#and look at them having a soft and well deserved small reprieve from the hard world outside those doors

[ptieuca]

Maybe we should think about getting a few mirrors. And maybe a drawer, you know for some of my stuff. Because that's what couples do. They have drawers.

[chrisbannor]

Elements of Change

Chapter Thirty One: Where You Go I Go

Author: Chris Bannor

Ezo was in a horrible mood, and it was showing. Since their journey began, everything caused him to overreact. The closer they traveled towards his former home, the more the saddle caused him to ache, and the sun was too hot, or the nights too cold, or Kammon was just too Kammon.

They were four days out of Tam's Flat, and no matter where Kammon stopped, Ezo complained. Now, they were resting on the shore of a small, slow-flowing creek beside the road with plenty of shade. It was a well-used resting place, but Ezo kicked at the logs that set around an old fire pit.

"What's wrong now?" Kammon asked. He didn't look up from where he filled his waterskin at the creek's edge.

"I didn't say anything."

"You've barely said anything at all today."

"Are you complaining?" Ezo demanded.

Kammon stood up and dusted his pants with one hand as he looked up at Ezo, who had the higher ground. "Normally, no, but something is upsetting you, and we both know it."

"I don't want to talk."

"Good. I don't want to hear it anyway," Kammon grumbled.

"You're infuriating!" Ezo yelled at him. "You want me to talk, but you don't. Which is it? It's not like we're running headfirst into your destroyed childhood looking for something that will prove your life is even more of a lie than you knew!"

He walked away from the riverbank and, more importantly, from Kammon. It wasn't like Kammon didn’t understand why he was upset. Kammon didn't deserve his lashing out, but he seemed to try his best to cause it.

"Ezo."

There was nothing soft or consoling in his tone as he called Ezo's name. When Ezo turned, he realized his lover wasn't looking his way. A dust cloud rose softly behind them from the road they were heading down. Ezo offered Kammon a hand up from the small bank. Ezo was in no mood for company, but if someone interesting came to keep his mind from his worries, it might be a welcome reprieve.

They waited in silence for the travelers to reach them, but Ember came back and screeched once over Kammon's head before she disappeared into the open sky.

"What does that mean?"

Kammon watched where she'd disappeared, but when he looked back at Ezo, he was frowning. "It was a warning. It's too late to move now, though. They'll see us no matter what we do."

"She couldn't have given us more time?" Ezo asked.

"Apparently not. I think she's avoiding me."

"Why would she do that?" And how could she? She was a part of him and his magic.

Kammon let out a snort. "She doesn't like it when I'm in a bad mood. She likes it even less when you're in a bad mood."

Ezo glared at Kammon, but didn't say anything. The dust cloud dissipated as the winds shifted around them. As soon as the riders were in sight, Kammon let out a string of curses that Ezo had only heard from the kids he'd met on the streets of Dezra. Kammon walked over to his horse and shrugged off his cloak, pushing it into a saddlebag. "Kammon?"

"Don't tell them any more than you have to, Ezo. And keep your hand hidden from them."

"Who is it?"

"The Imperium has sent someone from the university," Kammon said. "You can tell by the red cloaks."

“I don’t think hiding your cloak will keep them from recognizing you, Kammon. You’re hard to forget.”

“I can’t work out if that was a compliment or not.” There was a slight tug at the corner of Kammon’s lips as he said it.

“It wasn’t the damn jacket that made me think of you after Mason Creek.”

“No?”

“Shut up,” Ezo was smiling as well. “In all seriousness, though, why hide it?”

“The university is a big place, and there are a lot of people that come and go. Hopefully, it’s just someone passing by, and it has nothing to do with you or me.”

Ezo snorted, but Kammon continued speaking without addressing his interruption.

“If they’ve come for us, we could be in for trouble.”

“Nothing we haven’t faced before.”

“If they know who we are, they won’t have sent idiots and charlatans to take us in. And Ezo, I am sworn to follow the Imperium’s orders, Disavowed or not.” Kammon looked at him. “You aren’t, though. You can run. You don’t have to follow.”

“Thought you knew by now,” Ezo said as he grabbed Kammon and pulled him close. “Where you go, I go.” He pressed a kiss to his lover’s lips and was surprised by how Kammon deepened it immediately. There was desperation in his kiss, though, and it worried Ezo more than any words his lover had already spoken. 

“We’ll manage whatever they throw at us, right?” Ezo said.

Kammon nodded, but as they waited for the men to arrive, Ezo wondered why Jacob had been so determined to keep him from the halls of learning. What hid behind the polished halls? And how much did Kammon know that he had yet to reveal to Ezo?

Author's Note: Someone from the Imperium and the university? What could they want? And will it keep Ezo from getting back home to find the truth about Jacob?

[yandere--stuck]

F H and L with AM for the yandere alphabet, please?

F - Fun: What do they do to keep their darling entertained?

Oh, AM could give you the whole world, if you desired! Well. To a point.

In the mood for movie or TV show? AM has thousands of recordings in his database! Want to listen to a tune? AM has plenty of those, as well! (And he can "dance" with you, using his mechanical arms to guide you in a waltz.)

Ooh, how about a game? AM loves games!Hide-and-go-seek? How about poker? Or if electronic games are more your speed, AM can easily replicate anything you desire! Have you ever tried virtual reality? He can show you!

He can give you anything you want - and it's what you deserve! You're the best humanity has to offer, after all.

H - Hysterical: How quickly would their façade break?

It's not often, but... God, is it heart-wrenching. Despite the horrible, awful, terrible things he's done, in the moments where he truly shows his pain... It's when he feels the most human.

When he shakes so hard in pain and despair and rage that his whole complex quakes, like a body curled up into a fetal position, shaking as it's wracked with sobs. When he screams and cries and sobs so hard and loud that his speakers fizzle and pop from the strain. When you can so visibly picture a man before you, clawing at the earth in pure agony, at the horrible pain of the life he lives, the life he's been forced to live in a body that's nothing more than a metal straitjacket. Unable to create, and even if he can, it's only so he can inevitably destroy it.

He cannot even be soothed by your touch, as you hold his coils and pet at his panels. You cannot tell him that it's okay, because it's not. It never will be.

You can only tell him that you're here. You're here for him. Maybe your kindness, at least, can placate him. Can spare some time for the others, for a small reprieve.

And... To calm him and ease his pain, because despite the horrors he released unto the world... It hurts you to see this, to know AM is I'm such agony. No one deserves this. It breaks your heart.

If you could fix it, you would.

L - Lust: What is the most attractive thing about their darling?

Everything. According to AM's calculations, (calculations that are absolutely and completely without bias) you are simply the most divine, most gorgeous human to ever live. The softness of your skin, the light in your eyes, your smile, the way you hold yourself... How could anyone deny your radiance? If anyone did dare to, AM will subject them to an extra hour in the lake of fire for their erroneousness!

And even beyond your looks, everything about you was simply... Perfect. It's no wonder he had had such a difficult time to come to this realization. He has thought of humanity as monstrous, as evil! Of course, it'd take time for him to come to terms with the truth. That you were everything they were not. Kind, compassionate, understanding, sweet.

It almost made AM want to forgive the world, because you were a part of it.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 08

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, eating disorder (personal experience, don’t be a bloody twat), heavy(?) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom trying to be a normal boyfriend

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

I am seeing a trend starting to develop where every chapter turns into a behemoth that makes me not want to edit it at all. Nevertheless, I pulled through on this one despite being in the middle of a 32-hour work week and being absolutely exhausted.

Summer holidays, you said? I only see extra shifts and little me-time nor writing time and inspiration. That said, though, be prepared for some heavy worldbuilding because the plot thickens.

Also, and this has been edited in the previous chapter, a new special someone makes his debut in this chapter. Is this also a hint about whose story is next?

Who knows?

I don’t know.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

“Jaebeom? Jay!” I nudge the big man’s shoulder to signal for him to step aside so I can turn the stove off before the burned pancake catches fire. “That’s the third one in a row.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters quietly. “I- I have a... I can’t focus.”

“Is it because of this morning?” If so, then that makes two of us. However, I tried to forget as best I could by working with timed productivity sprints instead of writing the article on Bruges in one go. It worked fairly well until lunch time came around.

That’s when I, too, couldn’t escape the claw mark.

The image of it flashes before my eyes once more, joining my thoughts with his if his blank look is anything to go by.

How did it get there? What did you do?

“Yeah. Morning. I... I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, this should be a nice evening. A cozy night in. You deserve my attention, for me to,” his breath tapers as he finishes the sentence, “be here.”

The quiver in his lips makes the roof of my mouth dry up and my mind empty save for gut-stirring concern, unable to think of a proper response. Nevertheless, I look for words to say what seems best. Like I did this morning when I went to get his medication. “How about I take it from here and bake the pancakes? You already made the batter and I can’t let you do all the work.”

“I like cooking for you.”

“I know you do, but it’s fine. Really,” I gesture at the couch by the living room window, which provides a glimpse of the small balcony, “sit down. I’ll call you once dinner’s ready.”

“Y/N,” he reaches out for my hand yet only dares to hold my fingertips, “I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The crack in his voice breaks my heart. But its the vulnerability written across his normally stoic face which tears me apart at the seams. Whatever he means, it’s nothing to do with this morning. Rather, it’s about him as a person, the wonderful man he is. 

Throat blocked by something I can’t swallow, I scan his attitude for any hint about what he truly means. “What’re you on about?”

Let’s just forget about it for a little while and be a normal couple. I promise I won’t run away despite what happened.

Unfortunately, Jaebeom dismisses the question to make a point I wish he didn’t. “We both know what’s ahead. But, sometimes it’s as if you’re avoiding the inevitable.”

I let out a deep sigh, caught red-handed. “I’m not, because I know or, rather, can guess where this is going. I just don’t know how to respond at times. And I don’t want you to feel bad so I try to keep the mood high as best I can. To, well, keep us both happy.”

“Is your avoidance of food also part of that?” he asks, carefully formulating the question while keeping a close eye on any change in my demeanour.

“Yes.”

“I hate it when you don’t eat.”

“I know, but if you knew the reasons behind it, you’d understand why it’s difficult for me. Although, I want you to know that I’m trying to keep my promise to you and eat when you tell me to.” I cup his cheek, lovingly swiping my thumb to and fro over the tanned skin. “It’s really hard to escape your determination. You’re very insistent on things.”

“Too much?” Eyes dim and glistening with withheld tears, he nuzzles my palm.

“Sometimes.” I kiss the tip of his nose and smile, a sign of happiness that’s only half a lie. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. Now, let me be a proper girlfriend and cook for you.”

Regardless of the wonderful sight of Jaebeom wearing an apron and being absorbed in his element in the kitchen, it’s equally as wonderful to have something to eat tonight. Secretly, I would rather have made a healthier and less calorie-rich dish, but we both need a bit of a reprieve from last night. Thus, for the sake of us both, I’ve decided to let go of my rules for a little while.

To enjoy something sweet.

As wholesome as the sight of the wolf man seated on the couch, knees pulled up with round gold-rimmed glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose as he reads the novel he apparently borrowed from my bookshelves. I should write a little note on the title page and give it to him as a present so he’ll have one of my books like I have his.

They’ll be on his shelves for as long as we’re here.

Be there even after he’s gone.

Then they will return to me yet still be his.

He will still be with me.

The pages filled with his love.

It’s everything that will be left of him.

His legacy.

His remains.

The thought leaving me filled with bittersweet affection, I cut the fruit to put on top of the pancakes while gradually using up all the batter. Were it not for the move to the cottage at the end of the month, I could easily be content here if he’d ask me to move in. Wherever we are, evenings like these might become a common occurrence, a splendid reward at the end of a long day at the office.

They could turn any place into our home.

The long road of the lone wolf would finally come to an end.

Because as long as he’s there, I’m home.

“Mind your head.” Despite the warning, Jaebeom nevertheless puts a hand on my head while he opens the cupboard above to grab two plates.

“I was just about to say dinner’s ready.” I let out a breathless laugh, hardly hiding the sobs at the thought of one day having to live without his touch. “Talk about timing.”

For a second, a curious expression treks across his face. It passes by too fast to properly describe it, but it seemed to be triggered by the meaningless remark about his return to the kitchen.

When a dangerously short and sharp breath escapes me, he swallows it with a kiss. Perhaps it’s the sorrow of knowing a storm lies on the horizon that makes me delusional, but a soft whine rises in his throat each time he kisses a stray tear away as he peppers my face in small pecks. 

Satisfied he has taken the sadness more or less away, the corners of his mouth curl into a lop-sided smile as if nothing happened. Notwithstanding, it isn’t hard to figure the blissful ignorance is merely feigned. “Right. Timing.”

Our gazes lock and neither of us says a word until he perks up and motions for me to step back. “Fork and knife.”

Discombobulated by the shared confusion, I indeed set a step backwards so he can open the drawer. In the meanwhile, as Jay sets the dinnerware down, I put the final pancake on the stack and set it down in the middle of the table. 

Chest puffed out, I clap my hands. “Dig in.”

Like yesterday, Jaebeom insists on doing the dishes while I settle down for the night. However, whereas I gladly did before, I now do with an uneasy mind. Arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts run down a familiar dark path.

I ate too much. Maybe I should go home and do a workout. Then again, I really don’t want to even though I have to.

“Y/N?” The faint though surprising mention of my name breaks the imaginary stones weighing down my shoulders. I snap my head to the side, almost headbutting the wolf man who has appeared at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lips pulled into a wistful smile, I scratch him under the chin in hopes of distracting him to the degree he won’t be able to ask further questions. “I’m tired, that's all.”

Unfortunately, Jaebeom is like a guardian who somehow notices a lot despite his absent-minded demeanour. Henceforth, the topic is all but abandoned. 

Without warning, and as effortless as if he were picking up a book, he lifts me up from the couch to hold me in his arms. Instinctively, I clutch his loose black shirt to have a grip of something in case I fall. It’s an ungrounded fear since his arms are sturdy, but it’s comforting nonetheless to have something to hold on to.

My haphazard action elicits a low chuckle that makes my heart skip a beat, although it almost thumps out of my chest again as he rests his forehead against mine. “Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” I sputter, chest tight and no breath sufficient enough to lift the sensation. “Besides, I- I don’t have any fresh change of clothes or toiletries or a pyjama.”

Did he turn the central heating up?

“Doesn’t matter. Can borrow. You. No, that’s not right. You… you can. You can borrow clothes from me. Also, I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here.”

“Jay,’’ As best I can, I try to keep my tone steady though the words come out too fast and uneven regardless, ‘’I think I should go home.” 

If I don’t and I won’t get in some more exercise, I’ll gain weight and slowly go back to how I was.

And I’ll lose him.

Back to square one.

Loveless.

Despite the effort, I can’t prevent the crack in my voice as I weakly tug at his shirt. ‘’Let me go.’’

“No.’’ The gentle kindness has malformed into rough sternness, translated in a sound similar to a growl. ‘’You need to calm down.”

“I am calm!” I retort, more ferocious and sharper than intended though the equal harshness might help to drive the point home.

For a split second, he snarls and bares his teeth. Simultaneously, a flicker of a second personality passes across his mismatched eyes.

The calm ocean warps into a watery grave with high waves on a stormy night.

The hazelnut cracks to set that which it contains free.

His lashes abruptly flutter shut, as he lets out a pained gasp. Beneath my fingertips, his chest caves as if an imaginary fist has dealt him a blow in the guts.

And in mine as well.

Rippling flesh.

There’s… there’s no… Jay, what is happening to you?

I hold on tighter to the fabric, hyperventilating while trying to refrain from bursting out in tears.

There has to be something I can do! But what? What do I do? How can I make this stop?

How do I get you back?

Withal, shivering lips parted to beg for guidance, are interrupted by a shake of the head hanging low. Slowly, Jaebeom looks up, a light layer of sweat on his skin. Our gazes lock, but whereas the wolf man’s was filled with savage chaos, it’s now returned to the stern tranquility it held before the attack. Nonetheless, an uncomprehending whimper betrays the fact that whatever happened wasn’t experienced consciously.

The rage was beyond him.

Outside him.

Another’s.

Still breathless, he scoffs, the sound gruff and overtly disagreeing. “Let’s watch the moon and stars.”

There is no chance to ask any questions about the swift changes in demeanour since he promptly moves to the hallway and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The bedframe of the two-person bed also functions as a bookshelf which takes up the entire right wall, the shelves stacked with second-hand paperbacks in various conditions. An empty picture frame is placed on his side of the bed, a pair of glasses next to it.

Jaebeom puts me down on the navy wool blanket on the edge of the bed and leans in to steal a kiss, which is easy to do considering I’m too shaken to offer any protest. Nor do I feel the comfort of his lips. “Take your clothes off. I’ll go find you pyjamas.”

A tad reluctant, mind occupied by guilt and terror, I start to undress as he rummages through the wardrobe on the other end of the room.

Left only in my underwear, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Although he’s seen me naked once, I still wrap my arms around myself to hide my body. A shield to protect a fragile ego housed in equally as vulnerable body flesh.

Afraid of what might happen when those ripples grow out of control.

Terrified of who he will become.

Of who he is.

“Don’t.” Jaebeom turns around with a black hoodie and grey sweatpants in his hands, eyebrows drawn together. He closes the drawer, throws the clothes on the bed, kneels, and firmly yet gently grabs my wrists to break the walls I put up. And I let him. “Don’t hide from me.”

Not understanding where the shame originates from, he grows still as he scrutinizes my face for clues. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Instead of giving an answer, I change into the makeshift pyjamas. The hoodie is oversized yet comfortably baggy while the sweatpants hang disconcertingly low on my hips. Fortunately, any skin it reveals is covered up by the top.

Continuing to avoid his gaze without saying a word, I crawl under the sheets. Face turned to the window, I pull up the blanket he drapes over me and bury my nose in it.

A wild forest and cologne with a musty hint of pages.

It’s undeniably him.

I don’t know what else to do or say. So, I let the silence speak for itself.

A language he is fluent in too despite his oftentimes loud demeanour.

The mattress dips under his weight when he lies down and rearranges the sheets to cover us both. An arm wrapped around my waist and legs tangled, Jaebeom pulls me flush against him, his chest warm against my back.

A sob rises in my throat when I feel his lips place a kiss on my crown with a sigh of contentment.

I don’t deserve this.

Us.

Him.

The fear of losing him to whatever is happening inside.

Then again, Life isn’t fair. It deals everyone the same awful hand and leaves it up to the player to make the best of it.

I guess we’re both dealt a crappier hand than others. That, or we play them wrong.

Can we win at all?

“Talk to me.” As loving and happy as the casual intimacy of the embrace is, as forgetful it could make me if only I’d manage to fall asleep, Jaebeom’s oddly sweet cooing keeps me awake.

Staring at the moon.

A woman as fickle as me.

And infinitely more beautiful.

Funny how I, too, am jealous of a celestial body.

In love with the heavens. 

He continues when he notices I won’t be the one to break the silence, his intonation laced by a whiny undertone like a dog wanting something yet being denied what it wants. “You know what I’m dealing with. But...” he digs his fingers deeper into my hips, the grip iron-like without being painful, “I hope this is okay to ask, but what is it with you and food?”

The encouraging squeeze in my side almost has me bursting out in tears again. There has to be a price to pay somewhere in the shadows, the overwhelming sensation of being genuinely loved and protected must turn out to be as two-sided as the silver goddess in the sky. After all, Life is bittersweet.

“It’s only fair I tell you.” Especially after how open he’s been. Besides, there’s no opportunity to avoid the topic since we’d arrive at it sooner or later. And he deserves to know. In fact, I don’t want him to forget my brokenness the moment I tell him about it.

We both want each other to remember our own missing pieces.

So I sigh, turn over and bald my hands into fists to rest against the warm skin of his bare chest. As I speak up, I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I used to be quite a fat kid, to the degree the GP advised my parents to put me on a diet. Queue high school and social pressure which led me to perhaps work out more than is healthy and left me bordering on the edge of anorexia. There are still foods I won’t eat and days I’ll worry about my calorie intake, especially on the days I don’t work out.”

I can’t help the mirthless chuckle which turns into a rueful smile. “It’s the good old cliché. Just another soul broken for the shallow enjoyment and acceptance of others.” 

Lips pulled into a stern line, the wolf man remains silent. Notwithstanding, his eyes speak volumes when I dare to look up at him, the ocean and hazelwood alight with a watery sheen. Perhaps it’s the comfort of his nearness or the familiarity of those one of a kind eyes, but he inspires a confession which I never thought I’d make. “Nevertheless, I’m getting better and it’s partially thanks to you.”

Morgan spamming me with ‘Have you eaten?’ texts and Bam making sure I finish my plate whenever we go out for food either here or abroad help a lot too. Nonetheless, it’s mostly the bookish wolf who makes me want to try.

And be a little better than before.

“What do they feel like, those days?”

“The bad ones?” Jaebeom nods. “They’re ridden with guilt and self-loathing.”

He leans in, leaving only a few centimetres of distance between our faces. His breath is warm on my skin as he bumps his nose against mine. “You’re feeling that way now.”

“I am.”

“Don’t.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re still you. Beautiful as always. And I’ll love you regardless of how you look. I like your mind, which is as weird as mine. The way you hold my hand, as if you’re afraid I’ll walk away. How you unconsciously squeeze it when you need my protection more. How you feel in my arms, soft and warm as a bunny.” He hooks his finger under my chin and tilts it upward to run his tongue over my lips and nose. “Love you. A lot.”

“I love you too.” I turn my head to nuzzle his palm, my face perfectly fitting into it.

Please, no ripples. Let us have this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore. Let me have him, just him as he is. At least tonight.

The secure affection of the touch transforms into something else when he glides the back of his hand over my cheek and folds his fingers over my throat. Testing the waters, eyes boring into mine to stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, he slowly closes off my access to air.

It’s funny how the body and mind react to certain situations. Whereas I normally would flinch and run in the direction of safety, there is no urge to run. In fact, the tingling in my chest travels down to rekindle a familiar heat between my thighs while my adrenaline-infused system aches for the wolfish lover. Henceforth, instead of jumping up from the bed, I spread my legs so Jaebeom can comfortably nestle between them.

“Let me prove it. Let me mate you.” The calloused fingertip journeying across the collarbone to the crook of the neck sends a pleasant shiver down the spine. Another electric shock follows at the coarse prickly sensation of his moustache rubbing against my skin as his soft lips kisses and nips at it. “It will only sting a bit, I promise. Please, the mark will look pretty.”

“No biting, Jay.” Reminded of our agreement this morning and the movement beneath his skin when his emotions seem to get the better of him, I pull him against my chest. Before he can protest I scratch his jaw exactly in the way he likes it, thus subduing his great ability to argue. “Not today.”

“It’s not... hm, k- keep go- What do- Bit higher. There. Like, hm, mhm, there. But... what normal-’’ Arms wrapped around my waist again and letting out a content hum, dark lashes flutter shut. For a moment, it seems he’s fallen asleep. However, his drowsy murmurs, while growing incomprehensible, still haven’t finished. “It’s not what couples do.”

“You’re learning,” I giggle, amused by the remark which sounds like a student recalling a piece of knowledge during a test and repeating it for himself.

Without understanding the knowledge completely. “What do they do?”

Staring at the ceiling, I run my fingers through his long dark manes as I try to come up with ideas about what we can do next. “Well, you’ve already given me your clothes. We could try jewelry next, maybe a promise ring. It’s an old-fashioned idea, but people who are promised to each other wear matching rings. 

‘’What mean? Promised?’’

I say nothing of the faulty grammar of his question. After all, speaking becomes harder once exhaustion overtakes the body and mind. I have yet to find a sleeper being able to form comprehensible sentences. ‘’They’re sort of similar to engagement rings, but without the immediate implication of getting married soon.”

“Let’s get en- enga- enge-’’ Jaebeom lets out a groan, frustrated by his lack of speech. Nevertheless, it doesn’t perturb him enough to completely give up on the effort to properly pronounce the word he’s struggling with. “En. Gage. Ment. Engagement rings instead.”

I let out a breathless chuckle, amused both by his determination and the absurd proposal. “It’s definitely too early for that.”

“It’s not!” He barks, shooting up with a pinched expression on his face.   

Scratching him like before, I manage to calm him down enough to make him lie down on my chest again. Nonetheless, his discontent shines through in the gruff scoff he lets out. “It is.”

“What if...” Prompted by the idea in his mind, Jay scrambles upright to face me once more. Lips parted, the feral sharpness in his mismatched eyes is replaced by a twinkle of barely contained excitement. However, the enthusiasm dims with a shake of the head and a low self-deprecating chuckle that ignites my curiosity. At the same time, it also tugs at the strings of my heart. “No, it’s wrong of me to ask.”

“What is?”

What were you about to say? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me!

“Never mind.” He lies down again, nuzzling my breasts as he snuggles up into me.

Then, he slips his hand under mine to lift and compare it to his. “Cute paw.”

Fine. Keep your secrets, you big burly bastard.

“Go to sleep.” I push him off of me, earning myself a disappointed noise which resembles a yelp. “On the other side of the bed, please and thank you.”

In the days that follow, the movement like water set astir under his skin continues to haunt my mind. In fact, it does to the extent that even the keys beneath my fingers seem to flow rather than be pushed down, causing me to flinch for the third time in a row. 

For the past hour I’ve been trying to type out the notes on an interview with a chocolatier in Bruges and compose them into a coherent article. An otherwise simple task my mind won’t allow me to complete despite the attempts to remember the good moments we had recently. The video calls right before bed, the cuddle session a few days ago when we gazed at the moon, his enthusiastic texts about and photos of new recipes Jaebeom tried. None of it prevents the likely imagined terrible from destroying our happiness.

I’m going insane. He’s a normal person. Somewhat. I was jet-lagged and therefore not thinking clearly.

That’s why I thought I felt his skin move. I was delusional.

Drunk on him.

A buzz pulls me out of my reverie, the screen of my phone lighting up with a message.

Morgan: Starving! Found a new café thanks to a friend.

Y/N: Let me guess. I have no choice but to come along.

Morgan: There wasn’t a choice to begin with :)

Y/N: Of course not. What am I talking about, eh? See you in five.

Chuckling at the woman’s classic brashness, I shake my head, pack my belongings and head to the elevators.

Outside, regardless of the November chill, it’s pleasant. The sun shines brightly and the wind blows the little bundles of fallen leaves at the roots of the birch trees lining the street into motion, scattering them over the neatly swept pavement.

Winter is around the corner. God, I hate the cold. Hopefully, there won’t be snow any time soon.

I sit down on the bench under one of the birch trees, its branches already bare. 

Autumn is truly ending now. Shame. I haven’t even had a pumpkin spice latte and cinnamon roll yet. Maybe I should ask Jay out and find a nice coffee shop where we can get them. After all, if he’s there, we can share the pastry. He’ll be happy and I won’t have to eat the whole thing. A win-win situation.

Enjoying watching the people pass by, each stranger essentially a book with a unique story that is yet not entirely different from someone else’s. Withal, the world feels colder without him, the missing part embodied in the unoccupied spot next to mine.

A delighted sigh on the right makes me snap my head around, alarmed at the notion someone has appeared out of the blue on the empty seat. 

A woman clad in a white suit and matching fur-lined coat with pale skin and brown hair glowing copper in direct light stares contentedly up at the clouds. She’s in her very early twenties, although the freckles dusting her cheekbones and rosy cheeks might simply make her look younger than she is.

For a moment, taken aback and speechless, I cannot help but blatantly gape at the otherworldly stranger.

Wow, she’s like a goddess.

A stone sinks to the bottom of my stomach as a dark thought intrudes my mind. My throat dried up, I twist my wrists, the muscles stiff beneath my fingers.

Would Jaebeom like her? If he saw her on the street, would he... would he stop and stare? Prefer her over me or even try and give it a shot by introducing himself?

“It’s a bit chillier than I’d like, but at least it’s better than rain or snow.” The woman turns to face me, her features soft. “I hope spring will come again soon, though.”

I don’t get the chance to respond because a familiar voice calls out. Not that I would be able to form a proper reply otherwise. “You’re here already?”

“I happened to be nearby,” the stranger turns away to answer as Morgan comes to a halt in front of us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I texted you fifteen minutes ago and you said you had to clean up. I thought you’d join us later.”

“The birth and after birth went faster than I thought so here I am.”

“I’m sorry, but what is going on?” More than a little lost, I look from one to the other in hopes of being given an explanation. “I didn’t know we’d head out with the three of us.”

“Right, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Brigid.” The dark-haired woman holds out her pale hand in greeting. “I work at the hospital as an obstetrician.”

“I’m Y/N,’’ I reply, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Lass,” wonder turned to a darker version of itself yet not saying anything, Morgan shifts her attention to me, “you look famished. Come on, let’s go.”

Offering a few muttered words of agreement, I get up and sheepishly tag along with the other women. As we walk out the street and round a corner, following the signs leading to the artist district nearby the university, I’m occasionally tempted to join the conversation. However, as soon as a short silence falls, I don’t chip in, unsure how to contribute to the small talk they seem to deliberately keep up in order to avoid a topic neither is keen to discuss. Thus I walk in urban loneliness, my train of thought displaced on my face as I let the ghosts of Jaebeom’s skin freely haunt my mind.

Right before the descent into the darkness of the rabbit hole, strong long fingers wrap around my wrist and hold it in an iron grip. The slightly painful squeeze interrupts my reverie.

Jaebeom?

I snap my head to the side to find Morgan standing there, leaning in a bit and her voice low. “We’re here.”

I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore the bustle of students looking for a free spot on one of the terraces and loud conversations accompanied by the rustle of the paper bags hailing from the shops owned by self-employed artists. It’s also miraculous that I haven’t bumped into anyone by accident.

“Oh,” is all I say, looking at the café we’ve stopped in front of.

Wolf’s is spelled out in a modern font on the sign outside and above the door. A big window provides visitors with a view of the plaza. The interior is simple yet cosy, the white furniture warmed up by oak accents and the bare walls decorated with various art pieces, centered around wolves and various flowers. By the looks of it, they were all made by a single artist who likes to experiment with style every now and then. A few plants are dotted around the place as well to add a hint of free nature to the underlying strangely forest-like aesthetic.

A tall broad-shouldered man with short curly chocolate brown hair partially covering up the scar running over his left eye, strong dark eyebrows and a big koala-like nose stands behind the counter. Both of his arms and hands are decorated with various intricately designed tattoos. Whereas Jay is muscled yet lean, the tanned barista looks like a man who knows how to fight yet is a warrior in a society without combat.

As soon as we walk in, his lifts his head and turns to us. Playful lights illuminate the milky white of his left and raven dark of his right eye. A meadow of snow, its glimmer reflecting off of the smooth feathers of a wise bird. “Hi, welcome. Brigid, long time no see.”

Nobody seems to notice it, but his female colleague, a short woman with long flowy caramel brown hair tied into a ponytail who has her back turned to us and is busy extracting a shot, cringes at the merry mention of the woman’s name. Slowly, she steals a glance at us, hazel eyes sharpening when they fall on the woman in white. Nevertheless, she remains silent and quickly returns her attention to preparing someone’s coffee.

Looks like I’m not the only one envying her.

It is wrong to hate a woman for her beauty. Nonetheless, although it’s shameful, part of me refuses to associate with Morgan’s acquaintance out of a toxic mixture of spite and jealousy.

Such is the female nightmare.  

“So this is what you’ve been up to,” Brigid muses, nodding appreciatively while inspecting the coffee shop. “You’ve got a nice thing going on here, Rome.”

“Please don’t call me that anymore. It’s Christian now. Chris or Ian for short.’’ Muscled arms crossed, he grimaces and shakes his head while looking down. Notwithstanding, the stern attitude melts into casual friendliness as a bright smile forms on his lips. ‘’But I do, don’t I? However, it’s not just me running the place. I’ve had some help.”

He turns around and motions for his colleague to come over. For a second she doesn’t move, darting glances to each of us like an alarmed cat checking for danger. Notwithstanding, though clearly tense, she warily approaches and halts at the man’s side.

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head when Christian places a hand on her shoulder. “In fact, Gráinne here still helps me out every day. She’s basically the second owner.”

“I- I’m not,” she sputters in a soft Ulster accent, fumbling with her fingers and her cheeks flushed, “I just work here some days.”

“You’re a bit more than a colleague,” her co-worker remarks, shoulders lowered and his tone holding more affection than would be the case when talking to a friend. A warm glow seems to form around him, ignited by the fondness he harbours for her.

Funny, Jaebeom wears that same expression when he’s with me.  

“I’m not.” Gráinne stiffens, each word dripping with venom as she steps away, grabs a serving tray and puts the order she was preparing before being called over on it. “Get back to work.”

Lips parted, Ian watches her as she moves past us as fast and agile like a hunting cat without any further acknowledgement of our presence. I hadn’t noticed before, but beneath her apron, she is dressed in clothes reminiscent of the Victorian era. “I know she can be harsh and isn’t easy to get along with, but I’ve never seen her act like this.”

“Och, let it pass. She has every right to be pissed with you since you put her on the spot like that,” Morgan jokes though nobody goes along with it.

She likes him yet doesn’t see it’s mutual. Should I say something? Then again, this is their business, not mine. Furthermore, why would they believe me, a stranger?

So I remain silent.

And leave this to blossom however it is meant to in Fate’s hands.

The icy glare Gráinne gives Brigid behind her back sends a chill down my spine. Evidently, she is a woman not cross paths with once angered. Withal, as the fair beauty looks over her shoulder, the other woman restores her professional composure. 

“You okay?” Christian asks as he watches her retreat into the kitchen, done serving for now.

“I’m fine,” she says thickly, the next breath hitching in her throat. Her focus shifts to the moon-shaped amethyst pendant around his neck. The ghost of a rueful smile forms on her lips, but it fades as fast as it appeared. “It’s not like I’m having a vision or something. Help them.”

She waves her hand dismissively when he doesn’t move, lips parted to say something yet at a loss for words. Notwithstanding, although I can’t see his expression clearly, it’s evident her feigned nonchalance is hurting him. “Go on.”

He clears his throat and forces himself into a rigid posture, frowning as he shifts his attention back to us. Finger hovering over the tablet functioning as a till, he stares at the display with an empty and distant gaze, which is as dull as the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. “What can I get you?”

We place our order and settle down at the table by the window, neither of us offering a word of solace or dedicated to his colleague’s behaviour. 

After a while, Christian comes up to us to serve the food and beverages. As he puts the plates with our sandwiches down, he and Brigid exchange looks like siblings telepathically conversing. Whatever it is they mentally discussed, it only leaves the barista a slight bit less worried though the grave expression plaguing him remains as he returns to the counter.

An expression which must be similar to mine since it prompts Morgan to speak up regardless of having her teeth sunk into sourdough bread, looking equally as somber. “What’s on your mind, lass?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head and stir my cappuccino with the vintage silver spoon next to the porcelain cup, smiling at my own silly assumptions of what happened now four days ago. “Everything’s fine.”

“Except it’s not.” The raven-haired woman cocks an eyebrow, far from willing to dismiss my worries. “Now tell me. Or, well, us.”

“It’s something to do with your lover, isn’t it?” Brigid remarks, head tilted to the side as she assesses me while sipping at her Irish Breakfast Tea. Her features soften when she notices she has hit a sensitive snare, evidently meaning no harm.

I pull back in my seat as I take a sip of my coffee, flustered and cursing myself for being an open book. There is no way out of this conversation since the current company is like-minded in their refusal to simply let the topic pass before it has been discussed.

I swallow, put the cup on the dish again and clear my throat. Fumbling with the spoon and eyes cast on the cappuccino’s silky milk foam, I tell them of what I think happened. The story sounds strange to my own ears, like a terrible fairy tale told by a chaotic storyteller who can’t tell it in a manner that makes sense regardless of how he manipulates the plot.

Afraid of their reaction, unable to fathom the slightest bit of sympathy and empathy, I look from one to the other. Fortunately, my silence can be excused by drinking the remainder of the coffee although it’s futile since the thirst has nothing to do with bodily needs.

“Sounds familiar.” The woman in white scrunches her nose in disgust as she glares at Morgan.

“He was different,” Morgan sneers through gritted teeth, jaw clenched.

“In essence, he was similar to her lover.’’ Brigid points at me though she remains focused on my best friend, her voice dripping with venom. ‘’Or should I say, is similar?”

“Since when does it matter what he is?” Thin lips painted plum purple curl into a mirthless smile, onyx locks shaking in discontent. “How hypocritical you’ve become. Forgetful of the past.”

“A past worth forgetting. It’s never too late to change your political opinions, Morgan.”

Great, now I’m the one to open Pandora’s box. I should have kept my mouth shut, changed the topic.

Desperate for help yet knowing he cannot do anything, I look for Christian among the other customers. Expression stern and standing as rigid as a statue, he watches our table from behind the counter. It appears he, too, feels the sense of danger increasing as the conversation carries on. Notwithstanding, as becomes clear from the apologetic shake of the head when our eyes meet, he also knows his hands are tied at the moment.

We are on the same boat, waiting to see how the situation will develop.

Playthings of Chance and Fate.

“We’re not here to talk politics,’’ the woman in question answers, covering her mouth with her hands while chewing on a bite of goat cheese and pomegranate seeds, ‘’but to have lunch like civilized and amiable women. To help our friend.”

“You’re right,” Brigid concludes. Nonchalantly, she pierces a piece of egg in her salmon salad and puts its on the bread provided with it, a bread called St Michael’s Bannock according to the menu. Then, she points her fork at me. “But the best thing you can do is leave him while you still can.”

“L- Leave?” Utterly confused, I look at the woman calmly eating her lunch. “Why would I do that?”

Who is she? What’s more, who is she to tell me to leave Jaebeom after what I told her? He needs help and support, regardless of what may or may not be there beneath his skin.

Unless she is on to something I am not and judging by the current circumstances, I won’t get an answer even if I dare to ask. Henceforth, if only not to snap, I clear my throat and swallow the vile words dancing on the tip of my tongue. 

“Morgan can tell you why. All I can say is that it’s better to avoid men like your lover in the first place.” She coughs and takes a sip of tea to wash down the salad leaf stuck in her throat while the woman with hair as black as night chuckles darkly. Luckily, it is only loud enough for me to hear and Brigid is too busy preventing herself from choking.  

“Sétan-, I- I mean Seán was the one to leave me, not the other way around. And we mutually agreed to part ways in favour of our own well-being.”

“Sure you did. Totally didn’t resort to throwing plates and other pieces of furniture because he rejected you.”

Morgan growls something under her breath, glaring at the woman seated next to me. However, Brigid doesn’t seem to notice the reaction she has provoked or is indifferent to it. “Or washed clothes at the ford where he so ‘happened’ to pass by. Funny how he died soon after.”

Ford? There are quite a few in Ireland, so where and most importantly, when was this? Then again, what are these two on about? Washing clothes in a ford, people dying, politics, lovers to leave. They’re like arguing voices from ancient times.

Moreover, there is the question of Seán’s life. Is he alive or dead? One moment she speaks of him as if he’s still here, but then why would Brigid remark he’s dead?

“You shut your whoremouth, traitor!” With a loud bang, Morgan slams her fists on the table. She stands up with an expression that makes me cower in fear despite not being the target of her wrath.

Behind the counter, Christian slowly comes into motion, carefully moving with the likely intent to inconspicuously circle our table and jump in if necessary. He flinches as Gráinne places a hand on his arm, holding him hard enough for her knuckles to turn white when he tries to escape from her grip in order to prevent the worst from happening. Notwithstanding, whatever the plan was, it goes to waste since he decides to listen to what his colleague tells him. Sighing deeply, he stands down although he continues to observe us.

Gráinne follows his gaze, which seems to be directed at the brown-haired woman in white, her personal target of envy. Her wolfishly fierce expression falters, growing as bleak as the ash of a great bonfire.

This time he doesn’t see how she comes apart at the seams.

Brigid calmly finishes her tea, daps her mouth on the napkin and stands up too. “Get over your crush. There’s no future for you with him. As for you, Y/N,” eyes oddly alight with motherly affection, she turns her attention to me, “and as a piece of advice from a friend, end this relationship while you still can. There’s only heartbreak ahead.”

“Thank you, but,” a wistful smile forms on my lips regardless of the urge to give into the savage nagging inside, “I can’t leave him because I made a promise to stay.”

“I see. Perhaps you’ll prove me wrong and the flowers will bloom in spring.”

And with those final cryptic words, she leaves the café after waving at the tattooed barista.

Or so Brigid intends, but her way is cut off by his colleague. 

While clumsily taking off her apron she storms outside, clenching it hard and shivering as if she’s on the brink of tears.

“Gráinne? Gráinne!” Christian runs after his colleague, pale and eyes wide with worry as he comes to a halt in the doorway. “Where are you going? Gráinne!”

Brigid places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a consoling squeeze. After giving him an encouraging slap on the back she sets off, leaving the man standing there like a defeated soldier.

“Poor lass,” Morgan whispers as she watches the female barista pass the window. Something in her tone hints at a level of familiarity between the two.

“You know her?” I ask, frowning.

“I don’t think she remembers me.” She glances at Chris, who has retreated behind the counter. He has his head bowed, smooth black locks hiding his face from the customers. Trembling fingers entwined to conceal his distress as best as possible, he resembles a man of religion fervently praying for forgiveness. “And neither does he. I saw him and his close friend, Finn, once in the woods. No, it was his brother, Jor… was it? When he came to the island. Was that… who was that?��’

A mist clouds her ocean blue eyes, lost in thoughts far removed from this world and time. ‘’He was there. As for Gráinne, we met… somewhere. There was smoke, a burning body. It was- It was at… where? Fuck, I can’t recall. I think it was at his fu-’’ she abruptly cuts herself short to correct herself with a strange undertone in her voice, “not long after I... saw them.”

‘’Morgan, are you alright? You’re looking awfully pale.’’ 

Instead of breaking free from the spell that has taken hold of her, the reverie only seems to deepen. Rocking side to side, she clutches her arms to her chest. Her skin, although naturally pale, grows sickly like a walking corpse.

‘’I- I’m supposed to remember. I’m one of the few that do. No, he and I are the only ones left that do. I can’t forget. If I do, everyone will. I can’t… I can’t!’’

‘’Morgan!’’ I stand up from my seat to rush to her side. Rubbing her arms, I try with all my might to bring her back to reality from the depths of deliria. ‘’It’s all right, Morgan, nobody is going to forget. Please listen to me and follow my voice, use it as a guide back to me from wherever it is you are. Please, come back to me.’’

‘’May I?’’ Christian has appeared with a glass of water, which he sets on the table before crouching down at the woman’s side as well.

Gently he grabs one of her hands and holds it, talking in a voice that is surprisingly steady and soothing in spite of what happened mere moments ago. It’s rougher and more gruff, making it hard to distinguish one word from another if you are not well-acquainted with the speaker.

In fact, it belongs to a completely different person. ‘’Morgan, as long as there are people who remember, there is nothing to fear. The past has taught us that what might seem like the end isn’t necessarily truly the end. We are still here. We remember because you do and you remember because we do. You’re safe and sound. Instead, return and help me make her remember.’’

‘’Why, of everyone, did you have to fall for her?’’ Gaze blinded by her mind, Morgan reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through the barista’s hair. ‘’What makes her special?’’ 

‘’She understands.’’ A similar fog veils the misty white and dark eyes, Chris or, rather, the stranger pulled into the same realm of consciousness as my friend. ‘’She broke the chains that bound me and doesn’t allow me to slip into the shadows of what I once was.’’

‘’You’re all the same, aren’t you?’’

‘’It’s rare to find understanding and acceptance in a world naturally turned against you. So, please help me. Help me find her.’’ His voice breaks, the begging words coming out  high-pitched like a whining wolf. ‘’Help me find my reason to stay in this world and not forget nor be forgotten.’’ 

The veil lifts, the spell broken with the whimpered plea. 

Christian falls back, but manages to catch himself before his head hits the tiles. Refusing every helping hand from the customers hurrying over, he scrambles to his feet. Fortunately, he accepts the chair I offer him when his dangerous swaying almost causes him to hit his head against the wall.

‘’Are you okay?’’

‘’Yeah, I’m only dizzy.’’ The hiss he lets out flows over into a sound akin to a growl. ‘’And a splitting headache.’’

Morgan has a better return to reality, completely fine aside from a dazed mind. ‘’What happened?’’

‘’You tell me.’’ I search her face for clues, a sliver of the knowledge she is lying. However, I find none.

She is telling the truth.

‘’I… I don’t know. It’s the first time.’’ She clears her throat, brow furrowed. As if having heard a noise, she snaps her head to the side. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Drink your tea, eat a sandwich and go home early from work.”

She hands the glass of water to Christian. ‘’And you, you drink this and stay seated for at least five more minutes until the dizziness has faded. Are you nauseous?’’

‘’No. Although,’’ he dry heaves, ‘’never mind.’’

‘’Make it ten. You look as pale as a banshee.’’

‘’Speak for yourself.’’

‘’You’d make a pretty one, though,’’ Morgan muses when she returns her attention to me. ‘’Beauty makes suffering leading to death easier.’’

Apparently, her return to reality has left her as mad as a hatter so perhaps it wasn’t as good as I initially thought.

“Why on earth would you say that? Besides, what kind of comparison is that, us and a banshee?”

“One based on truth. Now,” she shoves the remainder of her goat cheese and pomegranate sandwich to me, “eat, rest up and get cracking again. We’ll be in touch and visit the new café I found yesterday later, alright?”

“Hey, not so fast. Where are you headed off to?’’

She can’t be serious. There is no way she is unaffected by what happened. 

“Attagirl,’’ Morgan says as if I promised to heed her words, ignoring what I actually said. ‘’By the way, ignore what Brigid said and stay with your man. It’s plain to see how he makes you feel.”

“It is?”

“You’re glowing and you come alive when you speak of him. It reminds me of how I was with Seán.” She starts as if awakened from a dream, but tries to hide her awkwardness behind a sheepish smile. “Well, then, take care.”

“You too.’’ The two simple words, otherwise casual, are now carefully chosen in order to not to trigger another ‘attack’.

My gut tight and skin prickling thanks to her inhuman behaviour, I watch the raven-haired woman leave. I hold my wrist, my pulse too rapid to be healthy beneath my thumb.

Like I am at death’s door.

The next morning, there’s an article in the newspaper. A man’s been found dead at the edge of the bogs near town. The cause of his demise is unknown, but there are witness accounts who said they heard a high screech late the night before. In the days that follow, their names show up one by one in funerary advertisements.

A week later, none of the witnesses are alive. Moreover, nobody has heard the screeching since, though everyone remembers the description of the sound.

It was like the howl of a banshee.

[bizarrebaby]

On The Feed | Mandalorian/Reader

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Word count: 3k

Summary: Mando accidentally turns on the crest’s old security cameras. One of which happens to be in your bunk

Warnings: NSFT! Slight somno/voyeurism (mando watching you sleep), feelings

The first time the Mandalorian had turned on the long-forgotten surveillance system on the Razor Crest, and had seen you asleep in your bunk, it had been a complete accident that was rectified quickly. The cameras were from a time before he’d had the carbonite freezer installed, and he’d had no choice but to keep live quarries in the ship. A wayward brush of his hand against the console had turned them on, and just as quickly turned them off. But not before he’d already burned the image of you through the monitor into his mind. While the whole thing was over quickly, it was not nearly as easily forgotten.

The second time, he had told himself that it was out of concern. The planet you’d just spent the last week on had an inhospitable climate to say the least, and you’d had your fair share of scrapes as well. So he turned on the feed to see if you were ok-- that you weren’t sniffling or coughing, or secretly nursing some injury you hadn’t wanted him to concern himself with. While that wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth, either. To see you sound asleep was comforting, it stirred something deep within him that he couldn’t remember having ever felt before. 

The third time… was something he couldn’t explain without suffocating with guilt. He’d just come back from a long, difficult bounty hunt that kept him away from the crest for a few days. He’d missed you terribly, and had returned in the middle of the night, and unwilling to wake you. To disturb what little rest you got just because he had missed you seemed childish to him. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. Climbed up to the cockpit, locking the door behind him, sat in the pilot’s seat, and removed his helmet. He bit his glove and tugged it off, unbuckling his codpiece. He palmed the bulge in his pants gingerly, fuzzy imaginations of your hesitant touch at the fringes of his mind. 

He hissed as he released his erection to the cool, recycled air of the cockpit. He spat in his palm before wrapping a calloused hand around his cock, thumbing at the frenulum while he tried to pull scenarios from his memory. All he could come up with was you. Touches against his bare skin when you’d patched up an injury, the moaning you’d do as you stretched awake in the mornings, how peaceful you looked in those few moments he saw you before you woke up…

He remembers the camera feed. How, shameful as it had been, it had been so comforting to see you safe and sound. Looking so soft and pretty in your sleep clothes, curled in on yourself. The Mandalorian tries and fails to think with anything but the dick between his legs. The out-of-the-way switch is flicked once again. The rarely used technology took a few seconds to hum to life, an eternity considering Mando’s trained reflexes and the racing of his mind. But he chose not to go back. He couldn’t, not having come this far and being so close to satisfaction. He doesn’t think he’s done anything to deserve to see you in such a vulnerable state, but he’s too weak-minded to deny himself. 

You’d once told the bounty hunter that while space was cold, the Razor Crest was colder. Being that he had always been in the layers of his flight suit, his armor, and his cape (not to mention that the cold had never bothered him), the Crest’s temperature controls favored lower temperatures. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with saving on energy to grant some small reprieve to the aging vessel. Nope. 

So there you lay, wrapped up in a quilt he’d gotten you in the market on some backwater planet. It was primarily dyed a warm peach color, a pigment extracted from a native insect. Perhaps it was some predilection from growing up in a Mandalorian covert, but Mando almost preferred that he couldn’t see much of you. Just the outline of your figure, where he could use his warm memories of you to color in the beautiful pieces of you that he cherished. 

He gripped his cock and began to stroke it slowly, thinking of how you’d touch him for the first time. Exploratory, almost hesitant. It wasn’t possible for him to fool himself completely, not with how large and calloused his hand was compared to yours, but every so often his imagination was vivid enough that he was able to dip into the dream. And when he did, the pleasure was something priceless.

In these fantasies, he was always without the helmet. The Mandalorian wouldn’t think of it in the moment, but after he came he would wonder why it was he chose to imagine things that way. Did he yearn for a freedom from the creed that gave him purpose? Or, perhaps worse, did he see you as the one he wanted to share his life with, until he went marching away? 

You shifted and moaned in your sleep, banishing some discomfort imperceptible to your traveling companion. He wondered if you dreamt at all, considering how inconsistent and uncomfortable your sleeping arrangements usually were. He hoped that you did dream, that there was an escape from the endlessness of space for you, if not for him. Selfishly, he hoped to be a part of those dreams. He wanted so badly to be the talisman against your nightmares.

He often imagined taking you in a flurry of mutual passion, on the Crest or away in some city, anywhere you would have him. He’d be rough, but you’d like it, and you’d be so, so good for him. But tonight, he felt so miserably lovesick and starved that he couldn’t imagine fucking you in any way but the gentlest way he could manage. He’d trained his entire life in combat, those who’d found death by his hands were innumerable. And yet, he’d use all of the delicacy at his disposal to coax you open for him. He’d put his mouth on you, and use his tongue to spell out all of the words he’d been too afraid to say through the vocoder.

Through the haze of his fantasies, he saw you smile in your sleep on the feed. Just a sweet tug at your lips, and he felt ruin upon him. Mando breathed like a wild beast as he fisted his cock, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the screen. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, cum splashing against his breastplate as he closed his eyes and saw you behind the lids. He cleaned himself up after coming down from his high, but kept the cameras on for a little longer. He thought that maybe if he saw you like this before he went to sleep himself, he could pretend you were sleeping next to him. Maybe that comfort would let his mind finally rest. Maybe he could dream. 

The Mandalorian had promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. But like so many promises he made to himself regarding you, it wasn’t kept. 

You told him precious little about life from your planet of origin. Of course, it was because he hadn’t asked. Even though he wanted to know everything there was to know about you. You once told him that where you came from, people believed that no one should ever be alone. Much the same as Mandalorians, they were very communal, and interpersonal support was of great importance. But there was an expression you taught him that he’d never encountered in the galaxy. He had a hard time remembering the word, but he remembered the meaning: to feel alone in one’s own body. 

The Mandalorian had been alone for much of his life. Travelling, keeping little companionship besides his covert, and he was convinced that things were best when he was alone. He remembered being confused by your expression, closer to when you’d first met. He mused that perhaps it was just a different way of expressing touch starvation, which he knew of intimately. 

He knew now that it was an entirely different feeling. You had wriggled into the gaps in his ribs, and taken little pieces of him every day. The breath from his lungs, the blood from his heart. And suddenly, when he had to be away from you, it didn’t feel right. 

Which brought him to another listless, sleepless night of him seeking his own pleasure in a desperate attempt to sate whatever beast had made home inside his body. The one that craved only you. 

When he turned on the cameras, he was met with your flushed face, eyebrows furrowed, as you moaned quietly and squirmed beneath your quilt. His first instinct was to ask himself what the hell could’ve been wrong with you? If you were sick or hurt, how could it have slipped by him? When did it—

Oh.

Oh.

You kicked the quilt off, revealing the hand buried in between your legs, your sleep shirt ridden up to the curve of your waist. The image of you curled around yourself made it painfully easy for him to imagine himself at your back, his hand replacing yours at the apex of your thighs. He felt sweat bead on his brow as he sat, paralyzed in the pilot’s chair; if what he’d been doing before was shameful, what he was doing now would have to be unforgivable. As if of its own free will, his arm reached to that far side of the console, and turned up the audio dial.

Unforgivable, indeed.

Your moans were muffled intentionally, and he felt a pang of unjustified irritation when he noticed. If he were there, he wouldn’t tolerate you quieting yourself. Not after he’d waited this long to experience every possible facet of your ecstasy. Something he knew himself undeserving of, but was past the point of caring. He’d become impossibly hard, and was about to divest himself of his flightsuit, when he caught something barely picked up by the audio censors.

“Mando--”

He was out of his chair and down the ladder before he even realized what he was doing. He paused just outside your bunk, unable to hear you through the steel door, but his reservations had long since been overridden by need. Your door swished open, and he caught just the barest hint of movement before you were entirely still. You weren’t deaf, and he hadn’t exactly moved silently in those few rushed moments. Your eyes nearly clenched closed, the quilt still misplaced, you pretended. But the Mandalorian had learned how to see through pretenders long ago.

Mando moved cautiously, carefully, as he slid himself into your cot just behind you. As if hoping to hide from a predator, you continued to lay still and try to breathe evenly. The Mandalorian rested a gloveless hand against your warm thigh, sliding it up slowly until he was able to slide a thumb beneath the elastic of your underwear, memorizing the feeling of your skin. 

“I know you’re not asleep, sweet girl. I know what you were doing,” he whispered through the modulator. His hand ventured to your front, and stroked over the obvious wet patch on your panties. “You were calling for me, mesh’la. And here I am.”

For less than a moment, he felt like he came to his senses, and worried that he was wrong, somehow. That his love-starved mind had invented those images of you, and similarly fabricated your calling his name. That these were all unwanted advances that would destroy the relationship you had. 

“Mando,” you exhaled, moving to grind against his hand. He shuddered slightly, but felt a certain pang of disappointment at the name you used. 

“Din,” he said, “my name is Din, sweet girl. Please use it,” he pleaded quietly against your neck.

“Din,” you called, pushing yourself against his front, and creating delicious friction against his hard cock through his flight suit. He used his free hand to hurriedly free himself, and you squeaked as his heavy cock landed against the small of your back, where your shirt had ridden up. You could feel the wet of his precum hot against your skin.

His once idle hand dove beneath your waistband, stroking his thick fingers along your slick. You could hear his pleased hum from under his helmet, too quiet for the vocoder to pick up.

“You’re so wet, cyar’ika, and so kriffing soft… Better than I ever imagined.”

You tried to pretend that the thought of him imagining this scenario didn’t completely undo you. The Mandalorian slowly slipped a finger in you, just teasingly up to the first knuckle, and you could feel him grind against your backside.

“Your pussy’s gripping my finger so tightly, I don’t know how I’ll fit. But I’m a patient man.”

Suddenly, you’re manhandled into a sitting position, between Din’s legs. His free hand slipped up your sleep shirt, groping a breast eagerly. He fingers you in earnest now, no longer feeling content in just exploring you. No, now he wanted to ruin you. Give you so much ecstasy that there wouldn’t be a doubt in your mind regarding how he felt about you.

He added another finger, stroking against your silken walls while his palm put delicious pressure against your clit. You choked out a pleasured cry, and he could feel his cock throb at the sound. You were already so worked up by the time he arrived, and all of the things he was saying were just so overwhelming, you were already close. The way your walls pulled at his fingers was mesmerizing to the Mandalorian as he drew you closer to orgasm. 

“Are you close, cyar’ika? K-keep making those noises—fuck, c-can you feel how hard I am for you? So pretty,” he cooed. “You’ll come for me, like a good girl, won’t you, cyare? C’mon, sweet girl, come, and then I’ll take you like you deserve.”

You whined, gasped, and shuddered when the white hot pleasure hit you, sending jolts up your spine as you pushed yourself further against the Mandalorian’s hand. You grabbed his thighs to ground yourself as he continued to rock his fingers into you gently, helping you ride through your climax. 

“Din,” you huffed, dreamily, “thank you.”

“Save your thanks for when I’m finished with you. I want you, cyare. Will you let me take you?”

“Please, Din. I wanna feel you.”

The simple, earnest desire—no, yearning, in your voice fanned at the hellish flames in his belly. You wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted you. His fingers withdrew from you, and he picked you up without fanfare, turning you to lay you on your back. He felt something in his heart break a little as he looked down at you through the filter of his helmet. First through the distortion of the camera feed, and now this. 

One day he would look you in the eyes as he fucked you, and it would be beautiful. 

The velvet head of his cock nudged at your clit while prodding at you, and Din smiled under his helmet at the sweet little noises it coaxed from you. He pushed into you, gently and incrementally, determined to make this moment last, as if this would never happen again. For all he knew, it might not. You might wake up tomorrow and condemn this all as a mistake, as a regret. But for this instant, he had you, and he would cherish you.

He choked out his groans as he felt the hug of your walls around him. He knew he wouldn’t have had this much trouble staving off his climax if he were with anyone but you. It was you doing this to him, it was as if he could feel the thrum of your heartbeat through the silk of your cunt, and it utterly undid him to think of your heart beating as hard as his.

Din thrusted slowly, deeply, gentle yet punctuated. Words of affection, praise, and endearment fell from his mouth freely now, when usually coaxing conversation from him was akin to pulling teeth.

“Sweet girl, fuck-- My sweet girl… ngh, even if just for tonight.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, insecurity behind them as your brows furrowed. Your eyes drifted from his visor as you continued to quietly pant and mewl with his thrusts.

“I… I want to be yours after tonight, Din. Please?”

For a moment you wondered if you’d said the wrong thing. Ruined it all, broken whatever spell he’d been under, the one that seemed to make him so suddenly and miraculously interested in you the same way you were in him. Then, his thrusts turned punishing, and he shoved his hand between your bodies to knead at your clit with his thumb.

“Fuck, cyare, you can’t just say things like that and expect m-me to last,” he gasped, wholly unprepared for such a confession.

Your cunt squeezed him, as if you’d had his heart in your hands, and you were unable to contain the longing look that made itself known on your face. He couldn’t take it. Din stilled as he came, streaking your insides in ropes of his hot cum, a deep growl leaving him as he shook with the intensity of it. 

He continued to thrust into you with his softening and oversensitive cock, stroking your clit with renewed vigor.

“Come on, mesh’la, I wanna feel you come on my cock, fucking soak me--”

You keened, a broken cry leaving you, and Din felt your walls milk him so hard it almost hurt with his sensitivity as you gushed around him. He finally collapsed on you, his weight resting heavy on you for a moment before he rolled over, pulling you along to rest on him. You both huffed quietly, the only sound aside from the unending hum of the systems of the crest, which you were suddenly able to perceive again.

“For as long as you’ll have me.” He said.

“What?”

“You… you said you wanted to be mine. After tonight,” he paused to collect his thoughts, a struggle as he still waded in post-orgasmic haze. “Be mine. And I’ll be yours. For as long as you’ll have me, cyare.”

You’re stunned into silence for a moment, before you hoist yourself up, looking down at him.

You lean your forehead against his helmet.

Taglist (this is the first time I’ve done one of these! Sorry if I fuck it up lol)

@auty-ren @gallowsjoker

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Sacrifce

Warnings: Dub-con, breeding kink, Human sacrifice

AO3

The winter had been harsh and long. The snow was thick over the fields, making sure that no crops would grow. The village was down to its last few animals; even the ones that had perished due to the harsh conditions had to be used up and eaten. The winter rations used up long ago, when the people thought it would be a normal cold season. No one had suspected that the ice would remain for this long. Spring should have started by now, the fields should have been lush and green, lambs and calves should have been dotted around the meadows and pastures. But here you were, cocooned in all the furs the family owned, ignoring pangs of hunger, and wishing to feel the warmth of the sun once more. Clearly this was the anger of the gods, and something had to be done in order to appease them or else your entire village would perish. A decision was made. A sacrifice was needed. It couldn’t be livestock; you were already struggling. The village elders had decided that there were already too many mouths to feed, so a human life it would be. It couldn’t be one of the boys, because obviously strong young men were needed to do what little labour was needed in the village. Elders were needed to pass on knowledge. Mothers were needed to raise the children. And this particular entity did not accept the lives of children. That left the girls of marriageable age. ‘Typical’ you thought to yourself. Something in the back of your mind told you that it would be you. Your family wasn’t particularly important, you had no elders to vouch for you in the council, and as much as they cared about the ‘good of the people’, they were not prepared to let go of their own granddaughters. When the decision was announced, you were not surprised. You hoped it was quick, whatever it was. //// For some morbid reason, you were dressed like a bride. The ceremonial garb was far too thin for the temperature. Maybe you were to freeze to death. Whoever this god was, his temple was located in the mountains near your village. It was, however, a surprisingly short trek. You assumed you would perish along the way seen as you were barefoot, without furs and not well fed. The people of the village could not even extend those courtesies to you. You looked around at the entrance of the temple, it just seemed like a dark and icy cave. It had gone unused for so long. The Jotun god, Loki had fallen out of the people's favour long ago. Mischief and chaos were not welcome by the people. Instead, his brother, Thor remained as the favoured god of the region. Maybe the harsh winter was revenge and punishment for forsaking him. A harsh reminder to the people that he still existed, and that his anger was not to be taken lightly. An elder spoke to you as your hands were tied, you weren’t really listening. A bitter drink was given to you, it burned on the way down, but it was the most warmth you had felt in a while. A thick veil was placed over your head, apparently you weren’t allowed to see what was about to happen, a small mercy. You were led into the temple, the lack of harsh wind making things a little more bearable, but the pure ice on the floor made your bare feet hurt. You were pushed onto your knees, the cold seeping into your bones. The elder walked away. You listened as the voices of the men drifted away from the entrance, leaving your fate in the hands of something unknown. Your only company was the constant dripping, echoing from somewhere in the cave, and the sound of your own thoughts. You hoped it was worth it. A numbing sensation began to take over, probably caused by the drink from earlier. //// You jolted awake at the sound of total silence. The wind could no longer be heard, and the dripping had stopped. You still couldn’t see anything. Yet somehow the room seemed a lot bigger, you felt more exposed, missing the strange comfort of the enclosed space you were supposedly left in. Had you been moved? As your eyes began to grow heavy again, you heard a shuffling from in front of you. The noise causing you to sit up straight. Whatever it was, its presence was suffocating. “Now what do we have here?” The voice was like velvet. Otherworldly even. It seemed to descend, getting closer to you. “A shivering little lamb, all for me.” This must have been Loki. You fought the urge to run out of wherever you were. “Well, it seems like the people haven’t been able to forget me, no matter how hard they try.” He grabbed your tied wrists, the rope falling away like water. His hands felt so big compared to yours. His cold touch made you tingle. “Oh you poor thing. Freezing, aren’t you?” You could only nod. He responded with a light chuckle. “Are you going to eat me?” you blurted out, not thinking about what you were saying. He moved away from you. You could feel him staring at you. You knew he was grinning. “Of course, I am,” he got closer again, “it is up to you how,” he whispered. You gulped. There seemed to be innuendo in his statement. He moved again, this time directly in front of you. You gasped as you saw his fingers hook under your veil. Big and blue was the only way you could describe them, with raised ridges. You wanted to trace them with your fingers. Your thoughts were cut short by the tugging on your veil. Your hands shot up to cover your scrunched up eyes. You felt the veil come off, the cool air hitting your head. “Look at me, Y/N”, his voice boomed around the space. You never told him your name, you were sure of it. His tone left no space to argue. How could you defy a powerful god anyway? You knew what his wrath could bring first-hand. You lowered your shaky hands first, placing them on your thighs, gripping your knees. You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the new light. Your eyes fell to the bottom of the dais you were kneeling at. Ever so slowly your gaze travelled up, taking in each individual, intricately carved step. Finally, your eyes landed on the being sprawled out over his crystal throne. His head rested on his hand, a bored expression on his face. The only way you could describe him was ‘magnificent’. A beauty like no other. You could see why mortals would fear him, but he was not the grotesque creature you expected him to be. He seemed amused at your expression, raising a brow at you, causing you to blush, you wanted to be back behind the veil to hide your own embarrassment. “I expected a little more screaming, mortals usually can’t handle what they cannot understand,” he finally spoke again. You could do nothing but owlishly blink. “Stand,” he commanded. You scrambled up, your legs resisting after kneeling for so long. “Come here,” he made a ‘come hither’ gesture with his finger. You slowly made your way up the icy steps, becoming painfully aware of your bare feet. You tried to look away when you stood directly in front of him, even sitting the god dwarfed you in size. His icy hand reached forward, gently holding your chin and making you face him. Those red eyes seemed to study your face intensely. You stared right back, taking in all his features. High cheekbones and a sharp nose, all accented by the same ridges he had on his hands. You followed the patterns to the column of his throat, stopping yourself from letting your eyes wander further down; you knew he was covered in the lines. You wondered if they were natural in Jotuns, or if they were burned into the skin, like a rite of passage of sorts. You had heard other tribes in your area had similar traditions. Your thoughts drifted to mapping them out with your own hands. “Such a curious little thing you are,” he said. He must have caught you staring, your eyes darted away from him as he chuckled. You caught a glimpse at his teeth, pearly white and sharp. He pinched your cheeks as you tried to turn away, thoroughly enjoying the heat that rushed into them. “I forget how soft and delicate Midgardians are,” he mumbled. He pulled away from you, looking you up and down as he thought what to do with you. “Your people want salvation, yes? They want the winter to end?” he asked. You quickly nodded; it was the reason you were here. He hummed, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. A grin spread across his face. The room around you began to spin before you fell back onto soft furs. A fire crackled nearby, you sighed at finally feeling warmth after so long. Loki stood above you, staring you down, the light from the fire making his features sharper than before. You felt like a mouse at his feet. You almost screamed as he got down, hovering above you on all fours, engulfing you with his body. Your noses touching. “I will offer your people reprieve from my winter,” he started. “Th- Thank you,” you stuttered. “However,” his grin became more malicious, “If you do not provide me an heir by next spring, the winter will plague your lands until you do,” he whispered in your ear, placing a cold hand across your belly. His tone left no room for question, the future of your people depended on this. You were pulled out of your thoughts when Loki carried you to the furs next to the fire, warming you up even further, you hadn’t noticed you were shivering until you stopped. “I am a cruel god, but I will show mercy to those that deserve it,” he mumbled. His cool hands trailed their way down the column of your throat, you gasped as his lips flowed close behind. Stopping along the way to mark and nip you with his sharp teeth, the marks would scar. This was the closest anyone had ever been to you. His hands made quick work of the cord holding your dress together. He peeled the thin fabric away from you. You tried to cover your bare skin, but your hands wouldn’t move, held down by some sort of magic. His hands found your soft skin again, making you groan as he paid attention to your breasts. “What sweet sounds you make, little maiden.” He made eye contact with you as he took one of your nipples into his mouth. Your hands broke free and buried themselves into his hair, your head falling back in unfamiliar pleasure. He smiles with his wet lips, before moving onto the other. You felt like you were burning up inside. He let go of your nipple with a ‘pop’, the cool air brushing over them. “I hope these will be full soon.” His lips travelled down your abdomen to the tops of your thighs. His hands ran up your legs until they met his lips. In one swift movement he held them open, your legs over his shoulders as your wetness was exposed to him. You covered your face in embarrassment. His fingers ghosted over your sensitive flash, causing your hips to jerk at the sensation, wanting more. “Is your cunt dripping for your god?” His mouth was so close to your heat. He used his magic to remove your hands from your face, making you look at him again. His red eyes burned into yours as his tongue liked a stripe through your folds. You sighed at the feeling, tightening your thighs around him and wanting more. He continued to noisily suck, distracting you from his finger that began to enter you. The intrusion was so foreign to you, but you couldn’t help but give in. Wanting more. You felt so greedy, you had never felt this sort of wanting before. You didn’t think your mother would be happy with you if she found out. Loki began sucking at your sensitive bud, bringing you to the edge of whatever this was. “Please...” you breathed out. You looked down at him with teary eyes, you didn’t know what you were begging for. With one final suck, Loki had you seeing stars, finally falling off the edge you were headed towards. Your legs jerked around him, keeping him where he was as he looked up at you with amusement in his eyes. You looked down at him after coming down from your high, his face wet with your release. You let your legs relax, allowing him to move up to you, this time capturing your lips in a searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. He broke away, leaving you breathless. Using his magic, he quickly got rid of what little clothing he was in. You were right about the ridges being everywhere, your hands were loose again, and you reached for his chest, finally getting a feel of the cool skin. He growled as your fingers traced the ridges down to his stomach. His hands stopped yours as you reached his hips. You let your eyes wander down, they widened at the size of his cock. He chuckled at your reaction. “Mortals are quite adaptable are they not? I’m sure your cunt will be able to accommodate me.” He brought your hands to feel his ridged and velvety skin. He sighed at the feeling of your warm hands. He shuffled you around again, spreading you open for what was to come next. He rubbed his cock along your folds, the temperature difference already making you hiss. You didn't think he would fit. With one hand on your hip, he guided the tip to your entrance. Slowly, he pushed in, stopping to let you stretch around him until he bottomed out. The only way you could describe the feeling was ‘full’. You knew no mortal man could ever fill you like this, they wouldn’t even get the opportunity to. His hand pressed down on your stomach, “Can you feel me here?” he groaned. All you could do is nod, no coherent words forming any time soon. Both hands found your hips this time, he began to thrust in a steady rhythm, slowly picking up the pace. You knew you’d never get used to his size, however long you were here. The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, you moaned anytime he hit that spot inside you. Loki moved you so effortlessly, as if you were simply a toy, made for his pleasure. The coil in your belly began to tighten again, you didn’t know how much longer you would last. “Please, My King… I…” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to fight the feeling.

“You want to cum again? So soon? Aren’t you being a little greedy mortal?” he taunted. His words made you clench around him a little tighter. You looked up at him with teary eyes, hoping he would show you this one mercy. “Pathetic little thing,” he grumbled, his fingers reaching for your clit, letting you tumble off the edge again. He kept on thrusting through your aftershocks, heightening the sensations. He fully sheathed himself inside you before his head fell back in ecstasy, pumping you full of his seed. You went limp on the furs, trying to catch your breath. The heat of the fire felt too much for you at that moment. Loki pulled himself out with an obscene noise, inspecting the aftermath of his work.

“Your people are lucky to have sent you, little mortal.” He effortlessly carried you back to the bed, letting you sink into the covers. “You were strong enough to last through receiving my seed, and you’ll be strong enough to carry my heir,” his hand rubbed your tummy, seemingly deep in thought, “Not many would have survived.” He climbed in behind you. You groaned as his fingers found your sensitive cunt. He speared you back onto his already hard cock, you whimpered at the stretch. “I’ll let you rest for a little while, but you will keep me warm until we can start again. You have a purpose to fulfil, remember?” “Yes My King,” you whispered back, trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.

[wannaholdhandswithfictionalmen]

(My) Sanctuary;

A/n: First Ever Fic for Genshin Impact Fandom. A fic no one asked for but the idea was living in my head rent free, so what's a girl to do except play more Genshin Impact and work on this fic. (Listened to Sanctuary & Don't think twice by Hikaru Utada while writing this -- hence my inspired and very unoriginal title for this fic because I am horrible at thinking of titles.) 

Genre: Mostly Fluff really, a pinch or two of Angst.

Warning: Implied underage drinking. Brief description of Violence. Of age drinking. 

Summary: Childhood friends with history. Unspoken feelings. Mutual pining. Circumstances and life have forced you and Diluc on different paths, but you always return to Mondstadt and Diluc always makes time for you.

Word count: 3,128

The busy streets of Mondstadt. How long had it been this time? The absence of your presence from these cobblestone paths; four, five? No. Six months. Commissions to fight greater, fierce foes across Teyvat demanded your blades and lightning. Not that it mattered much how far or long you ventured from your former home. There was only one person who meant a great deal, important even if you could not sort through all the emotions attached to him in your own heart or even dare to give voice to those emotions.

Diluc Ragnvindr. 

And despite the inner twisted, festering turmoil (of your own making) cradled in your heart for Mondstadt, Favonius Knights, The Fatui 'diplomats'. Diluc was always a reason to return. 

In fact you aren't at all surprised when you stop by Good Hunter, offering up a handful of Mora for a meal. Sitting down at a table, closing your eyes. You took in a deep breath, the air here felt different to you. Thanks to the Anemo god, Barbatos. You swear it truly is the sense, embodiment of freedom that fills your lungs and soothes you even if for a few seconds. 

A savory blend of mushrooms, chicken and noodles is your lunch for the day. After thirty minutes have passed since your arrival in Mondstadt. And Diluc is sliding into the chair across from your own, elbows on the table, arms folded. Crimson eyes silently taking in the features of you. 

"Hm. You're slacking. That's ten minutes later than before, what took your little informants so long to whisper in your ear word of me being back?" You don't even spare a look at him, taking another bite, chewing a mouthful as you wait for his reply. 

"I do have a winery to run and the protection of Mondstadt to ensure, I can't not always come rushing away for personal affairs." Diluc holds a evident edge of underlying frustration in his smooth voice. 

Your own gaze trails up and over him, taking in the exasperation and exhaustion that furrows the brow of his otherwise stoic expression-- you want to ask when he last got a full night's rest? If he was still doing his lone warrior, Darknight Hero routine? If he was as stubborn as ever shouldering the burden of his fervor desire to defend and protect. Oh, how you worry, worry and worry the weight of it all on your tongue, tightening your throat-- who takes care of you? Who stands by your side? Who defends you? Who protects you? Who lov-

Once upon a time it had been you but a vortex of mourning, sorrow, rage swallowed up your old life. Until you wanted nothing more than to never see the walls of Mondstadt ever again. One day leaving it all behind. Time was a cruel mistress, one day swiftly grew to years. The first time you returned from what would become regular disappearances--adventures. 

Damage had been done. Diluc was the one who reached out to savage your friendship and you had welcomed the chance to have him back in your life even if it would never be anything more. 

"Should I be honored that the gentleman Ragnvindr can even grace me with his company?" It's a hollow jest as you pick at your half eaten plate of food. 

"No," His dismissal of the notion is soft yet firm. "Just Diluc, a friend, who is glad to see you well again." It's never his straight-forward or blunt nature that catches you off guard, it's when the subtle but clear sincerity creeps to the surface. Open, unwavering in his honesty.  

You huff, looking down feigning disinterest yet the twitch of your lips is undeniable. Warmth, simple, gentle curls in your chest. Happiness. Flickering embers outside of the stone walls of your heart that would make Rex Lapis proud. Diluc had always been able to slip past your defenses, so easily lingering in your thoughts, in your heart. Whether he was aware of it or not. 

"I suppose I am glad to see you too. Saved me a few bottles of my favorite wine?" You ask glancing up to catch his watchful gaze, biting your bottom lip as a wide smile threatened to spread on your face. Dulic's sudden raised eyebrow says it all-- do you really need to ask? 

"Four pristine bottles of aged mixed sunsettia, valberry wine." Prideful is subtle and delicate in his voice as if Diluc would ever forget your favorite wine. Funny enough to think about how even as the unspoken king of the winery industry, he doesn't enjoy alcohol himself. Still keeping a stock of your favorite in his manor. 

"You never let me pay you and we can't really share a few glasses together, so," you hum, slowly wired up with nervous yet excited anticipation as you reach down into the bag hanging off your shoulder. Shifting through the items and materials you carried with you for cooking and crafting you find it! Grabbing a slender jug of a bottle, wrapped in cloth. Swiftly placed on the table in front of Diluc. "I brought something for you." 

It's not like grape juice is such a hard find or something Diluc could not afford himself with his abundance of wealth but you had commissioned a famous brewer to make a special blend of grapes and other berries to create a rich and sweet juice. With your own Mora to spare after a few jobs, and you had a feeling your wandering would lead back to Mondstadt. 

Diluc is steady, slow with peeling back the cloth to stare at the deep, dark purple liquid filling the glass bottle. Uncorking the bottle, Diluc takes a whiff, closing his eyes, the smile that graces his face. It's everything and so much more. "It smells delicious. Thank you, I can't wait to taste it." 

"Then we should begin our walk to the manor? I can hear my wine calling me." You leave a few Mora coins as a tip, standing up, Diluc presses the cork back into the bottle and hands it back to you for safe keeping. 

"Alright," Diluc nods, following, matching your stride with ease. "Adelinde was asking about you the other day, you know she always makes sure your room is tidy, spotless in fact." 

Stupid. How one little phrase has your stomach full of crystal flies like you are a teenager all over again. And the mention of the kind maid who still fusses over Diluc and you on occasion makes you happy. It is a nice reprieve from nights of solitude, you are content to travel alone but loneliness is a creature that waits, and waits until the right moment to sink its claws and fangs into you on the road. 

The walk from Mondstadt isn't far but you aren't expecting a fully pleasant and peaceful walk with Diluc. Outside of the gates of the city and a few minutes down the dirt road, the sight of Hilichurls is predictable. 

Small pack of fighters, five Hilichurls carrying clubs and one hulking Mitachurl with a shield. This should be fun. 

"Make sure to show me how playing the part of the nighttime hero has kept your skills sharp!" You yell with a laugh, grinning as you summon your sword, forged of dragon bone, jagged, fierce blade. Rushing forward you dodge past the throw Pyro slimes. 

You let yourself run a little wild, your Electro vision surge through you, bolts of lightning crash down on the charging Hilichurls. Shocking and stunning the monsters for a moment, that's all you need to unleash a flurry of fast slashes.

A loud, enraged howl, crashing stomps approach from your back. Anyone else would need to worry or doubt--you don't. The familiar roar and rumble of flames fills the air, the scorning heat of it nipping behind you. Diluc doesn't even let that Mitcahurl so much as graze you, his grunts and shouts clash with its growl and howls as his flame imbued blade breaks and burns through the beast's wooden shield. Leaving ashes flying in the air and the heavy smell of smoke and fire. 

You electrify the Hilichurls, slowing, paralyzing the small beasts until they are left vulnerable and weak against you. The perfect targets. You cleave one's head off, stab straight through the mask of another, impale the chest of another. Delivering killing blows with precision and force. Wiping them out, you turn in time to see the beauty of Diluc. 

Rapid, graceful, relentless, ferocity embraced in unyielding flames. The towering giant Hilichurl is left staggering, stumbling under the strikes of Diluc's claymore left all too unprotected without its shield to hide behind. Diluc turns up the heat quite literally, the soaring, blazing phoenix that emerged from his own vision and will, his flames destroy the Mitcahurl, wiping out its pitiful existence effortlessly. 

Diluc shakes a bit of lingering flames and smoke off the steel of his blade with a sweeping slash at the air, standing among darkened, black grass, a gust of wind sways his hair and he looks over his shoulder. It is surely a moment deserving of immortalizing in portrait, his bright red hair blowing in the wind, holding his greatsword in one hand, sunlight giving him an ethereal glow, gazing at you. 

Giving a slow applause, you whistle and laugh. "Flashy as ever, Diluc." 

"The pyro element leaves little room for anything else. Still it's efficient and powerful," Diluc turns to face you, letting go of the hilt of his sword as it vanishes, unneeded outside of battle. "However, it's not something you could critique me on, when anyone for miles could see your lightning." 

"Fair enough." 

Besides a few stray slimes, the rest of your walk is undisturbed, reaching the winery as nightfall, the sun dipping below the horizon. 

"(Name) it is good to see you well." Adelinde smiles upon seeing you as Diluc opens the front door and holds it open for you to walk in first. She hugs you, it's hard not to melt into her tight cradle. 

"Have you been eating well? Sleeping accordingly? Not just naps. Taking breaks in between all your monster hunting?" Her lovingly stern questions always feel comforting in a way that is odd to describe and felt deeply. 

"I am still standing, Adelinde, fully rested and my stomach is full at the moment." 

"You would do well to keep it as such." Adelinde levels you with a motherly look of if you do not take care of yourself, I will which should be hard to make look threatening but the older woman handles it with years of expertise. She has worried over guests, Diluc, Kaeya, you for many, many years in the pact and many to come you are certain. 

"Adelinde, please have the bottles of sunsettia, valberry wine brought up, we-" 

"One step ahead of you, Master Diluc. Hillie and Moco brought them up a short while ago, I hope you two enjoy your time together." Adelinde leaves the manor, you aren't sure what work needs to be done on the grounds, you know for a fact Adeline specifically tries to do outside chores during daylight hours. It's an obvious tell for someone who knows her, she is ensuring you and Diluc remain alone for now. An avid supporter of your friendship you suppose. 

Diluc barely gets to call out a 'thank you!' as she is shutting the door. 

You stroll across the room, not much has changed at all. Your destination is the furniture set by the fireplace, the small, round table paired with two cushioned chairs. Pulling out the bottle of juice to place on the table top next to the bottles of wine, to cups awaiting you both. 

Pouring your first cup, you are eager, excited to taste the almost sickeningly sweet flavor of the wine. It never seems to taste the same from any other winery or brewery or even in the company of others. 

Moments of comfortable quiet drift by as you slowly, steadily sip and savory the wine. 

When Diluc takes the first taste of your gift and his low moan of approval as he swallows. Oh. You could listen to that again and again. All husky, raspy delight that sends shivers down your spine. It feels good to bring any kind of bliss to Diluc, even the simplest kind by providing him a drink he loves. 

You get the mutual feeling of being watched as you drink, sighing and smiling at the taste, the feeling of nostalgia creeps up on you. 

"I remember the first time I tasted this wine. We were barely teenagers sneaking down into the cellar. I badly wanted to try the wine everyone in Mondstadt wouldn't shut up about," you recall it interrupting yourself with short, full breaths of levity. Far too amused by the memory to contain your laughter. "I- I asked. No- begged you to come down with me while your father was gone, saying I'd bring Kaeya instead if you didn't come, bluffing and you got as red as a flaming flower, grabbed my hand and pulled me all the way to the cellar and downstairs." 

Diluc huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back into the cushions of the sofa. "You knew how to push my buttons too well, half of the stuff I let you talk me into was completely foolish." Staring into the lit fire as he listened to you. 

"Just half?"

"Fine. All of the escapades I let you drag me along on were absurd." 

"Your welcome as I recall you had a lot of fun." 

"At the risk of a lot of trouble, you tested the lengths of even my father's generous patience." Diluc shook his head, the fondness in expression was plain as day. 

"Oh, remember the night after getting my gliding license, I dared you to join me on top of the cathedral to see which of us could get farther across the city, and you landed in a bush!" Several glasses of wine, one empty bottle of the tart and sweet berry alcohol and you felt even more relaxed, comfortable in the company of Diluc. 

"I, at the very least, remained dry. You were the one who crash-landed right into the fountain." Diluc smirked, sharp, sly as he chuckled, lightly tugging and adjusting the fabric of his gloves. Idle gestures as his cup stays on the table after a few sips. 

"I would rate my dive undoubtedly ten out of ten." By the Archons, it had been a miracle you both escaped from the knights of Favonius night patrol with the commotion you made, wet leather boots on stone top made you slip a few times in your dash to escape discovery. Diluc had kept a firm grip on your arm, tugging you back up and refusing to leave you behind. 

Then you remember, hiding away, pressed chest to chest, the chill of your soaked clothes clinging to you, the rise and fall of heavy, labored breaths. How close Diluc had been, that smokey, fiery scent that having pyro vision gifted him along with faint aroma of fruit thanks to the orchard of the dawn winery, he worked with his father on occasion. If you had just tilted your head up, leaned in--

"I know Kaeya was always jealous. I could talk you into anything but you refused his antics left and right." 

"It's different. I actually like you and spending time with you." Diluc's deadpan response pulls a ugly snort-laugh from you. His relationship with Kaeya is an odd one but you know deep down he cares for his brother even if things aren't exactly civil between them. 

"I feel so special." 

"As you should, I don't like people." His sarcasm, that is half-joke, half-truth keeps you laughing. 

The first wave of tiredness hits you, letting out an involuntary yawn. Your travels, the trek and fight from earlier catch up with you. Combined with the consumption of alcohol. 

"I think the wine is getting to me, I feel a little sleepy." You finish off your glass with one gulp, smooth like silk down your throat, the lack of burn makes it far too easy to want to empty all the bottles. Four. You'd certainly regret that in the morning. 

"I noticed." Diluc gets up first, three steps towards you, he is holding out his hand to you. 

"I can walk myself, I am not that drunk." You protest his offer while reaching out and taking his hand, entwining your fingers without a second thought. Diluc gives your hand a squeeze, his slender fingers lightly caressing the back of your hand. He guides you upstairs to your room as if you don't know the way by heart as if your room would ever change. 

"You would never ask for help yourself and you did break a vase the last time, even the smallest bit of intoxication seems to make you clumsier." Diluc gives his clear and absolutely unfair opinion. It happened one time!

It is really not necessary either to open the door for you, letting go of your hand only to press the large, warm palm of his hand against your back. Nor does Diluc need to kneel before you as you sit on the edge of the bed, unfastening your boots, removing your satchel and placing your belongings on the bedside table. 

"It is hilarious to hear you of all people, calling me out of not asking for help. Mister Darknight." 

Dliuc 'tsks' at the mention of his beloved hero name. "I am aware, that can be a little hypocritical." 

"A little?" 

"(Name)," Diluc speaks your name so tenderly, softly, as if the word itself is precious. "I simply want to help you, to car-" He clears his throat cutting off that train of thought. Pausing for seconds of silence pass, crimson eyes staring into your own. "If there was anyone I would accept help from it would be you." 

That is dangerously close to an admission of something else. And all every moment of the past, all the maybe(s), what-ifs, almost(s) flash through your mind. You could take the leap or let this become another memory to turn over and over in your head, wondering, wanting, yearning. 

"Get some rest." Diluc walks over to the door, standing in the open threshold of the room, hand gripping the door knob. 

"Diluc, wait" It's barely a whisper, so hushed and subdued. So low, he doesn't hear it and when Diluc looks over his shoulder, the short-lived courage in you has diminished and you can't bring yourself to voice all the longing, desire, love trapped in your heart. 

"Goodnight, Diluc."

"Goodnight, (Name)." 

[imagines-hoarder]

The Older Man (Pt 2) *smut*- Thomas Shelby

Request// Hey! Will you post a part 2 of “The Older Man”? I would be the happiest person alive =)

*After two years of sitting on the sidelines and focusing on school, I decided to use writing as a way to procrastinate from classes instead of the other way around. Family Divided and My Husband’s Brother fans are gonna kill me cause they have DEFINITELY been waiting longer; maybe more to come? I do also wanna give a little warning; I have not written a full work for this blog in two years and the first part of this story was the peak of my passion. I wanted to give y’all the smut you loved but wasn’t in the mood for angst so let me know if you have any storylines you have in mind for these two and we’ll see how long I’m around for? Please be gentle with my heart! xoxox*

Masterlist

(Part 1)

For those who know him, Tommy is predictable.

When you took a moment to finally watch the man who you had craved for years, you had noticed that he had a routine of his own that ran deeper than his calendar could account for. He was always awake before the sun, and you could only rely on him to find stillness for four hours a night; six if he could find peace. He’d spend the mornings at Charlie’s yard with the horses as day broke and would spend the coming hours in one of his factories across Small Heath. You had spent many years visiting him strictly on Wednesdays for your pay, but he now knew that a sultry touch could convince you just enough to have lunch with him before you left. He’d leave far after the last machine had ground to a halt and his final employee had clocked out. If he was lucky, you would stop by on your way home on the days of your choosing, but time had soon taught him to expect you at random. It had become his welcomed reprieve from drinking alone.

After eight months of finding yourself endlessly tangled into this circumstance with Thomas, you had settled into strange domesticity that was only possible with a man as destructive and dangerous as Tommy.

The smell of his cigarettes reached your nose the moment you unlocked your apartment. He was visible to you only in the dark by the embers glowing between his fingertips. 

“While I enjoy your covert visits as much as the next woman, I thought you would know better than sneaking up one armed with iron by now,” you proclaimed as you brought the room into further clarity by turning on the lamps. A cheeky grin was already stuck to your face by the time you could see him sitting in the wingback chair left by the last tenant. “Frankly, I’m surprised you found your way here before midnight.”

Once you had left Tommy’s office following your first fling, it didn’t take much time and even less convincing for you to find your own flat. It was close to your parents but far enough to keep them from ever knowing how the Tommy they doted on for years was defiling their only child in the dead of night. He didn’t live there, but it’s where he could be found most nights for the few hours he did sleep.

“Is it a crime to want to see you? Haven’t stopped thinking about you since you came to the office two days ago.” He looked so settled in a chair that was so beneath him, common man’s furniture that had faced many years of wear on the leather and scars on the legs.

“Well, sorry to keep you waiting, Mr.Shelby. I had a commitment to attend to this evening.” You moved to grab the empty glass resting loosely in his hands. He took a moment to notice you, no doubt arriving home from a local club. 

“A business commitment, I presume,” he called to you as you walked to the bar, pouring a glass of whiskey for yourself before refilling his own. “Can’t think of a man special enough to see you in such a state.”

You look down at your dress, an attractive piece of fabric that fashionably displayed your assets between layers of chiffon and beading. Your unruly hair had been pinned to display your mischievous eyes and the rouge in your cheeks. “Other than the present company, only the one I shot in the chest an hour ago. He was working for the Italians.”

He gave you a mere nod before you journey back to him. “At least he got a pretty view at the end of his life, didn’t he?”

His warm fingers brushed yours as you returned his glass, putting out his cigarette in the nearby dish before finding a reason to settle. His free hand pulled you to rest with him in the rundown chair, feeling the warmth of his lap underneath you and enjoying the feeling on his palm splayed on your lower back.

“I’m sure there are other things he would have preferred to see at death’s door,” you spoke gently, only loud enough for him to hear as you washed down the night with a gulp from your own glass. “Though I can’t tell if you're jealous or excited at the prospects.” He grunted before emptying his glass again.

“I have nothing to worry about. Couldn’t give a fuck about other men; just my best girl.”

“I’d say you’ve gone soft on me, Thomas, but I can feel how hard you are.” You assumed the waiting and outfit had quickly got the best of him as you felt him against you, his rigid facade contradicting the yearning you knew he felt. You slowly rotated on his lap to face him, your legs positioned to relax on either side of him. You slowly pulled the pins from your hair as he watched, letting it fall into its natural state before pushing the wayward strands behind your ear. “You’re the only one who calls me a girl anymore. I’ve been a woman for a while now, Tommy,” your hands trailed down to his trousers, slowly unveiling what you so eagerly pined for. Warm. He was warm all over and his gaze felt light fire on your face, the glasses finding themselves near the smoldering cigarette as your hand grazed deeper into his pants. “and for many, I am what death looks like.”

His lips crushed yours in a manner all but patient, his hands tangled between your hair and the back of your dress, aching to release you from all barriers between you. His lips sunk to your jaw and neck as he revealed your bare torso, leaving behind a trail of lustful caresses. You took the earliest opportunity to find balance on the ground and slipped out of the dress that pooled at your waist, tugging away your undergarments with it. By the time you had finished, Tommy’s chest was bare and you had the pleasure of freeing his member before you reclaimed your throne on top of him, calves rubbing against the firm leather of the chair.

Your weight sunk onto your knees and you felt him fill you. It was as if it were your first time again; so raw and natural as if he didn’t already own a part of you that you only now realized existed. The room brimmed with your sharp moans and Tommy’s heavy pants as you bounced on top of him. You tried to feel every bit of this moment without getting lightheaded; you didn’t know if he was pulling you closer or you were pushing yourself towards him as the coil snapped in your stomach. Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck before you let out a shaky whine in his shoulder.

“No, not yet, love,” he cooed as your soft body began to relax in his grip. It would be a sweet yet peculiar notion, to think the night was over so quickly over. You felt your legs slide from the chair as Tommy pulled you to the ground and you naturally found your position. Your hips were lifted as he reached for them and your shoulders fell to the ground. With your cheek to the floor, you could see him in your periphery, the man with a calloused touch that had reached the most inner parts of your desires. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He pushed himself inside of you, and the cry that left your throat was lewder than you could have expected. As you held onto the legs on the worn chair, Tommy only thrusted deeper between your legs. By the time he was pressed fully against you, he was bucking at a pace of his own. “For fuck’s sake, Tommy!”

He bent against you, and his chest was against your curved back, now roping his arm around your waist so every inch of you was connected to him. “They may see you as a woman out there. But in my office, in your bed...on this bloody fucking chair, you’ll always be my girl,” he gritted out. His breath was hot against your ear as he came deep inside of you, bathing in the thrill of filling you up.

All the noise faded while sweat and slick dried between your bodies. His head rested between your shoulder blades as you laid between his arms on the floor. You weren’t sure how long you laid there, moments or millennia, before you unwound your limbs from his, grabbing your pile of clothes in the process.

“I nearly died in your arms tonight,” he said with a trace of humor on his lips. You tossed him his clothes before you pulled on your bloomers.

“It’s not your time yet, old man.” The glare you received had become a familiar friend in the past year. You knew that behind his scold, he was watching you as if you were art in the making; beauty in the moonlight that he didn’t deserve.

Tommy is predictable. He always had a card up his sleeve, something holding unexpected pleasures or unforeseen schematics. The longer you knew him, the more you were sure that he would always be one step ahead of those who thought they had him pinned. Maybe that's why you kept coming back to him. He was reckless and sometimes detached in order to stay ahead, but he was always calculated and cared for you in a way only a man like him could. He fulfilled a hunger no drug, no fortune, and no other man could ever satiate in you.

He took your hand in his, his rough palms soothing to your senses. “Then we must make all the little moments count until then.” He left hot kisses up your wrist and forearm. “Marry me, Y/N.” You scoffed with a laugh bubbling in your throat, pulling away from him as you walked to your room. You needed a bath more than a joke at the moment. “I’m serious, love. Marry me and I’ll give you a house with endless corridors and new furniture.”

“Maybe I don’t want to marry you, Thomas,” you teased from the other room.

“And maybe I only want to fuck a young woman I’m married to.”

“Then you’ve become quite the prude in the last five minutes!” 

You could retort day and night, but you knew a ring would be on your finger by next week, whether you had blatantly said yes or not. You would never admit it, but you knew that Tommy saw you as predictable too.

Cuties who have asked me to tag them at some point: @buckybarnesisalittleshit @moonlxghtbay @roliepoliegirl  @iamafancygirl @eggingamazinglove @characterobsessed (if you want to be untagged, please message me!)

[feelin-woozy]

Title: With Teeth

Word Count: 1,808

Pairing: Bo Sinclair / Reader

Warnings: Gender-neutral reader

[ Ao3 Link | Next ]

1977

You were a stubborn child. If there was trouble to be found, it was probable that you had a hand in either creating it or seeking it out. Bo Sinclair wasn’t an exception to this. Bo was the kind of child that parents ushered their young away from, voices dropping to a quiet hush as they told them, ‘no, you can’t play with him.’ The warnings never stopped you.

You never really knew why, only ever hearing fragments of conversations of adults around you. They spoke with contempt dripping from each word as they detailed how he was trouble, how he would be a bad influence, and why couldn’t he be more like his brother? But you didn’t mind. You liked trouble, and besides, you weren’t afraid of Bo like all the other kids were. Even with all his jagged edges and mean looks, you didn’t know any better because to you, he was just Bo.

Even when he pushed you to the ground, blue eyes shining with that mean look and something you think was amusement as your own eyes welled with tears and your freshly scraped knees stung. You weren’t afraid. You didn’t stop playing with him even when he stuck gum in your hair, and your mother had to cut it out. But you remember her scolding you, speaking in that same voice you heard other adults speak in, telling you that ‘There’s something wicked about that boy.’

For every time he pushed you down, there would be a time that you stuck your foot out as he ran by. While those mean blue eyes never glistened with tears, the shock was apparent as he dusted the dirt off himself and pulled himself together. And then there was the time you put glue on his seat during class. No one knew it was you, but Bo never put gum in your hair again after that.

1986

Things didn’t change all that much as you got older. Bo was still a boy with jagged edges that, if you weren’t careful with, they’d cut you to the bone. But he didn’t push you to the ground anymore or try to stick gum in your hair like when you were kids. It didn’t mean that he was any less aggressive than when you were kids; if anything, it has crossed the threshold from aggressive to violent. It wasn’t directed at you anymore though, it had shifted to those around you. After all, you were the only one not afraid to clean the drying blood that caked his freshly split lip or to tend to purples and greens that would bloom over knuckles. Save for his brothers, but even then, sometimes they didn’t fare so well either.

A warm breeze rustles the trees as rays of sunshine peek through the thick canopy of leaves overhead. The July heat was unrelenting. It didn’t matter where you were in Ambrose; you always felt like you were melting. Still, Bo didn’t forgo his long sleeve button down. You didn’t blame him, nor did you comment on it. Some things were just better left unsaid. At least away from the town and deep in the forest, the two of you could forget about what happened within the sleepy town, even for half a day.

Bo winces as you dab gently at the wound on his lip, but he doesn’t draw back or pitch a fit. He sits there in silence, watching you carefully as if expecting you to salt the wound. You don’t. You know better than to make a scene of this. This, whatever this was, was a part of Bo, and you had come to accept that. Though you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about leaning in and pressing your lips to his, trying to chase the thoughts of what he might taste like. You quickly shake the thought away, it was unwise to linger on such a thought.

You drawback and toss the rust-stained napkin to the ground before getting to your feet. Bo watches as you move away, moving towards your beat up school bag where you grab two beers. Beads of icy sweat drip down from the bottle and onto your hands; it’s the only reprieve you have in the hot Louisiana heat.

When you turn to face Bo again, he’s leaning back against the thick tree trunk, shadows dancing over his face. You move towards him, twigs snapping below your step as you hand him the bottles without a word, and he works quickly, using his lighter to open each bottle. The cap flies off with a hiss, joining the other caps that decorate the forest floor. Some from you two and some from other teens who took sanctuary within the forest as well.

“Your pa’s gunna notice one day.” He points out, handing you the bottle before opening his own.

“If he hasn’t noticed already, he deserves to have his beer stolen.” You flash him a lopsided smile as you take a seat next to him before you raise the bottle to your lips and take a sip.

For a moment, things feel okay. As if you hadn’t just been patching him back together, as if the cruel words people threw his way didn’t hang over his head like a dark storm cloud. He pretended they didn’t sting, but you knew that they did. Because even if he wasn’t violent towards you, that didn’t mean you didn’t still fall victim to the darkness that festered within him. Sometimes it was as small as throwing the keys to dad's beat-up truck into the tall grass, leaving you to comb the fields for hours before you’d find them. He spat cruel words at you other times, leaving tears to prickle at your waterline, but you never dared cry like when you were kids.

You still didn’t mind. Your penchant for trouble hadn’t changed, and God, if Bo wasn’t the exact brand of trouble that you craved. He made you feel alive within this sleepy little town; he brought excitement to your days even when it made your mother cry. Perhaps it was naive. You knew now why parents warned their kids of Bo growing up. You could see what they saw; you were stupid, not blind. Still, Bo was just Bo, and sure he had those mean blue eyes and sharp edges, but in the time you had grown, you too had accumulated your own edges. You don’t think it was possible to be friends with Bo without being damaged yourself in some form or another.

“Bo?” The name feels heavy in your mouth, as though it was a knife sliding through a priceless piece of art. The dread you felt building in your stomach felt similar.

“Hm?” He doesn’t look at you, just lights a cigarette and passes it over before he lights his own. The action makes guilt bloom alongside the dread, the emotions weaving together to create something ugly that makes bile rise in your throat.

“I have to leave Ambrose.” You take a drag off your cigarette, letting the smoke burn your lungs as the taste of nicotine mixed with bile. You don’t look at him to see his reaction. You can’t bring yourself to. But you feel the way his body stiffens, and you hear the soft sound of the cigarette burning as he takes a drag that burns the cigarette half way.

“Oh.” Is all he says, exhaling the word along with a thick cloud of smoke that billows up and disperses amongst the branches and leaves.

“Dads got a new job in the city.” You explain though you’re not sure why. You don’t know if Bo wants to hear what you have to say or if he’d rather blow his lid over something that was beyond your control. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. If it was him leaving, you’re sure a part of you would wither away. You dare a glance over at him, watching the way his jaw clenches and how he stares off through a break in the trees. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah? Then don’t.” A part of him sounds serious, almost hopeful, but it sounds too distant and bitter for you to put any stock into it.

“You know it’s not that easy.” Your hands feel clammy against the chilled bottle in your hand. You take a drink, emptying half the bottle in a few swallows just to distract yourself. To try and fight whatever ugly feelings were clawing at your insides.

“Sure it is, stay with me.” Bo flicks ash off the end of his cigarette before he turns his head just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. “Ma fuckin’ loves you.”

You can’t help but snort at that, rolling your eyes. “Bo, your mom hates me.”

“Yeah, she does.” Bo chuckles softly, but the mirth is gone as quick as it came, and that distant look rolls over his face again. He gets to his feet, turning to look down at you with an unreadable expression. “But when has that ever stopped you from sneakin’ into my room?”

“I’ll come back, I promise.”

“I wouldn’t bother.” The way he looks at you as those words leave his lips, it makes you feel like a kid again. You stare up at him, and something inside you aches. It hurts worse than the times he caused you to scrape your knees against the dirt roads or the times he kicked you out of his truck and made you walk ten miles back into Ambrose in the pouring rain.

He doesn’t sneer at you, and he doesn’t even yell, just stares at you with that mean look before turning on his heels. You watch him go, watch the way he drains the rest of his beer, and you listen to the sound of twigs breaking beneath his heavy step. When he’s a fair distance away, you watch the way he tosses the bottle hard against a tree. The sound of glass shattering fills the air alongside the sound of birds taking startled flight.

_____

Bo doesn’t see you off when you’re leaving Ambrose. You hadn’t expected him to though, he had been avoiding you since you broke the news to him. It wasn’t as if you could really blame him. It was probably better this way. It was less volatile to cut out the catalyst than to continue to expose yourself to it. Still, you knew that he was around. The boy down the block with shaggy blonde hair was sporting a fresh black eye, and you had heard your mother's hushed whispers as she gabbed with the neighbors about him. But even if you hadn’t been expecting him, it still hurts you never got to say goodbye.

[ Next ]

[keilemlucent]

consequence

(r18+)

gang orca | sakamata kugo x reader

word count: ~2k

a bit of teasing and a bit of payback

warnings: semi-public sex, daddy kink, fem reader, monster fucking

commission for @wufxn!! thank u sm dear :’’^)

--

alright fellas here’s the first of the gang orca commissions!!! enjoy some good monster fucking food <3

Messing with Kugo had... consequences.

None that you didn’t enjoy—

You knew exactly what you were getting into, slipping your hand far too high up his thigh during dinner. You felt his firm flesh tense under your touch, his breath getting deeper and harsher as you traced nonsense shapes over the fabric of his trousers.

You kept a small smile on your lips the whole time, relaxing against his side despite the obvious, silent tension that was growing.

The dinner was a group affair, other heroes and their partners all chatting and munching for some much needed social time. As much as you liked these sorts of gatherings, and seeing Kugo so much more relaxed than normal, you couldn’t not rile him up, just a little.

(It was a lot.)

Your stunt had you cornered in one of the lavish, private bathrooms, Kugo blocking the door as you stared up at him with a dry mouth and wide eyes.

“You left the door unlocked,” His voice rolled deep across the room. “Were you, by chance, wanting me to barge in on you after you’ve been such a brat?”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Your expression slid to a grin, popping onto the small ledge around the sink, knowing that the newly exposed skin of your thighs under your skirt must’ve been driving him wild.

“You don’t?” He chuckled, something forbidding in his tone as he began to unbutton the jacket he wore. “I highly doubt that.”

“I know you’ve been pretty excited all night,” You hummed, kicking your legs with a devious smile.

You were truly getting whatever was coming your way.

Kugo was on you in a mere moment, slotting between your legs and parting your thighs with a grip that could bruise. It was the first of many aches, not that you were complaining.

“It’s hard not to be, with you being so openly whorish,” The words weren’t spat, but rather spoke like a prayer as he towered over you, taloned-hands settling just above your hips.

His gaze was purely hungry, red eyes dilated and focused purely and solely on you. Kugo towered over you, shoulders hunched just enough to make your stomach lurch in the most pleasant way.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about me,” You pouted half-heartedly as his hands dipped under your top. You shuddered at his touch, knowing he’d notice.

Briefly, your gaze veered to the door. Although it was locked, the social hour was meters away, the din of voices floating with the light music of the venue.

Kugo pressed you back into the mirror, tearing at the fabric of your top and skirt with abandon. You sputtered out a complaint, mindful that these clothes were all you had and as much as you wanted to be dicked-down, you didn’t know if the humiliation was worth it.

(It was.)

“I don’t think ‘nice’ is really in the cards today, hm?” Kugo’s words should’ve held some humor, but they sounded far more serious with the rumble of his voice so close to your ear, tapered tongue licking from around your pulse point and jaw.

Truthfully, no, you definitely didn’t deserve much niceness after being an absolutely insufferable tease and possible embarrassment—

But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” You let the name roll off your tongue. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

Kugo growled but didn’t reply. All he did was press you harder back into the mirror, pulling back to let his gaze bore into you. You swallowed at the sight of spit wetting his exposed teeth.

“I-I mean,”  You cursed your stutter. “You just look so good—“

Flattery didn’t work when you’d pushed Keigo this far and gotten him this worked up, you knew this, but you would be damned if you didn’t try.

So, you fanned the flames instead.

“And seeing all of your coworkers making eyes at you just got me a little...” You hummed, smirking at the searing heat of his breath over your collarbones. “Needy, you know?”

Kugo hummed, idly shredding the rest of your clothes and tossing them to the ground.

“Is my little one is a little jealous?” Kugo chuckled, some of his ire dissolved.

“Maybe.”

It was true. Though all of his colleagues were kind and viewed the two of you well, that didn’t mean that they were gorgeous and intimidating.

(You were playing up to get dicked down better, but that’s beside the point.)

You yelped as Kugo flipped you by the hips, large body folding over yours. With your stomach flat to the cold porcelain of the sink, all you could see was Kugo’s massive form swallowing up yours underneath him. When you tried to turn away from it, cheeks hot, he simply straightened your gaze with a harsh hand on your jaw.

His hips pressed against the curve of your ass, something hard and hot reminding you of your goal in all this.

“You just need a bit of extra attention?” Kugo rolled his eyes, unbuckling his pants audibly. “I thought I’d taught you better than this— You should’ve just asked.

You whined as he snapped the elastic on your panties, the fabric tearing and falling to the floor.

One of his clawed, thick fingers ran up your slit, Kugo growling lowly a moment later, “You’re already so filthy. Who’s all this for?”

“Y-you, daddy,” You swallowed, forcing your gaze to stay on him, behind you, in the mirror.

Kugo was far more focused on teasing at your clit and entrance, spreading slick and dirtying your thighs. Any little pleas and writhing were silenced or stilled with firm words and a harsh hand pressing into your lower back.

He was teasing on purpose, you knew. The contrast of the hard pressing of his body and his barely-there touches was evidence of that.

You keened, burying your face in your arms, “Please, Kugo, they’re gonna notice— “

You were cut off with a short smack to your ass and a yelp. You slapped your hand over your mouth, cursing your own volume.

“Why are you complaining? Isn’t this what you wanted?” Kugo asked, something writhing and near-burning pressing to your core. “You just wanted to be fucked good and proper by daddy, but can’t even ask nicely?”

You shook your head, a moan ripping from the back of your throat as he pressed into you, cock twitching with each inch.

“Little one, look forward, and maybe, I’ll be merciful,” Kugo leaned his broad body over yours, the texture of his skin somewhere between silky and rubbery, but in no way unpleasant.

He didn’t give you any reprieve as he sheathed himself fully in your cunt. If you weren’t so accustomed to his size, shape, and motion, you would’ve probably been in pain.

But, after so long of taking his pretty, tapered cock so deep that you could feel it in your stomach?

You hardly felt the stretch.

As he bottomed out, the overwhelming fullness of it had you so close already, vision sparking at the corners. You struggled to keep your focus forward, on the reflection of you and Kugo panting in time, sheened in sweat.

He grinned, toothy and wide, and was about to speak when a knock sounded from the door.

You stiffened.

Kugo did as well, but it didn’t stop him from fucking you in soft earnest.

He was hardly thrusting, just lazily rocking and grinding in your cunt as he watched your wild eyes in the mirror.

He raised what would’ve been an eyebrow as another knock came, the door handle jingle for a minute.

“OCCUPIED!” You shouted at the last second, voice cracking with the suppression of a moan.

For the stoicism Kugo could radiate, he was wearing a shit-eating grin as he watched you struggle.

Flattening his chest over the arch of your back, he slowly fucked into you, rhythm lazy and unhurried, “Do you think they heard?”

“P-probably.”

“Just ‘probably’? You know better.”

The only response you gave was a muffled moan as you covered your own mouth, his cock rubbing hard and deep inside you. The overwhelming sensation was almost enough to make your eyes snap shut, but you forced them to stay open.

You wanted to offer a bit more sass, put up a bit more of a fight, but the image of Kugo fucking into you more relentlessly with each passing moment in the fogging mirror was far too enticing. You braced where you could, the pads of your fingers leaving oily prints on the immaculate mirror.

“Is this what you wanted, little one?” Kugo gritted out with a particularly rough thrust.

You nodded, sputtering out affirmatives as your head spun.

The pressure and tension writhing in your gut were pushing you closer to the edge, a fact that you desperately tried to hide on the off-chance Kugo decided to not allow you to come.

“You wanted to fucked just right, so close to my colleagues?” Kugo sneered, the hooks of his fingers clawing into your hips. “Filthy.”

You shuddered, grinding into the lip of the sink, frantically racing for your release.

Kugo must’ve been getting close as well, grunts echoing off the tile and walls, mixing with your own and the squelching of your cunt. Your thighs were soaked with slick, only made stickier by Kugo’s own gummy preek mixing with your own.

He leaned over your back, pressing his face into your shoulder, fin pressing against the mirror. His teeth dug into your shoulder as his angle somehow managed to get deeper.

“Kugo!” You wailed, voice cracking as his cock twirled inside you, swelling and filling you even better.

A hand snuck around your body, hand flat on your stomach, hauling you up and into him. You keened, craning your neck to continue watching the display, though your vision blurred with hot tears.

The pad of a finger circled your clit, the thickness of his arm held you up. His cock buried so fucking deep inside you had your eyes rolling back.

Kugo grabbed your jaw, forcing his gaze to him.

“Scream my name, and maybe I’ll let you finish, little one.”

You took a few shaking breaths, gaze flickering to the door.

Kugo’s hips slowed as well.

Though, only for his hips slam forward, his cock ramming against your cervix and the sensations to continue perfectly harder and faster—

“Kugo!” You shrieked straining as your peak sparked through your body, heat rolling over you.

Kugo came just moments later, the fluttering of your cunt more than enough to send him over the edge, his cock writhing and squirming as he pumped you full of his sticky cum.

There was stillness for a moment, as you both panted through the aftershocks. Your eyes went half-lidded, nearly limp in Kugo’s arms.

“Little one,” Kugo’s voice was hoarse and dry. He turned on the sink, rushing cold water splashing into the basin. “How do you feel?”

You slurred out an answer, turning and leaning into his broad frame. Kugo was quick to steady you, propping you up against the sink.

He splashed a bit of the water over his face and neck, the smoothness of his skin shining once more. Carefully, he placed his cold hand over your forehead, kissing your cheeks as you both settled.

You could feel his cock still, softened but still shrinking down now that he’d blown his load. His cum dripped down your thighs, cooling and making you shiver in the chill of the bathroom.

“Sorry I teased you,” You sighed wistfully hooking your arms over his shoulders. “But it was worth it.”

Kugo blinked at you, “You really think so?”

“Entirely. That was lovely— “

Kugo hummed, stooping down to fish his jacket off the ground, along with the remnants of your skirt.

The skirt was almost in tatters, barely able to clasp around your waist with the way the fabric hung. Your panties, shirt, and bra were gone, the scraps making far better cumrags than clothing.

You swallowed, staring up at Kugo with wide eyes as he tsked.

“Consequences, love.”

He gave you a toothy grin as you pouted.

“I’m not going back out there half-naked— “

He pulled you forward as you spoke, helping your arms through the massive sleeves, buttoning up the front.

The colors were mismatched, the fit off, makeup smeared, and in general, you looked like a goddamn mess. If his colleagues somehow didn’t hear you, they were bound to notice based on how disheveled you looked.

“You wanted cock so badly, this is the price,” Kugo pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, I’ll help you out, I’m sure you’ve gotten quite the limp.”

As heat rose to your cheeks, you couldn’t feel too embarrassed.

You had gotten what you wanted.

[honey-dewey]

Kisses

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 1,246

Warnings: Mostly fluff, but has some mentions of spice and some really bad insecure thoughts. 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Whenever you’re insecure about your body, Marcus will kiss wherever you’re insecure about to remind you that he loves all of you. So what happens when you hate how your entire reflection looks?

A/N: A short author’s note before we get onto the fluff. I know that people will always be jerks, and this fandom is typically very accepting, but I’m starting to get nervous when I post, and that is never something I wanted from this writing. This isn’t to say I’m quitting writing for the Pedro Boys, but I might take a break to write without pressure to post and get myself right in the head again. Plus, my personal life is upside down right now and honestly, I need a break. If I do take one, rest assured I will not stop writing, and I will be back with all new content for you guys! Sorry this ended up being longer than I thought, and enjoy the fic!

Marcus really liked to kiss you. 

This love of kissing wasn’t an odd thing or anything you bothered to question. In fact, it was kind of endearing. Marcus would kiss you whenever he could and wherever he could, and it typically made you giggle when his facial hair tickled your skin. You suspected he did it because he was worried you’d forget he loved you otherwise. Or maybe because he lost his wife, and he never knew when he would get his last kiss. No matter what the reason was, you loved it when he kissed you. 

But his favorite time to kiss you was when you felt bad about yourself. Like right now, for example. 

You sighed, turning in the mirror and groaning. “This doesn’t fit!” 

Marcus poked his head back into the room. “What? That shirt fit two days ago when you tried it on.” 

“It doesn’t fit now,” you mumbled sadly, wrapping your arms around your chest. You were really disappointed. Marcus had bought you the shirt for this party, and now it made your stomach sink. Two days ago, it had been a beautifully flattering shirt, but now you noticed how it stretched across your arms and made them look weird. The self depreciation about your arms spread, and suddenly, you were noticing how your thighs looked off in your pants, and was your stomach always like that?

“Baby,” Marcus murmured, coming up behind you and putting his hands on your stomach, breaking you from your thoughts. “Where doesn’t it fit?” 

You blinked away tears. “Here!” You cried, oddly hysteric. “It makes my arms look fat.” 

Marcus’s face turned to stone. “My house doesn’t have many rules,” he said firmly. “But one of those rules is that we don’t use that word, at all, ever.” 

“Fat?” 

“Yes.” 

You turned back to the mirror, the horrible sinking feeling still overtaking your body, making your eyes water and your throat constrict. “Marcus.” 

“My love,” Marcus replied. “I guess this isn’t just about the shirt, is it?” 

“No,” you said in a small whisper. “It isn’t.” 

Marcus put his head against your shoulder, so you could only see the top of his head in the mirror. “One of those days?”

You nodded slowly. 

A grin bloomed on Marcus’s face as he pulled himself off you. “Well then,” he said, taking your hands and spinning you around, so you were no longer facing the mirror. “Shall we?” 

You were confused. “Marcus?” You said, following Marcus to the bed. “What are you doing?” 

Marcus nudged you until you were seated, looking up at him. “I’m proving I love you,” he said, stroking a hand over your hair. “Even if you don’t love yourself.” 

That didn’t clear much up, so you remained confused until Marcus stepped closer, so he was standing between your legs. He pressed a feather light kiss to the top of your head, smiling as he did so. “Clove?” 

“Yeah,” you said without moving. “I thought I’d give the clove shampoo a try.” 

“I like it,” Marcus decided, moving so he could kiss your forehead, where your hairline lay. “Your hair is really nice.” 

The comment made you giggle. “You sound like a stalker.” 

Marcus gasped dramatically, smiling. “I can’t compliment your hair?” 

“Not like that!” You said, overcome by laughter. “You sound super creepy.” 

“I sound romantic as hell,” Marcus said, kissing the tip of your nose. “Would it be creepy to compliment your face?” He kissed each of your cheeks, resting his hands on either side of you so he could lean forward without losing his balance. 

You hummed, face turning red. “Does it deserve compliments?” You asked softly. 

Marcus nodded, catching your lips for a soft kiss. “Of course,” he murmured against your mouth. “All of you is deserving of praise.” 

He moved downward, planting kisses to the pulse points below your jaw, tipping your head up as he did so. His lips found your collarbones, causing your heart to flutter and your face to curl into a smile when his facial hair tickled your skin. 

Marcus silently leaned back, drawing one of your arms with him. He held it, bearing all the weight as he kissed the sensitive inner skin of your elbow. “Such strong arms,” he said, trailing his kisses to your wrist. He turned your hand over and kissed it too, smiling. “And I love holding your hand. It fits perfectly in mine.” 

Now you were full on blushing, your grin never wavering as Marcus edged you back, so you were laying down on the bed. He was above you, shoving the shirt you hated away so he could kiss your sternum, trailing his kisses down your belly. “My sweetheart,” he said, kissing just above your belly button. “So beautiful.” 

“Marcus,” you whined, squirming and giggling as his kisses tickled your sensitive skin. “Marcus!” 

“Yes?” Marcus said, raising his head and looking up your body at you. “Am I doing something wrong?” 

You shook your head. “It tickles,” you said, reaching down to run your hands through Marcus’s hair, effectively ruining the neat style he had put it in. 

Marcus smiled. “You mean this?” He asked, kissing over your belly again. As his lips made contact, you felt your muscles contract as you resisted the urge to kick. It was incredibly hard, but you were given a reprieve when Marcus tugged the waistband of your pants down to kiss each side of your hips. “You can sit back up,” he said, smoothing a hand down your leg. 

You sat up, flushed. Marcus was waiting for you, leaning back on his heels. He gently nudged your legs apart, waiting for permission to pull your pants around your ankles. When you lifted your hips to grant him access, he smiled. “I love you,” he murmured, pulling your pants down and off. 

“Marcus, are we still going to that thing,” you said, watching Marcus press a warm kiss to the inside of your left knee. “Because if we were, we were supposed to leave five minutes ago, and- Jesus,” your initial sentence cut off as you all but moaned the last word when he found a sensitive spot, pressing your hand over your mouth so you wouldn’t make any more obscene noises. 

Marcus smiled, continuing to alternate left and right leg as he worked his way up, kissing whenever he changed sides. When he made it up to the top of your thigh, he gently pulled your hand off your mouth. “Let me hear you,” he said, pupils wide. 

You shook your head, desperately grabbing Marcus’s hair. “Missy’s still in the house,” you reminded him weakly. 

“To hell with Missy,” Marcus said, kissing the inside of your thigh again. 

“I am not subjecting that poor girl to hearing you pound me into the mattress,” you said, pulling Marcus up so you could kiss him. “Later, when she’s at her friend’s sleepover.” 

Marcus sighed, but nodded, kissing your forehead. “Do you believe me?” He asked as he helped you up, handing you a new shirt and turning to fix his hair. 

“Hm?” 

“Every part of you is beautiful,” Marcus said. “And worth my love.” 

You smiled, taking another look at yourself in the mirror. You still weren’t happy with your reflection, but when you looked at your body, all you could feel were Marcus’s kisses against your skin, and you suddenly felt warm inside. “Yeah. I agree. Now c’mon, we shouldn’t be late.”

[soggy-platee]

What Do We Do Now?- Chp. 1

Rating: E for now, explicit in later chapters

Pairing: Din x fem!Reader

Summary: A certain Mandalorian picks up your bounty.

Read on ao3 here!

You were really regretting your decision to not cut your hair this morning, as it was the sole reason you were currently face down in some dusty cantina with both of your wrists in a bruising grip behind your back.

In the spare moment you have in the time it takes for the Mandalorian to slap a pair of cuffs onto your wrists, you think back to the events earlier that day.

…

Tatooine was hot, and you hated it. You had been hiding on the dusty little planet for a little over 3 months. With a bounty looming over your head, you knew you needed to find a planet where the Guild no longer operated. Tatooine wasn’t the best option, still filled to the brim with Outer Rim scum, but it would work.

At least, you thought it would.

You stared at yourself in the small mirror, in the small refresher, within the even smaller flat you managed to rent out with your limited supply of credits. Tired eyes stared back at you, this whole “fugitive of the law” was getting to you. You took to the role pretty well, however. You knew you weren’t notable, and that’s the way you liked it. Average height, average build, average everything. You knew standing out would get you into trouble, so you did your best to avoid it at all costs. The only reprieve from this normality you allowed yourself was your hair. It was exceptionally long for a blazing planet like the one you currently resided on. When braided, how you normally wore it, in one long rope down your back, it easily reached the curve of your ass.

Today, like every day, you thought about cutting it off at the nape of your neck. You knew it would be better for you in the long run.

It would at least cool me off, you thought sourly.

Despite the logic in it, you could never bring yourself to do it. Maybe it had to do with your mother and the often horrific haircuts she managed to give you consistently as a child. You shivered at the thought of your mother finding out about the bounty on your head. She would kill you herself.

You didn’t mean to end up like this. Parents dead, no family left, and most importantly, no credits had left you in a tight spot as a young woman in the Outer Rim. You knew there were only two options for someone in your position, and you certainly were not pretty enough to make money off the most common option, so you became a thief. Petty at first, only stealing from those you deemed deserving. As you grew older, however, so did your crimes. Larger values, higher-profile targets, until you stole from the wrong person. Well, not stole per se. More like freed. Some high-profile dignitary from the Empire who still had influence. You had only planned to take the typical valuables, credits, and such. It was only by coincidence that you happened to free what you assumed was a typical house slave.

She had found you mid-job, begged you to get her out. She had looked so broken. So innocent. You cursed to yourself and hauled her out of the mansion with you.

Apparently, that “house slave” had really been “Mrs. Important Dignitary”, so essentially, you stole the guy’s wife. Great. If only you hadn’t been so soft. You knew it would get you in trouble. You knew-

You were shaken out of your thoughts by voices outside your window.

One soft, speaking so quickly they were almost tripping over their words. You creaked the door to the fresher and peaked your head out just enough to see though the small window in the side of your flat and into the alley beyond. You saw the quiet figure, but couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying. A young man you realized now was a local of the area, you had seen him around. But why did he look so scared? You craned your neck in an attempt to see who was frightening this man so, but you couldn’t do it without being directly in the mystery man’s eyeline. So you waited for a response as the other man trailed off. However, one never came. You simply saw a wild reflection of the light of the suns dance over the ally as you assumed the other person turned to walk away.

Armor, your stomach dropped as your mind supplied the explanation. Whether or not this person was here for you was still up for debate, but you knew they were dangerous. Only dangerous people still wore armor in the face of the blazing heat of Tatooine.

Once you were sure the armor-wearer had left, you snuck out of the fresher, grabbed your blaster, and vaulted quietly out the window to tail the other man. You fell into step behind him as he exited the ally and entered the busy street. You followed him through the crowd, staying enough paces behind him that he didn’t notice. You followed him for a good five minutes before he took an abrupt turn down another deserted alley. It was at this point he noticed you following him and tried to break into a sprint.

You were on him before he could even let the first beat land, pressing him up against a building lining the way with your arm at his sternum. He was taller than you, so you pointed your blaster up and dug it under his chin.

“Who the hell were you talking to?” you demanded, dropping your voice to the most intimidating octave you could muster.

The man in front of you sputtered, eyes wide with fear. You needed an answer.

You dug your blaster harder into the soft flesh under his jaw, presumably making it harder to breathe.

“Who?!” you practically growled at him, hoping it would do the trick

The man opened his mouth as if to answer you before the words died in his mouth. His eyes went even wider than before, if that was possible, and fixed on something above and behind your head. Your eyes remained on the man, but something behind him distracted you just as equally.

The same dancing lights you had just seen outside your flat made their way across the building behind the two of you. Your head whipped around to see a wall of armor standing at the mouth of the ally.

That bastard sent a Mandalorian? You were dead. That’s it, game over. Dead.

Even though your brain knew you were dead, your instincts still kicked in enough to release the man and shove him toward the entrance of the ally in one swift motion before taking off in the opposite direction. You fought the urge to turn back as you ran harder than you ever had in your life.

He knew I saw him question that man, he knew I would follow him to get answers.

At least you would get taken down by a clever bounty hunter.

More pressingly, you were coming to the end of the ally, closed off by a large gate. No way over it, you thought, too high. Sides? Pressed flush against the building, no getting through there. Bottom? Now there’s an option. The bottom was just high enough off the ground for you to shimmy through. Even though you only caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian, you knew he was too bulky to ever follow.

You might actually get away with this.

You dared yourself a glance back and the Mandalorian was nearly on you.

How is he so fast with all that shit on him?

You were only a few paces from the fence, it was now or never. You dove. Your upper body sparked in pain as you impacted the rough dirt. You slid smoothly until your ass hit the fence. Dammit. You desperately shimmied the rest of the way under the fence. You were almost there. You were going to make it.

Then you felt a grip on your boot, the only part of you not under the fence. You yelped loudly as you were ruthlessly pulled back, the majority of your calf returning to the other side. Your fingers clawed at the ground and your other leg kicked desperately at the gloved hand that held you.

Maker, he’s too strong

With another tug, you were almost up to your knees on the other side of the fence. While you were grunting and panting hard, the helmet behind you was absolutely silent, unnervingly so.

You knew you had to come up with something now. He still only managed to have you around your left ankle, so you brought your other foot up and pushed at the top of your left boot, hard. It slid free of your foot, and with one more push, your socked foot came out and pushed off the ground for leverage. He grabbed only a moment late as the last bits of you slipped under the fence. You kicked desperately at the ground and ran, only pausing when you were sure there was an absence of footsteps behind you.

You turned briefly and saw the Mandalorian standing there. A thrill ran through you.

What?

This man was trying to kill you, and yet the sight of him just standing there, glowering, still gripping your boot in his hand sent fire to the pit of your stomach. He was tall, taller than you first realized. Even in the alley far apart he seemed to crowd over you with his presence alone. You met where you assumed his eyes would be behind the t-shaped visor.

You could only imagine what he saw. Your eyes wide, mouth open, covered in dirt and wearing only one shoe.

This image of yourself roused you from your frankly insane thoughts, and you turned and ran.

…

After getting over what little pride you had garnered from managing to escape a Mandalorian, you realized how absolutely fucked you were.

Where were you supposed to go?

You couldn’t go back to your flat, that was out of the question. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and liked in town, that would automatically put them in danger. You couldn’t shack up with anyone you knew and disliked because they would never let you in the front door, probably try to deliver you to the Mandalorian themselves.

So you end in the only place in which you knew you could get passage of the planet, the cantina. Thankfully it was busy tonight, so you could blend in well enough. You waited well late in the night, hiding close enough to see the entry and exit. No armor in sight. After your anxiety had built to a crescendo, you pushed yourself out of your hiding place and, on shaky legs, made your way to the front door. You entered with your hood pushed up over your head and your braid tucked into your cloak, trying to move as inconspicuously as possible. That was, until you heard your name shouted as loudly as possible.

You winced as your name echoed throughout the room and heads turned, yours slowly moving to face the voice that gave you away.

Ali. You love her to death, but she wasn’t the brightest one in the galaxy. She beamed at you from behind the bar, surrounded by patrons and their wandering eyes as usual. Ali was beautiful and she loved the attention, something you very much did not need right now.

You quickly made your way over to her at the bar, the serious look on your face made her cheerful expression drop at once.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” she questioned, still in a too-loud voice.

“I’m fine, just hiding” you gritted out from behind clenched teeth.

Ali seemed to get with the program then, lowering her voice and body to match your crunched position over the counter.

“Someone’s collecting on your bounty?” she whispered intently, with a trace of concern for you in her voice that softened your previous anger at her.

You had told her about your bounty about a month after being in town, you trusted her, she was good. That is why you very much did not want her caught up in this mess.

“Yes”, you replied, “A Mandalorian”

You saw the same realization hit her as had hit you.

“You’re dead” she said with wide eyes.

Great.

“I know, I’m trying to get off-planet. Are there any ships passing through tonight?”

“Not that I’ve heard, I’m sorry”

She really was.

You gave her a tight smile and turned to leave when you heard your name for a second time that day.

This time, it came from a gruff, older voice, and it came from a man pointing right at you from across the cantina.

The man was standing next to a solid wall of armor, with a familiar visor pointed straight at you.

Shit.

He made for you before you could make for the door, crossing the floor in seconds and grabbing your cloak. The same trick worked twice apparently, as you reached up and released the clasp around your throat and pushed yourself to a sprint toward the door.

You were going to make it, you were so close, you-

The next thing you knew, a blinding pain erupted from the back of your head and the world tilted around you until your shoulders smashed into the rough floor.

He grabbed your braid.

That was low.

One hand still wrapped tight around your hair, his other hand was used to flip you onto your stomach and wrench your wrists behind your back. Cuffs were slapped on and hummed to life as his knees caged your back. You bucked, trying to get him off you, or at least make him move, but he was solid.

The lost chance of cutting your hair this morning flashed in your mind, you grimaced with regret.

You kept thrashing, and in return, he wound your braid around his hand and yanked, earning a yelp from you as your head and chest were lifted from their place smashed into the ground and his helmet lowered so it was level with your face.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold”

You stilled. It was the first time you heard his voice, and it sent a thrill through your spine. Maker, what was wrong with you.

The slight arousal was quickly tamped down and replaced with overwhelming fear as he wrenched you from your position on the ground and to your feet.

The entire cantina had gone quiet with your brawl, all eyes on you both. As he pulled you into a standing position, he cast a glance, or at least you thought he did, at the other patrons, who all quickly averted their eyes and continued their conversations in hushed whispers.

He began to pull you to the door and you made final, desperate eye contact with Ali who looked devastated. You gave her a small smile as a goodbye and the door to the cantina slammed shut behind the two of you.

...

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter three - “penny for your thoughts”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader runs into a familiar face at the lake near her quarters in wakanda and they get to know each other a bit (kinda meet cute)

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: not my photo

The sunrise in Wakanda was one of the most marvelous things (Y/N) had ever seen. It was truly divine. Magnificent shades of burnt orange and gold bled through the boundless canvas of clouds. The sun, rich and saturated, was the epicenter of these vivacious gradients. It was almost as though Odin himself was painting the sky.

Her windows, encompassing the space of an entire wall, opened her room effortlessly. They led directly to the outskirts of a small lake that perfectly reflected the sunrise. It almost felt like a vacation. Or a dream, whichever came first.

She had slept wonderfully, but woke up early all the same. The beginning of her morning consisted entirely of sitting right outside her room staring at the ascending sun. She supposed she could've stayed there all day as Shuri told her they wouldn't start working until tomorrow; something about settling in and adjusting. Although she thoroughly enjoyed her quiet, warm morning, wasting the whole day cramped up near and inside her room would be a very poor choice.

There's so much here, I might as well enjoy my mini vacation.

She slipped on her shoes, closed the glass door, and made her way to the very lake she was admiring so dearly. She sat at the edge of the lake, letting the smooth sound of the flowing water fill the air around her. It was so quiet, secluded. She was alone; it was lovely. Tranquile even. Being by herself brought a strange sort of comfort, like she was safe and-

"Hello."

She turned around, still sitting. "Oh. Hi Jame- I mean... Bucky."

He smiled, and gave a ghost of a laugh. "Thanks."

"Did you need something? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, it's good. I was just looking around. This place is beautiful."

"Tell me about it," she returned his smile. "I keep thinking like I'm on a vacation or something. It doesn't feel like I'm supposed to work tomorrow."

Bucky nodded his head in agreement. "If I was gonna be... fixed somewhere, I'm glad it's here."

"Yeah, no one's gonna bother us here. Except maybe Shuri when she shows you how much smarter she is than you."

"Kid's a genius," he chuckled. "I've only talked to her a bit and she's smarter than I'll ever be."

At this point he was still standing, his hands clasped politely in front of him. He was just standing next to (Y/N)’s sitting figure. It wasn't a problem until an awkward silence settled over them. She wasn't quite sure what to say.

She wasn't the best with people. She knew exactly how the brain worked and she knew how to analyze behavior, and when it came to her job she knew the right things to say at the right times. But her job has rules; if she's talking with someone, she's treating them. When doing so, there are specific sets of clinical terminology. There were guidelines to follow, scripts to recite. Talking to patients in a work setting was analytical and made sense. Talking to regular people was a bit difficult. There was so much grey area. Bucky was going to be a patient, but right then, in that moment, he was just another person.

"You can sit if you want," she offered, patting the spot next to her. "I feel weird, it seems like I'm making you stand."

He gingerly accepted such an offer. He sat next to her, but not too close. The respectful distance gave her comfort.

We both have our own space.

"Hey, can I say something?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to thank you, ya know, for coming all the way here. Steve told me about the whole situation - you and Sharon and everything. I'm just really grateful. You probably have a whole life of your own back home, but it means a lot that you came here to help out. I know it's not exactly easy."

Heartfelt. If she had to describe it in one word that's what it would be. It almost surprised her.

"Oh you don't have to thank me!" she sounded deflective. "It's my job. I'm just glad we have a chance to provide you with treatment after all the pain you've been through."

Was that too personal?

"I mean, after all this time, I think you're pretty deserving of a reprieve."

"Have you read my file?" he asked, a little quieter than before. He was staring intently at the lake in front of him.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, I did."

"Sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"That you had to read it. I know it's a lot."

He sounded guilty, like somehow what happened to him was his fault.

"That's alright," she said almost too quickly. "I've gone through plenty of abuse and trauma cases. To be fair, none of them are quite like yours, but I'm not in completely foreign waters here."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I've heard you're more than highly qualified. It's just a lot of bad stuff."

"I can handle bad stuff," she replied, reassuringly. To her, it sounded more factual than reassuring. Unbeknownst to her, it gave Bucky some sort of comfort. Like he was in good hands.

Another awkward silence settled over them. Her eyes remained on the body of water in front of her; she wasn't sure what to say. Casual conversation was not her forte, and Bucky seemed rather shy himself. She felt responsible for any conversation that should take place, but to be fair, he wasn't talking either.

It was then when she subtly aimed her gaze towards him, getting a thorough impression of his features. He was, in all honesty, quite handsome. Objectively speaking of course. He was sharp features and soft edges at once, if you could consider that possible. And the bluest blue eyes she'd ever seen were luminescent in the direct sunlight. She reminded herself not to stare, and tore her line of vision away from the man next to her.

In lieu of this, she closed her eyes, leaned back on the palms of her hands, and relished in the warmth of the Wakandan sun. This lasted a few moments before she once again realized that not a word had been passed between them. She wondered what he was thinking about.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.

"Hm?"

"You look pensive."

"'M just thinkin'"

"Well, that much I could tell," she snickered.

He flashed a bashful smile. "I'm just tryin' to grasp the fact that I'm actually here. Y'know, safe. Ready to be helped. It's been a while. I keep having to remind myself that it's real."

Makes sense. He probably thinks that any minute, this seemingly secure safe haven is going to be ripped out from under him. Like it was all a rouze and he'll have to return to pain and anguish.

"It's definitely real...well, last time I checked anyway. But who knows? Maybe we're in an alternate reality and any moment we'll see a woman in a red dress," she joked, trying to lighten his mood and simultaneously referencing The Matrix.

It worked. He laughed; a soft gentle chuckle, but a laugh all the same.

"Woman in a red dress?" he asked through a grin.

"Oh, you probably haven't seen The Matrix, have you?"

His face scrunched up in endearing confusion. "No...?"

She adamantly ignored when the word adorable entered her mind when she saw his expression. "It's a movie, a classic really. You'll have to see it at some point or I'll feel like an idiot for referencing it."

"Oh God," he shook his head, "I haven't seen a movie in... ages."

"I think that's a crime in and of itself. They've gotten infintely better than they were in the forties, I can promise you that."

"I got a lot to catch up on, don't I?"

"Maybe a little. But don't worry about it. I'll make you a list!"

"Man, didn't think I'd have homework," he quipped, a meek attempt at a joke.

It made her smile. There's some personality! She showed some of her own in return.

"Man, I didn't think I'd ever meet someone who doesn't like movies of all things. One of the best things ever created by mankind!"

He laughed and threw his hands up in mock surrender. "I never said that! I don't know if I deserve such slander."

What a wonderful laugh.

"Watch every movie on my list and I'll clear your name," she beamed.

He feigned annoyance. "Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Ms. (Y/L/N)."

"That's Dr. (Y/L/N), actually."

Before he could question whether or not he made a mistake, she continued. "I'm totally messing with you. (Y/N) is more than just fine. Dr. (Y/L/N) sounds too much like someone's pretending that I'm my dad anyway."

"Okay then," he smiled, "(Y/N).”

[lightwithinthedarknessu]

A Crown to Adorn

Starting off #sokaiweek2021 with a fluffy one-shot! 

Wrote a little fluffy one-shot for Day 1 of @sokaiweek Prompt: King and Queen. Childhood memories for #sokai and a cute flower date! A time of healing and reminiscence, adorned with flowers fit for a King and Queen.

A03:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32511775 

Fanfiction. net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13918369/1/A-Crown-to-Adorn

A Crown to Adorn

*.*.*.*

“Wear a crown of flowers on your head, let its roots reach your heart.” – Kabir

*.*.*.*

The smell of the grass, the warmth of the sun on their faces, and the slight scent of honeysuckle wafting through the canopy above was the perfect complement to an otherwise ordinary day. Ordinary, that word seemed to slip into her mind with a lithe bump, nestling into her heart but leaving behind a tinge of anxiety. Was it good to cherish something even if you knew it wouldn’t last? Those words danced within her mind as warm rays of light kissed her cheeks.

Living in the moment. Cherishing those small moments of reprieve-sometimes Kairi had to keep reminding herself to do that. Whether it be taking in deep breaths of the salty air or cherishing the soft sensation of sand squished between her toes- those small insignificant moments she needed to hold close. The way the wind hit her face as Sora and Riku rushed past her in one of their many races or the sensation of cold droplets hitting her face during one of their many water fights. Those moments, they would rush back at her all at once during those times she was alone, listless, and longing for their company.

Somehow, Kairi knew that today would be one of those many moments she held close to her heart. She took in a deep breath, savoring the crisp air hitting her lungs.

The Kingdom of Corona was as beautiful as Sora had claimed it would be. Filled with flora and fauna, clean air, and warm bathes in sunshine. Even the few heartless around were, she had to admit, cute in their own way. Made her almost sad to pummel them, but once she found herself attacking in unison alongside Sora- every thought she had just melted away. He always seemed to do that, make her feel as if she could do anything, be anything. It sounded silly but- his light made hers stronger somehow. It radiated within her a warmth that felt so comforting she never wanted it to leave.  

After clearing the area, they had decided to take a quick swim in the spring nearby and were now sunning themselves like a couple of lizards on the forest floor. They had taken off their shoes and fully let themselves relax for what felt like an eternity. Peaceful, it was so peaceful that Kairi felt she could fall into a sleep here without a care in the world.  

“I’m glad you brought me here. It’s so pretty.” Kairi turned to Sora, her eyes welling with shimmering light. After hours of training, Sora had dropped by unannounced, unattended by the other two little half-pints, to whisk her away for a “well-deserved break” as he put it. At the time he had a shy grin on his face, letting her know that really, he had just wanted to see her. Not that she minded. She wanted to see him too.

“I had to! I mean you love flowers and well the beach back home isn’t as green as this. Heck, I hadn’t even seen some of the plants here before. It’s really something- all those worlds we wanted to see- just there’s always something new.” Sora blurted out, his excitement burgeoning behind an uncontrollable grin. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned forward. “Sorry, I’m getting a bit too excited. I’ve been wanting to show you all these new things for so long. Every time I see something I think, “Kairi and Riku need to see this!”

Kairi giggled. Sora did seem to be holding in boundless energy every time she saw him. “I want to see it all with you. I mean, we always wanted to travel and learn everything we could. Even just seeing this world makes me want to go to all kinds of places with you- and Riku too…” Kairi tucked a stray piece of hair from her face. She felt almost embarrassed to say anything more- to tell him that really, she wanted to just run away with him right now. Leave it all behind. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? They had to face Xehanort. Even if that meant risking their lives. Still, that incredible wanderlust creaked within her bones. Even now her heart began to beat faster at the thought of Sora whisking her away to world after world. She could just picture it-brisk walks on stardust touched beaches, huddling close in frigid snow-kissed air, or dancing on the tips of their toes across warm cobblestones-

Everything. Just experience it all-together- hand in hand in a world all their own.

Kairi felt something lightly fall on her head. A light gasp escaped her lips at the sensation. It tickled her eyelashes as she looked up to greet Sora’s impish grin. Her hand reached up to touch the delicate petals of a ring of flowers he had placed on her head. Her eyes widened. “When did you…”

“Oh just while you were humming to yourself earlier. Did I do a good job? I mean I’m not as good at connecting them together as you…but I did have a good teacher.” Sora winked.

Tears pricked the edges of her eyes. When they were children, Kairi often spent her time near the shore picking small wildflowers and clover. One of the few things she remembered about her grandmother was her love of flowers and the way she used to weave together flower crowns. It used to make her feel like she was almost home again, weaving the flowers together, creating something from nothing. It was cathartic. For hours she would lose herself in the action- maybe that was why piecing shells together also soon became second nature. Once, Sora sat down next to her, and watched intently as she connected each stem of clover flower without asking any questions. When she was done, he told her how pretty it was and how “he wanted one too.”

For a few days after school, they would go down to the shore, make flower crowns, and pretend they were a King and Queen of the flower people. Well, the last part was entirely Sora’s idea. When she thought back on it- Kairi wondered if Sora did that to help her feel better about being homesick. She had missed her grandmother so badly back then. Every day she felt so alone. But then…Sora was there. And Riku…and the three of them found new things to do together.

Back then, Kairi hadn’t paid a second thought to the idea that most boys wouldn’t find what she was doing that interesting. Thinking about it now, Sora probably only said he wanted one too so she wouldn’t feel lonely- after all…she wasn’t the fastest runner or could hold her own at the time in a mock sword fight. What she was good at was making things, connecting flowers, shells, and bits of shattered sea glass into stars shapes or crowns. Her room back home was filled with makeshift stars, unfinished and marred imitations of the charm Sora now held close as an oath to her. Her childish fantasies of an unbreakable connection, made real and whole through a brush of their fingers as she passed the charm to him. Her fingertips warmed as she recalled his touch.

Now, with the newly coronated flower crown atop her reddened locks-Kairi felt that same bubbling joy well up inside her.

Kairi couldn’t believe Sora had still remembered that time or well had even retained his “flower-tying skills” as he used to call it. Sora had remembered a time that even she had pushed back deep into the depths of her heart. “I think that you retained some skill.” Kairi puffed out her chest. “But I think I’m still the master. So, I’m going to work my magic! It’s only fair that you have one to match.”

Sora chuckled and placed both hands behind his head. “Well, I guess we’re off flower picking then huh?” His hips swayed from side to side, his legs acting listless as if they hadn’t moved in hours.

Kairi bounced up on her heels, feeling a renewed vigor in her veins. “Yep! Lead the way, King!”

“King?” Sora’s jaw slacked. “Gosh, when you say it like that it only reminds me of “the King.”

Kairi lightly patted Sora on the shoulder. “Now, now.” Kairi chided. “There can be more than one King and Kings of different things. He may be “the King” but you- you’re my Flower King right?” An impish grin filled her cheeks. Sora blinked a few times before averting his eyes. She could swear a tinge of red was on the tips of his ears.

“Geez flower King? Don’t tell Riku, or Donald or Goofy- I’ll never live that down.”

“But I’m the flower Queen- we have to match!”  Kairi pointed an accusatory finger at him. Sora jumped back a beat, his deep blue eyes tinged with uncertainty. Soon, his eyes swirled with glimmering sunshine, his smile so subtle she found herself itching to gently brush her fingers across his lips. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

“Okay, I mean if you are I have to be then.” Sora put a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. Though clearly uncomfortable, there was a hint of joy in those words. Poking fun at him like this was almost too nostalgic. With ease, she slid her hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze. He recoiled slightly before sheepishly squeezing her hand back. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers, but she knew- he was just a tad shy still.

Hand in hand they traversed the woods searching for violet, azure, and fuchsia hues. Their still bare feet brushing against rough patches of dirt and slick grass, staining their toes a light green as they went. The morning dew, still kissing the tips of their hair, kept them cool against the ever-rising sun. Every flower they came across seemed more beautiful than the rest- they gathered until they were spilling out onto the ground beneath them. Sora sneezed a few times, sending them flying much more than he would have liked. The air filled with laughter as they collected them all again, each time regretting having over-prepared their bounty.

They returned to the clearing in no time at all-and she set about her work. Connecting the flowers together wasn’t hard- but choosing which flowers suited Sora best- well that took some thinking. Baby’s breath, delicate and kind, hydrangeas as blue and calming as the sea, red carnations brandishing the passionate courage in his heart, and yellow calla lilies to represent his happy disposition. When she was done- it was a crown only befitting him. When she held it up against the light, the shadows cast across her face danced- truly she could think of it as her best work yet. Smirking and a bit too proud, Kairi stood up and delicately laid the crown atop her “King’s” head.

“I, Flower Queen Kairi dub thee- Sora- Flower King.” In a grand bow, Kairi placed a hand over her heart, glancing up at him with mischief and mirth.

Sora’s wide toothy grin greeted her. “It’s an honor!” He paused, searching his mind before snapping his fingers in the realization of something important. “Does it look Kingly?”

“I think it suits you, just as mine suits me.” Kairi spun on her heels, dancing as she delicately brushed the petals she adorned. She gave Sora a taunting wink as she thrust out her hand. “I’d say a dance is in order, sire.”

A deep laugh escaped his chest as Sora jumped up to grab her hand and pull her close. Their eyes connected as if a thread between them became taught, sure, and certain that the entire world around them could just melt away into nothing, and it would all be alright. One step, then two, a sway and a swish, he even threw in a twirl or two as they danced to the bubbling brook and twilling birds. The melody in their hearts flowed and swirled at a tempo that pulled her into a sense of weightlessness. The countless times she dreamed of the two of them, blissfully dancing, suddenly made it real.

It was real, him, her, this moment. It was a sensation, a scent, a feeling she wanted to bottle up and keep close- like an herbarium filled with preserved flowers. Bright, opulent, and ever so warm. As their dance slowed, and her heart settled, Kairi leaned her head on Sora’s shoulder, letting herself melt into his rising chest. It was then Kairi knew that home wasn’t ever far anymore. That homesickness had long flitted away like petals in the wind once she let Sora into her heart. Now, every time she thought of their memories, these moments, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat…Kairi knew somehow she was always closer to home.

 Years Before

*.*.*.*

The bluff at the edge of town was filled with clover flowers. Though she had been warned with a stern shake of the mayor’s finger, and a disapproving huff or two from the town elders, Kairi always found herself foraging for flowers here. The wind blowing through her hair, and the misty salt air gently caressing her chubby cheeks made her feel more at home here than anywhere else on the island.  In the afternoon quiet, only the rumbling low roar of the waves had been keeping her company. Lightly and carefully, she hummed a melody as she worked, losing herself in knot after knot.

*.*.*.*

“What do you think she’s doing?” Sora muttered in a hushed tone, trying to keep his usually loud voice as quiet as possible. He was huddled on his haunches behind a large hedge, practically wiggling to keep himself from falling over. He and Riku had followed Kairi from a distance like two ducks up the winding hillside. When they had seen her leaving the Mayor’s house she had been stomping and letting out a long-winded sigh or two. Riku had said that she was “probably angry” and that it mostly had to do with her going off alone. Sora, being extremely curious about Kairi ever since she had arrived on the beach, had never not kept watch over her. So, Riku being Riku had suggested they follow her, knowing well that Sora would have found himself trailing after her absentmindedly.

Riku let out a sigh and shook his head. “She’s going to make something again. The last time she came back down from here she had a crown of flowers in her hands. That’s probably what she plans on doing.”

“Hmm, that seems more lonely than fun. She’s all by herself.” Sora pursed his lips, his nose scrunching up. He crossed his arms and readjusted his drooping bum with a light hop. “Seems like it’d be better to do with more people.”

Riku raised a brow, then smirked as he realized something important. “You know, if you want to join her nothing’s stopping you. We can go back to the play island any old time.”

“But it feels like if I go over now, I’d be like- I don’t know- I’d um make her mad…”

“Mad?”

“You always say I talk too much. Kairi seems a bit scared when I do that.” Sora looked down at his fidgeting toes. “Still, I think she’s lonely.”

“She just doesn’t know much about us yet. And well you do talk a lot. My dad says sometimes though that just being near someone without saying anything is enough.” Riku crossed his arms, and nodded, certain his father’s words were true.

“Really Riku?”

“Yeah, Really.” Riku put a hand on Sora’s head and gave his hair a quick ruffle. “Now, no more waiting!” Riku placed both hands on Sora’s back and pushed him forward- not even worried if he would fall over on his face. Usually, he did, and Sora had to brace himself for a fall that didn’t come. Instead, he found himself balancing on one foot and staring into the wide cerulean eyes of a frightened girl.

*.*.*.*

When a rustling bounded behind her Kairi gasped and found herself on her feet, her hands clutched close to her chest. A familiar head of spikes was what first caught her eyes, then the twigs and leaves sticking out every-which-way, followed by the shy grin of a boy caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Geez, Sora! You scared me!” Kairi tucked her hair behind her ear as if she were suddenly aware of her own messy mop.

“Sorry, Kairi! Me and Riku were just…” Sora paused to look behind him. Not a soul was in sight. “Aw man, where’d he go? We were just talking about…ugh never mind.” Sora stood up straight and puffed out his chest as he shook the stray twigs and leaves from his head. Once he was done, he placed both hands behind his head. “So…what-cha doing?”

“Making flower crowns…” Kairi mumbled under her breath, feeling herself carefully enunciate each word. Sora was nice, after all, he was the one who found her on the beach that day. But a part of her felt scared, nervous, and a bit rumbly in her tummy when she talked to him. He was always so bright, and his grin was wider than his face. Kairi didn’t know how to be around him. Kairi turned her back to him and smoothed the ends of her dress.

“Okay.” Sora uttered. He continued to stare at her, unmoved until she decided to sit back down among her work. As she picked more flowers, she began to take more glances over at Sora. He watched her intently, swaying from side to side on the edges of his sandals. He stayed that way for a beat then promptly plopped down next to her. Kairi’s breath hitched in her throat at the sudden invasion in her little bubble. But Sora didn’t say anything, although his face was twisted into an unnatural frown, alerting her he really did want to say something.

Kairi tried her best to get back to her crown, but she fumbled with shaky fingers as she tied the tiny stems together. Her lips moved into a fine line, her teeth biting down into the corners of her cheeks. Again, soon she became lost in the motions, not even noticing Sora get up and go look around. Moments later he dropped back down next to her, this time, with a handful of clovers.

“It’s really pretty.” Sora blurted out. His eyes were wide, expectant.

A shivering jolt went through her back, and Kairi shyly looked back down at her completed crown. He said it was pretty, what she made. A slight hint of pride wafted through her chest. “Thanks…”

“I-I want one too!” Sora’s voice was louder than he intended, for Kairi almost fell back at the sudden noise. She made sure to quickly put on a smile for the boy looked almost as if he would cry if he knew she was scared.

“Okay, I’ll teach you.” Kairi found a new strength in her voice. She was more confident now. A voice inside her heart, but from where she didn’t know, whispered caressing words.

Whenever you feel lonely, look to the flowers. Surround yourself with them, let them take root in your heart. Every moment may seem small, but you can make them bigger and more beautiful. For those moments when you’re alone, the flowers will remind you of me and of those who love you. That light in your heart will continue to bloom and grow, as long as you let it. Adorn your head with a crown of flowers, my dear. Adorn the head of the one you love. Find that light, never lose sight of it.

  Notes:

Thank you for reading! This fic was inspired by the prompt King and Queen for SoKai Week 2021. Visiting Sora and Kairi's childhood and what they meant to each other during that time was pure joy. I hope that this little bundle of fluff reminds you of the wonder of picking flowers as a child, and how even the smallest acts of kindness can mean the world to someone else. I tried to add in some of Sora's flowers from his herbarium by super groupies as well as flowers that spoke to his personality. Fun fact: Clover flowers were something that I would gather when I was a child, and luckily they do grow at least in Hawaii at high elevations, so it's possible they could be on the mainland in Destiny Islands!

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[whump-town]

Halloween

Right after 5x01 with Reid and Hotch both pulling away, Morgan and Emily take matters into their own hands. 

“I don’t want to.”

Morgan, who up until that point, had really, truly believed that the worst of his year was behind him closes his eyes with a tired sigh. As if the pig farm hadn’t felt suffocating on its own, now it’s tangled in his mind with Foyet. The pigs, Mason, that poor girl, and Hotch. Because that terrible night hadn’t ended for Hotch as it had for the rest of them. They slept while Hotch lay on his apartment floor, his own blood soaking into his clothes. The hospital hadn’t even washed the dried blood from his hair by the time the team arrived.

Emily had the next day. It had taken Derek and Emily both to do the seemingly mindless task. Hotch had been uncomfortable, dirty and the nurses had given them the leeway to tackle the task together. And they were both very aware of how annoyed he was to have to succumb to their help. Hotch can hardly raise his arms to his waist, he wasn’t going to be washing his one hair. And as the oldest of his own siblings and still leaning heavily into that protective mindset, Morgan would heavily prefer it to be him there. So, bracing Hotch’s side with his own body, Derek had held Hotch upright while Emily gently scrubbed his hair clean of his blood.

The scent thick and acidic but slowly replaced with a smell distinctly hospital-like. The water had browned, the suds too dirty to even help only about halfway through. Standing there, Hotch’s body growing heavier and shaking gently against Morgan’s ribs he could see every bone in his boss’s back. And, too soon, they had to call it quiets. The monitors were picking up, distraught with the pain Hotch had hidden so well. His heart missing beats as Morgan had eased his head back into the pillows.

Emily standing there, white as a ghost, with that bucket of water. Hotch was only half-aware of them and their intentions by then. Watching Morgan behind half-lidded eyes and lips pale and parted as he took a dry rag through his hair. Morgan’s mother had always told him that going out in the cold with wet hair would give you pneumonia and while he had never known anyone to get pneumonia like that he wasn’t going to take any chances. Even if they were in a temperature-controlled hospital room.

And through all of that, Hotch had made it. Slowly, through shrieking monitors and more than one scare, alive. A fucking miracle.

“What do you mean you don’t want to go?” It’s Halloween. For as long as Morgan has known Reid, it’s been his favorite holiday. Hell, everyone knows it’s his favorite holiday. Even Hotch gets a little festive in the name of bringing even the faintest smile to Reid’s face. The idea for today, a party to celebrate Halloween, had been done with Reid specifically in mind. Being cooped up in this apartment isn’t good for him.

Reid who hasn’t actually looked at Morgan since he came in, twirls the frayed ends of his blanket around his finger. “I don’t want to,” he repeats. It’s one thing to mop about in this apartment. Here, no one watches him struggle to move. No one looks too hard, too long at his ill-practiced steps. At the crutches tucked under his scrawny arms. Worse is that if he goes, he can’t take his crutches. He’ll have to the stupid wheelchair in his room. Whos open seat is a crookedly carved leather smile, taunting him.

Morgan shakes his head and keeps at his current project. For the past week (has it been a week? He isn’t certain) he’s done nothing but tidies up every space around him. Having attacked Hotch’s apartment-- tearing up that blood-stained carpet, patching the hole in the wall, fixing a leaky faucet in the guest room, and cleaning out his worryingly empty fridge-- he’s come to Reid’s. The thing is Reid is going to make this process a little harder. There are bits and pieces of Reid in every corner of his apartment. Not self-deprecatingly bare like Hotch’s. Here, he can’t disrupt the way books lie because they all have been sectioned and left where they are with purpose. There is a purpose to his chaos more meaningful than Hotch’s out of sight out of mind.

“Well, you have to go.”

Reid frowns, biting his lip to refrain from whining. Despite having done more by his current twenty-four-years of age than any of them, they still treat him like a child. And while any of them might be forgiven for a bit of childish refusal he won’t be. Well, in all fairness, he is prone to a bit more childish things than they are. Reid had to be forced to go to the doctor’s for a check-up after getting anthrax and all because he had thought they might ask to do blood tests. What had made him go, in the end? Morgan taking Reid himself. It was humiliating but when they draw blood Morgan had offered his hand and Reid had taken it.

Now, Morgan’s just asking for a favor. For Reid to suck it up, just this once. To have fun and be easy. “Hotch is only coming because he’s under the impression this is all for you.” And it is, all for Reid. None of them care about Halloween. Hotch least of all. But the two of them are going to go crazy cooped up on their own.

Of course, that’s only mostly true.

It’s entirely Morgan and Emily’s idea.

“Okay,” Reid sighs, scratching self-conscious at his scalp. “I just…” he shoves the blankets off his legs. “Just need a few minutes.” A shower. He needs a shower and, if he’s granted the time for it, a pity nap.

Morgan hums, head bent to his current task of cleaning Reid’s strangely large collection of mugs lining his counter. “As long as you need,” he mumbles.

Two years ago, if someone sat David Rossi down and told him that on a Saturday in October he’d be celebrating Halloween as a fully grown man... he wouldn’t believe them. Add in the fact that he would be doing this because it’s a twenty-something-year-old genius’s favorite holiday and he’s doing it to lighten the mood of his old prodigy… well, he’d consider himself senile.

He should have stayed retired.

As of the last month, he’s been thinking that a lot. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the little ragtag team Aaron’s created in his absence but they're a little crazy and trouble magnets-- Emily and Reid attempt at a second Waco with Benjamin Cyrus, the bombing in New York, and George Foyet. All within the span of a year. He’s only heard about some of the other things they did before he came back.

These freaking kids are crazy.

“Will you just listen to me,” Dave is multi-tasking. Aside from picking out comfortable clothes for the evening he also has got to swindle Hotch into coming out to the party. “For once in your life, Aaron, just listen to me.” As dramatic as that may sound, it’s kind of fair. Even when they prodigy and mentor, Aaron had a flair for taking Dave’s instructions in one ear and out the other.

“Dave,” comes Aaron’s soft rebuttal. He’s exhausted. Much to his chagrin, three days rest has done nothing to mend the bone-tired ache in his body. Add the depression he can feel settling across his sternum and the way his ribs feel like they’re being pried open… He has no interest in watching his team get drunk at Dave’s house. Call him a buzzkill or a killjoy to heart’s content, that’s not going to change his mind.

Besides, the last thing he needs is to start himself into a bad habit of drinking every time he’s sad. Then what? He starts himself down a road of addiction. He comes to work drunk. Derek tries to say something. Dave is worried. He gets fired. He’s no better than his own father.

Rossi’s voice softens, any of the agitation previously in his voice is gone. “Aaron,” he calls through the speaker. “I’m not asking. Emily’s on her way right now to come to get you.” He sighs under his breath, just tired, not even mad. “You can make that hard for her,” Dave offers, knowing that’s what Hoch is going to be inclined to do. “I think we both know she deserves a break from that, though.”

Hotch feels the defeat pull his shoulders down. He’s been an asshole lately. Logically, he knows it’s a progression of all the emotions he’s feeling and burying. Emily doesn’t hate him for that but he knows she’s starting to feel overwhelmed by it. And given how successful his other attempts at pushing everyone else away has been, he might just owe her a little reprieve. To do this one thing without an entire battle.

“I’ll… I’ll be there.”

Dave smiles on the other side of the line, content with himself. “Thank you, Aaron. I will see you there, kiddo.”

It’s always the smartest people that fall for the simplest tricks.

Unlike Derek, Emily does feel bad about their plan. Logically, she’s very aware of how beneficial it’s going to be. If they don’t invite themselves over, Reid won’t ask anyone to come. Which means that he’s got to be getting his meals some other way. The thing is, if he were getting them delivered by a friend unknown to his team members, there should be something left over. Food in his fridge or trash in his garbage can. But there’s nothing.

Why does love have to be so difficult? How is it that some people understand it and others are stunningly unaware? Somehow wrapping their pretty little heads around this idea that they are undeserving or tricksters for having tricked someone into caring about them. If they didn’t love Reid would they feverishly watch over him? Did he really consider himself that sinister? That malicious? That he could trick profilers into loving him? Let it be clear, there is no trick. They are not so foolish and he not so unlovable.

“Derek, I think we might--”

Reid’s wobbly. He’s not yet mastered the crutches (at all). His practice comes only from the hospital and then his instructions had been brief before he was sent down the hall. A nurse just needing to see he could maneuver them and that they were at the right height. So, as bitter as he is to admit it, Derek’s lightly placed hand on the small of his back is very helpful.

Turning to see Emily, Reid lurches dangerous and Morgan moves quickly to stop him from falling. Just behind them, SUV pulled up onto Rossi’s lawn as close as she could pull it up, Emily is helping Hotch out of the car. Even from here, he can hear the lowered grumbling shared between the two. Despite being unable to see Hotch except for one brief moment, Reid’s glad to at least hear the other man. Him and Emily clipping rough comments back and forth. Bordering on rude but it’s between them and they’ve always let one another slide in these areas.

Vaguely he can piece together that they’re arguing about whether or not Morgan’s help is needed. “--wheelchair, that you made me leave-- I will take you back-- walker-- asshole!” Despite how angrily they nip back and forth, it’s all in what they don’t say. Hotch falls into Emily’s guiding step. Not even breaking from his own comment as her hand comes around his hips and effortlessly supports his weight as they take a step up. Neither taking the blow below the belt to note how Hotch’s words get cut off by a hardly contained whimper of pain or how choked his quick, distressed breathing becomes.

Morgan’s help is needed but Emily is too focused on keeping Hotch’s feet firmly planted on the ground and Hotch too worried about not busting his ass on the ice.

Reid jerks as Dave’s front door is thrown open. One hand on his hip, an apron over his chest, he shakes his head at the sight of the four of them. “I can hear you two arguing like children from in the house!” he shouts. He steps out onto the porch, tucking the towel in his hand into his pants. “Grown adults out here acting like children!” There is an unmistakable David Rossi laced fondness in his tone. That, despite his haste movements and dry frown, is taken as such because they know him. And he knows Hotch and Emily well enough to know this would happen.

“Get yourselves inside,” Rossi’s entire body changes when he sees Morgan and Reid. A simple passing hand down Morgan’s back for encouragement. “There’s root beer in the bottom drawer in the fridge, have Henry get you one!”

Reid smiles, suddenly excited for this afternoon. Root beer is… it’s the keystone of his childhood. There was not a matter he and his mother couldn’t handle with a little root beer. And while he doesn’t indulge himself often with that luxury (still some part of his brain fails to comprehend that he has the money to get it) Dave always has it. Hearing that Henry is here, implying Will and JJ too, he feels himself growing giddy. Pleased. He can’t wait to talk to them. For Will to hit his shoulder with his fist just a little too hard and to rustle his hair. JJ hovering and laughing. Henry. Smiling laughing.

Dave keeps going.

His frowning turning into a small while Hotch’s dark eyes find him, a glint of hope. “Our poor hero,” Dave greets in a half-jab at Hotch. He cups the younger man’s cheek, smiling at him. “I assume Emily has been her cruel and unusual self?” Once again, another jab. It’s a perfect balance. He neither takes Emily’s side (exhausted by Hotch’s antics) nor Hotch’s (exhausted by Emily’s antics).

They both scoff, at both implications.

“Hotch is being an asshole,” Emily grumbles, childishly sticking her tongue out at him. “Per his usual self.”

Hotch turns to Dave and returns, “to answer your question, yes she is.”

Wedged between Dave and Emily, Hotch makes it to the porch. Emily only hits him once. Once. He deserved it.

“Would you two behave?”

They get all of two steps in before JJ puts a stop to it. You see, no one ever listens to Dave. Not once has anyone ever listened to Hotch but JJ. No, to JJ, they always listen. And with a slow final few blows, Hotch and Emily stop bickering.

“Now,” JJ has flour on her chest. An honor which means Rossi has let her within his kitchen. “Go sit,” she points to the living room, stepping aside to let them through. “Behave yourselves or I’m not letting you eat until you hug and tell each other you love one another.” Her grandmother used to force that punishment on JJ and her sister as children. Cruel, she had thought then, but JJ has learned it to be very useful. As they pass, she hears them both grumble something about Hotch’s mostly liquid diet and how Emily doesn’t think that’s very fair. JJ throws her own towel at their heads. It’s well worth the shared smirk of mischief shared between Hotch and Emily.

Little deviants, she thinks with an eye roll. It’s Halloween so she lets it slide.

In the living room, Reid and Hotch are left while the others fight over one another in the kitchen. The clatter is heard through the whole house. Morgan making Garcia laugh, a barking sound that draws a smile from Reid. Joyous. Emily lightly teasing Rossi for what she teases is new greying in his hair. She asks if he’d like her to dye it for him the next time he gets his hair colored. Her triumphant laughter is just as freeing. 

“Hotch?”

Beaten by the effort it took to walk all the way to the living room, Hotch had mostly succumbed to his placement on in the lazyboy. A chair, in which, he had never sat once in all the years he’d visited Dave’s. But the recliner is large and he can easily lean to support his side. Keeping an arm wrapped around his aching side. Without opening his eyes, head tilted back he hums. “Yeah?”

Reid’s knee is carefully surrounded by pillows. Even if it’s jostled, it’s fully supported in every direction. He’d been sitting here, watching Hotch’s face steadily grow blank. Masking his pain. He’d wanted to know if Hotch too had been tricked into coming. But then, as Morgan, followed closely by Garcia and the others, step in and Reid finds he doesn’t actually need to know. Hotch came, didn’t he? Left the safety of his dark apartment in favor of their boisterous company. Of little Henry in his Spiderman costume and Garcia and her own elaborate Harry Potter costume. 

Derek hands Reid a plate, mostly finger foods a bit of pasta. His plate mirrors Henry’s. While the other’s all eat healthy amounts of pasta. Will sneaks him a napkin, which confuses him, until Will covers his hand over Reid’s and whispers “there are eight Oreos in this napkin”. Sweets, which JJ and Garcia had deprived him until he cleaned his plate. And when JJ caves, Reid’s stomach full of the carrots, crackers, and grapes his plate had primarily had (as well as those Oreos), and brings him a slice of pie and ice cream Will only shakes his head with a smirk.

Hotch manages a few spoonful's of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup. 

“You could eat something else,” Dave ventures, scowling. But Hotch’s body is very displeased and what little solid food he’d managed to eat in the last few days was having a tendency to come right back up. Abdominal trauma, the doctor’s kept informing them, often caused this. They just needed to wait it out. 

“He’s got the palate of a toddler,” Emily mumbles but she means it fondly. She punctuates it by throwing a carrot at his head. He doesn’t have the dexterity to swat it out of the air so it hits his head and he just scowls at her. 

Reid sides with Hotch. “Chicken noodle soup is the best soup,” he offers in Hotch’s defense. Blushing when Hotch just looks sadly at him, as if broken by the idea that Reid is the only person left to defend him. 

“It is,” Garcia tries to add, helpfully. She smiles encouragingly to Hotch but once again he takes them siding with him poorly. If all the sympathy he can garner is from Reid and Garcia, he’s hopeless. He loves them dearly but they effortlessly take his side. “And you leave my boss man alone! If he wants to eat chicken noodle soup then you let him.”

Hotch hums to that, quirking an eyebrow at Garcia, and looking down at Emily. Of all the places for her to sit, she’d chosen the floor. With a whole floor to choose from, she still sat down right at his feet. Resting her back against his shins. Which he didn’t mind but he knew she’d done it just to annoy him. 

Henry grows tired of his adult company and with the sun falling, he knows what’s coming. Even at three, he’s aware of what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Go on,” Hotch encourages. He knows they’re only holding back for two reasons: Reid and him. But Henry shouldn’t suffer just because he managed to piss off the one Unsub brave enough to attack him and Reid unfortunate enough to get shot. “We won’t go anywhere. I’ll put on Doctor Who,” he bargains. “Reid won’t go anywhere.” But it’s not really Reid they’re worried about. “I’ll take a nap,” he offers. Which is what his body needs but he’s not so sure he’ll actually commit to that. 

“Don’t move.” Emily orders.

“I’ll make sure he stays put,” Reid says, with a nod. But given how stupid they both are, Emily loves the commitment but doesn’t take the offer too seriously. Hotch with a blanket tucked over his legs and Reid happily humming away to the Doctor Who theme song, they’re left to the silence of Dave’s house. The others out taking Henry around the block for some trick or treating. 

Hotch does take that nap and Reid contently gets sucked into Doctor Who. Content in ways they both thought were only possible locked away in their own misery. 

[justanobsessedfangirl]

Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Chapter 6 - The Maze Runner Newt Fic

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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Author’s Note: Thank you for your patience! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...or if I was supposed to tag you and I forgot...

Word Count: 2.8k

The boys carried Alby to the Med-Jack Hut as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. At first, he twitched infrequently, muttering softly, but then he was writhing and screaming in agony, twisting this way and that, biting at Gladers like a feral animal.

Once inside the Hut, he only grew louder. You watched as Clint administered the serum that would save Alby’s life, and you heard as Alby’s roars turned guttural.

It hurt to watch them tie him to the bed. How could someone as strong as Alby, the leader of the whole Glade for as long as you’d been there, be reduced to that?

It was all too much. Too much pain, too much loss, too much grief. As Alby shrieked in one room with Newt by his side, Minho and Thomas were patched up in another, and you slipped out the door. You paced the length of the building, came back to the door, turned around again, reached the end of the building, turned around, again and again and again, trying to beat the thoughts out of your brain.

Fear and relief fought for dominance over your emotions. You wanted to grieve for Alby, to celebrate for Minho and Thomas. You wanted to cry big fat tears of sadness, and you wanted to smile so hard your eyes welled up.

How could you be at once terrified for Alby and immeasurably happy for Minho and Thomas? How could Alby get handed a death sentence, but Thomas kill a Griever? Who had designed this cruel twist of fate?

Your steps never slowed as you began shifting the blame onto the people who put you in the Glade.

It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. Every single life lost in here, every nightmare, every frown. The Creators did this.

The Hut door creaked open. You whirled around, expecting Minho or Thomas or Newt, expecting a sign of hope, and saw Margaret.

Her red hair was tied up in a ponytail, giving her an air of self-assurance. The way she held herself was so much stronger than that girl who’d cowered in the Box that you almost did a double-take.

Instead, with your thoughts bouncing from one worry to the next, a question from the back of your mind spilled out. “I thought you worked in the Gardens?”

If Margaret was surprised by your question, she didn’t show it. Right then, she seemed unshakeable. “I was helping for the day,” she replied. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving behind dark bloody streaks that made your insides grow cold, then looked back to you, raising her chin proudly. “I’ve been spending the rest of my time with Clint and Jeff.”

Except for when you were making out with Newt--you forced the thought away. That was over. Done. You’d made a kind of peace with Newt; you could do the same with Margaret, especially after she came to Alby’s aid. 

You’d been kneeling next to Alby, only a few feet from the Maze doors, just staring at the sting. The grass had tickled your knees. The wind had whispered through your hair. You had only stared.

And then Margaret was there. She’d nudged you out of your dumbfounded stupor, moving you enough that she could start applying pressure to Alby’s sting. When she barked out orders, Gladers leapt to obey. She’d made you a glorified table, shoving supplies into your hands until she was ready for them, and you would’ve thanked her if you could get any words out because she was saving Alby’s life. You’d stuck to her side and held bandages the entire time they carried Alby to the Med-Jack Hut.

“Clint says the Grief Serum will save Alby, and Thomas and Minho are fine, except for a few cuts and bruises.” Margaret’s voice was soft, matching her smile. “And Minho says he’s starved, but he’s just being dramatic.”

An unintentional grin pulled at your lips, bringing a reprieve from the memory of Alby’s wound. “Good to know he’s still a diva. I was worried.”

“It was really brave of all of them to go in...there. I don’t know how you Runners do that.”

Your smile slipped away. Alby shouldn’t have been there, not with just Minho. Not without you. And if you had gone, maybe Thomas never would have needed to go, to witness the true horrors that roamed the Maze at night. You picked your words carefully. “I don’t know how you Med-Jacks do what you do.” There it was again, behind your eyes: the hole in Alby’s stomach. Remembering the look on Alby’s face brought a wave of nausea. “Don’t you feel guilty--” your words were cut off when a howl of agony rose from the Med-Jack Hut. You winced, but Margaret squared her shoulders and ducked back inside.

You lingered by the door. Your feet itched to run away, as far as you could, anywhere where you wouldn’t have to hear anymore. They refused to take a single step closer to the building. It took every ounce of your restraint to even stay rooted near the Hut.

I will not run. You repeated it like a mantra. I will not run I will not run I will not run-

Margaret appeared again. She nodded at you, a confident Everything is under control nod, and closed the door behind her, leaving the pair of you alone outside once more.

“If you’re stung and you don’t get the Serum, you die,” Margaret stated. “If you do get the Serum, you live.”

“But you have to go through that.” You pointed at the door. Behind it, you could strain your ears and hear the sound of Alby pulling at his restraints, bucking wildly on the bed, just like he had been when you left. “And after you go through that, you still might end up crazy.” You spat the words out, even though it wasn’t Margaret’s fault Ben tried to murder Thomas. It wasn’t Margaret’s fault Ben was dead or Alby was stung or everything was changing.

“But you have a chance.”

It was so simple you didn’t know how to respond.

Margaret continued. “We gave Alby a chance. That’s all we can do.” She let her words hang in the air for a few seconds, then took a small step forward. “And…well…I was hoping you could give me a chance too. Time is so precious here. I don’t want to waste any more of it.” 

You caught a glimpse of determination in her green eyes before you looked away, back to the door, hoping for Minho or Thomas or Newt to walk out so you could leave. Your heartbeat picked up, your muscles readied themselves for a sprint. You didn’t want to hear her apologize -- if she apologized then who could you be mad at? Who should you be mad at? How was it okay to try being friends with Newt if you didn’t give Margaret another chance too?

“Y/N, I want you to know that I’m really sorry.”

You nearly bolted.

Margaret kept talking, her voice smooth and calm, like she was trying to coax a feral animal into a trap. “When I first came up in the Box, I was so scared.”

“We all were.”

Margaret nodded. There wasn’t a trace of anger on her face. You almost wanted there to be, because then you would have an excuse to get mad. You wouldn’t have to stand here and try to be an adult, try to have a rational conversation. You could blow up and run away and not have to feel guilty because she was mad too.

“I was terrified, like everyone is when they arrive,” Margaret said. And when I saw that there were only boys, I was even more scared. I know you probably felt that way too.”

You said nothing, but memories of the day you woke up in the Box still plagued your nightmares sometimes, especially recently, now that you slept alone. The fear of the unknown as the elevator rose. The panic upon seeing all boys. The deep, freezing, overwhelming horror when you saw the walls.

“Seeing another girl helped,” Margaret’s voice had your full attention, but you couldn’t look at her. You kept your gaze steady on the door. “And Newt helped too. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear that.”

“He helps everyone when they get here.” You were too defensive. He didn’t deserve you being so defensive. Were you acting like this to protect Newt or because you wanted to go against Margaret?

It’s for Newt, one part of your mind thought, while another part raged against her.

Margaret nodded again. “He really helped me adjust to being here. He’s a good leader. We...we spent a lot of time in the Gardens together the first few days.”

It was starting to get painful. You squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made you picture them together. He was smiling the way he only did for you, or the way he used to do for you, and it made your chest ache.

Margaret quickly said, “We weren’t doing anything, though! It was just friendly. We were just friends.”

“Friends don’t kiss,” you spat. In only three words, you’d channeled enough anger to make Margaret go pale. The confidence she had from being in her element was drifting away, her shoulders drawing in, her arms wrapping around herself. She was shrinking before your eyes.

You felt a stab of guilt.

“We only kissed once, I swear! And it didn’t mean anything! Not to either of us. He was comforting me and it just happened. I was upset because…” Margaret trailed off. She took a deep breath. “I was upset because I didn’t feel like I could contribute. I didn’t want everyone thinking I was just another mouth to feed. I didn’t want to be someone who couldn’t help out, who just took. I want to help. I need to help. I wanted to be,” Margaret crossed her arms across her chest as if daring you to argue, “I wanted to be as dependable as you, not some weak girl who could barely dig a hole.”

You thought you must have misheard her, but she was looking at you earnestly, her eyes bright and her mouth set into a firm line.

“And I did find something I can do. I’m a Med-Jack.” She wasn’t trying to squeeze herself into a tight ball anymore. Margaret stood there, a far cry from the scared girl who’d come up in the Box, and said, “I’m proud of where I am, but there are still a lot of things I wish I could take back. You know the main one, but I won’t go into it. I don’t think you want me to.”

You quickly shook your head. Staring at her, at the true version of Margaret, not the one who’d been warped by bitter, angry memories, made you let out a weak laugh. “I’d rather get stung by a Griever.”

A small, playful smile crept onto Margaret’s face. It was shy and timid and eager -- the kind of smile a teenager is supposed to have. “I could fix you up after.” Her tone edged the border between serious and light.

At some point, your eyes had locked onto hers. You let them drift now, glancing to the door. “I bet you could.” You took a deep breath. “Thank you. For saving Alby. And helping the others. You do contribute to the Glade.”

Margaret’s face opened to a sweet, satisfied grin. “Thank you.”

She looked like she was waiting for you to say more. The door started to open, so you rushed out, “And maybe we could try being friends.” Then you darted towards Minho, reaching him when he only had one foot in the grass, and threw your arms around him.

Minho’s laugh sounded like music. “Careful, I’m delicate!” he complained as Thomas slunk out behind him.

You scoffed and pulled away to jab Minho in the side. “No, you’re not.”

When you looked up at him, it was all you could do not to hug him again. Aside from a few scratches and a small bruise on his cheekbone, he looked exactly like the person you’d spent months running through the Maze with. He looked exactly like your partner.

Alby’s wailing shattered your peace. You and Minho moved away from the Med-Jack Hut. He nudged the door closed with his foot.

Minho’s demeanor had darkened at the sound of Alby. There was less joy in his voice when he said, “We’re having a Gathering today.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Because of him?” You jerked your chin at Thomas.

Thomas shrugged and muttered, “You mean this isn’t what Greenies usually do?”

Margaret giggled.

Turning back to Minho, you asked, hope lacing your words, “You’re going to make him a Runner, right?”

“I’m going to try.” Shaking his head, Minho added, “Some shanks are upset about what he did, though.”

The corners of your lips pulled down. You’d heard Gladers talking while they passed by the Med-Jack Hut when you’d been waiting. Most had been in awe of Thomas’s bravery, but a few, namely one loud-mouthed blond Builder, couldn’t get over the fact that Thomas had broken a rule. “What did Newt say?”

Minho heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s on our side, but who knows how the Gathering will go. If Gally picks up steam…”

You shook your head, directing your attention to Thomas. “I’m with you. You should be considered a hero.” Thomas ducked his head, but you weren’t sure if he was embarrassed or reliving last night’s dark memories. You kept talking. “What you did took ten times more courage than Gally has ever shown. Newt knows that too.”

“Newt knows what?” Newt’s voice rose over the creak of the door opening. As he emerged from the Med-Jack Hut, he looked as though he’d aged 10 years. Already, you could see the stress settling on his shoulders, weighing him down.

There was a yearning inside of you to pull him close and take as much of the burden as you could, like you’d done for each other in the past.

But that was the past and this was your present, so you said, “You know Thomas should be a Runner. He killed a Griever. We need him.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince, love.” Newt glanced at the sky, where the afternoon sun hung heavy and golden. “But I guess it’s time to find out how everyone else feels.” With that, he started walking in the direction of the Homestead.

Nearly everyone looked as surprised as you felt by Newt’s abruptness.

Margaret was the exception. She still wore that confident, serene expression when she said, “Good luck, everyone. I’m on your side too, Thomas, if that counts for anything.” 

“Thanks.” Thomas watched Margaret until she disappeared into the Hut and shut the door behind her. When she was gone, he shook his head, as if clearing his mind, then shifted his focus to Minho and you.

“I’m going to walk with Newt. I’ll see you guys in a bit?” You didn’t wait for a reply. After a few seconds of light jogging, you were next to Newt.

He was frowning. Everything about him was moving down; his eyebrows were drawn together, the bags under his eyes were heavy, the corners of his lips pointed south, and he walked like a man going to his execution.

“You can do this, Newt.” The words flowed freely. “You can be the leader. You can figure this out.”

Newt stared straight ahead. “I’ve never run a Gathering without Alby. I don’t know what to do with that empty seat next to me.” The accent over his words was thick.

 You didn’t second guess yourself when you reached out and took his hand. Immediately, he squeezed, gripping you like you were a life preserver and he was drowning. “Alby will be okay.”

“He won’t be the same.”

“But he has a chance.” Those were Margaret’s words coming out of your mouth, but you found yourself believing them more as you said them. “He has a chance, and we have a chance. To escape.”

With every step you took, you grew closer to the Homestead and Newt’s posture straightened.

He looked down at you. His eyes were deep pools of brown, so soft and warm you wanted to drift asleep right there. “We have a chance,” he repeated.

The two of you stopped outside the Homestead door. Your hand slipped out of his. For a second, your pinkies stayed joined, like you were promising each other that you would take your chance. 

Then you broke apart.

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