entourage himself.

He wonders what the hell they're in for next.

XERXES BREAK IS LAYING ON A BRICK FLOOR, after having let out a frankly embarrassing noise when wang yi dragged him out of his side of the car, blindly staring up at what he can only hope is a normal sky, with the other frantically trying to staunch the bleeding at his side. which— is only hurting him more than the already persistent pain in his chest. he's wheezing from the exhaustion, even as he's just resting here, not moving, the iron taste familiar in his mouth. his consciousness is slipping from him.

   it absolutely cannot escape him completely. if he passes out here, he might not wake up. in that regard, the pain is almost useful, jolting him back into awareness every few moments, with every shift of wang yi's hand as he presses into his old wound.

   ' i should have died when i had the chance, ' break mumbles, tongue loosened with the blood loss, one hand gripping wang yi's wrist. it's a point of contact, helpful with keeping focus, but also just an instinctive reaction to somebody else causing him pain, however good the intent might be. he hears, vaguely, distressed voices coming closer, calling for them. calling ... wang yi's name.

   well. that's nice. some support is badly needed. especially when— break freezes, gaze darting, as his senses perk up.

   he can't feel the footsteps on the ground without mad hatter. in fact, his chain is quiet, doesn't answer when break asks, however much he'd like to avoid having to use it again. but bandersnatch ... break feels it. running, getting closer. his alertness kicks in, as well as the need to get away, to keep going, to get wang yi to safety.

   ' my cane. ' it's a demand, as break tries to heave himself into an upright position, only giving up with a pained snarl when his side gushes with more blood. his free hand, not holding onto wang yi, fumbles for his weapon on the ground. ' my cane. wang yi. where is it? bandersnatch— the hound. it's coming back. '

   which is when the voices reach them, only a vague background noise to break, some of them helping him up, others worried for their injuries, fretting over what seems to be their master, currently busy trying to stop break from bleeding. they go by ignored by the hatter. his grip around wang yi's wrist tightens, both of them stained in his blood, as he finally manages to lean in, breath short and quick.

   ' we need to go. inside. somewhere. i can't stop it anymore. '

[thepaperpanda]

𝓓𝓪𝔂 23 - Adventure-seeking Spirits || Sam Drake x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Sam is the oldest of the Drake brothers, and you happen to have a major crush on him. When the opportunity arises, you'll use all of your skills to get to know Samuel better and deeper.

Warnings: smut

Word count: 1200

Author: Bear

A/N: The prompt for today is: Creampie

You dealt with Nathan's older brother, Samuel Drake, many times before. Although he was always kind to you and offered a lot of support if needed, his attitude towards his younger brother's best friend was far from friendly from time to time - it rather looked like he wanted to devour you. Men paid attention to you because you were young with an attractive body, always dressed in fitted clothes that accentuated every single curve of your figure, hugging your ass, thighs, and boobs nicely. You came to Drakes' apartment that day for you had found a clue to another mission: finding a flooded cave where some old artifacts were likely hidden by corsairs centuries ago. Your outfit consisted of a white shirt and plaid short skirt, white sneakers, and thigh-high black socks.

You were welcomed by Sam, who informed you that Nathan was away - younger Drake and Sully were apparently already heading to the cave. With hungry eyes, you surveyed Sam's features as he explained the next steps to you so eagerly. Despite his late 30s, Samuel Drake was tall and handsome, with a well-defined jawline and dark hair that was always messy but brushed back as neatly as possible. Another thing that turned you on to him was his eagerness for adventures. "Sam, may I ask you a question?" You interrupted him, your tone innocent and sweet.

He nodded, "Sure."

Your blunt question prompted you to walk closer to him, "When was the last time you were with a woman?"

He appeared to be blushing, suggesting that it had been a while for him, so you only smirked. "How would you react if I asked you to fuck me right now, right here?"

"Uhm," he started, his tone a little hesitant. Sam reached out to rub his nape, his eyes lowered as he looked at the floor of his little, messy room. "I don't think that's a good idea, Y/N," he said. "We're friends, though."

Your hips swung temptingly, just for him, as you got closer to him. "Don't be shy, Sam, I've seen you eat me with your eyes many times before."

Older Drake blushed harder. "Uhm, Y/N..."

Your eyebrows rose at him. He felt your hand running up his leg until you grasped at his cock through his pants after standing right by his side. You smirked at him, "Well, so we have a problem because I want your cock in me, Drake."

His eyes looked down at you; he could feel his brain handing the wheel over to his dick; he knew it was wrong - and risky - but right and wrong ceased to matter when you both wanted it, and this was what he sensed in you. Primal urges were taking over and convincing him that he had to mate, reproduce, above all else.

Sam breathed heavily, "I don't have any condoms."

Putting both of your hands on his belt, you unbuckled it, pulled it off, held it to the side, and dropped it. You didn't even look at him. "I don't fucking care, Drake."

After hearing his belt hit the ground, Sam acted; he couldn't take it anymore. Sam threw his morals aside and threw his face at yours; he grabbed you by the cheeks and slipped his tongue into your mouth, offering you a deep and passionate kiss.

Immediately, you began unbuttoning his shirt as he pushed your back towards the desk; you tripped over it and sent papers flying everywhere. Sam then grabbed your hips and lifted you up to the desk. After undoing the last button, his shirt parted, but he kept it on, unlike yours which he eagerly lifted over your head, exposing your big, young tits.

After lightly tickling your nipple with his tongue, Sam put your areola in his mouth, trying to engulf as much of it as possible, grunting as he did, sending vibes through your body.

"Yeah, just like that," you moaned. There was no doubt in my mind that you fucking wanted this, Drake."

It caused him to give you the longest, wettest kiss he'd ever experienced.

Your panty-clad cunt ached against the fabric of Sam's pants as you spread your legs and pulled him closer to you, licking his well-defined jawline.

Sam pulled your skirt a little up and yanked your panties down and off one leg so that they clung to your other thigh. He grunted in anticipation at the sight: you were completely shaven with large, puffy lips and a tiny, pink, glistening slit, and your skin around your mound was lighter - clearly highlighted by your tan lines. His zipper was pulled open, and he pulled out his hard, heavy cock; he rubbed it up and down your wet pussy until it was covered in your juices. Sam guided his eager dick with one hand while holding you with the other. As it went in, you both gasped in unison. His pleasure rushed over him as he entered the tightest, littlest, teenage twat that he'd ever experienced; Sam thrust his cock in and held your face with both hands; his head rested against yours as your lust-filled eyes met.

The cunt held Sam firmly, milking him with a vice-like grip while he slid his dick up and down against the bumpy, narrow walls. Each thrust was more blissful than the last, each thrust faster than the one before.

"Yeah, that's it," you moaned, rolling your head back, grasping at your boob with one hand. "Faster! Fuck me like you want to, Drake! Fuck me like I know you want to!"

While your tits bounced up and down, Sam pounded your sweet, little pussy into oblivion, causing you both to grunt and groan with each plunge. He was being pampered in every way: the taste of your sticky saliva on his tongue, the sight of your gorgeous, young body gleaming with sweat, the sound of your cute voice moaning, the intoxicating smell of your sweet musk, and most of all, the sensation of your tiny, young, wet cunt pulling on his throbbing cock. Sam grunted in a husky voice, "I'm gonna cum."

"It would be really hot if you came inside me," you panted, licking your lower lip.

A long, almost whiny groan escaped Sam's lips. "You shouldn't say things like that, doll."

You giggled mischievously, "Why not? You never cum in a girl before?"

That fucking last line sent him over the edge; suddenly he was cumming even faster and harder than he had expected. He held your hips and slowed his fast pounding to rhythmic thrusts that matched the waves of pleasure rolling over him as his cock throbbed and spasmed inside your womb - painting your pink walls white with warm, thick semen of his.

With one final thrust, Sam buried himself balls-deep inside of you until every last drop of hot, salty cum was out of him. Sam watched as thick, gooey ropes of sperm oozed out of your swollen, reddened cunt as he slowly pulled out. "Oh fuck," he exclaimed breathlessly. "I can't believe we did that."

Your coos were affectionate as you stroked Sam's cheek. "I won't tell anyone that you had me.”

[theewokingdead]

First Look - Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Fem!Reader Summary: It’s your wedding day and there are a few surprises in store for your husband-to-be, Frankie. Word count: 3k Rating: T Warnings: Fluff fest. Language. Benny doing Benny things. You and Frankie have a preschool-aged daughter. DILF Frankie deserves its own warning. No use of y/n. I know very little Spanish. A/N: Valentine’s Day on Morales Monday?! This calls for Frankie fluff! This started as a quick thought and somehow exploded (as my thoughts always do, apparently), and I hope you enjoy it. Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope this warms your heart and soul and has you yearning for our dear Frankie ❤️

Frankie is a nervous wreck, his heart pounding in a way that makes him fear it’ll rip through his chest and destroy his rental tuxedo. A culmination of all things led him right here, to this very moment – when he finally could see his beautiful bride. It’s been a long journey to get here. Frankie can easily navigate a helicopter through damn near any condition, under any amount of pressure – but navigating a relationship? That’s been a damn near impossible feat - one he couldn’t have done without you.

A bead of sweat falls down his forehead, but he pays no notice to it. He fidgets with the finger where the physical representation of your love will soon be placed while his mind runs a million miles a minute, thinking about what he'll say when he sees you; how beautiful you are, how excited he is to finally make you his wife. He’s also reminding himself to hold it together and not find a way to fuck up this moment, this day, because today is all about you, and for that reason alone, he wants everything to be perfect.

He doesn't understand why he’s so nervous. The two of you are already married in every respect except by law: you share a home, you share expenses, and you even share a daughter together. Most importantly, you share a deep love for one another. Even with all the struggles through the years – yours, his, both – your love has never faltered. You were there for him through the cocaine addiction, through the rehab, through the weeks you were home alone with a newborn worrying he was dead in some jungle in Colombia while on that stupid mission with Pope, and through the PTSD he experienced after he returned home. Your constant unwavering support amazes him, along with how fully capable you are to give him a swift kick him in the ass when he needs it – especially when he doesn’t realize he needs one.

What did I do to deserve you?

Dozens of memories of your relationship flood Frankie’s mind as he stands in the clearing of the forest. This place is special to you both, one that he introduced to you and brought you to countless times afterward - and one you brought him to when you knew he needed a breath of fresh air to help clear his mind. Many nights were spent here stargazing in the bed of his truck, flirting, giggling, and talking about the future. Not to mention the unmentionable things you’ve done in the privacy of the forest. It’s where your relationship grew – and was sometimes tested, considering the number of arguments and deep conversations you’ve also had here. Getting married here just made sense.

Frankie senses a figure approaching from behind, drawing him from his thoughts. He quickly changes his posture, but struggles to decide what to do with his hands. He settles on standing with them in front of him, his right hand clasping his left wrist. The photographer snaps away with her camera before pausing to offer instruction, but the words are muffled in his ears. All he can hear is his heartbeat, the pulsing seeming to build in intensity as the seconds tick by.

Finally, he feels a hand tap his shoulder and verbal permission to turn around to see his bride. Taking a deep breath, he turns around, and immediately locks onto a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Wait…those aren’t your eyes.

For a moment, Frankie questions whether he has somehow lost his mind somewhere in the chaos of the day. Had the heat finally gotten to him? He’s looking at a bride, but it sure as hell isn’t his bride. It’s not you. It’s not the warm smile that he’s accustomed to. Instead, it’s Benny Miller smiling brightly at him, wearing an old wedding gown and veil he picked up at the Goodwill when this plan was first formulated. His muscular arms look absolutely ridiculous in the strapless dress, his tattoo on his right shoulder on full display. A hint of chest hair peeks out of the loosely fitted sweetheart neckline.

Realizing what’s going on, Frankie doubles over in laughter, his hands on his knees to keep him from falling to the ground. Benny immediately follows, roaring as he throws his head back. Somewhere in the background, hidden amongst the trees, Will and Santi are howling with laughter, having held it in for so long while watching it all play out. Tears fill Frankie’s eyes, and when he finally is upright again, he flicks them away, feeling the stress of the day fly away with them.

As the laughter begins to die down, Benny grabs Frankie’s hands. Looking deeply in his eyes, he says breathlessly, “I love you. I love you, Francisco. Can I…Can I please make a baby with you?”

Frankie laughs one more, then pulls Benny into a hug, the two men enthusiastically patting one another on their backs as they embrace.

“Congratulations, man,” Benny bids, breaking from his charade long enough to express her feelings to one of his best friends. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, hermano…,” Frankie begins in sincerity. He pushes back to take a look at the man, then adds, “For whatever the fuck this is.”

Benny grabs Frankie’s face with his big hands and turns it to the side, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek, eliciting another big laugh from Frankie.

“Fuck you, pendejo,” Frankie jokes, lightly pushing him away.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Frankie, baby?” Benny teases. He pushes up on the bustline of the dress, which is hanging loosely from his lack of cleavage. Frankie pulls on the neckline, playfully looking down, causing the two other Delta members to whoop and holler in the background.

“Like what you see?” the blond man questions.

“You’re beautiful, baby!” Santi teasingly yells from across the way.

The photographer finally interjects. “Can we do a prom pose with the lovely bride?”

The two men immediately get into position, Frankie standing closely behind Benny, his hands wrapped around the younger man’s waist. Another laugh escapes Frankie’s lips, then he plants a kiss on Benny’s cheek, causing the man to chuckle as well.

“I can’t,” Benny wheezes, breaking away from Frankie. “I can feel your cock on my ass.”

“You know you like it,” Frankie jokes, slapping him on the ass before he’s out of reach.

“Oh!” Benny exclaims dramatically. “You dirty boy!”

“Get your ugly ass out of here,” Frankie commands in a playful tone, shooing him away. “And tell the other two to stop drinking until after the damn ceremony.”

"You can't tell us what to do, Morales," Will shouts.

“Fine! I’ll find someone who loves me for the way I am,” Benny responds, dramatically flipping the veil out of his face and over his shoulder before walking away

Frankie shakes his head, feigning disapproval while trying to contain his laughter, though the stupid grin on his face gives it away.

The photographer instructs him to return to his original position so they can move forward with the first look. He nods, moving to stand with his back toward the way you’d be coming from. Though he’s still anxious, he’s far less stressed than he was before. Gratitude overflows in his heart as he thinks about his friends and their willingness to do whatever it takes to ease tension. He is sure he chose the right people to stand next to him at the altar.

After patiently waiting for a couple minutes, the photographer finally says, “Alright. Turn around and take a look.”

Frankie’s confused at first, wondering why you hadn’t tapped his shoulder, as Benny had. He doesn’t question it though. Instead, he eagerly turns around. Once again, he doesn’t see you. In fact, he doesn’t immediately see anyone at all.

Hearing a little giggle, he drops his gaze and is met with a carbon copy of your eyes, though they don’t belong to you. Instead, they belong to your daughter, dressed in a flower girl dress, a flower crown on her head, dark curls flowing freely. She looks up at her father with a crooked smile.

“Hi, Daddy!” she exclaims.

“Mija!” Frankie cries, instantly dropping to her level, his arms outstretched for her. She happily runs to him.

“Hi, baby girl,” he says, holding her in a tight, warm embrace. He is in shock not just at the sight of her, but how beautifully she’s dressed, like a little lady. “You’re not who I was expecting!”

“Were you waiting for Mommy?” she questions, pulling back and standing with one of his arms still wrapped around her back.

“I was,” he responds, fussing with her dress, trying to fix where it had wrinkled. Then he adjusts the crooked crown on her head. “But I’m just as happy to see you.”

“Mommy’s so pretty!”

Frankie glows. He didn’t need his daughter’s word to know that you’re beautiful. “She’s always pretty.”

“But extra pretty today,” she emphasizes.

“Okay, mija,” he concedes. “I believe you, but I can’t wait to see for myself.”

Her little hands reach out and touch his jacket, feeling the fabric. She fiddles with one of the buttons. “Am I pretty, Daddy?” she questions.

The smile on Frankie’s face widens, revealing his dimple, watching while she examines his black tuxedo. “Beautiful.”

She looks up at him, then touches his freshly-groomed face, giggling as she feels the stubble on his jaw, which relaxes beneath her touch. “You’re pretty too.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Do you wanna see my shoes?” she questions, backing away and lifting up her dress before he can even answer, showing off her heeled dress shoes.

“Oh, wow!” Frankie theatrically gasps. “They’re so shiny.”

“They make me taller!” She raises her hands in the air and jumps for emphasis.

“They sure do, mija,” he responds. He gazes at her, his eyes shining with pride. How did he have a hand in creating something so wonderful? He credits you, mostly, but he knows if you were here, you’d assure him that he’s had just as much of a hand in forming her.

His pride quickly turns into sorrow as he realizes that one day she will grow up and no longer need him. His eyes swell with tears, listening as she rambles on about her shoes and dress. He quickly wipes away the tears before they can fall, but it didn’t prevent her from noticing.

“Daddy, are you crying?” she asks, looking concerned.

“I’m happy, mija. These are happy tears,” he assures her. “Promise me you won’t grow up too fast, okay? I'm afraid I'll blink and you’ll be a big girl. Then I’ll be walking you down the aisle.”

She gasps in shock. “I’ll get married too?”

“One day,” he says with a nod. “If you want to.”

“Who will I marry, Daddy?”

Frankie hates when he doesn’t have answers to her questions, but he knows that there are some things that just can’t be answered. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t know.”

“I wanna marry you!”

Frankie chuckles. “No, baby girl. I’m sorry…but I’m marrying Mama, and some day, when you’re big, you’ll fall in love with someone and marry them.”

The little girl crosses her arms across her chest and huffs, stamping a foot on the ground. “If I can’t marry you then I don’t wanna marry anybody.”

Frankie chuckles. “I won’t argue with that.” He reaches up and grabs her small, soft hands, caressing them with his large, calloused ones. “That doesn’t mean you won’t have my heart forever, mija. I promise you that no day will pass where you don't feel my love. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Daddy.”

He offers his daughter a comforting smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulls her to him and she wraps her arms around his neck. Holding her tightly, he closes his eyes, savoring the moment, wishing he could keep her there forever, to keep her little forever, and to protect her from all the things he’d endured in life.

“Mommy!”

The sudden shriek surprises Frankie, especially because she yelled right into his ear. He winces as he lets go, allowing her to run to what made her so happy: you.

“Hi sweetie,” you greet, bending at your knees to meet her.

“Mommy, you look like a princess!” she says, looking at you in awe.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “You do too.”

“I know! Daddy said I’m beautiful.”

You giggle. “He did, did he?”

She nods.

“Well, he’s right. Hey…” You quickly change the subject, knowing it’s time for her to go elsewhere while you get some private time with your future husband before the guests start to arrive. “I heard Uncle Benny is trying to sneak a piece of cake. You should go find him before he does.”

The girl audibly gasps, then turns and, after picking up her dress, runs off toward the large tent in the distance. “UNCLE BENNY!” she shouts. “NOOO! No cake!”

At first, you’re proud, thinking you sent her to stop Benny, knowing the little girl always wants to play police and catch bad guys in action. However, when she adds, “Not without me!” you start to question your decision. Those two are trouble together.

Oops.

Standing straight, watching the little girl run as fast as her little legs and heeled shoes can take her, you cannot help but laugh. She is perfect to you in every way; the perfect combination of you and Frankie.

Frankie…

You turn, a smile plastered on your face as you catch sight of him. He is still, standing with his feet glued to the ground, as if the mere sight of you had turned him to stone. Your heart leaps for joy the moment your eyes meet. He’s so handsome, and looking at you as if he had just seen the face of God.

What did I do to deserve him?

Biting your lower lip, you pick up your dress and slowly walk to him. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief that he’s seeing you. The moment you stop in front of him, he lets out a sob, then turns away and covers his mouth with a fist, trying to collect himself.

“Frankie, baby…,” you coo, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He lets out a tearful laugh after hearing the pet name. “I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve been called that today,” he snorts, putting his hands on his hips.

You chuckle, knowing what had transpired, having been in on the planning and watching it safely from afar. “Benny?”

“Benny,” he repeats, shaking his head once more. He inhales deeply and releases it, then finally turns to you. He looks at you with a warm glow in his eyes, tenderness radiating all over him. His eyes are dark and wet, but also warm and calming, like the cups of hot chocolate you've shared here so many times in the past.

“Dios mío…,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You giggle nervously. “Not the first time you've said that.”

“You look…” He swallows and furrows his brow, trying to find the right word, but none of them seem good enough. “Incredible,” he finally gets out.

“Really?” you question, never able to easily accept the compliments he so often showers you with.

“Really. Let me look at you.” He extends his hand, which you accept, then he raises your arm and you give him a twirl, allowing him to see you from every angle. After your spin, he pulls you close to him. You let go of him and place both of your hands on his chest while his own fall to your hips.

“Preciosa,” he softly murmurs. Gorgeous.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Can I?” he questions.

You giggle once more, thinking he’s asking permission like some awkward teenage boy at a middle school dance. “It’s not against the rules to kiss me before the wedding. I mean, we’ve done far worse things here.”

The heat instantly rises in his cheeks. A chuckle escapes his lips as he looks down for a moment, before looking at you once more. “I just mean…I don’t want to ruin your makeup.”

“When has that ever been a problem?” you ask.

“You’re not a bride every day,” he insists.

“Frankie…,” you sigh, dramatically rolling your eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds.

He immediately acquiesces, and as soon as your lips meet, everyone and everything melts away; it’s just the two of you. All you know is the kiss; all you feel is his lips pressing into yours.

You’re unsure how long your lips stay locked, but when you break, he lays his forehead against yours. The two of you stand there with your eyes closed, enjoying the presence of one another.

“It’s not too late if you want to back out,” Frankie jests, causing you to chuckle.

You open your eyes, looking up at him with all the love and adoration you can offer. “Sorry, Morales, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. Want me to prove it?” you question.

His cocked eyebrow implies he is internally wondering what you are up to. He smiles coyly, then says, “Alright. Prove it.”

The lips of your mouth curl into a sly smile as you gently push yourself off him. He puts his hands on his hips as he watches you back a couple steps away from him. You then extend your hand to him and say, “I’ll marry you. Right now.”

He looks from your hand to the ground, a chuckle escaping his lips. After a moment, he looks up at you, a bright smile on his face, one that reaches all the way to his eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle. It’s one you’ve seen several times before: when you first agreed to go on a date with him, when you accepted his proposal, when you told him he was going to be a father, and when your daughter entered the world months later. It was filled with love, radiating happiness from deep in his heart’s core, the glow of it warming your own body and soul.

Without hesitation, he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Alright. Let’s go get married.”

[sweet-seishu]

i told you not to come back

baji keisuke x reader (past), seishu inui x reader (present)

warnings: angst, fluff if u squint, i kinda made baji an ass, bad writing and editing.

a/n: when i tell you that this has been in my drafts for MONTHS, time for me to clean them out. this is honestly really bad but oh well

Five years.

Five years since Baji Keisuke left you crying at your door.

You stood at your door, staring wide eyed at Baji. "What did you just say?"

"I think we need to break up." He said, looking into your eyes.

"Wha- why?" You asked. The promise ring he had given you felt like it was starting to burn.

"I have an opportunity for a job, and I want to take it." He told you. "Long distance won't work for us."

"Can't I come with you? We've been together for 6 years Baji, don't you think it's time we-"

"I think this will be a good opportunity for us to branch out, maybe meet new people." He completely cut you off, anger starting to flood your body.

"Meet new people-" You asked. "Baji what the fuck."

"We've been together since we were 15, only ever knowing how to be with eachother y/n. Don't you wanna try new things?" He asked.

"Why the fuck would I want that when I have you!? What was this stupid ring for then?!" You yelled, flashing the promise ring he gave you in his face.

"Y/n, just try to understand what I'm trying to say. I do lo-"

"Oh fuck you." You scoffed taking the ring off. "Don't worry I get it. So here, take this meaningless piece of shit metal, and go."

"I love you, you know that." Baji pleaded, the ring weighing down his hand. "I don't want it to end like this."

"You did this Baji!" You yelled. "You're throwing away 6 years, you, not me. So go. You obviously didn’t love me as much as I thought you did."

Baji looked down to his feet, wanting to say something, but instead he started walking away as you went to shut your front door.

"Baji." You said, making him pause. He looked back to you, with hope in his eyes. Hope that you wouldn't hate him forever. "Do me a favor."

"Anything." He said quickly.

"Don't come back." You spat before letting the door click shut. You slid down, the tears you were holding back finally falling from your eyes.

You could hardly believe that was five years ago. Hell you could barely believe you were even thinking about it.

You were now 26 nearing 27, you were engaged, working as a veterinarian. You had done good for yourself, you were actually happy.

What you weren't happy about in this momennt however was the fact that you were getting ready for a little get together at Mikey’s. Apparently everyone was back in town, and he made it mandatory for you all to be there.

It was casual, nothing fancy, just some drinks with good friends. But you still dreaded it.

Since you knew he was going to be there. You had heard from Hina that Baji was back in town, and you did all you could to not see him.

But no god was on your side for this.

"Babe, you almost ready?" You heard your fiance call. His footsteps were making his way toward you as you sat on the bed, questioning whether or not you really need to go.

"Do we have to go?" You looked up, your fiance dressed in jeans and a black shirt and his blonde hair was left down, covering some of the scar that covered his left eye.

"Come on it won't be that bad." He told you as he walked up to you, cradling your face in his hands. "You know Mikey would be upset if we didn't show."

You wrapped your arms around him, letting your face rest on his stomach while he moved to run his fingers through your hair.

"But he's going to be there." You groaned. "I don't want to see him seishu...."

"Hey, it will be okay. You have me, and of course everyone else will be there, you won't even need to talk to him." Inui assured you. "It's been a long time since you guys broke it off, it's nothing to worry about I promise."

You looked up at him with a pout making him chuckle. He looked at you softly before attaching his lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

"Can't we just stay here? Have our own fun..." You said softly, going to play with the hem of his jeans.

Inui chuckled, gently moving your hand away. "Nice try love, but no."

You groaned again, getting off the bed, your hand in Inui's as you made your way out of your apartment.

You could do this, it would be fine.

•••••

As you walked into Mikey's place you couldn't help but smile. It was actually nice to see everyone together.

And you didn't see Baji, which was a plus.

"Well if it isn't y/n!" You heard Mikey yell. "Finally showing up to a gathering!"

"Shut it!" You laughed, making your way over to the kitchen.

Inui grabbed you both a beer before you both went to sit, finding a spot beside Chifuyu and Kazutora. You let Inui sit first before you sat on his lap, his arm going around you to hold you closer.

Mikey and Takemitchi came over to where you both sat. Mikey gave you a pat on the head before starting a conversation with Inui and Takemitchi.

"Well we haven't seen you in forever." Chifuyu smiled.

"No kidding, where have you been?" Kazutora asked. "We miss you yenno."

Your heart sunk a little. Chifuyu and Kazutora were some of your closest friends, and you hadn't seen or talked to them in a really long time.

But that was only because you didn't want to hear about Baji.

"I'm sorry guys, finishing school, wedding planning, helping Inui with the shop from time to time.. I just got busy." You told them, a sad smile on your face.

"Hey it's okay!" Chifuyu smiled. "We're not mad."

"Just stop being a stranger." Kazutora chuckled.

"Okay." You told them, clinking your beer bottle against theirs. "Now tell me what's been going on with you guys."

They were telling you about their petshop they owned together, telling you about it's success, which had you smiling brightly. You were happy to hear that that were doing so well.

You were so engrossed in the conversation you didn't even notice the door open, but the minute you heard his voice you stiffened, Inui tightening his hold on you.

"You okay y/n?" Kazutora asked.

"I'm okay." You smiled. "Baby, I'm going to the kitchen for another drink, you need one?"

"Im okay right now, but do you want me to go with you?"

You smiled at your fiance, leaning down to peck his lips. "I'm okay, he walked in the other direction to go talk to pah." You whispered.

Inui nodded, pecking your lips one more time before you stood up, informing all the boys you would be right back.

You walked to the kitchen, saying hi to everyone on the way. As you walked to the fridge you kept an eye out, hoping Baji wouldn't see you.

But again, no god seemed to be on your side.

When you closed the fridge and turned around, he was right there, staring down at you.

He cut his hair shorter, and his facial features were more defined. He even looked more muscular.

You had to admit, he did look good, but it change the fact that you didn't want to see him.

"Y/n, hey." He said after a bit. You only scoffed, walking away.

You needed to get out of there. You needed air as you felt your heart race and body get warm.

You made your way to Inui, who had moved to talk with Draken. He looked at you when he felt your hand on his arm, and he could immediately tell that something was wrong, feeling your hand shake slightly while you held his wrist.

"You okay?" He asked softly, nothing but concern for you in his eyes.

"I'm just going to go outside for a minute." You told him. "I'll be right back okay?"

He only nodded, kissing your forehead softly before he let you go. His fists clenched at his sides when he saw Baji follow you out, but he knew you could handle it.

You heard his footsteps behind you, you knew this would happen.

That's why you didn't want to come in the first place.

"Y/n can we please just talk?" Baji asked, placing his hand on your shoulder making you jerk away from him.

"I have nothing to say to you Baji." You told him.

"Then can you at least listen?"

"Why should I?" You asked. "I really don't want to hear anything you have to say." You began to make your way back into the house, not wanting to be around him before his words stopped you.

"I left because I was scared okay?"

"Excuse me?" You asked.

"I was scared, scared of the future, scared of moving forward with you."

You just stood there, staring at him. "What the hell are you on about Baji?"

"I didn't-" Baji took a breath. "I didn't think I was ready, we were 21, you were still in school, part of me felt like we were still 15 year old kids who just confessed. Getting that job offer, I wanted you to come with me, I really did, but fuck I just couldn't do it."

"So, instead of talking to me about it, you just broke up with me?" You asked. "Just decided to fuck off and leave?"

"I was an idiot. I know I hurt yo-"

"Hurt me?" You scoffed. "Baji you completely shattered me."

Baji didn't know what to say, so you continued.

"Do you know how many nights I spent crying over you? Baji I could barely leave my own apartment cause I was so depressed. I felt like nothing mattered, I felt so worthless, like I didn't matter to anyone. I couldn't even really talk to anyone because I knew they would talk about you."

"I- y/n I'm so sorry I didn't-"

"It took me a long time to heal, and then you come back, and all this anxiety just completely resurfaces." You told him. "Why did you come back?"

"I came back for you. I know it's been a long time, and I know I don't deserve it, but if you would just let me show you-"

"I'm getting married in 2 months Baji." You said, making his heart sink. "Inui and I, we're happy."

"Inui?" He asked in disbelief.

He knew you two were always close friends, but he never knew it would come to this.

"Yes Inui. The only person I actually would talk to, the one who held me every night while I cried over you, the one who never left my side even though I kept telling him to. He's the one who pieced back together the heart that you shattered."

You nearly smiled to yourself, thinking about how you and inui got to where you were now. The nights he spent with you, letting you cry into his shirt as he softly rubbed up and down your back. The way he refused to leave you alone until he knew you would be okay, and the way you both looked into eachothers eyes one day, just knowing your relationship was so much more than just friendship.

Baji didn't have any words. You were engaged, to Inui.

This was news to him, and he couldn't help but wonder why no one told him.

Is this how you felt when he hurt you? Did your heart feel this heavy when he left? He felt like he couldn't breathe.

"Baji remember when I told you not to come back?" You asked.

He could only nod.

"I wish you would have listened."

And with that you walked back into the house, straight to Inui who immediately took you into his embrace. You felt all your anxiety melt away, letting his warmth bring you comfort.

Baji could only watch with a broken heart, the regret weighing down on him as he watched you smile at Inui.

He realized he would never make you smile like that again, never feel your arms around him again.

He realized that he lost you.

And he wouldn't get you back.

[masterxmunson]

I was lost in thoughts of Steve and our life when I felt his presence. I looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe, so sexy and effortlessly. As soon as I acknowledged him, he was walking toward me. I met him in the middle, my guitar lost from my thoughts as his lips met mine sweetly.

So sweet and yet my heart was already racing.

I leaned my forehead into his, relishing the rush I got being near him like the flood it was.

"Practice was good. As usual. Everyone's so fucking pumped." I smiled as I pulled away. "Where did you disappear to?" I asked him, biting down on my bottom lip as I studied everything I loved about his face for the millionth time.

“Oh, just running the last-minute errands and rounding up Henderson and Robin. I meant to be here when you got home.”

I hummed, my fingers disappearing in the end of his hair, playing through the strands. "It's okay," I breathed, my eyebrows lifting teasingly in his direction. "I'll forgive you this time."

“Thank you,” his said quietly, his eyelashes fluttering. “The nerds are in the car waiting.”

"I'm right here though," I said, my palm flying to my chest as I looked around. Then I laughed and turned him around, smacking his ass playfully. "Let's get out there, I guess."

Steve's laugh carried throughout the house. It was beautiful, much like him.

Wayne let us know he would meet us there, and then we piled into Steve's car. I fell into the passenger seat and grinned back at Robin and Dustin. "Fellow nerds," I said nodding my head at them.

We made the trip to Hopper and Joyce's place, arriving early. Steve always arrived early. I liked that about him, even though it drove him crazy that I was always late. Opposites but made for each other.

Joyce greeted us at the door, and I hung back behind Steve as she let us all in. I was a little nervous to tell these two very important people to the kids that Steve and I were committed to each other. It was probably more apparent than I thought. Why would we be leaving together? Did El and Will already tell them? Mike? He didn't really think before he spoke most of the time.

I hadn't spend a lot of time with the two present adults, but I heard stories about how badass they were all the time. I believed it. The energy they gave off was so fucking metal. Even as Joyce pulled Will too tight against her and Hopper ruffled Mike's head aggressively, the dynamic so family-like and sweet, I could see the past etched into their skin.

Probably much like it was etched in mine and Steve's.

All the congratulations had my skin hot and most likely very red. I didn't know how to handle all the positive energy given to me, about me. It was much different than the reactions people gave me before Chrissy. Before the upside down. I guess even during that.

Nancy showed up with the rest of the kids, and I realized we were going to be telling all three of them at the same time. What if Mike ran his mouth to her already too? Was there any point in announcing it?

The final few trickled in, Wayne right behind them. I gave him a smile as he moved to hang with the parents. I bet that was weird for him, to be involved in that way.

After all the hellos and hugs were done, I grabbed a glass a tapped on it with my ring. "Ladies and gents," I started, clearing my voice. "Just wanted to thank everyone for giving us a warm farewell." I grabbed Steve's waist and pulled him close, holding him with my hand on his hip. I looked over to him, finding the courage in his honey-brown eyes before I looked to everyone, their eyes on us. "If it weren't for Steve, I wouldn't be going on my first tour. Hell, I wouldn't be standing here in front of you all."

I took in a shaky breath. "Stevie and I are taking our first adventure together. While we can't share our love with everyone, we are thankful we can be ourselves with all of you. He's my person. I was just waiting for him to realize it..."

I Was Made For Loving You | Steve & Eddie

The last three weeks had flown by. Michael got us on tour and had us practicing non-stop. I was thankful for our discipline before the contract or that would have sucked. We had always been pretty good about committing to CC.

What did suck? Being away from Steve.

He had picked up extra shifts to pass the time, getting himself more money for our time away? I wasn't sure exactly. I thought about him non-stop. I was thankful Michael was cool with him being with us. I wouldn't have stood for anything less than Steve touring too.

I didn't want to think about the struggles of the last few weeks tonight. Instead, Robin and the kids were throwing us a going away party. People who didn't know we were together were finding out tonight: Joyce, Hopper, and Nancy.

I walked through the front door, looking for Steve. "Sweetheart, I'm home." I sat my keys on the counter where an envelope sat with Wayne's name on it. It was Steve's handwriting. I picked it up out of curiosity to see cash visible from the opening. The corner of a small note peeked out. I pulled it up and read: for rent.

My love for Steve blossomed wider. Was that even possible? I sat it back down, my face hot with admiration and something else. Arousal? Man.. the things this man did to me.

"Steve?" I called out again.

"He's not here, kid," my uncle's crumbly voice said, startling me.

I grabbed my chest dramatically before shaking it off. "Sorry if I woke you. I thought you'd already be gone for work."

He looked well-rested. It was nice to see him like this. Since we were given this house, things had been better. He was better. Happier. I liked seeing him less stressed. He deserved it for all the shit he went through.

"You thought I would miss the party tonight?"

I grinned, the act slow at first until it made my cheeks ache. I took. a step towards him and wrapped him in a bear hug. He laughed and hugged me back. "Alright, kid. That's enough," he laughed.

I never stopped smiling. Even as I sat in my room, fully dressed for our party and waiting for my boyfriend with my guitar on my lap. I was feeling so inspired, writing song after song for Stevie. I was strumming one of those now, singing softly as I vibed in my space. I wouldn't be here much longer, and I wanted to enjoy the memories I had in it. Before everything changed.

[marvelslut16]

The one with two Pietro’s

Pairing: Pietro x reader, Wandavision!Pietro (Peter Maximoff) x reader FORCED 

Synopsis: you find yourself in Westview living with Wanda, Vision, the boys, and your boyfriend Pietro. But happens when you start to remember your Pietro and figure out what Wanda’s doing to you and everyone else? 

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Swearing I think. Angst. Fluff if you squint. Mind control. Forced relationship. Briefly mentions the idea of a forced magical pregnancy. Bullet wounds. Death. Grief I suppose. Mentions pmsing. The over use of italics. Kinda feel like I make Wanda a psychotic asshole. SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION!

A/N: This was so much fun to write! Probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, if you can really call it dark. Writing for Wandavision was a fun little challenge. Takes place in the 90′s so my title is a reference to friends, and so is a tv show character I use in the one shot. Pretend Evan Peters’ hair isn’t that blonde cause I will always see him with the silver he has in xmen and wrote him as such. 

"Vision, that's not my Pietro," you mutter in horror to your friend as the two of you stand in the kitchen. 

You’re not quite sure what makes you say it, but you’re glad you do when you glance at the new Pietro in the living room, he's been playing video games with Tommy and Billy for close to an hour now. He's sweet and funny, but he's just not your Pietro.

"I'm afraid not, (Y/N)," Vision's voice is sullen, but he's glad you're not in on Wanda's mind games. Unless you are, and this is just another way for Wanda to mess with him. He’s not quite sure what’s happening, but he knows from what you’ve reminisced in passing to him about Pietro on nights when Wanda isn’t in the room, that that’s not the Pietro you know and love. 

"Oh my god," you murmur, hand coming to your mouth as little bits and pieces of memories race through your head. The genuine pain, horror, and sadness that cross your face make it obvious to Vision you're being manipulated like everyone else, even if you are Wanda's oldest friend. "My Pietro, he had an accent."

Your knees buckle when you hear his native accent saying his catchphrase in your head, 'you didn't see that coming.' Vision rushes to your side to help you stand more firmly.

"His face was longer, hair a white blonde not silver, his body more toned, and he had gorgeous blue eyes- bluest eyes I've ever seen," you grip onto Vision's arms as you imagine moments with your Pietro.

You grew up in the cell beside his and Wanda's, immediately forming a sisterly connection with her at a young age while Pietro hated you. He would tease you, pull on your pigtails, and steal some of your food on the off chance you three were eating outside of your cells. Over the years the teasing turned to flirting, and your dislike for him turned into a huge crush.

One night-a night you can normally remember with full clarity- after Hydra fell and before Ultron, the two of you were out on a walk, much to Pietro's chagrin. You were telling him about this new book that you were reading and how the characters annoyed you so because they were obviously in love but wouldn't admit it. Pietro zoomed in front of you, causing you to smack into his chest and almost fall to the ground, you would have if not for Pietro's arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you close to his toned chest.

The wind was blowing his hair into his eyes ever so slightly, so without thinking you reached up to move it out of his face and away from his eye. The small act of tenderness that you had displayed caused Pietro to give into his desires, he leaned in and his wind chapped lips descended onto yours. You melted into the kiss, clinging tightly to his biceps to ground you. One of his hands slipped down from your waist to squeeze your ass, the other wrapped more tightly around your waist and kept you anchored to him.

"I love you, Printesa, I have since we were kids," he admits when you pull apart for air, leaning his forehead on yours.

"I love you too, Quicksilver," you use the superhero nickname he gave himself when you were twelve. He grins before attaching his lips to yours once more, it was an unforgettable kiss that filled you with warmth and hope for your future.

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Vision's voice brings you back to reality, or whatever this is.

"No," your voice cracks as you remember the last kiss Pietro planted on your lips, right before he protected Clint. The memory that still haunts your dreams, seeing him with all those bullet holes and knowing there was nothing you could do to save him. "What kind of person forgets the love of their life? I'm a terrible person Vis!"

"No you aren't (Y/N)," the sincerity in Vision's voice makes you really believe him. "Wanda's doing this, she didn't want you to remember."

You gasp as another memory floods your mind. You had agreed to go on a road trip with Wanda after being resurrected from Bruce's snap and defeating Thanos. You both wanted a break, or so you thought.

Wanda had stopped right when you had passed the entrance into Westview, she claimed to be checking her directions when you asked why she had stopped in the middle of nowhere. And no matter how weird it was that she chose to stop at the border to the town and not at a gas station, you believed your best friend and sister in law because she had no reason to lie to you.

A moment later her eyes and hands were glowing red as she touched your temple. She pushed all your memories behind a wall in your brain, then filled your head with memories of a happy life with her and Vision in Westview.

She did it again when 'Pietro' showed up on your guy’s doorstep, this time filling your head with memories of him. Memories of a different first kiss, but an eerily similar first date to the one you and your Pietro had. It makes sense to you now, you and Pietro had never told Wanda the real story of your first kiss, instead telling her you had it weeks later on your first date. You had tried to keep your relationship a secret for a little because you didn't want to make it awkward for Wanda if it didn't work out.

Another thing she didn't add was your engagement and subsequent marriage to her brother. In this reality you and 'Pietro' are just dating. You have to assume that it's because it happened weeks before the battle against Ultron and she doesn't want to remember anything that close to her brother's death.

The thing about the new Pietro is that he seems to rub Wanda the wrong way, something your Pietro never did. He makes comments that you know yours would never, and Wanda always tenses up near him. This Pietro likes to show you off more than yours did, which is saying a lot because your’s used to cling to your side, praise you, and show you off in town when girls would flirt with him. Every time this Pietro kisses you it doesn’t feel right, it’s nowhere near the earth shattering kisses that you had somehow managed to remember from the deep parts of your brain. 

"My ring," you shudder in horror when you realize the diamond ring that your Pietro stole from the jeweler in Sokovia is no longer sitting delicately on your left ring finger like it was before entering Westview. You hastily search your body for your most prized possession, sighing in relief when you find it hanging from a simple silver chain around your neck.

"(Y/N)," Vision says gently, resting a hand on your shoulder, it’s one of the few times he doesn’t know what to say. 

"He's dead," you cry, knees buckling under your weight again. This time you catch yourself on the kitchen table, before sinking in the seat to your right.

"Who's dead?" Wanda appears in the doorway out of nowhere. She has an innocent, concerned expression on her face, but the tilt of her head tells you she'll come take your memories away again if you slip up in the slightest.

"Dr. Drake Ramoray on Days Of Our Lives, the soap opera I was watching this afternoon when you and the boys were out. He fell down the elevator shaft, and I'm apparently taking it harder than I thought I would. I must be pmsing or something."

"Or maybe you're pregnant," there's a red glint in her eyes that scares you to no end.

"Oh," you swallow the lump in your throat, and hold back the bile rising up your throat from anxiety. "I don't think so, I'm not ready to be a mother yet."

"It would be so fun though," 'Pietro' zooms behind your seat, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek. "Little mini me's and you's running around the house with Billy and Tommy."

"I think two super human children are enough for the house right now," you let out an uncomfortable giggle. You and Vision side eye each other, both very aware that you'll probably be as pregnant as Wanda was a few days ago within the week.

[the-scandalorian]

Intrasolar

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M Word Count: 5.8k Warnings: ANGST and SPICE and FLUFF, canon-typical violence, nonexplicit sex, cursing, nongraphic descriptions of injuries, grief, nightmares, references to drowning/death in the context of nightmares, alcohol consumption Summary: This is the sequel to Extrasolar. You'll definitely want to read that part first! Author Notes: Parts of this are from Din’s perspective (third person) and parts are from yours (second person).

You did a double take the first time you saw him, whipping your head back to watch him run a hand through his slightly unkempt hair.

You’d never seen him before. He was probably passing through the small coastal town like most people who wandered into the cantina, and he was ruggedly, strikingly handsome. You turned your attention back to the stack of credits you were sorting into the register before he noticed your staring. Your first thought was that he looked familiar, but that wasn’t quite right. He felt familiar? Did that make sense? You shook your head to banish the thought and refocused on the task at hand.

He wasn’t seated in your section, so you wouldn’t be serving him anyway.

Like every other day, you settled easily into the flow of work, welcoming the comfort of tunnel vision. Things were always busy enough at the cantina to require all of your attention, which conveniently prevented you from ruminating on things you couldn’t change.

There was one thing—or more accurately, one someone—in particular you were trying not to think about. You’d been trying not to think about him for over a year now.

Losing him had left you in pieces, a thousand jagged pieces that would never fit back together in quite the same way. So here you were—still you, but different.

Immediately after, to distract yourself from the pain, you had taken some non-Guild work only to find that everything you’d enjoyed about hunting had been warped into vile, unbearable feelings. The thrill of the adrenaline rush was poisoned into anxiety, which clouded your judgment and hindered your ability to think on your feet. The satisfaction of outsmarting a quarry was corrupted into the deep-seated guilt of betrayal and the fear of potentially dooming an innocent person to capture.

Your world of black and white had been painted shades of metallic gray, swallowed whole by the silver sheen of beskar.

So, you did what you had to do—you dismantled your life and built something new, something simple and monotone and self-contained. You removed yourself from the swirling chaos of the galaxy and planted your feet firmly on the ground. You fortified your heart against any potential entanglements by settling in a quiet place, keeping to yourself, and abandoning your old profession. Now, you were an actual waitress, not a bounty hunter who occasionally played the role of waitress to ensnare an unsuspecting quarry.

Do your job. Keep your head down. Go home.

That was your mantra.

An hour later, when you hung your apron on the peg behind the bar and turned to leave, you saw that the man was still seated. His eyes met yours, and with an unexpected wave of panic, you felt pinned, trapped by the spotlight of his gaze. You were only able to turn away when someone in the kitchen dropped a dish, the loud crash breaking the paralyzing spell. You hurried toward the exit, and in your periphery, you could tell his gaze followed you. You realized why he felt familiar: his unwavering stare and something about his posture and the mechanical swivel of his neck reminded you of him.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you stepped into the comfortably warm air of the evening and directed your feet toward home. You savored the ritual of your daily walk, taking the well-worn path bordered by a dense coniferous forest on one side and the shore on the other.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence.

At least weekly, something would remind you of him—someone laying a hand on your lower back, a gravelly voice, a Mandalorian in green armor, the pressure of a chilly window pane on your forehead, a set of especially nice shoulders...the list was endless. A memory would sink its eager claws into your throat and yank you back in time. You’d blink and be sitting at a table with him once again, holding the child on your lap, looking into the black expanse of his glass visor. You could feel the cold of his beskar under your fingers, smell his scent—metallic, warm, alluring. The memories were unlike any others you had: they were visceral, tangible.

In the beginning, these moments knocked you on your ass. When you’d stumbled and a customer wearing soft leather gloves had steadied you, you'd wrenched yourself away, unable to stand the familiar texture gripping your arms so tightly. You had to awkwardly excuse yourself and rush out the back door to take gulps of fresh air to soothe your thumping heart.

Those first few months, when the gaping wound of grief was still so raw, were brutal.

Frustratingly, these instances of heartbreak faded in intensity and frequency much more slowly than you had hoped. Here, over a year later, the hurt was the same—apparently, it would take years to build immunity to this type of pain—but you had, at least, learned how to withstand the pain discreetly. Now, you were conditioned to take it in stride.

You wove your way through the scrubby dunes, leaving the path that edged the forest to strike out on the direct route to your little house. The sound of relentless ocean waves was a grounding metronome in the back of your mind.

The grief wasn’t avoidable, but you could numb it for a while—postpone it to give yourself a break. Over time, you'd identified the things that could occupy your mind enough to offer some relief: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

And, thus, you had perfected a foolproof daily routine: work, the ocean, fucking, whiskey, sleep.

You stepped onto your creaking porch and unlocked the front door. As always, you immediately went to your room to change. With a towel in hand, you walked back out your door and across the wide expanse of sand to the edge of the sea. For almost an hour, you lost yourself in the refreshing salt water, swimming laps between two rock structures that breached the surface, staying out past the tumult of the breaking swells. It was cold enough and strenuous enough that all you could do was focus on one stroke and then the next, propelling your aching body forward.

The sun was starting to set when you emerged, breathless and exhausted, and you returned home, your damp feet sinking into the rapidly cooling sand. Like clockwork, your neighbor was there, sitting on your porch—ready to commence the third act of your routine. He lived a couple houses down, and you had the perfect arrangement for both of you: regular sex without any obligation. He was beautiful, kind, uncomplicated.

When he fucked you, your mind went blank: it was like falling into white noise. You let it swallow you, let it sweep you away—because, in that nothingness, your thoughts had no surface on which to ricochet, so instead of echoing incessantly as they usually did, they faded away. It was blissful static.

Today, though, a thought found purchase. Unbidden, an image formed behind your eyelids—an unfaltering picture of that man with the overpowering gaze. It crowded your mind, and your eyes flew open, your breath shallow. You did your best to focus on the feeling of the man pressed against you, the silky sheets fisted in your hands, the slow tension building in your body.

It was futile.

You felt claustrophobic in your own head.

You gently extracted yourself from his embrace, mumbling that you had a headache. He was understanding and thoughtful, bringing you a glass of water and a pain pill before slipping out the front door to let you rest.

You ignored the pill and poured yourself whiskey instead—a more generous serving than normal in hopes of flooding the image out of your mind. When that didn’t work, you commenced the final stage of your routine early. You tossed and turned in bed, frustrated that there had been a breakdown in your system. This wasn’t supposed to happen: these five things were supposed to provide uniform reprieve every day. You tried not to agonize over it. Tomorrow would prove that this was a fluke, an anomaly, nothing more.

Eventually, you fell into a fitful sleep.

You woke early the next morning to a loud knock. Head fuzzy with sleep, you stumbled out of bed, clutching the blanket around your shoulders, and cracked the door.

It was the stranger from yesterday.

He had brown hair that needed a trim, patchy stubble along his jaw, and one of the most handsome faces you’d ever seen. His eyes were an inviting brown; they spoke of warm embraces and safety and home.

And when he smiled—

When he smiled shyly, his cheek dimpled, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. You wanted to hold him.

You opened the door all the way.

You looked at him, and all you could think was that he was both the person you wanted to rail you with absolutely no mercy and the person you wanted to hold you when you cried.

Your grip slackened involuntarily, and the blanket slipped off your shoulders and onto the floor, pooling around your feet.

On some level, you already knew, but you were still surprised when he spoke your name and reached a hand out toward you. You took a reflexive step backward, ankle catching on the blanket, flinching away from his touch. Even without the distortion of the modulator, you’d know that voice anywhere.

“Mando—”

***

two months earlier, Nevarro

The Jedi came for the kid, and Din immediately felt disoriented without him: untethered, adrift. Over the last year and a half, everything important to him had been stripped away, and now, empty-handed, he was forced to appreciate the magnitude of what he had lost.

To cope, this new grief was shunted into the shadowy recesses of his heart to keep his existing grief—for his parents, for his tribe, for his identity, for her—company.

He told himself that work was what he needed—routine and familiarity. He could slip back into what he’d once known, back when his life had revolved solely around a job; he would recapture the focus and tireless, single-minded resolve that he’d relied on for so long. He returned to Nevarro and took the hardest jobs Karga had to offer.

Din had never told Karga what his deception had cost him—how a simple lie had completely rearranged his universe. The first time he saw Karga after he lost her, he had been legitimately tempted to kill him (fuck, it would have been so easy), but he’d been desperate for help taking down the Imp. So, Din had locked away those feelings—his longing and anger and grief shut safely behind iron bars in his heart—to prioritize the safety of the kid. And even now that the kid was with his people, Din was afraid to tap into that rage and hurt, terrified that he’d unleash something wild, a destructive force that would overpower him.

Besides, Karga was a means to an end, nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know. And so, Din guarded the story jealously. He didn’t even tell Cara when she prodded gently.

Evidently, however, in the wake of losing the kid, Din’s heart was at capacity, and bounty hunting was not a compelling enough distraction from the clamoring of so much grief unacknowledged. On jobs, he was inefficient and reckless, making rookie mistakes he hadn’t struggled with in decades. He felt none of his old drive. What was he doing this for? What was the point? He’d always had a guiding star, a direction, a mainstay, a why. Not anymore.

Din was desperate to feel grounded; he yearned for the reassuring sanctuary of gravity, but everything large enough to hold him down was gone. So he was left to wander aimlessly and alone.

Several weeks into his failing plan, Din limped up the ramp of his new ship and hoisted an unconscious body into the carbonite chamber before collapsing onto the floor. He’d been careless. The quarry had managed to outfox him at every turn, prolonging what should have been a two-day job into a two-week struggle. In the end, Din had caught him, but not before he’d pursued him across miles of unforgiving desert and been stabbed twice.

He was in pain, exhausted... and despite the fact that he’d captured the bounty, he felt utterly defeated. The thrill of eluding danger and the rush of pride that used to accompany the successful completion of a job were absent. He hadn’t felt those things in months.

He lay there on the floor of the hull, chest heaving. Without lifting his head, he closed the ramp and initiated the ground security protocols with his vambrace. He knew he should get up. The wounds on his side and his thigh were slowly leaking blood, and he needed to tend to them right away. His body required water and food, then sleep.

Any minute, he’d get up and grab his medkit.

Any minute.

Instead, Din thought about the things he had lost.

There were the inanimate things, the loss of which shouldn’t weigh on his soul the way they did, but when almost everything in his life was transient, the few things that were enduring became significant, whether he liked it or not. He thought about his Amban Rifle—a reliable companion in his solitary existence. There was an endless list of threats that rifle had saved him from: a Ravinak, quarries, hunters, raiders, an AT-ST, troopers, a kriffing Krayt Dragon. On an almost daily basis, he found himself reflexively reaching over his shoulder for it, only to close his hand around the cold beskar spear.

And there was the Razor Crest, the closest thing he’d had to a home for decades. It had been as integral to his sense of self as his armor, something he didn’t realize until it was gone. He hated every inch of this new, unfamiliar ship. It held no memories, and memories were the only source of warmth that made a real difference to him in the unforgiving chill of space. In the Crest, he could picture the kid, and her, and even Cara and Kuill; he knew where they fit. In this ship, there were only blank silver expanses.

Then, there were the people he'd lost.

Din thought about his tribe, the haunting image of a pile of empty beskar shells flitting through his mind. In the past, his duty had sometimes felt like a burden—the responsibility to provide for so many resting on his shoulders alone—but now, he realized it had been his backbone. Without it, everything crumbled. What felt like chains holding him down had, in reality, been scaffolding, maintaining every bit of his integrity.

He knew it was time to look for what remained of his covert, but he could barely bring himself to think about it, let alone do anything. What happened if he searched and found no one? The prospect of seeking out the splintered fragments only to find that none survived was even harder to fathom than leaving it unknown. If he didn’t search, there was always the possibility that they were out there. He was being a coward in the name of preserving what little hope he had left. It was selfish.

But... that wasn’t the only reason he delayed.

Din thought about his lost identity, his broken Creed. Did he even have the right to seek out his tribe when he was no longer one of them, no longer a Mandalorian? Was he still a Mandalorian? He still wore his armor, but he wasn’t totally sure why—another question he couldn’t answer. If he was no longer a Mandalorian, how could he possibly have a rightful claim to the Mandalorian throne? The Darksaber sat at the bottom of his weapons locker, burning another hole in his already frayed conscience.

This was what he was left with after he took off his helmet that first time, a swarm of needling questions that ate at him every day.

But it was worth sacrificing the Creed for the kid.

Right?

He thought about Grogu, a tiny, three-fingered hand on his face. He wondered what he was doing, if he was happy, if he thought of Din as often as Din thought of him. At least he had a face to attach to his memories now. Was he learning a lot from the Jedi? Did he get to spend time outside playing in the sun? Was anyone rocking him gently to sleep the way he liked when he was fussy?

And, finally, he came to the last entry in the catalog of what he’d lost in the last year or so: he thought about her. To be fair, he had never really had her. He never had the chance to call her mine, but they’d had potential—the promise of something more, a bright shiny glimmer of hope. At a time when Din’s world was turned upside down, right after he’d broken the Guild code to save the child from the Empire, when he was totally out of his depth and everything around him felt like chaos... she had made him feel still. And that was a hell of a thing to lose.

Even after she revealed her true motives, he couldn’t shake that feeling—that feeling that she was the thing he was supposed to orbit.

He could picture so vividly the way her features lit up when he and the kid walked into the cantina. He could hear the musical cadence of her laugh, feel the comforting warmth of her hand over his, smell the light floral notes of her hair.

With those details playing through his mind, he drifted off. He let grief and exhaustion and defeat pull him under.

Din couldn’t breathe. He was underwater, suffocating weight pressing in around him as his heavy beskar dragged him deeper. She was drowning, arms and legs flailing as something with an iron grip on her ankle drew her down. He reached for her, arms outstretched, but he couldn’t keep pace with her descent. His lungs burned, begging for air, as the reassuring light of the surface retreated above him. He watched in horror as her eyes widened in panic, and she choked, lungs filling with water. He tried to yell, kicking toward her frantically, but she stilled, all the fight leaving her body.

He woke with a start, adrenaline coursing through his veins. In a panic, he ripped off his helmet, letting it clang loudly against the metal floor, and took several shaking breaths. Clarity burned through him like acid. With the little strength he had left, his head swimming from dehydration and blood loss, Din hauled himself to his feet and did the simple list of things that would keep him alive.

He couldn’t wear his helmet after that. Every time he put it on, he felt like he was suffocating, the years of bearing the heavy beskar no match for the stifling weight of his shame. And the armor felt wrong without the helmet, so he stopped wearing that too. He locked it away with the Darksaber.

To move forward, he had to let what little he had left fall away.

In the following weeks, he traced her name, her chain code, her age. He recalled every detail she’d shared with him—about her family and past and likes and dislikes, anything that might give him some clue as to where she’d be. He worked from a holomap on which he'd meticulously marked off the planets he'd already eliminated as possibilities. He'd had to recreate this map after he lost the Crest, but that was easy enough, as he vividly remembered each and every planet he'd scoured.

And eventually—ironically, thanks to some information from Karga—Din uncovered the promising golden thread of a lead.

He tracked her to a planet that was largely water, one known for its expansive oceans, beautiful coastlines, persistent sunshine, and temperate weather—her ideal home. He felt the softest stirring of hope in his chest, knowing that she was where she wanted to be.

The first time he saw her again, it was from afar, but he knew her by the way she carried herself, her unmistakable walk. His heart stuttered. She was as beautiful and perfect and bright as he remembered. He didn't realize until that moment that a small part of him had worried he'd built her up, romanticizing the memories until she was more than human in his mind. But there she was, just as ethereal as in his daydreams.

For those first few days, all Din did was watch her. He reminded himself that she wasn’t a quarry, but there was some information he needed, and this was the only way to get it. He wanted to know if she was happy; he wanted to know if his appearance would be welcome or disruptive.

He studied the topography of her life, searching for any hint that there was a place in it for him.

He smiled when he found out that she lived in a small cottage right on the beach. He stopped breathing, fists clenching by his sides, when he watched her walk into the waves and disappear, only to reappear seconds later. For the briefest moment, his mind flashed back to his nightmare, and he had the mad impulse to follow her and pull her out. But he knew she never needed saving.

Even still, he waited at the edge of the forest until she emerged.

Frustratingly, the more he watched her, the less certain he became. He knew what she was to him, but how was he to know what he was to her? He had been a job that had evolved into something more. She had confirmed that what had grown between them was also real for her—the written proof was folded neatly in his pocket. So surely, she had real feelings for him at some point... but how real? And how enduring? Her feelings had been tamped down, reined in because she was doing a job. How successful had she been at burning them away? How much had her feelings been eroded by time? It had been over a year... maybe that was too long.

He watched a man walk up and sit on her front step, awaiting her return. She approached him with a smile on her face, salt water dripping from her hair, and took his hand, leading him inside.

Fuck, that smile.

Was her solar system already complete? Or was there still room for a devoted moon? Would she want it to be him?

In the end, Din told himself that if she could take the leap of faith and trust him so many months ago, he owed it to her to swallow his fear and let her make this choice for herself. Last time, he had made her feel like he didn’t want her, and that was his biggest regret.

He wasn’t going to do that to her again.

***

“Mando—”

She looked scared.

He didn’t expect fear. He expected confusion, surprise, irritation, apathy, maybe even anger? But never fear. But there he was, standing in front of her, and fear flashed across her eyes.

“Din,” he rushed to get the words out, “My name is Din.”

The fear faded as quickly as it came.

“Din,” she repeated.

He’d imagined her saying his real name hundreds, if not thousands of times, and his imagination got nowhere close to the real thing. His throat felt tight.

She stepped forward, raising her hands to frame his face. Her eyes glazed over slightly; she was entranced as she took him in, caressing his cheeks and scanning his features like she was trying to commit every detail to memory.

Din leaned into her touch, closing his eyes to savor the moment. His breathing slowed, and for the first time in months, he felt still.

When he opened his eyes again and met hers, she startled slightly, like she hadn’t realized what she was doing.

“Sorry—”

She started to lower her hands, but Din caught them, bringing them back up to his face, unwilling to lose the contact.

“Don’t be,” he said, smiling uncertainly. The corner of her mouth quirked up in the beginnings of an answering smile.

They stood there for a moment, Din holding her hands against his face.

He’d planned what he was going to say, rehearsing it in his head at length, because he was worried as soon as he saw her, he’d revert to his inability to string words into sentences. Sure enough, despite his preparation, his mind was blank.

So instead, he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

In response, she slid her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to meet hers, and relief spread through him like a cleansing fire, stealing the breath from his lungs.

***

When your lips met, everything fell into place; it felt like the universe spontaneously rearranged itself and finally got it right—every planet and every star and all the empty space in between attained perfect alignment in an instant.

You had no idea that one moment could curate the arrangement of the cosmos exactly to your liking.

You pulled Din backwards across the threshold into your house, kicking the door shut behind him without losing contact with his lips. You were both desperate and clumsy and impatient, hands everywhere at once.

He was just as you remembered and completely new. You recognized those shoulders, those hands, that scent—he somehow retained the metallic twang of beskar even without the armor. The way his breath hitched and his chest expanded when you slipped your tongue past his parted lips was familiar, reminding you of his reaction the first time you touched him.

But you’d been privy to such a limited sliver of him before; now, here he was, laid bare for you to learn again, and so you charted his features with your hands, your lips, your eyes, every part of you. Eager to close what little space remained between your bodies, you pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he obliged, tugging it off until it slid to the floor.

A dim thought rankled at the back of your mind, a reminder that you were taking the life you’d carefully constructed and throwing it straight out the fucking window, inviting uncertainty directly into your orderly world.

You were finding it difficult to care when Din’s hands were lighting a fire across your skin.

You had a million questions for him, but only two were louder than the need humming in your veins. You broke away for a moment to say, “Where’s the baby?”

“Grogu—”

You were both panting, slipping words in between kisses, too enthralled in each other to stop and have a real conversation.

“What?”

“That’s his name—”

Palms on his chest, you pressed him against the wall, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck. He groaned and lolled his head back when you sucked one beneath the sharp corner of his jaw so you did it again.

“Fuck—he’s with the Jedi—he’s, uh, he’s with his people now. I brought him back to them.”

At that, you actually did stop, stepping back to look into his eyes, hands linked behind his neck.

“You must miss him so much.”

His eyes met yours for the briefest moment then flicked away, grief written plainly on his face. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But he’s where he belongs.”

Din wrapped his arms around you, drawing you into his tight embrace and resting his chin on the crown of your head. Unspoken words hung in the air: and this is where you belong.

Ear pressed to his chest, you smiled and asked, “And your helmet?”

He hesitated. “I... I took it off to say goodbye to the kid. I couldn’t let him go without showing him my face...” His voice caught, and he paused to take a deep breath. “I sacrificed the Creed to do it, and I still don’t know if it was the right decision.”

“Of course, it was the right decision,” you said earnestly, nodding against him, “You told me how precious foundlings are, and you prioritized your foundling. How could that be wrong?”

You were the farthest thing from an authority on the Mandalorian Creed, but you were certain—so deeply, painfully certain—that Din was a good person and sharing love with a child could never be wrong.

“I don’t know what’s right anymore...” He ran a hand over his eyes, scrubbing it over his face as he let out a resigned huff. “I found out that some Mandalorians do take off their helmets, so I don’t know what to believe.” He sounded exhausted, lost.

You pulled away to fix him with a fierce look, framing his face with your hands to force him to meet your gaze. “You cared for Grogu and kept him safe and brought him to his people. You protected a child, loved a child. That’s what matters. An arbitrary rule is nowhere near as important as that, and breaking it doesn't change who you are. I think you already know that.”

He stared intently, and you worried for a second that you’d offended him, stepped over an invisible line by assuming you knew better than he did what was right or wrong in this case.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He crashed his lips against yours once again, and when you stumbled back in surprise, Din steadied you, holding you upright.

There was nothing else pressing you needed to know in that moment; you had everything you needed in this, the refuge of his arms. There would be time for everything else.

He slipped his hands under the hem of your shirt and before he could even ask, you ripped it over your head, tossing it aside. He responded in kind, divesting himself first of the several weapons strapped to his belt and his calf, then his shirt.

You raked your eyes down his face to his perfect chest—muscled, golden brown, littered with a constellation of scars—and mused, “You know, if I had known from the beginning that you looked like this under your armor, I’d have thrown my entire plan out the window to fuck you immediately.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “I would have preferred that.”

Laughing, you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall to your bedroom. He paused at your doorway to say, “I, uh, I want you to know—this isn’t what I came for.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What did you come for?”

“I—just... you.”

“Then take me.”

“I mean... All of you, not just this.”

You slid your fingers under his belt and jerked him forward, smiling mischievously: “Well, we have to start somewhere.”

He laughed, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

And when he did take you, when you closed your eyes, you didn’t slip into that familiar static. You stayed—there, with him, where you belonged. It was all whispered praises and breathless moans and a tangle of euphoric thoughts. It was overwhelming, a hum of lust and safety and longing, a hyperawareness of every sensation. You felt held—carefully, lovingly, preciously.

Hours later, you were lying with your head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart a reassuring cadence in your ear. You lifted your head slightly to look up at him: “Why now?”

He looked down and furrowed his eyebrows. “Because I happened to find you this time.”

“What do you mean?”

His fingers traced intricate patterns on your back. “I looked for you that day. I looked for you for a couple weeks after, and I would have found you if I’d had more time... but then I was quested with finding the kid’s people, so I had to stop. But whenever I was near a temperate planet with an ocean and had some time, I stopped to look for leads. And then when the Jedi came for the kid, I, uh, was lost for a bit... I tried to work to distract myself from everything but I couldn't. So... I had time again. I had to find you.”

He said it so unsentimentally. He put his devotion into words like it wasn’t a declaration of love—he recounted it like a simple fact.

You sat up and swung a leg over his hips, pressing your lips against his once again. He straightened, running his hands down your back and crushing you against his chest. The tempo of your breath kicked back up in tandem.

It was a relief that you were both on the same page: you had over a year of touch to make up for, and you were shameless in your pursuit of that goal.

You mumbled against his mouth, breathless: “That day—the day I left... I thought you hated me.”

Din leaned back, brow wrinkled in genuine confusion. “I could never hate you.”

“You said the person you were falling for didn’t exist.”

“You let us go. You proved me wrong.”

“Oh.”

“Even if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have hated you. You thought you were doing the right thing. I shouldn't have said that... I didn't meant it. I was hurt. And drugged.”

“Oh.”

You shook your head, laughed. What could you do but laugh? It didn’t matter anymore. Why mourn what little time you had lost when you had what you needed stretched out infinitely before you?

It tasted like hope, this feeling—to be able to look forward once again, to broaden your horizon back to the endless possibility it once promised. Finally, you’d be able to move freely, unencumbered by the need to maintain safeguards around your heart. You could venture out into the galaxy knowing wherever you went with him, you'd never be lost.

Smiling, you asked: “So, what now?”

He looked down and clasped your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. When his eyes met yours again, there was so much uncertainty there, so much unease, you almost had to look away.

Fuck. The bright light in your chest faltered like the wavering of an unsteady flame.

“I—There’s something I need to do. A few things, actually... things I’ve been avoiding, but I know I can do them now. I’m sorry, I'll have to go, but I needed to find you first,” he stopped, then rushed to add, “but I know you like it here. I wouldn’t ask you to leave—to come with me. No, but I’ll come back. Of course, I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you, for as long as you want me.”

The light in your chest expanded, filling every inch of you with warmth. You smiled at him, placing a reassuring hand over his thumping heart, and leaned down to press your forehead to his.

You closed your eyes. “I want you to ask.”

He let out a relieved sigh, holding you closer. “Will you come with me?”

You kissed a word into his lips: yes.

***

Tagging those who expressed interest in a sequel to Extrasolar: @disgruntledspacedad @thirstworldproblemss @dincrypt @beskarhearts @goldielocks2004 @elinedjarin @speakerforthedead0 @thosewickedlovelies @theawkwardpedestrian

Everything tag list: @spideysimpossiblegirl

I hope I didn't miss anyone! I'm sorry if I did!