#black market ribs

[allthebestscreennamesaregone63]

@pixiecaps you left out the part where he put Adam to sleep first... God used his powers to knock him tf out. He is a rapist/first person to utilize them black market ribs.

WHAT

[peachesofteal]

The Crypt anthology

“You dropped this.”

You whirl on a dime, legs twisting together and rolling you off balance at the last second, the stranger’s hand shooting out to try to steady you before you catch yourself. “Alright little love?” Powder blue eyes hold you tight, some sort of virose thrall bearing down into your temples, rooting around in the matter between your ears.

“I’m fine.” You manage, but the words lack conviction. Long fingers dig in the soft spirals of your brain, looking for something, picking and pulling.

“Lookin’ a bit peckish there, sure you’re alright?” All you can manage is a nod, one foot sliding behind the other, placing you firmly out of reach.

“I’m fine.” The two words are all you can manage, still trying to escape the trance, the dark tug behind your ribs. Long silence plays out, and with a closer look, you register him fully. Tall. Broad. Shoulders wide enough to close in around you, green jacket faded into sun parched moss. It wouldn’t button around his chest, the waffle henley beneath doing you no favors by the way it tapers to his belt, a strong jaw cloaked by a swath of beard and moustache.

Older than you, stronger than you, an astral man amidst a city of depravity.

Step closer.

A storm cracks outside, thunder rattling the windows, your vision tunneling inside the market, people doing their shopping ebbing around you, a rock in water, stalls and their goods fading into the distance.

The only thing you can see is this stranger and his bright blue eyes. “Thanks,” you croak, knuckles tense on the strap of your bag, net of spilled oranges now safely tucked inside the canvas. When did that happen? Your smile is forced, seasick though the ground is solid beneath you, and when the eye contact breaks to flicker over your shoulder, you jolt back to your sense, and turn away.

The blue eyes stay with you all the way home, into your flat, through the night. You think about them as you cook yourself dinner, as you pour yourself a too generous glass of wine. You feel them as you curl up on the couch, malignant presence lingering just outside your window.

It’s only once you undress and slip under your blankets that you finally feel a semblance of peace, as if the gaze has moved on, the undying focus abated in a sliver of moonlight.

Your dreams are filled with blood.

An oil slick across an ocean, too vast to know where it ends and begins, you fight to keep your head above water, legs kicking frivolously in the dark, terror tight around your throat, horror lurking on the outside of your mind. Thalassophobia renders you almost useless, the panic just enough to keep the drowning at bay.

Can you die in a dream?

A hand appears from nowhere, and you cling to it, wailing and gasping until you’re pulled ashore, laid flat on your back against black stone sand.

“Alright little love?” Him. The same eyes peer down, shining like the sun, chasing away the darkness settled in around you. He stuns you.

“Y-yeah.” He’s close enough cigar smoke permeates your air, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like a lifejacket. It takes a moment, a second of realization-

You’re covered in blood. Hands, feet, forearms, face. It coats your lips, iron and earth in your nose, soaked all the way to your lungs. Heavier than tar, slicked to your windpipe, drowning your beating heart in ichor.

“Oh god, oh my god, what- what is this, what is this-“ You’ve never heard your own voice at this pitch, shrill, piercing, the sound of someone crying, the sound of someone freefalling.

That can’t be you, can it?

“Easy now.” He holds you by the shoulders. The sun and moon cycle overhead, light and darkness rotating, disorienting you further, a whimper crawling from your throat. “Shhh, I know, I know,” he rubs your temple, thumb stained ruby red, and then lifts it to his mouth, lips curled into a devilish smile, “knew you’d be perfect f’me.” The ground begins to shake, the sky splitting apart, white tendrils snaking across the sea to your ankles, and he frown, disappointment lingering in the lines of his face. The rough scrape of his beard presses to your cheek with a kiss, and he nestles a coin into the palm of your hand, the dream turning opaque before disappearing completely, your eyes opening to ceiling of your bedroom.

Just a dream, you remind yourself throughout the day. Just a dream, though it’s nearly impossible to keep your mind from wandering, remembering, tasting the salt of the ichor like it’s still fresh on your tongue.

“Hey!” Your coworker snaps her fingers, alarm flashing across her face. “Are you okay? You look… sick.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Maybe you should call it a day. Seriously, you look like death.” Your agreement is weak as she practically shoves you out the door. “Go home and take a nap or something.”

“Hello again.” Your heart jolts, battering against your bones in a frantic beat. “No need to be scared.” You blink. “I’m John… from the market yesterday? You dropped your oranges?”

“John.” Your tongue ties around his name, and though its polite to give yours, you can’t force it out. His brow furrows.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Good sense and manners appear, spurred on by years of chastising by your mother, and you grimace.

“Oh. Sorry. I’m a bit under the weather.” He looms ahead of you, blocking a portion of the sidewalk.

“Headed home then?” You nod. “I’ll walk you.”

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary.” He gives you a sharp look, the dispel to an argument, razored, jagged teeth closing in around your attempt at a refusal, and pulls at your wrist, thumb holding steady over your pulse point, heart rate slowing from a panic to a lull.

Your head hangs, and you slump, exhaustion tugging your limbs down towards the ground. The path doesn’t split before you, no way to choose one way or another, hedgerows too tall to peer over, lost and unable to discern the way. Your hands find your pockets, and brush across something unfamiliar and cool.

A coin.

Darkness closes in around you-

And the word goes black.

You wake in a bed.

Not your bed.

It’s big, wide enough your legs and arms spread out with touching the edge of the mattress. The sheets are fine, cotton you could never afford, threads delicate, spun silk. Luxury. A far cry from your one-bedroom flat.

“There you are.” Time jolts, bringing you into the present with startling speed, a hand clasping over your mouth before you can release a scream. “No need for that.”

“John?” You mumble into his palm. Your head is natant, woozy with the rocking, feet scrambling on a ship far away, desperate to hold tight to a rail, a lifeline, a moment of balance in a violent storm. “I’m gonna be sick.”

There’s a haunting, familiar taste on your lips and you lick them over and over, the tip of an iceberg, a memory just barely visible above placid water. You grasp at it, tug yourself closer, swallow the nostalgia until it rears its head-

Blood.

Horror wraps an unforgiving fist around your throat.

“What-“

“Welcome home.” What? Your feet tangle in the sheets, a net around your ankles. His big, warm hand flattens over your chest, blue gaze honing in, the predator ready to devour his prey. “Can hear your heart, little love.”

“This isn’t my h-home.”

“It is now.” He’s casual, leaning by your hip, now stroking deft fingers over your ribs. “This is my home, and now it’s yours too. You don’t need to worry, you’ll be well cared for.” The cold green sick feeling surges, and you roll over to the side of the mattress, spewing the contents of your stomach onto polished hardwood floors.

It’s not bile, or water, or even food.

It’s red. Dark red, dripping off your lips like rain, flooding the grooves beneath you. He rubs your back like you’re a child who needs soothing, grip tight on your arm when you try to rip away.

“It won’t always be like this,” he coos, clucking his tongue in sympathy, “the taste is difficult to get used to.”

“The taste of what?”

“Blood.”

[enchantedbarnes]

Uncle Buck • Part 7

Goodnightmorning

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Single Aunt!Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Masterlist: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

A/N: Surprise! I hope you enjoy 🤗 I love hearing from all of you, so don't be shy - please spam me with your thoughts. I love gifs and seeing your reactions. 🥰 If you have any ideas for future parts let me know! xo

"I GOT IT!" You call out while rushing downstairs to answer the door, grabbing your wallet from your purse by the door for the pizza delivery.

Opening the door while still fiddling with getting the money from your wallet, you look up and freeze.

"Fuuucking hell," you clutch your wallet at your chest.

"Heyyy, Aunt Y/n," Sam greets while leaning against the doorway holding a stack of pizzas.

"Cute outfit," Bucky smirks while looking you over. He has two pillows tucked under his arm and a backpack hanging from one shoulder.

It's movie night and you're currently wearing a fluffy hooded cookie monster robe (when you pull the hood up it has his goofy looking googly eyes on top), a blue ribbed tank top, black and blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms, fuzzy slipper socks, and your hair tossed up in two messy buns on top of your head.

"Did you guys decide to get a pizza delivery side hustle going?"

"Walked up at the same time as the delivery kid," Sam answers, nodding his head behind them.

"And what exactly are you doing here, besides stealing our pizzas?" You tilt your head to the side, a questioning glare looking over the both of them.

Bucky holds up a greeting card in his right hand. More specifically Benji's Christmas card. He flips the card open and holds it up to you. You reach out and take the card from him looking it over.

The front of the card says "MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMALS" with an edited Home Alone poster showing Benji in the middle with Bucky and Sam in the background. This you already knew, but what you didn't realize was the little shit apparently customized the inside of their cards without you knowing.

The inside of the card reads:

AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You've been cordially invited to:

New Year's Eve Movie Marathon Night

📍 Location: Attic movie space

⏱️ Time: 3pm set up, 4pm movie selection process

Comfy Attire / Pajamas

Bring your own: overnight essentials - pillows and blankets encouraged but probably not necessary

Snacks and Pizza will be provided

[*Mom knows of this, Aunt Y/n does not...please direct any further inquiries to Mom 718-555-0110*]

"I saw you yesterday, you didn't want to bring this up to me??" You glare over at Bucky, holding the card up.

"Oh you did, did you?" Sam looks back and forth between the two of you.

"Must have slipped my mind," Bucky shrugs.

"I'm sure you were both very busy at this mystery meetup," Sam smirks.

"Yes, it was very eventful," you keep a straight face, "My legs are still sore."

"Oh??" His eyebrow raises as his head whips over to you.

"Mmhm, and there was also a lot more oils involved than I expected."

"Go on..."

"Lots of flowers. Candles. Honey. Fruits... Anything I'm missing?" You look over at Bucky.

"The leather. Can't forget that."

"Of course, how could I forget that. Very sturdy leather, indeed."

"Wow, I just knew you two were a couple of freaks." You can see the wheels turning in Sam's head as he processes this information and tries to decide which question to go with next.

"And then there was that sweet old lady that joined us," you're starting to struggle to keep a straight face, but manage to keep it together.

"Mildred was very energetic for 86 years old," Bucky nods. You finally break and start laughing.

"She probably could have gone another 3 or 4 rounds."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa," Sam interrupts, holding his hands up in an X motion. "You lost me. Explain yourselves," he looks back and forth between you, an eyebrow raised.

"We went to the farmer's and craft market, obviously. What were you thinking we were talking about?" You sass.

"Yeah, Samuel. What were you thinking of?" Bucky asks, a smirk appearing on his face now.

Sam scoffs. Nora makes her way downstairs and spots their new guests still standing in the doorway.

"Hey, guys! Welcome! Why are you still in the doorway? Come on in," Nora waves them inside. She greets Sam with a squeeze on his arm as she walks by, "Thanks for grabbing the pizzas! Bring 'em on up with you. Everyone's in the attic - you're just in time. Hey, Bucky!" She grins while greeting him with a quick wave.

Nora quickly disappears into the kitchen. Sam sets the pizza boxes down on the entry table temporarily and wraps you in a bear hug, giving you a lift before he sets you back down to snag the pizzas again while making his way upstairs.

Bucky steps inside and hesitates as he closes the door behind him, "Is this ok with you that we're here? I would have told you but I wasn't sure what repercussions would happen if I was the one to spill the beans. Plus seeing the look on your face when you opened the door..."

You grab one of the pillows from him and playfully whack him with it.

"How dare you," you laugh, "And of course it's ok. You're welcome here any time. The fact you keep willingly coming back to this circus amazes me every time."

Bucky just shakes his head and holds his pinky up to you. Those piercing blue eyes staring right at you with his stupidly handsome face.

You smile as you hook your own pinky around his, reminding you of his promise back in the attic during your last movie night together. "Promise you'll tell us if the crazy gets to be too much?"

Somehow we still haven't scared him away. He's gorgeous but you're worried he might be a beautiful idiot.

"Happy almost New Year," you smile as you place your hand on the side of his face, the stubble tickling your palm. He smiles down at you in return, "Happy New Year's Eve." He starts to lean in but you're lost in thought for a moment.

"Wait," You blink and Bucky halts his movement, "Did you guys tip the pizza delivery?"

"It was a young kid, he got a picture with Sam and ran off in his excitement after."

"Damn, that's genius." Note to self, remember that for the next time we order delivery.

You kiss his cheek and hand him the pillow back. "Well, I'm pleasantly surprised and glad you're here. Your continued movie education awaits. You first," you gesture up the stairs, "I'm just gonna go help Nora real quick." Bucky stares at you for a moment, an eyebrow raised as he tilts his head.

He goes to question you but you interrupt as you start to back away, "I'll be right up!"

He gives you a face that looks like you just kicked his dog and you suddenly realize in your frazzled state you gave him the brush off. You step closer again and place your hands back on his face.

"Hi, sorry. Starting over," you crank up the excitement, "I'm so happy you're here. Happy almost New Year!" You move his face between your hands back and forth for emphasis.

"Happy New Year's Eve," he repeats his part in amusement.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer into a sweet kiss. Bucky slowly rests his forehead against yours after, his piercing gaze searching yours with a light smile.

"Sorry for the awkward scatter brain. Was just caught off guard."

"S'fine. Don't do it again though," he jokes with you.

"An eight year old wasn't trying to set me up with a stranger for no reason. He's aware I'm a basket case."

"If you think you're a basket case, I don't know what that could possibly mean for me then."

"Well, the remaining roles available are brain, athlete, criminal, and princess. If you don't understand that reference we'll add it to the growing movie list. But I'm voting princess," you quip and kiss his nose quickly before you step away, "See you upstairs, your majesty."

He glares down at you sceptically, but decides not to bother questioning you. He's sure he'll find out at some point. He shakes his head while adjusting his backpack strap on his shoulder and making his way over to the stairs.

You escape into the kitchen in a flash but wait a moment, listening to Bucky's footsteps make it up the stairs before you say anything.

"Nora, how could you?" You try to keep your voice low while you whisper yell at her.

She clearly knew about this and said nothing this whole time.

"I made sure you looked cute today! Come on!"

"Traitor."

"Why are you even in here? I don't need your help. Go make out with your handsome future husband."

"I'm moving somewhere tropical and far away from all of you," you mutter as you grab a tote bag off the counter.

"Send postcards! Save a guest suite for us," she blows a kiss at you. "Oh, that also sounds sunny! Make sure Bucky gets your back for you when you need to reapply sunscreen."

You send a middle finger (with love of course) her way as you exit the kitchen.

Bucky lets out a low whistle when he reaches the attic space, "Wow."

"How does it get cooler every time we come up here? What is this?" Sam waves his arms towards the fully decorated ceiling.

Benji's previous surprise movie set up had been recreated but on a much larger scale.

The couch was set up much the same with it's pillows lined up, sheet canopies hanging over it, and string lights surrounding the area. However Prudence had helped Benji cover the rest of the space to look like the room was basically a giant blanket fort, with sheets draped and hanging from the ceiling from various strings and pins.

The king size and queen size foam mattress toppers that belong both on your bed and Nora's now took up residence on the floor for some padding along with every cushion that could be found and removed in the house, making one large cozy area. Sam tosses his backpack down, flopping onto his stomach on the padded floor next to it, "I'm moving in."

Benji jumps on top of him, "Heck yeah!"

"Hi fellas!" Prudence greets from her spot on an oversized beanbag chair, her boyfriend Monty next to her.

You make your way up the attic stairs with Nora, the large tote full of snacks and candies in your hands.

You hold the tote open to Bucky with a grin when you reach the top of the stairs.

"Are you sharing?" He asks while peering into the bag.

"I suppose," you tease, "Go ahead and pick your poison."

The lights dim as Bucky goes to reach into the bag and "Get Ready For This" by 2 Unlimited starts playing. The recognizable beat pumping through the Bluetooth speakers.

"Ohh, here we go," you sigh but laugh.

The starting line "Y'all ready for this?" announces Theo's presence as he starts pumping his phone in the air while the lights in the room start flashing with the help from Nora flicking the switch off and on rapidly to the music.

Benji groans. "Every time," he grumbles while crawling off of Sam and standing back up.

"Party peopleeeee!" Theo shouts as he reaches the top of the stairs.

Nora turns the lights back on, "Everyone go ahead and pick out your movie choice for tonight. Try not to share your choice yet."

Sam and Benji move to huddle by a large shelf of DVDs.

Sam silently holds up a copy of Sleepless in Seattle to Benji with an eyebrow raised.

Benji's eyes widen as he continues their silent exchange with a violent head shake side to side.

Sam slowly puts the DVD back on the shelf and gestures to locking a key over his mouth and throwing it over his shoulder.

"I knew that line about soulmates, puzzle pieces and cosmic forces sounded familiar," he points an accusing finger at the small agent of mischief.

Benji smirks and flashes his choice so only Sam can see. They both break into a giggle fit and high five.

Meanwhile across the room, you stand next to Bucky, "Do you have any favorites you'd like to pick out? If we don't have the physical copy we can try finding it online and just hold up a photo on my phone."

"Haven't been big on movies these days. I caught part of a movie recently playing on one of the TV's at the bar? Never saw the end, definitely didn't start watching at the beginning either. Just glimpses here and there."

"Do you know what it was? We could find that one if you are interested."

"Never saw the title," he shrugs.

"Oooh, a challenge," you rub your hands together and turn to face him better, "Let's see... Was it real life or animated?" You lean in, face turning serious in concentration.

He laughs lightly under his breath at your switch in demeanor, "Not animated. It was in space? It had people and robots in it."

"Oh hell yeah, okay. Let's see... Was it like a moon landing situation? Or maybe trapped on a planet?"

"Uh.. buncha people with terrible aim. Like, astonishingly bad aim. They were in a garbage compactor that was closing in..?"

"BUCKY, please shut your beautiful mouth right now. Star Wars????"

"That's the movie people always bring up?"

You grab his arm and yank him over to the many movie collections. You pull 'A New Hope' out and hand it to him.

"Yeah, that's the one. The girl with the hair," he holds the cover up to your face to compare side by side. "Yours are cuter," a sweet but devilish smile appears on his face as he references your hair that's up in two buns.

You swat the case away from your face, "Is this what you'd like to pick? You might get some heat for choosing this... Just a fair warning."

He shrugs while tucking the case under his arm.

"Beautiful mouth, huh?" He smiles slyly over at you.

You fix a playful glare at him, "Now is not the time, Barnes. This is serious business."

"Okay!" Nora announces, "For our esteemed guests, welcome. We're glad to have you join us. Everyone please put your choices behind your backs and line up when you're ready."

You all finish grabbing your choices and gather in a line, standing side by side. You pull on Bucky's arm and direct him to stand next to you. Benji grins up at him and tosses his arms around Bucky's waist, giving him an excited hug. Bucky freezes at first and then relaxes, ruffling Benji's hair. Benji lets go and gives his attention back to what's going on in the room.

"Here's the deal," Theo begins, "We each get a turn. When it's your turn you step to the front and present your choice. When you hold the movie up, we like to say a line from the movie for an added razzle dazzle, you don't have to though. The next person goes up and does the same with their movie. We then vote on which one stays and which one goes. The winner stays and the next entry goes up against them. We repeat until the last movie is standing. Got it?"

You all nod and confirm your understanding of the rules.

"Since we're watching more than one movie tonight, how are we deciding follow up winners?" Prudence asks.

"Well I mean, if you insist, I will choo-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," Nora cuts Theo off.

"Guests could choose," Prudence suggests.

"What about the youngest? Hellooo?" Benji cuts in, waving his hand.

"We could go by highest rating on IMDb?" Monty adds.

Arguments break out. You roll your eyes and go back to picking out chocolate from your tote. You grab a snickers and inspect the wrapping and then silently offer a piece to Bucky, tapping his arm with the wrapper to grab his attention. He smiles and accepts your offering while you rip into a KitKat and take a bite. "This could be a minute."

Sam nods over to you and holds his hands up in a stance ready to catch. You reach into the tote again and toss over a random candy for him. He catches the orange Reese's and gives you a thumbs up.

"Alright!" Nora interrupts the bickering, "Raffle style? We pull from a hat."

A chorus of fiiiiine's agree and you're all finally ready to continue.

Theo steps up to present his choice first. "Pockets ain't empty, cuz." He proudly slides a copy of 2 Fast 2 Furious out from behind his back.

Nora rolls her eyes. "Another one?! Again? Why the second one?"

Theo puts his hand over his heart, "How could you? You're my wife, my FAMILY."

"Don't you dare say it-"

"You're gonna turn your back on family?"

Nora's palm covers her face.

"This is the fourth time in a row he's chosen a fast and furious movie," you whisper to Sam and Bucky, taking another bite of your candy.

"I heard that," Theo points at you, "and that is a lie. This is my seco-... No wait, it's the third time."

"And you don't choose them in any order. You just pick random ones! Last time we watched one of the more recent ones, now you wanna go back to not the first but the second movie? Make it make sense," Nora argues. They both stick their tongues out at each other.

Prudence skips up next to Theo, "Well this should be an easy choice then." She holds up her choice over her head: Hot Rod. "You look pretty. What did you say? Uh, I said you look shitty. Goodnight, Denise!" She quotes while mimicking the two different voices.

You laugh while pointing towards Prudence, "Cool beans!" You quote back.

The majority votes for Prudence and Theo dejectedly goes to stand to the side, Monty stepping up in his place.

"You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting," he kneels while holding up A Knight's Tale over his head, "Come back when you're worthy."

"Dang. Sorry Prue," you join the votes and point over to Monty.

"It's a worthy choice, I understand." She moves to the side and Nora steps in her place.

"D-i-g, what's that spell?" She swings the DVD case for Holes like a shovel, "DIG!"

Theo groans, "I'm tired of this, Grandpa!"

"Well that's too damn bad!" Nora shouts back.

Bucky looks over at you with visible confusion written on his face.

"They're still quoting the movie," you answer for him.

He nods but still seems baffled by this movie selection process. You link your arm around his and pat it in a gesture to show your silent support among the chaos.

Votes stick with A Knight's Tale. It was close though.

"If you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity," Nora does her best Eartha Kitt impression as she moves aside.

Finally it's your turn. You let go of Bucky's arm and make your way over next to Monty.

"I do a great impression of a hot dog!" You scrunch your shoulders up and neck down, holding up Mrs. Doubtfire.

"HelloooOOooo!" Prudence cheers while voting for you.

"My first day as a woman and I'm already getting hot flashes!" Nora points to you as well.

"It was a run-by fruiting," Benji giggles.

"I'm melting like a snow cone in Phoenix," Sam joins in, Benji giving him a high five.

Bucky's eyebrows scrunch together. Benji tugs on his hand and pulls him down to whisper in his ear.

Standing back up, Bucky clears his throat and answers, "Help is on the way, dear?"

"Yeah!" You all cheer.

Bucky blushes a bit at the attention. Benji grabs his arm, giving it an excited shake.

"Alright, alright." Monty surrenders and steps aside.

Sam starts singing in a deep voice as he walks up next to you, "Bow bow, Oooh yeahhhhh," he raises his movie up, "Chick, chicka-chickaaaa!"

His voice goes monotone as he continues, "Bueller..... Bueller......"

It's a strong choice but votes stick with Mrs. Doubtfire instead of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

Bucky shyly makes his way up next to you. You give him an encouraging nod and smile. His face is scrunched up and unsure, "I'm not really prepared with a quote or anything..."

"Wait! Hang on," you pull out your phone, quickly typing away. "One second... Almost got it... Fucking ads - five more seconds please..." You watch the countdown waiting for 'Skip Ads' to finally appear. "Ok! On the count of 3," you nod over at Bucky. You hold up three fingers, two, one, and then point over at him as you press play.

The intro to Star Wars dramatically blares as Bucky presents his choice.

"Boooo, hiss!" Prudence yells out towards you.

"You coached him!" Theo argues.

"Party foul, bending the rules to your advantage!" Monty joins in.

"I didn't coach shit! This was his choice! So be nice!"

"Then you two really are perfect together," Nora rolls her eyes.

"The rule was I can't choose this movie ever again. Our GUEST chose it!"

Bucky's eyes are wide as he stands frozen, trying to figure out what is happening.

"Uh, we can skip my choice?"

"Of course not, Bucky. So sorry for freaking you out. Y/n has made us watch this a million times. Open the case, we started a tally mark system for them," Nora motions towards the case.

He opens the case and sees the cluster of line tallies filling the inside cover.

"I tried to warn you," you shrug at him.

"At least it's not Lord of the Rings again," Theo sighs.

"You leave my precious out of this," you point at Theo accusingly, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Theo rolls his eyes at you.

"I'm just gonna.. step aside... No votes necessary, really," Bucky assures.

"You're all a bunch of jerks. Bucky, I will gladly watch the entire series with you. You're not getting out of it that easy."

"Wait, have you not seen them before?" Nora asks.

"I've only seen parts of that one," Bucky shrugs and moves back to his original spot.

"Well, that's a different story I guess," Monty shrugs, "but still not enough to sit through it again. Sorry."

"Nerf herders," you mutter under your breath.

Benji dances up to the empty spot. "With it being New Years, I have decided to go with a more New Year resolvation related choice."

"Resolution," Theo corrects.

"Yeah, that." Benji reveals his DVD, holding it up with a wide grin. Uncle Buck.

Prudence lets out a snort that instantly makes her start giggling even harder. "Remember when you showed me his first ultrasound and I told you ' this baby is destined for greatness'?" She asks Nora next to her, "Absolutely knocked it out of the park."

"Well, that was fun. I'm so honored to have the winning choice," you interrupt while shoving Benji's face as you push by him.

"Hey! We didn't vote yet!" Benji protests.

"Are you really sure you want us all to watch this? Mr. 'Where do you live, own or rent?' Hm?" You whisper the last part to him, hinting at you knowing all about his previous kitchen interrogation after prying the info out from Bucky yourself during your first date.

Benji's eyes widen as he gasps. "I, uh, I... Y'know what... I was just being silly. You know meee, just gotta get that title joke in there. I.. take back my choice and pass," he plasters on a nervous grin as he hides the movie behind his back, "Maybe next time!"

Bucky raises an eyebrow but you refuse to look over at him.

"Can I see that?" He asks Benji with a smirk.

Theo and Nora claimed the couch.

On the floor area in front of it Monty and Prudence assembled their own little nest where they gathered some of the extra cushions and blankets around them.

You were next to Prudence, a wall of cushions between the two of you and a stack of pillows from your bed behind you. Bucky is next to you with his pillow he brought with him, the other pillow he carried in earlier was Sam's. Sam is on the other side of Bucky, an empty space left between them for Benji who called 'dibs' on the spot before disappearing downstairs.

While Theo sets up your winning movie for Mrs. Doubtfire, you get up to grab some plates and pass out pizza slices with Prudence who passes out the drinks.

You place one more plate of pizza in Benji's open space and sit back down in your spot with your own.

As you're pulling your blanket over your lap, loud thumps and clatters from Benji running back upstairs start to echo and he emerges carrying a bag full of items over his shoulder like a small Santa Claus. He plops everything down immediately.

"Here you go, Sam." Benji grins while tossing a thick rolled up fleece blanket over to him.

"Ayyy! Thanks so much, big guy." Sam unrolls the blanket and tosses it up slightly to spread it over his legs, revealing a large captain america shield on it. "It's perfect," he laughs.

"Do I get a blanket?" Bucky asks, looking over at the blanket and back over to Benji in betrayal.

"I'm all out. Sorry. You'll have to share one," Benji smirks and scurries away.

"I wonder who he thinks you'll share with," you ask in an airy tone while pretending to brush dirt off and pick lint from the comforter over your lap, tucking it closer under your legs with one hand while taking a bite of your pizza with the other.

Bucky gives you a side eye, but you keep a straight face while focusing on your pizza. A piece of mozzarella stretches as you pull it away and place it back on your plate.

Sam makes a show out of smoothing his blanket out as well, pulling it up over his shoulders and giving them a shimmy. "So cozy. Wow. It's like I'm being hugged by a fluffy cloud."

Bucky shakes his head at both your antics.

"You can share with us, BB." Monty lifts a corner of their blanket up with a wink.

Suddenly the large blanket over Prudence and Monty disappears towards their feet. Benji has their blanket tangled at his feet as he walks away. "Whoops," he shrugs while shuffling his feet and the blanket around some more like a plate of spaghetti. You almost break, but manage to keep a straight face still. Benji then grabs two chunky black plastic objects from his earlier pile and you know exactly what they are. One definitely came from your room, the other from his own. He rushes over to the corner of the room and plugs one in, setting the object down on the floor at a slight angle. He then rushes to the other corner of the room and does the same with the second one. He excitedly runs over to the light switch, shutting off the overhead lights, leaving only the movie projector and the string lights lighting the room.

"Sure, I didn't need to see anything," Theo grumps, remote in hand still clicking around on the screen.

"It's a projector, you can see better in the dark," Nora shakes her head at him.

Benji excitedly plops down in his spot and leans over to Bucky. "Are you ready for this??"

"Da na na, da d-da da, na na-" Theo starts singing the same 2 Unlimited song from earlier.

"Dad, stoppppp!" Benji swats behind him at Theo. "Anyways! Watch this!" He holds up two small remotes and presses the power buttons on them.

Two more projectors come to life, but these cast laser dots to look like stars with multi-color aurora light effects dancing around the room.

"Are you kidding me?? I'm forwarding my mail. How much for my share of rent?" Sam asks Theo behind him.

"We'll crunch some numbers and get back to you," Theo answers.

"I could stare at this for hours," Bucky watches in awe as the colors slowly shift and dance around.

"I bought Benji one for his birthday and then immediately bought one for myself. Ceilings are so boring and depressing without them now."

"Can we turn the spinning off? It makes me slightly nauseous," Prudence requests.

"On it," Benji presses a button and the laser stars stay stationary in their positions, they continue to blink in and out softly and the Aurora effect is still shimmering and shifting colors.

"Perfect, thank you!"

Benji starts making himself comfortable in his spot between Bucky and Sam. He has wrapped himself in his favorite fleece blanket that looks like a giant tortilla and has managed to lounge his way across both Sam and Bucky, shoving a large slice of pizza in his mouth.

The 20th Century Fox logo pops up on the screen as the opening music for Mrs. Doubtfire starts playing.

A sense of calm washes over Bucky as he relaxes. Next to Wakanda he thinks he has found a new favorite spot. A feeling catches him off guard. A feeling he hasn't had a lot of experience with in a long time... Home. He has had a similar taste of it when he visits the Wilson's, but he still felt more like an outsider looking in. This though. This felt different. He looks over at you.

You were still sitting up, a bag of chips now resting in your lap while you toss candies back and forth with Prudence. A smile is stretched across your face as the two best friends giggle at each other. Monty retrieved their blanket.

Benji has his head resting back against Bucky's chest and left shoulder, while one leg stretches across Sam's shins. Bucky's vibranium arm rests across Benji's small shoulders, his forearm bent up allowing his hand to rest on top of Benji's head.

You smile and shake your head when you look over and see Benji has made himself comfortable. In his own little chosen people bubble. Wrapped as a cozy pizza-eating burrito.

You give in and lift the edge of your blanket and comforter, tossing it over what you can reach of Bucky.

He looks down in surprise for a moment and then smiles over at you. With his Benji-free right arm, he adjusts the blanket over his legs. You scooch over closer, purely to make it easier to share of course. He nudges you with his shoulder in thanks. You tap him with your knee as your silent reply.

During the movie Benji grabs a bag of peelable red licorice strips that he starts chowing down on. Every few peels he'll hold a couple strings up and offer them to Bucky or Sam.

-

Mrs. Doubtfire wraps up and you all get up to stretch and take bathroom breaks while setting up for the next movie.

You start clearing up some discarded pizza plates.

"Anybody want some cake?" Nora asks.

"Yes!" Benji cheers.

Nora goes to open a cake box, revealing a decorated vanilla & chocolate marble cake made to resemble a clock.

"Theodore, why is the 5 o'clock slice missing?" She points the serving knife over at her husband.

"Uh.. because seven ate five?"

Prudence lets out a snort of laughter. Nora just sighs while shaking her head, slicing into the cake to serve the rest.

"Alright, Benji," you hand him a plastic cup, "I scribbled down the movies on paper scraps and put them in the cup. Go ahead and pick out the next movie."

"How do we know you didn't put Star Wars in there for every entry?" Monty points an accusing finger at you.

Benji reaches in and pulls out A Knight's Tale. You hold a middle finger up while Monty cheers, "Only joking, sweet Y/n. I knew you'd never do that." He cuts his eyes over to Prudence quickly, mouthing "What are the odds?"

"You owe me five," she mouths back while holding up her hand.

Monty gives her a quick high-five, earning an eye roll from Prudence. "That was my fault for not being more specific that I meant dollars, you cheeky bastard."

Monty grins and leans over, stealing a kiss from her.

-

Mid-movie Benji let's out a slight snore-snort as he startles himself awake, sitting up straight. "Wha- is it midnight yet?" He rubs at his eyes.

"It's not even 8pm yet, you lightweight," you toss a smaller pillow at him and it bounces off his head.

"Heyyy. So rude." He yawns while laying back down but instead of leaning back on Bucky again, he burrows into his own stack of pillows.

Bucky takes advantage of his newly freed arm and range of motion, reaching over to steal some of your snacks. You playfully glare over at him in mock offense as he gives you a smirk in return.

Benji pops his head back up suddenly, a new wave of energy hitting him at his sudden thought. His head whips around to look over at his parents on the couch behind him, his eyes staring owlishly wide at them.

Theo whispers over to Nora, "We made that terrifying little being."

"Straight up brought that chaos into this world," she whispers back. "How can we help you, sweet definitely-not-possessed baby boy of ours?"

"Can we play my new board game?"

"That sounds more like a group vote decision, my love."

Benji sits up on his knees sitting back enough to have all eyes on him. The overkill gut-punch pout and large puss in boots eyes appear, "Can we all play my new board game, pleeeease?" He clasps his hands together under his chin making sure to tilt his head and pitifully look at each adult while he begs.

"Man, that is stone cold. How do you say no to that?" Sam asks.

You and Nora sigh at the same time, "You don't."

"Which board game is it, Ben Ben?" Prudence asks.

"I'll go get it!" He leaps up and runs to a closet in the corner

"Are you sure you can stay awake long enough to play a game?" You tease.

"I was not sleeping! I was resting my eyes like Pop-pop! It wasn't my fault, Bucky's arm must have some sort of sleeping magic."

"Sleeping magic?" Bucky and Nora ask at the same time.

"Can't say I've unlocked that feature before," Bucky answers while flexing and twisting his arm back and forth as the plates shift with the motion.

"Please tell whoever made it I will donate my entire body to get some of this sleeping magic. Even if it's just a pinky," Nora pleads back.

"I'll pass that along," Bucky laughs.

Benji runs back in with his new board game proudly held over his head. A box that says... Benjopoly?

"Benji, what is this?" You ask taking the box from his hands to get a closer look.

"It's a custom monopoly board!" He jumps up and down in excitement.

"Hey, our house is on a spot!" You point at a spot on the box, "How cool! Why is this the first time I'm seeing this?"

"He wanted to surprise everyone with it today," Nora shrugged, "I haven't even seen some of the choices he went with yet."

"So can we play, pleeeease??" He begs.

You open the lid and hold the box back out to Benji. He's practically vibrating with excitement as he pulls the board out.

As Benji lays the board out you get a closer look at the property choices around the board. You also catch a glimpse at the little trinkets for player pieces.

"Sweet Jesus...." You sigh and shut your eyes while you press your fingers against them.

"What?" Bucky questions, "You okay?"

You clear your throat, "Fine, I'm fine..." You grab Benji by the back of his shirt and tug him over into your lap. He lands with a thump and gazes up at you with a look of complete innocence, but you know it is anything but. Placing your forehead against his, you playfully glare into his tiny mischievous eyes, "Wanna delight me with an answer on why you chose these places?"

Your house, the library, museum of natural history, a few fancy hotels, the gazebo at a local park, Brooklyn botanic garden, the aquarium, even Disneyland and the Smithsonian were on here. These were all innocent enough until you started noticing things like your childhood family church, city hall, the large barn on your uncle's property where Nora and Theo were married and you finally start to piece together... These were all a variety of wedding venue options. The player pieces? You noticed a diamond ring, top hat, flower bouquet, and a limo amongst them.

He beams up at you in return and rubs his nose against yours. He then pulls you into a tight hug, squeezing the life out of you. "Just some favorite places!"

"Oh hey, it's Uncle Dave's barrnnnn-ooooh..." Nora's sudden epiphany hits next. She looks over at you, her eyes wide but trying to keep a neutral face. She mouths, "I didn't know," over to you and winces.

"Oooh? Oooooh what?" Theo asks her.

"Uh..I was just thinking how long this is gonna take to play... Bubs, I know you're excited about this, but what do you think about something less time consuming? Like maybe Uno?"

Benji pouts and huffs while getting up and going to grab the deck of cards instead.

Nora makes quick work of packing up the board game and discarding the box discreetly under the couch.

At 10:45pm Prudence jumps up and starts lining up plastic champagne flutes, filling them with a sparkling cider. Benji also gets up and grabs a shopping bag from the corner of the room, pulling out a stack of cone shaped party hats, glittery gold paper crowns, and some foil horns to blow into. He passes out one of each to everyone, asking each person, "hat or crown?" while holding each option up.

You try to figure out the best way to make this work with your hair up. You grab two crowns. Bucky takes one from you and helps you adjust the sizes to put a crown around each bun on top of your head. He shakes his head once they're on and pulls his phone out, snapping a photo of you posing with your hands under your chin. Benji and Theo can be spotted in the background giggling as they were also trying to figure out how to give Theo a mohawk look with the party hats, elastic strings meant to go under your chin covering his face at weird angles to accommodate multiple hats going along the back of his head, which only makes them giggle harder. Nora shakes her head at their antics but has a smile on her face as she watches the two in amusement, a crown already on her head as well.

You grab Bucky's phone and go to take a picture of the both of you. He places his arm over your shoulder and smiles for the photo. After you take a couple to make sure you get a cute one you tell Sam to move closer and join in for a photo.

"I don't want a photo of Sam," Bucky argues with a huff. You lightly elbow him and Sam ignores Bucky, plastering a goofy grin on his face for a photo with both of you, while yelling "Misterwives!" as his way of saying 'cheese!'

Prudence checks her phone, "My co-worker lives up the street. She said they're all at the park having a new years party. Looks like there's a projector show of their own set up against the nearby buildings to watch the ball drop with music. Anybody interested in checking it out? We have enough time to get over there."

You trade your cookie monster bathrobe for a long wool coat and slip on your boots on the way out.

Bucky is giving an overtired, sugar-buzzed Benji a piggyback ride. Benj yaps away in his ear as you all walk along the sidewalk

"We have a 'bring your favorite person to school' day coming up soon. Can you come?" He asks Bucky while playing with the cone party hat on Bucky's head.

"EXCUSE me?!" Theo, Nora, and you stop short and yell at the same time.

"I can't pick just one of you. Two of you will get all butthurt. So I'm choosing outside the box.. or roof..? And then you all can be equally butthurt together."

"Unbelievable. The audacity," Nora scoffs and keeps walking while holding Theo's hand.

"Judas," Theo grumbles.

"Good thing we kept the receipts on those Christmas presents."

Benji ignores them and continues, "We eat lunch and they have some games set up around. We would totally crush it." He holds his fist up.

"Am I expected to make some sort of presentation?"

"Nope!"

"I'll think about it, but I think you have better options, pal."

"Nope!" He repeats and squeezes his grip around him.

"I thought I was offended before, now I'm extra offended. The absolute nerve," Theo scoffs.

"I'll text you the info," Benji fake whispers.

You get separated from Bucky at the park. He went to get you a water but he hasn't returned yet. You make a quick sweep through and finally find him, his body language clearly showing discomfort as he looks around. A woman is standing in front of him trying to pull him into conversation. You walk over and see his shoulders sag slightly with relief.

"There you are, we were about to start a search party!" You joke as you walk up to him and link your arm around his. "Hello," you greet the woman standing in front of him.

"Oh, hi!"

"This is the future Mrs," Bucky tilts his head towards you.

Her eyes dart down to your gloved hands.

"Yup, that's me," you play along, "Nice to meet you. Are you the owner of the salon on 8th? I think I've seen you there before? I've had an appointment with Mac before."

"Oh yes! We miss her. She moved back west after the baby was born."

"I heard. I'm happy for her, but she will definitely be missed."

"You'll like Alex, he has the same aura. Very welcoming and highly recommended by clients. His bridal updos are to die for."

"I'll keep that in mind. Happy New Year," you wave to her as you steer both you and Bucky away.

"We lose you for a few minutes and you're nearly on your way to another future wife, you stud."

"Haa-haa," he gives a flat response back, pulling you closer to him. "Can we go find the others before she decides to appear again?"

"What, you weren't enjoying your conversation with crazy eyes? She's loaded, you could have been her sugar baby."

-

The midnight countdown echoes as everyone chants down from ten.

At 'three', Bucky gently tugs you closer while his hand cups your jaw. His vibranium fingers brush gently against your chin, tilting your head towards him. You can feel your heart pounding faster in anticipation. The growing noise of the excited crowd starts to fade as he pulls you into a soft, tender kiss. Your lips fitting perfectly together.

The midnight cheers erupt and echo around you as you fight your own internal fireworks erupting for your new year's kiss. Time feels like it slows to a crawl.

"Happy New Year," you whisper with a grin when you finally pull away. You can't help but let out a laugh.

"Why are you laughing? What's so funny?" He squints down at you.

"Sorry, I don't wanna ruin the moment... This is just so cheesy," you bite your lip while holding back another laugh at the stunned look on his face.

"Cheesy? Cheesy?? You think this is cheesy, huh??" He squeezes your waist, while he playfully taunts you. With each question his face inches closer to you.

You break into laughter as his fingers tickle into your sides.

"I'll show you cheesy," his grip tightens as he dips you backwards, pulling you in for a breathtaking kiss.

Bucky lifts you back up and you both take a moment to breathe before he interrupts and pulls you back in for a more passionate kiss.

Benji makes his presence known by blowing a foil horn at both of you. The loud sound startles you away from the kiss. "Ew, was his tongue in your mouth? Or was that your tongue? Either way, tongue was involved here." He holds an accusing finger up at the two of you as his face twists in disgust.

Theo places a hand over Benji's forehead and directs him away. "Stop making things weird. Keep moving."

"I'm making it weird?? But that can't be sanitary!"

You hide your face against Bucky's shirt, both of you shaking with laughter. Tears fill your vision from a combo of the cold weather and your laughter. Your face burning up from both the exertion of laughing and the embarrassment of being called out by your nephew.

You finally look up and go to wipe your eyes but Bucky beats you to it. His finger slides along your cheek first and then gently swipes his thumb under your eyes. He takes extra care to wipe some of your smudged eyeshadow at the corners and he smiles warmly at you in the process.

"Are you gonna finally let me call you mine, or will Benji need a 12 step plan drafted up to help convince you?"

"I dunno, I might have to update my cootie shots and consult with the counsel. It's a whole to-do."

He growls and goes to squeeze your sides again, playfully nipping at your chin and cheek, "C'mere."

You giggle as you try to back away but he only squeezes you closer, "I'm still waiting for an answer," he locks his arms around you, holding you in place.

"How could I say no to this face?" You try to go squeeze his face but he has your arms pinned to your sides.

"That's not a proper answer," he squeezes tighter. "Are," he leans closer, "you," and closer, "my girl," his nose brushes against your cheek, "or not?"

"Yes."

You let out a surprised squeal as his bends slightly, moving his grip around your hips and upper thighs, lifting you off the ground and giving you an excited spin.

You gather the group back up and start to head back to the house. This time Theo gives a dozing Benji a piggyback ride.

You squeeze Bucky's hand and smile over at him. He squeezes back and pulls you closer as you both continue walking behind the group. You still can't believe how this all started. You're still expecting to blink and this all was one big hallucination.

Nora unlocks the front door as you return to the house and you all make your way back upstairs after discarding your coats and shoes.

Theo and Nora grab their pillows from the couch and decide to go sleep in their room. Theo's snoring would keep everyone awake. Although you're surprised Nora doesn't want to stay. She claims without Theo's snoring it's too quiet for her to fall asleep.

They offer Sam the couch, "If you stay down there, Benji sleeps like a starfish and moves around as if he's fighting crime in his sleep," they warn him on their way back downstairs.

"I do not," Benji grunts as he sits up while rubbing at his eyes. He reaches a tired hand up and pulls at a dangling string. A series of sheets pinned to the ceiling fall and section you all into your own little separate fort areas.

The couch area is almost completely covered, and both sides surround you and Bucky into a somewhat tent-like section together.

You hear snickering and look over to see Benji and Sam making shadow finger puppets at each other through the sheets.

Bucky moves to kneel while he grabs his pillow, and starts to shift as if he's going to stand up.

"Um, where are you going?" You ask.

"Home?" He answers, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"What do you mean home? It's late, just stay here?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why? Do you turn into a green ogre like Fiona?"

"I hate that I understand that reference now."

"You loved that movie and you know it. Stay and we can watch Shrek 2."

"They made another one?" He looks baffled at this fact.

"Oh, my sweet Fiona," he rolls his eyes at you, "there's a whole franchise. At least 4... or 5? Maybe 6. I'm honestly not sure at this point, but we're going to find out."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," you grin and grab the remote. You reach for his hand and tug him back down.

Everyone has settled into their spots. Monty and Prudence have already fallen asleep by the time you find the movie.

"Hey, Shrek 2!" Sam cheers quietly.

Bucky places a hand over his face. You try not to laugh as you grab his pillow from him and place it back in it's spot behind him. He moves his hand down to look over at you and shakes his head. You continue to grin over at him as you press play.

-

"You're still awake?" You whisper. The movie ended at least 15 minutes ago. Everyone else peacefully snoozing around you. Well, it's 50/50 on how peaceful Benji actually is, judging on the awkward position he's contorted and passed out in. Oh to be a kid and not worry about your neck and back again. You're already positive you're gonna be regretting this floor slumber later today, even with the foam padding attempt under you.

It's not that Bucky doesn't want to sleep, he just...can't. Too many people in the room. Too self conscious of having a nightmare and potentially disturbing the rest of the sleeping occupants. The last thing he wanted to be was a burden or a nuisance. His mind is also telling him to stay vigilant as he watches the staircase entrance.

He shrugs as his short answer, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud.

"Sleep magic run out on you?" You joke, trying to lighten the mood when you see the dark look in his eyes, the wheels turning in thought behind them. You can tell he's fighting his answer, a look of uncertainty on his face, but a lazy smile appears. He shakes his head at you.

Laying on your side, you scoot closer and grab his right arm, hugging it against you. "Can I borrow your sleep magic then?"

Bucky smiles over at you as you drift off. He tugs your pillow closer and tucks it against his arm some more so your head and neck are more comfortable. He places a gentle kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment. He slowly tilts his head back up towards the ceiling. However, he continues to stay awake. Silently watching the stars and swirling patterns dance across the room. Soaking in the comfort and the feeling of being surrounded by people that care for him. In their own dream worlds.

Benji starts to stir with a slight grumble. Bucky lazily turns his head and watches the shadow of a small lump shift slightly closer to him behind the sheet.

"Un Buc, m'gumdrops. Gone," he mumbles together in his sleep. "How dare...th's m'ne. Hmmph." He shifts again, an arm and leg flailing as he turns over and starts to settle back into a deep sleep. Bucky shakes his head in amusement and goes back to watching the ceiling.

-

Hours later, Bucky is still awake when everyone starts slowly shifting and waking up. He hears Prudence and Monty shift around as they quietly make their way downstairs.

You start to stir and stretch next to him soon after. He watches as you rub your eyes and then bury your face into both your pillow and his arm. He waits a moment to see if you're awake. You finally peak up at him, giving him a slurred greeting.

"Mornin', " he greets back with a tired smile. You clock the dark circles under his eyes.

"Please don't tell me you've been awake this whole time."

"Course not. I feel fresh as a daisy."

"Liar."

You sit up, grab your pillows and drag him downstairs.

"Where are we going?" He asks at the bottom of the stairs. You ignore his question and approach the door to your room. "Can't drag me to your bed fast enough, huh?"

"Oh baby, you're about to get hours," you pause and look over at him, leaning up closer, "and hours," you lower your voice and kiss his knuckles quickly, "of great sleep. Let's go." You pull on his arm again and direct him over to the bed. You give him a push towards it and take a step towards the side table. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you open the side table drawer, pulling out a small spray bottle. Uncapping it, you give two quick spritzes over the pillow areas and one more in the general area over the bed behind him before putting the cap back on and tossing it back in the drawer.

"What the hell was that?" He blinks at you.

"Lavender spray," you shrug and walk over to your dresser. "It's supposed to be calming and relaxing to assist you with falling asleep." Opening a bottom drawer of the dresser you pull out a water bottle and set it on the side table.

Bucky watches in amusement, observing the other bright colored packages of what looks to be a snack stash in the same drawer before you close it.

"Are you one of those doomsday preppers? Or is it a hoarding thing? What else do you have stashed around here?"

"Look, I'm just trying to survive in this household. Benji and his little friends eat everything. I'm terrified when puberty hits. Also, I don't feel like going all the way downstairs when I'm thirsty," you shrug. "Now will you lay down?"

You pull the blankets back, "Chop chop. Don't make me dump that whole bottle of lavender on you."

He rolls his eyes and lays back against the pillows.

"Is this ok? Are you comfortable? Do you need space and want me to leave?"

He scoots back and grabs your arm, tugging you onto the bed next to him. You sit on the edge of the bed and he pulls your arm again, and then places a gentle hand on your leg making you lay down next to him. You lay on your side facing him.

"That didn't answer my questions. Do you need music? white noise? a bedtime story? I can go grab the comforter," You continue to ramble on.

"Just a good night kiss," he pouts his lips towards you.

You lean over and place a soft kiss to his waiting lips.

He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you to him. "Goodnightmorning," he whispers.

You let out a soft laugh in return and place another kiss to his cheek which gets another smile from him.

You start to lightly run your fingertips up and down his forearm and then repeat again lightly with your nails, back to your fingertips.

He hums in appreciation.

"Goodnightmorning. Sweet dreams," you whisper back as he drifts off.

Dividers by @saradika

[onlyseokmins]

babymaker • c.s.c

Pairing: choi seungcheol x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), roommates!au, fwb!au, lil angst if you squint plus gross fluff Warnings: swearing, mentions of past rough/marathon sex, edging, overstimulation, fingering, mentions of oral sex (fem. receiving, male teasing), biting (bc i wrote this), scratching, marking, mentions of car/exhibitionism sex, objectification, degradation, slight choking, tiny obsession w/ cheol's ass + tatts, making out and tons of kithing uwu, reader's a brat and economic major, cheol's a wealthy arrogant bbygorl, creampies <3, breeding kink, light mentions of babytrapping (look at the title lmfao), lots of touching and groping and teasing, sappy stuff ew, messy sex, kinda bulge kink haha, paragraph/word heavy, throwing in some silliness as usual, & lmk if i missed smth WC: 7.9k A/N: i know it's like a month late but this was suppposed to be for cheol's birthday lmfao but it's also meant to be a sequel to Lusty Gallant although it can be read on it's own ig esp since the characters seem ooc </3 also thanks to @hwanghyunjinenthusiast for giving me details on what cheol kithes taste like mwah

Seungcheol and you still live together. And yes, that means you're still committed to fucking on every surface possible in the very nice apartment space comfortable for two.

Roommates with benefits works out well for the both of you — seeming to lean mostly in your favor. 

University is a hop and a skip away, close enough for Seungcheol to swing by on his way home from the office with a minor detour. The attractive man's appearance always causes several students to squeal and twirl their hair when he parks next to the sidewalk in a sleek, expensive black and red car. Silver rings that probably cost as much as your tuition adorn long fingers as they tap, tap, tap against the leather steering wheel while he waits. 

Seungcheol looks for you over the rim of fake sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose and tongue poking between brilliant white teeth revealed by a smug smirk. Your friends are not subtle — a few in-the-know of what kind of arrangement you have with him and the majority of others not — when they dig an elbow into your ribs or smack your arm in excitement. 

You loathe the gawking stares with the same amount of intensity as the tiny sparkle of delight that allows yourself to bask in Seungcheol's showy display of attention that's only partially for you. Aware of what he really loves is soaking up everyone focused on him, brushing back bangs with a pleased grin after checking himself out for the hundredth time in the rearview mirror. 

Still, the man is as punctual as clockwork despite a hectic schedule. Deluding yourself is fun whenever he rolls down the window and asks just loud enough for onlookers to hear and swoon over, "How was night class, sweet stuff? Did my luckiest charm learn anything new to advise me on the market's trends?" and receiving an eye roll in return.

"I keep saying you don't have to do this," you remind him every. single. time. because you're sincerely fine walking back the same route you take in the morning.

"Nonsense, it'd be a sin to let a pretty little thing like you walk the city streets in the dark all alone. 'sides it's on my way." 

"Of course, as long as it's convenient."

"Convenient?" he repeats with a cocked eyebrow and watches as you slide into the ridiculous car with a cute but sulky pout. An indication that something has ruffled your feathers, if even just a little.

You know not to slam the door too hard when closing it because the one time you did just to be a brat, your battered pussy paid the price. It was very sore for a good couple of days after being repeatedly edged for hours as punishment. First by his fingers during the drive home, next with his mouth on the hood of said car after he'd pulled into the garage, and then teasing touches along the several little pit stops on the way to the bedroom. 

All until you were pressed face-down into silky sheets, finally allowed to let go for the first time of the night with his thick girth easing its way inside of your aching cunt to the hushed words of, "Have to touch my baby gently, treat 'em with lotsa care. Always gotta play nice with the things I like, 'kay?"

Safe to say, you learned your lesson. Who wouldn't after being nearly bedridden and limping around for almost two days?

Seungcheol lets out the same kind of disappointed huff when you apologized to him for having to take care of you after that particularly harsh sex marathon — or any time, for that matter. "I've never thought of it as an inconvenience."  

"You're a busy man."

"Not so busy that I can't pick you up, 'specially given that we live together."

"Under various terms and conditions. One of them being that I put up with all your inconveniences, not vice versa."

"Then simply think of it as an additional nuisance of mine you have to deal with. You know I won't do anything you don't want, but at least let me have this so I know you're safe." Another harsh sigh leaves his mouth as he adds, "Even if the university was on the other side of town, I'd be there."

"Yeah, okay."

While there's a general love-hate relationship with your sassy behavior, it's in times like these where he extremely dislikes it since the timing is rather improper to fuck it out of you. Alas, he's left to fumble for an alternative that presents him as a man who possesses some semblance of decorum. 

"Can drive something else, find a car that doesn't draw so much attention."

"It's not the car," you snap back without thinking. Lips pressing together in a thin line when Seungcheol's fingers that wish they were on your thigh drum menacingly on the console as a substitute, rings flashing under the glow of the passing streetlights.

"Then what is it?" Your name falls from his lips in a soft, commanding kind of plea. 

Lucky for you, the short drive is almost over and you can avoid answering for the last couple of minutes. Pretending to mull it over as you focus on steadying the pounding thump of your heart and the erratic breath caught in your lungs.

"It's nothing," you lie fairly easily, already slinking out of the car the minute he brakes in the garage and ignoring the dark brown eyes trained on you because they will make you hesitate. You have to stay firm or end up caught in his trap. "Just tired, 's all. I'm gonna head to bed early, see you in the morning?"

And you don't wait for a response. Gently closing the car door and then sprinting as unsuspiciously as possible into your designated bedroom. Seungcheol won't follow or pry for now. He's always made a point to respect any boundaries you set and the promise to see him when you wake up will keep the man at bay for now. And you sure as hell were going to use all of that to your advantage, curling up under a blanket and trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. 

This "roommates with a multitude of benefits" arrangement worked. Chugging along like a well-oiled mechanism. So why were you contemplating the risk of messing it up and throwing the machine off its steady track? For something so fleeting? So emotional? The one thing that always fucks up these kinds of relationships?

Sure, you were in love with the way Seungcheol carried himself. His swagger. His money. Confidence, charisma, oh… and his cock, too. Who wouldn't be? But now, oh no, now you were also in love with the man himself — stupid Choi Seungcheol!

It was a gradual build. Always there in the background. All it took was for you to acknowledge its existence. Perhaps it was meant to play out this way. But you were still going to hold him responsible as an equal in contributing to this mess just as much as you were for falling. Your fingers clutch at the blanket, the poor fleece serving as an unfortunate outlet for your frustration.

When did the crazy marathons dwindle out? By no means had the two of you stopped fucking — absolutely not. It just meant that, well, rather than Seungcheol just fucking you, he more or less made love to you.

You feel a shiver down your spine and scream into a pillow at the worms writhing in your brain.

The sex was still terrific. You habitually muffle your sounds as it is — not ones of pure frustration like tonight — but out of extreme pleasure. The filthy debauchery hadn't changed either. The two of you deeply reveled in your depraved dynamics and more insane acts, maybe even getting dirtier once this subtle shift happened. 

Safety. Security. Seungcheol.

Words you would've never thought to use in relation to him.

And then there was the aftercare. A strange new intimacy. He cuddled in bed after taking the effort to clean each other up for a good night's rest. Remaining there fast asleep and quietly snoring long after you untangle yourself from the comforting warmth of his arms to start the day. Mornings were no longer cold because he chose to stay.

Weekends were becoming your favorite too. When he waddles around shirtless, barely awake upon discovering you gone from his embrace. A back-hug immediately when finding you again. Soft gropes at your curves and low groans of contentment while pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent mixed with his while you prep breakfast. Turning you around for kisses and pursuing long, slow makeout sessions that were quickly becoming the norm. Only for you to accidentally bite down a little too hard on his bottom lip when you realize the toast is burning.

You miss the way his eyes shine with affection as they follow you panicking around the kitchen. When did this big apartment of his begin to feel so alive? Even previous roommates and their loud yammering hardly made him feel at home. Tonguing at the indentation marks of your teeth molded into his lip and the sting that keeps him rooted in the present moment, the man meets your flustered expression with a grand, playful smile. 

Ah, he thinks fondly, obviously.

Afternoons no longer consist of being stowed away in respective bedrooms or different rooms. Seungcheol sits at the kitchen table, furrowed eyebrows as he chips away at the excel sheet reflected in the glasses perched on his nose. You sit across from him, dutifully typing up assignments for Sunday night submittal. 

He'll ask occasional questions just to learn more about you, your classes, and your dreams. Or if you simply need any help. Meanwhile, you make sure you're both staying hydrated and taking necessary breaks to rest your eyes from the screens. Sometimes you'll even get to assist him by analyzing a report. The real-world example aids as a unique use case scenario to better understand the concepts outlined in your textbooks.

You really were Seungcheol's lucky charm. He often wonders if you'd like to apply to work at the company he's in. But he'd hate to pressure or patronize you. So ultimately all he can do is stare in awe and provide steady encouragement as you formulate calculations, clean up the data, and transform it all into a presentable display of information.

It's usually his turn to cook in the evenings. Constantly getting distracted by your presence that he insists needs to be around to taste-test the vegetables that keep overcooking when he gets too caught up in tasting you. Innocent smooches here and there amid shy giggling that seems far too intimate than if he lapped at something else like in the past when he eagerly devoured your cunt right there on the countertop. 

When dinner is served, you honestly never know or care how tasty it is or isn't because Seungcheol himself is the spice in your life. Your plain world now explodes in a bountiful amount of flavor thanks to him. Later, you tidy up the kitchen together — similar to how you move in tandem to freshen up in the bathroom after sex and much like a married couple would act.

And that's why your damn roommate leaves you wanting more. 

These nights he kisses you bathed in the moonlight, working up a blistering heat that doesn't just simmer in your lower abdomen but follows the journey of his dedicated mouth. Upwards the wildfire burns, swooping into your chest and underneath the skin of your cheeks until it tangles with the expert tongue poking in between your lips. Seungcheol charts familiar territory with dancing fingertips across your skin, re-committing it to memory while yours sear into his, scratching at the wide expanse of his back and burying themselves in the curls of his unruly hair. 

He takes you to bed — not always in a sexual manner — and it really doesn't even matter how you end up there because that is where you'll find yourself anyway. Falling asleep in his arms and waking up to repeat this strange and newly established cycle.

So the fact that you are sleeping alone speaks volumes. What is said, you're unsure but little do you know that Seungcheol continues to fear you might slip out of his hands. The attached-detached battle strategy always lurks around the corner and somehow, it's almost better when he treats you like some sort of fucktoy only. 

The gentle sparkle in his eye was shielded by the switch to a mean glint, eyeing you up like you're nothing better than a piece of meat. No longer acting as the sweet yet cocky, handsome roommate you've gotten to know and grown feelings for. But reminiscent of the aloof and arrogant — still deviously attractive — man who propositioned this whole situation a little over a year ago.

Like now, as you kneel on all fours naked. Save for the humble pair of underwear whose innocence has long been destroyed due to the stains of your arousal mixed with Seungcheol's cum. Ruining the fabric that nestles between your legs for the sake of modesty you've thrown away hours — no, months — ago.

The very man sits before you on the poor couch that's seen its fair share of sinful acts. He's reclining comfortably, black t-shirt stretching out across a firm chest and broad shoulders while infamous gray sweatpants strain against thick thigh muscles as he manspreads so casually with a large hand laid over his crotch. Teasingly hiding the thing you so desire and are begging for. 

But he wants you to work for it. Harder. A lot more than you already have. Put on a proper show of how much you deserve to have him. And want him.

"Come," he commands and pats his thigh like he's talking to some stray dog. When you go to sit back on your knees to stand, his eyes narrow as they darken. "Crawl."

What you don't know is Seungcheol would easily yield to and for you if you'd just let him. Be honest with him. Tell him your feelings. Unfortunately, it's in both of your natures to be hella stubborn. Too prideful to admit defeat and be completely vulnerable. You've come to an impasse.

But crawl to him physically you do, shamelessness long gone. Because what could be more shameful than how willing you are to be used by him and how wonderful it feels to be degraded?

Obviously admitting how much you like the damn man. 

Goosebumps thrillingly cover your skin at how the gaze trained on you never loses its intensity with you coming closer, following all the way until your head is between his spread legs. Because he knows at least this is the most definitive way he can hold onto you for now.

"Kiss me."

And you obey, puckering your lips and tenderly placing them against the growing bulge beneath the gray fleece. Looking up with lidded eyes, blinking slowly as you let out audible smooch noises along the hard length before mouthing at where the tip lies. Leaving an even damper spot than the salty excess seeping through the fabric, suckling around the area to replace it with the hot saliva dribbling from your tongue that laps enthusiastically at the taste.

"C'mon pet," Seungcheol's tone is mocking in its chastisement, but the rough pad of his thumb rubbing your warm cheek is gentle. "Gimme a real one."

"Yes sir," falls breathlessly out of your mouth at the assumed permission, hands quickly reaching for the waistband of his sweats only to retract just as fast upon the disapproving click of his tongue.

"Not like that, up."

Uncertain, you brace yourself with the support of his quads so you're kneeling. Leaning in and tentatively pressing a kiss to the spot where you know at least one vein starts from the bottom of his pelvis and leads up to his abdomen. Tongue poking out in an attempt to feel and trace it, also effectively wetting his shirt just for good measure.

This time, a wistful sigh escapes between the man's pouty lips despite the furrowing of eyebrows because you're still not quite getting the message. The hand on your cheek slides down to your neck, briefly running his thumb tantalizingly across the side of your throat, landing on your shoulder, and grasping at your arm. Tugging up until you follow along with the motion and a bit of a surprised squeak, ultimately landing right where he wants you — straddling his lap.

"Oh," you mutter in surprise, abruptly snapped out of the lust haze that had been clouding your mind. 

Center of gravity thrown off balance until your knees finally ground themselves on either side of his spread legs. Your hands hover awkwardly in the air, struggling to find something to hold onto before resolutely settling on the back of the couch. But not before Seungcheol's sturdy hands steady your hips, sporty reflexes acting faster than you can complete any of these actions.

"Oh, indeed. Already too fucked out to think?"

"No… s-sorry."

"You can make it up to me," he teases and you wait for the punchline, "with a proper kiss." It's both amazing and brow-raising when the Choi Seungcheol lets out the lowest of whines at the smallest sign of hesitation. "Don'tcha think it's the least I deserve today?"

Spoiled is what he is — but it is his birthday after all — so, of course, you're more than willing to indulge. Although the trepidation is real, manifesting in the tense stiffening of your body and the acceleration of your heart rate.

"Relax," he says gleefully — a little too gleeful. "I don't bite."

"Most times, not."

"If anyone's the biter between us, it's you so…"

The taunting murmur of, "Go ahead and bite baby," turns into a satisfied groan when you press your lips against his. Contrary to the jest and much to his delight, you're gentle. It's so adorable that he finds himself melting below you into a puddle of goo. Becoming absolute putty, lips readily parting so you can lick into his mouth.

He tastes like cherry chapstick and coffee, flavors so Choi Seungcheol that it hurts with how much they alone can possibly overwhelm you. Your nose scrunches, eyebrows following suit. Unaware of how he observes close-up through heavily lidded eyes because he wants more and more of what he can't get enough of. Afraid you might disappear. Even though you're right here — on his lap, kissing him sweetly. Yet you're still not all there.

So, he works on anchoring you to him — somehow, some way. One hand urges you to release your support on the couch, bringing your arm down to sneakily thread his fingers between yours. Naturally, the opposite one falls to eliminate the odd angle and rests on his shoulder. Seungcheol's other palm shifts to splay across your bare back and push you further into his chest, your sensitive nipples brushing against the cotton material of his shirt. 

When that burning hand also encourages your ass to sit on his thighs to nearly smother him into the couch cushion and your damp core effectively presses onto the heated length stirring inside his sweats — he finally gets what he's been waiting for. The wanton moan that bubbles out of your throat is quickly swallowed up by the man himself, who ceases the passive role in the makeout session and kisses you back with a fervor that quite literally steals your breath.

He waits for you to surrender.  

Not to be confused with submission. Seungcheol no longer cares about any fucked-up or sexual kind of power play nor does he want to win. He doesn't even want you to yield to or for him. Oh, he wishes you would of your own free will — but if you at least give in to the moment, to the feelings of now, and the warmth shared between you two — that's the most he can ask for and what he's grateful to accept for the time being.

Your fingers slip beneath the neckline of his shirt, inadvertently starting to trace along the same pattern as the ink that decorates his skin. The menace of a man smirks, pausing his assault on your lips to croon knowingly, "Wanna move this to your room?"

It's annoying how Seungcheol can read you even before your mind can think. And it's even more irritating at how your body reacts, thighs betraying you. Viscerally squeezing around his figure today, much like the memory of them wrapped above his waist the other day. Legs spread by him in between them as you clung to his body that had been railing into you like there's no tomorrow. Your gaze locked over his shoulder at the man's pride and joy — his nice ass — reflected in the mirror deliberately across from your bed along with the inked designs of things he held dearly marked across his back. Including the healing scratches from your nails.

"No," you grit out and break the kiss to shoot him a pointed glare, "just take off your stupid shirt."

"Thought you'd never ask."

No one should ever look that sexy taking off clothes, but of course, Seungcheol does. Any snark left in you immediately fizzles out at the teasing reveal and intentionally flexed expanse of his stomach as well as his bare chest. And yet something shifts in the air after he throws the shirt off to the side, covering his torso with his arms and giggling.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're gonna devour me whole, it's making me shy!"

It's not like you can stop yourself. Goddamnit, even that weird farmer's tan is drool-inducing. And the boyish smile he dons isn't helping either. You scoff to salvage a fraction of sanity, hands back on his bare shoulders and leaning in close enough for your noses to almost touch.

"Bullshit."

"Bet."

"You love it when people stare at you." 

There's a beat of silence. "But you look at me… differently."

"Hey — don't get weird on me, Seungcheol, or your dick's gonna deflate."

Normally he'd bite back at you. Stuff like: "My dick's just fine," or "Baby, it's so easy to get hard around you," and "You'd appreciate if my dick got smaller 'cause it wouldn't make you whine so much," but this time, he doesn't. He just stares at you. Thinking. Long enough for you to start getting antsy, unable to hold eye contact for any longer than two minutes, especially with him so close.

"What?" 

"You like me, don't you?"

It's the damn question he throws around all the time and your eyes roll up out of habit. "Yeah, I like you better without a deflated — "

"Forget about my cock for a bit." 

"Kind of hard to do," you fire back and try to grind down on the very inflated length twitching needily for the snug cunt it senses between the layers of clothes cruelly separating it from its warm home. 

Of course, Seungcheol is a little too familiar with your ploys and swats at your behind before squeezing your hips. "I know it is for a cock-hungry slut like you," he growls out in frustration before reverting back to his original soft tone, "but just humor me for a second."

"… Alright."

"You like me," he states and then repeats it in earnest when you sigh again, "you really like me. I would even be so confident enough to think you're… you're in love — "

"Well quit thinking," you interrupt with a snap, "I know your high and mighty arrogance causes you to believe everyone worships the ground you walk on but that doesn't mean a damn thing!"

Seungcheol's caramel eyes flash — with irritation or hurt, you can't quite place the swirl of emotions. "So that's all it is, huh? Just a figment of my imagination. A totally unfair projection of my thoughts and feelings onto you."

"If you wanted a session so badly on your birthday, then you should've scheduled with your therapist. And if you didn't want to continue fucking, then we could've stopped after the first round 'cause I was fine but you wanted more."

"You and I both know we're not just 'fucking'," he snarls, "and yeah, I do want more and that's why I need to know — with or without the sex, forgetting about the looks I know aren't just lust-filled because I see the ones you think I don't, I need to hear it out loud — do you like me?"

The plea of your name is the doomed cherry on top, heart thudding to the floor. It feels like the breath has been punched out of you. Though his skin is fiery warm beneath your palms it's not enough to thaw the way you've completely frozen over.

"Fine," you eventually wheeze out and Seungcheol relaxes — relieved — despite the crack in your voice, only to tense at your next words. "I'll move out tomorrow. Might take me a few days to get all my stuff gathered though."

"Wait… wait, wait… '' And this is the moment when the two of you find out that the black jujitsu belt he'd earned wasn't all for naught, effectively using a well-maneuvered technique that takes you off his lap and onto your back before you can escape from him again. "Please."

He begs, desperation evident in the way he clings to you and flops his forehead defeatedly onto your shoulder. As if he isn't the one who has you pinned to the couch cushions. He's never tried to hinder you before but honestly, he thinks he's hit the breaking point.

Don't you dare fucking leave me, is what is thought — but what comes out is a broken, "Why?"

"Because… because I… I breached the c-contract and made you uncomf — "

Seungcheol's head flies back up. "Then it should be me who moves out 'cause I'm pretty sure I violated the contract first."

"Wh-what?"

"Look at me," he commands and grips your chin so you can't turn away, "look at me, baby." And when your eyes squint open to stare into his, he fixes you with the most sincere expression you've ever seen. "I'm in love with you." 

Tears spring to your eyes at the wild admission. Neither of you are sure if your hearts are mending or splitting to fuse and complete the other's. What you do know is that Seungcheol melts into you with a kiss of elation and celebration, the big man further turning into an even bigger pile of mush when your hands cup both of his cheeks during it and a thumb rubs soothingly at his jaw. He smiles against your lips when you whisper back, "I love you too."

"Took you long enough." Your flustered protests are cut short when he sits up to lean against the opposite armrest, pulling you on top of him like your original positions. "Have a present for you."

"But you're the one who should be receiving gifts."

He shrugs. "I already have the prettiest one right here in my arms… even if I was almost left alone on my birthday."

"Sorry," you stroke his pouty lips, "to be fair, I was going to wait until tomorrow."

"While holed up all by yourself in your room in the meantime. Little shit, you know I wouldn't have let you go, right?" 

"Yeah… because you love me!"

There's an extra giddiness to your exclamation that's contagious enough to crack Seungcheol's chagrined expression with another grin.

"And you were gonna leave 'cause you loved me…" He lets out a huff. "Whatever, water under the bridge. Anyways, the gift. It's underneath the couch."

Curious, you lay flat and brush your hand beneath the furniture. Waving it around back and forth in the blind search, subsequently shifting all over Seungcheol's chest — bare skin gliding across bare skin. 

You snicker, feeling his cock stiffening once more with your movements. "Calm down, horndog."

"It's not my fault you're rubbing your very sexy body all over me!"

"… Why'd you even decide to put it here?"

"'Cause you never clean."

"Hey! Don't make me bite your dick off." It twitches beneath you. "Freak."

"We'll see who the real freak is when I go ahead and get it pierced with a barbell you'll like."

"Oh, fuck off!" comes your retort and he grumbles at the lighthearted jab while your hand finally bumps against a hard box that you grasp onto tightly. Pulling it out and frowning at the suspicious amount of dust covering it. "Gee, how long was this down here?"

"… Six months."

Your eyes bug out. "Six months?!"

"Told ya you didn't clean under there!"

"Oh yes, because that's the point here."

"It kind of is," Seungcheol teases despite the slightly wistful look in his eyes. "Knew you wouldn't find it there."

All you can do is shake your head, gingerly opening what you assume to be a jewelry box only to abruptly shut it out of pure shock. "What the fuck did I just see?!"

"Do… do you not like it?"

"That's so not the question that needs to be asked right now."

"It kind of does 'cause if you don't want it, I'll buy something else. "

"You've gotta be shittin' me." You fix him with a hard glare though he barely reacts to it. "How much of your bank account did you deplete for that?"

A satisfied, cocky smirk is all you get in return. "'Tis but a bucket of water taken out of the ocean, sweetheart. Trivial."

"Choi Seungcheol."

"C'mon," he takes the box from you with one large hand and pops it back open. You can actually feel the ache in your eyes set in at the sight of the dazzling jewels once again. "Thought it'd look gorgeous on you."

It's easy to visibly melt at his words because he's such a smooth talker along with the knowledge that he's kept this hidden for approximately half of a year. But that still doesn't distract you from the insane amount of delicate crystals forming a beautiful open heart shape linked to two short double-strands of diamond studs on either side that join together with a silver clasp. 

"It looks expensive," you correct, "how much was it?"

"Hmm, well it's seventeen carats so… a couple thousand, maybe?" 

Your jaw drops, eyes widening as one of Seungcheol's beefy fingers carelessly thumbs at the choker like the piece of jewelry couldn't pay off more than half of your student debt. You likely also get some type of look on your face because he clicks his tongue.

"Now, don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I would happily spend ten times as much to get something that expresses just a fraction of what your worth is — in the world and… to me."

"You're so sappy, what the heck."

"Better not start something you can't handle, love." Seungcheol kindly warns, a little affronted when his puppy dog eyes and babygirl pout aren't as effective at distracting you as he'd like. Well, there are other ways. "You can't return it without testing it first."

"Testing?"

"Mhm, but why don't you give your sugar daddy a kiss of gratitude first?"

You scoff. "The only thing you share in common with a glucose guardian is being filthy rich."

"Not because I'm sweet like sugar?"

"Maybe just a little," you admit and lean in to give him an even sweeter kiss, much like earlier. And like before, the man turns into a puddle of syrupy goo at the featherlight touches of your lips on his.

But it's different at the same time. Kissing your roommate has always been with a bit of restraint. That all fades away as you melt into him — safety, security, Seungcheol, surrender — the both of you addicted to and lost in one another's taste while everything else falls away.

Until the little shit that he is distracts you enough for him to deftly extract the choker from its box and fasten it around your neck. You hiss at the shock of cold metal and gemstones as well as the physical and economically ethical weight around your neck, breaking the makeout session.

"See? Gorgeous, just like I thought. Not that you can look at it right now… maybe next time, we'll test it, heh, in your room."

"So that's what you meant by test…" 

The lightbulb finally goes off in your head but all you receive in response is a smug look. Unaware that the grand menace is pondering what position he'd like best to see the choker for the first time in action. Something inside him clicks after absentmindedly slipping a finger underneath one of the diamond chains and watching you attempt to swallow at the increase in pressure constricting your airflow.

It's all bright white teeth when he smiles and whispers, "On your back, baby."

And you shuffle backwards obediently, letting gravity take your body down in almost a mini trust fall, knowing there will be a soft landing and that Seungcheol would never let you fall — unless it's for him.

Indeed, he does fall with you. Bodies pressed close together before he starts a burning trail of kisses starting below where the jeweled collar lays sparkling prettily against your throat. Down between your breasts he goes, an appreciative squeeze to both with warm hands that follow along with his movement. 

Little nibbles to your skin and brushes to your sides that first have you squealing at the sharp nips and ticklish sensations. They're accompanied by the upward curl of his lips that only spreads wider when those airy giggles of yours transition to light moans the closer he stakes his claim to the more intimate parts of your body.

He lovingly suckles the skin of your tummy, leaving stinging signs of affection littered around your belly button and right above the band of your panties. There, Seungcheol pauses and lifts his head to look directly at you, not even trying to hide the fiery swirl of lust and adoration in his eyes and it makes you wonder how you've ever missed it before. 

But that's neither here nor there, every nerve in your system is lit up in a wave of heat that has your hips instinctively rising as if pleading with him. Enough that his brown irises can't help but flit down to observe with raised eyebrows only to meet your flustered expression again with a totally-full-of-himself stare.

"So sweet and needy," Seungcheol murmurs appreciatively and hooks both thumbs underneath the side wings of your underwear to tug them off. "So fuckin' messy too," he adds in a condescending tone as if someone between your legs isn't licking his lips like a man lost in the desert for days stumbling upon a hidden oasis.

The bold eye contact he gets a kick out of maintaining is broken just to watch how the fabric adheres to your center thanks to the mix of his cum from much earlier and the constant leak of arousal pooling from your heated core. He's slow in the process of removing the saturated clothing. Giddy anticipation building until it finally peels away with a suggestive squelch to reveal your creampied cunt.

A choked groan rumbles in his chest. You're caught in the struggle between snapping your legs together out of shyness or letting them fall open just as he likes, the fear of soiling the couch again no longer even a thought. But still in no rush, Seungcheol slips your panties down one leg and while they hang off the other, supports your heel in his palm to place butterfly kisses along your ankle.

You peek at him in between the fingers covering your eyes and heated cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"Admiring you." Smooch. "Adoring you." Peck. "Marveling at how beautifully wet you get… this all for me, love?"

"Yeah, so… so you should take re-responsibility."

"Oh? And how so? What for?"

"Mmph!" You jolt at how fast he moves to fling your underwear over his shoulder and hover over top of you, whispering naughty words into your ear while roughened finger pads brush against slick folds.

"For knockin' you up? Not my fault this hungry pussy is never satisfied no matter how many times I stuff it. Greedy lil' thing."

"'m s-sorry… I — oh! Ohh…" 

"You don't sound sorry." 

Seungcheol mocks the shuddering moan that spills past your lips like he hadn't just shoved two chunky digits past those slippery folds and into the suffocating warmth beyond. His pointer finger bears its usual silver ring, the cold metal there and around your neck causing you to break out in a sweat at the chill engulfing your whole body. All from the heat swirling from the neck down, the torturous buildup between your legs, and meeting in a firestorm that explodes in your gut and makes your cunt tighten around his moving digits.

Your right arm snakes behind his nape and clings around it for dear life, nearly slamming the man's face into your tits — not that he's complaining — while the other sneaks between your bodies. Trailing down to where Seungcheol's fingers plunge inside of you, running yours across his exposed knuckles to dampen them with the filthy mix of arousal and cumstains he's playing in before tugging and teasing at your clit right above his vigorous actions. 

He clicks his tongue. "Now, what did I say about touching things that belong to me?"

"Don't touch without permission." A warning look that lacks any ferocity is shot your way but the corner of your lips quirks up, eyelashes fluttering, because he's really just full of shit. "And to handle… handle them with care, which 's all I'm doin'."

"Brat."

"You love me." 

"Damn right, I do. But if you're gonna use that against me like this maybe I have no choice but to discipline you."

You whimper when he withdraws his fingers, the loss and emptiness a punishment itself. "D-don't be mean."

"I'm never mean to you."

"You're not." You acquiesce with a cute little sniffle, interlocking your hands behind his neck to bring him down nose to nose. "'cept when I want your dick but s'kay, love you anyways."

"Using the L-word on me now, huh? Speaking of which, I never got you back for the little stunt you tried to pull earlier."

"Wha — ?"

The new position you had pulled him into grants Seungcheol the full teasing power he was honored to be blessed with. A dripping cock leaks precum between your bodies and smears your belly with the hot excess. Supported by a forearm beside your head, he languidly strokes his hard length and snickers. Barely wedging the mushroomed tip into your moist outer folds with a noisy squish and emitting a strangled groan from the back of the man's throat. Just enough so you can feel the faint tantalizing burn his girth promises in its efforts to stretch out your cunt, a buzz to the underside of your deliciously sore and engorged clit upon contact.

He's all toothy when you moan in response. Wiggling his hips lets him dip in a little further for the sole purpose of watching your eyes glaze over and threaten to roll to the back of your head. Lips parting wider in an adorable 'o' shape.

"Thought you could just leave like it's nothing. As if I don't fuck you full of enough cum to babytrap you here with me… Oh? You'd like that wouldn't you, pussy tryna gobble me up like the slutty whore that you are."

"Mmph, ah… only yours!"

No one has to be your special someone to read your body so easily but it's the fact that he is the one who's able to make your cunt react and squeeze around him just like so that fuels his ego. A mean sneer chisels his softer face features — less of a reaction towards you and more of him struggling not to plunge his pelvis forward and rearrange your guts. Or even worse (better), to bust a nut inside, painting your velvet walls with a creamy white. 

It would be so easy to slide in a little further… you're begging him with slurred words and a steady pulsating grip around his dick — just daring him to ease the rest of it inside.

But then you would never learn your lesson. And if there's one thing Seungcheol loves more than being wrapped up in the tight clench of your cunt, it's making you work for it. Show off how desperate and cock-drunk you are. 

"Y'know, all you had to do was tell me. Would've fucked you on every surface of this house, make sure there wasn't a moment that passed where you didn't have my cum dripping down your legs." He relents with the most meager of thrusts forward, widening the spread of your pretty folds suckling around him. "Anything to keep my darling 'lil babymaker satisfied, pump you full every minute of the day and make sure it takes."

"Ch-Cheol… please! Wan' you so bad."

"You'd like that, right? Givin' you a baby so you stay here forever. We'll make as many as you want, I'll even take time off to help." The sudden rush of paternal instincts makes the man pause, chuckling and muttering more to himself, if anything, "maybe you've been tryna babytrap me all along."

"Jus' want, just want your dick."

"I know, baby."

Seungcheol simpers at your pitiful plea but the menace in him victoriously pulls out and away, the departing wet 'pop' as loud as the slight fracture in his heart at doing so.

"No!"

In visible grief, your seizing legs clamp at his side with your heels digging into the dip right before the curve of his ass, clawing at his shoulder blades like a cat. That does nothing though except squish his length against your needy cunt, gliding pathetically against it but not once inside. 

He smirks and whispers hoarsely, "If you want it so bad, put it in yourself."

A shaky hand reaches down to grasp and stroke at his dick, inadvertently brushing against your swollen clit that has your hips jumping. You bite down on your lower lip in an attempt to concentrate, blindly guiding his slippery cockhead to where it rightfully belongs. All while Seungcheol watches with amusement and a pained expression of how heavenly your hand feels on him — and even more when you succeed and bully him inch by inch inside of your gummy walls that suction and ripple greedily.

"There we go, yeah fuck… just like that."

Further and further, squelch by squelch until your pussy stretches to swallow and take him all. Only a finger's width between your pelvises kissing one another, knuckles snug against his heavy scrotum. You release him with triumph, clinging again to his neck. Seungcheol takes the final push and you let out simultaneous moans when his balls settle warmly against your ass and the neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his shaft are flush with your pubic bone. The tiny rough strands becoming even more soft and soaked by all of the arousal leaking out of your hole and his slit.

"Mine," he affirms and sticks his pinky through the open diamond heart pendant, nail lightly scratching the front of your throat. 

"Yours." You hold onto his wrist, finally feeling so deliriously full and giggling a bit because you're somewhat light-headed. "You're mine too."

"Yeah, all yours, baby."

Seungcheol's beginning thrusts are slow, deep, and concentrated. He barely leaves your warmth, only sliding a little bit back before a harsh thrust forward to nudge his tip against the rougher spot that has some drool dribbling at the corner of your mouth out of sheer pleasure. 

That doesn't last long though, the both of you are extremely worked up and super sensitive. It only takes a few minutes before he's setting an erratic pace. Strong forearms cage your head to protect it and keep you somewhat stationary while giving him enough strength to absolutely plow into you without forgiveness. 

The couple thousand dollar choker starts to shift against your skin, bouncing ever so slightly in time with each repetition of relentless slams into your pussy. Such a sight delights Seungcheol so much, eyes focused on the glittery accessory and listening for its rhythmic jingle — bruising your tender flesh in ways that his lips don't — that ends up drowned out by the continual slap of the hard fucking he delivers.

"Gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Let me fill ya up?"

"S-soon! 'm gonna cum… so soon!"

"I… know. Oh fuck, I know baby. Let go for me, please. Surrender… ngh 'n give it all to me."

A powerful climax washes over you like a surprise, the setoff finalized by the large hand placed on your tummy. Applying just enough pressure to feel every vein and ridge of the cock against your inner walls while on the outside, Seungcheol lets out a guttural and feral groan at the upward bulge beneath his fingertips. 

You let go with a wail that's swallowed by his lips capturing yours. Your nails dig into whatever you're grasping onto, teeth unconsciously biting down on his tongue you meant to simply caress with your own. 

He lets out a strangled "oomph!" but the pain is easily sedated by the seductive way you contract and massage his dick in your unraveling — and then unprompted, he's spilling over the edge too. Coating your walls in thick ropes of white that sear your insides, gobbling up the release with repeated clenches as you both pant and wait for the orgasmic bliss to fade out.

"I think you're so sexy." Seungcheol mumbles the words tiredly into your shoulder and the laugh you let out sounds more like a winded wheeze.

"How lucky I am that you think that, has the post-nut clarity hit yet or… ?"

"I'm serious. I love you."

"I love you too. Happy birthday to my perfect sugar boyfriend or whatever."

He snorts, lifting his head to send you a lazy grin. "Yeah, happy birthday to me — the luckiest bitch on the planet to be loved by you."

"Spoiled is more like it but yeah. I'd say I'm pretty lucky too."

Adoration shines in both of your weary eyes, though Seungcheol has the audacity to lick his now very dry and cracked lips. "Say, was I right in picking out your gift or do you need more test runs?"

"What I need is a hot bath — no funky business — and at least twenty-four hours of sleep."

"That sounds good too. Y'know… if we sleep for a whole other day and confirm our relationship then, we can fuck for two days straight every year as an anniversary celebration!" His voice lowers, already acting naughty and unintentionally work himself up. "And then I'm positive you'll be bred properly."

You slap his shoulder. Hard. "Choi Seungcheol!"

"'m just kiddin'," he blatantly lies and gently pulls out of your sloppy pussy. Grunting at the goop and messy wetness that got everywhere. "Think we'll need to get a new couch."

"Great idea! Now, you can spend your money on something practical."

"Love you too." 

"God, what did I get myself into." When you roll your eyes, a toothy grin is what you receive in return. 

"I dunno, love, but I think this roommates to fuck buddies to lovers arrangement will work out beautifully, don't you?"

You give him another kiss just to shut him up. If you ever admit he's right, well, that would be with a mouthful of cock and a story saved for another time.

onlyseokmins: September 2023 ©

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[pawpiefawn]

𝓪 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓼𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝔂'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ wriothesley x gn!reader 0.7k words farmer's market day with wriothesley. reader gets a necklace, but this is gn.

market days with wriothesley were a highly anticipated day within the household – they were sunny days spent at bustling stalls, whenc shopkeepers haggled their prices at haughty customers who walked away with their smiles until they got the price they wanted, their grocery lists scratched out.

you loved the sights of it all, too – cats nipping at fishermen’s boots for sardines, and pigeons longing for their chance at some breadcrumbs from a clumsy child chasing after mama.

stalls stretched out in rows to the end of the market. they were full of the freshest vegetables, stacked full with rows of yellow corn and the brightest of carrots. even the locals beekeepers brought their stocks of the sweetest, golden honey – which were rare to find nowadays.

and of course, you took great pleasure in teaching wriothesley how to choose the best of the best; he adored simply listening to you ramble on and on about recipes you wanted to make that week; it just made market days even more exciting.

“keep up, sweetheart!” you squeal, ducking behind a grocery-seller’s stall – while raking your gaze over the assortment of sweet potatoes and broccoli for the week. you gave one a poke of good luck.

“you are cheeky today, aren’t you?” wriothesley catches your sides, panting quietly and catching his breath. you could only giggle in response and press an apologetic kiss to his cheek. apology kisses, of course, were always forgiven.

alright, market days were great and all, but what you could truly spend all your afternoons doing was walking up and down the aisles of the next lane’s craft market. hundreds of artists and creators flocking to tents to share their handcrafted goodness with the city – what was there not to like? some days there were adorable prints, other days beaded jewellery and bags and everything under the sun you could possibly think of.

perhaps a resplendent trinket from one of the jewellers would catch your eye, making you stop in your tracks.

well, maybe not yours this time – but it certainly caught wriothesley’s attention.

“love, look at this,” he holds up a necklace with all the care he could muster – oh, how beautiful. it was a simple necklace; translucent string with three white pearls and a small black bead between each one. every pearl reminded you of him ; a beautiful opalescent cream, bearing a gift from the sea and a homage to the ruler of the waters.

“that’s beautiful, wriothesley.” you hear yourself gasp softly, your hands reaching out to cradle the pearls. it was stunning, truly. you find yourself offering the crafter a small smile in gratitude.

“it is, isn’t it?” wriothesley smiles and beckons you over with a simple gesture; you find yourself standing in front of him.

“turn around,” he instructs – you follow suit. there was something so lovely about the shared proximity in public; even after all these years, your lover still never failed to tease the butterflies that nestled in your tummy.

you feel wriothesley touch the back of your neck as he brings the necklace up ; you instinctively freeze up, a soft giggle escaping your lips.

“i’m sorry, dearest.” wriothesley chuckles, fastening the clasp behind your neck. you feel the weight of the necklace press against your skin comfortably – it was perfect. almost as if it was carved and put together just for you.

the man presses a soft and gentle kiss to your nape for good measure. it felt warm and supple – oh, the butterflies were certainly awake now.

“it’s beautiful.” you touch the pearls once more, staring at yourself in the mirror with a smirking wriothesley behind it.

“my taste never lies.”

“it truly doesn’t. impeccable taste, my love.” you thumb his lips and pull him closer for a quick kiss, feeling a warmth between your ribs.

“i think we’ll take this one.” wriothesley pulls apart, slightly delirious with a grin and giving the jeweller a small nod.

you laugh and bury your head into his chest, leaning against his frame. oh, how warm and lovely market days were. you would spend every day in this little bubble of yours, this sweet marginalia of love in a footnote of your adoration for him.

“i think i like this one very much.” a soft giggle slips past your lips. wriothesley pokes your chest gently, smoothing your hair back to kiss your forehead.

“i think i like this one very much, too.”

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, Alicent and Haelena were sent to Oldtown, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit. 

Some other notes: This is dark, Rhaenyra is in her Paul Atreides era, and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse. MINORS DNI

This is a rough teaser chapter to see if there’s any interest in this fic so if you like it please reblog it or leave a comment! Feedback is how I write :)

Chapter One: the fate of a flea. 

 “I heard she fed her husband to Syrax!”

 “I heard she burned the last two wives!”

 “She's going to choose me, there’s no doubting that.”

 “ Yeah, to be her cupbearer!”

You tried to block out the chatter of your employer and her daughters and concentrate on mending one of their hems, but each bump  from your place on the floor of the rickety carriage, made it near impossible.  

“Hurry up Flea, we’re almost there!” One of the daughters said, her slipper meeting your ribs to make you go faster but you dared not complain. 

You would have been there an hour ago but the decision to take the carriage was not your own. You would have much preferred to watch the dragons arrive with your mother in the market, far from the crowds that propelled them towards The Red Keep. 

 You needed the coin and being some rich lady’s maid who couldn’t afford the proper ones with training but could afford you instead kept good bread on the table. 

Or at least it did.

The Lady hadn’t paid you in two weeks.

  “Remember to smile when you’re presented before the Queen, smile and be silent. Perhaps if you do well, she’ll want two wives instead of one and we’ll never have to rewear a gown again. New gowns and maids who actually know what they’re doing.” The Lady said and you didn’t have to lift your gaze to know she was staring at you.

  “Don’t worry Flea, you’ll have a place in the dragon queen’s court. We’ll put in a good word with the ratcatcher!”

All three of them exploded with laughter at that and when the carriage came to a sudden stop you were too happy to watch them slide all over the carriage.

  “I’m sorry mistress, this is as far as I can go.” The driver said.

The daughters adjusted themselves before leaving the carriage, ignoring their mother’s calls to wait for her,

It was now or never.

“My lady, I need to speak with you.”

  “You’ll stay in the carriage, the queen need not see you.” The Lady said, starting to move towards the door.

  “My lady, you have not paid me. I have waited and waited and happily assisted with all the preparations but I cannot go home without coin today.  Please, my mother needs me, I’ll take half if you have that right now but we have no more bread.” You said quietly but firmly.

   “You haven’t earned your pay for the full day yet so we’ll discuss this no further.”

    “My lady, my mother is-

    “Your mother will have to make do as the rest of the smallfolk do. Perhaps she can have that bowl of brown I always hear about. I’m sure she’ll-

You’re not quite sure what happened next but it ended with The Lady dead on the carriage floor, her neck at an odd angle, face bloody and concaved.

You sank to the floor beside your dead employer, your fearful cries went unheard as the sound of Syrax’s roar filled the air around King’s Landing.

Queen Rhaenyra had arrived.

Her daughters would see you dead for this, your mother would starve, your life was lost.

Unless it wasn’t.

As luck or the gods would have it, The Lady bled into her own hair and not a single drop had spilled on the crimson colored gown. 

It seems you have time to finish the hems after all.

“You stand before Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,  Lady of The Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Bringer of New Valyria.  Why should you sit by her side?”

The same question had been asked of every lady in front of you who entered the throne room and each dismissed moments later either by Princess Rhaenys, the Hand of The Queen or Queen Rhaenyra herself. You could not bring yourself to look at the queen each time the doors opened and closed, a single glance in her direction would bring you to further ruin.

Both The Lady’s daughters could not see you but you could see them each leave the throne room in tears. 

A chance to be queen would not be the only thing they would mourn today. 

The doors opened and you found yourself escorted into the throne room. 

“You stand before Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,  Lady of The Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Bringer of New Valyria.  Why should you sit by her side?”

You looked at the dragon queen in all her beauty and might upon the Iron Throne and instantly it all became clear.

You would not leave this room in tears. 

  “I wish to be anointed.”

the story continues here.

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

[stinalotte]

Happy 19th Birthday, Stargate Atlantis!

On July 16th, 2004, the pilot aired. Here's a handy little primer for anyone who doesn't know what the heckity heck this show is about. Everything is totally accurate, 100% true and very, very serious.

So.

This is the lost city of the Ancients, Atlantis, in the Pegasus galaxy, about 3 million light years from Earth. (The Ancients can go fuck themselves. Long story.) Atlantis is a city/spaceship approximately the size of Manhattan. She's semi-sentient, but not really, except actually yes, maybe, sometimes, totally. The whole city can go underwater or into hyperspace. Loves her humans. Home. Declaration of independence imminent.

The Atlantis expedition consists of civilians and military from at least 34 countries (in later seasons, the original expedition was just over a dozen). In no particular order:

Dr. Elizabeth Weir. The first leader of the expedition. The only adult. Sometimes. Okay, not very often. Is not above a little war crime for the good of the galaxy—or at least, for the good of Atlantis. Left a boyfriend and a dog on Earth, but we all miss the dog more than the boyfriend. Eats UN representatives for breakfast. Is terribly awkward on dates and really good at solitaire. Loves her chaos children. Which are:

Lt. Colonel Suicide Mission John Sheppard. Walked through the Gate and Atlantis said, "dibs". Thinks people who don't want to fly are crazy. Not good with emotional stuff. (He's getting better.) Loves his found space family and would die for them, often literally. Stop that. Also loves Ferris wheels, things that go fast, and Rodney McKay. And no, we don't know how he gets his hair to go like that.

Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay. Four degrees, two of which are PhDs, none of which are in social skills. Smartest man in two galaxies. Used to be an asshole, but got himself some friends who loved him such a stupid amount that he had no choice but to change. Still a work in progress. We love to see it. Blew up three quarters five sixths of a solar system. (It was uninhabited.) (Mostly.) Deathly allergic to citrus. Loves fully charged ZPMs, arguing with Dr. Zelenka, MREs, and John Sheppard.

Lieutenant Aiden Ford. Went ass first through the Gate with a grin and a whoop on his very first trip. One of the youngest members of the expedition. Is not allowed to name anything, ever. Mild case of hero worship when it comes to his commanding officer, which is totally understandable. A cautionary tale of how addiction messes up not only you, but the people around you.

Ronon Dex. Used to be hunted by the Wraith, lost his people in a terrible war, and is now a member of Sheppard's team where he gets to shoot things and beat up bad guys. Doesn't talk much, but when he does, he has something to say. Good friend. Excellent hugs, but have Carson check you out for any cracked ribs after. Is one bottle of Athosian wine away from staging an intervention regarding the Sheppard/McKay situation.

Teyla Emmagan. In possession of the team's one brain cell. Leader of the Athosian people. Will rock a baby to sleep and then go outside where a Wraith is dangling from the highest tower of the city and stomp on his hands until he falls 800 feet. Can either beat you up in the gym or force you to meditate on your problem, your choice. Has the aforementioned bottle of wine ready and loaded.

Dr. Radek Zelenka. Keeps the science team sane because Rodney sure as hell doesn't. Loves pigeons, cursing in Czech, and overseeing the thriving black market underground economy that has developed in the city. (Thanks @shaddyr for that lovely headcanon). Zachránil všechny naše zadky víc než jednou.

Chuck the Technician. Aggressively Canadian. Doesn't have a last name, doesn't need one. Is ALWAYS in the control room, seriously man, when do you sleep? Reads trashy sci fi novels on night shifts and organized a betting pool in 5 different currencies when Ronon was fighting Teal'c. Needs to share his eyelash routine because we're jealous.

Dr. Carson Beckett. The most Scottish Scot to ever Scot. Brilliant medical doctor who is not above the occasional unethical unorthodox treatment method. Sweet cinnamon roll of a man. Beloved by all. Loves his mom and wee baby turtles. Someone should take him fishing soon. 🥹

Colonel Samantha Carter. Member of SG-1. Legend. Awesome. Boss. Absolute BAMF. Punched a Goa'uld system lord in the face once. We all have a crush on her.

Dr. Jennifer Keller. Is very doctor-y, for better and for worse. Was all of us when she freaked out being on an alien planet for the first time, like a normal person would. Should totally have gone on a date with Captain Vega in that one deleted scene. [WE COULD HAVE HAD IT AAAAALL]

Jeannie Miller. Rodney's sister. Gave up a career in science to be a mom. Solved Rodney's math problem in her spare time, with finger paints. Loves her brother even when he's being an idiot. Fanfic canon says: her house is always open for him and certain Air Force Colonels to crash in. Don't you dare get a hotel room. Yes, the guest room has Only One Bed, Mer, what's your point?

Major Evan Lorne. If you are a moron and get yourself captured and imprisoned off world, he will swing by real quick with a couple Marines and bust you out. Co-parents Atlantis with Dr. Weir. Is actually a really talented painter. Needs a raise, a holiday, and a drink.

Colonel Steven Caldwell. Grumpy. Has to deal with Elizabeth's chaos children on a regular basis. Will make the enemy ship go away with a big boom and save your sorry ass in space. AGAIN.

Richard Woolsey. Used to be a New York City lawyer, one of the most ruthless creatures in the universe. His wife got the Yorkie in the divorce. Broke his heart. Is actually pretty cool if you let him do his thing (like get you out of an intergalactic war crimes trial by bribing the judges).

I know some characters and all the villains are missing, but this post is already longer than a trip on the Daedalus, so there you have it.

Stargate Atlantis. A show about wormholes, life-sucking aliens, ancient civilisations, space battles—and family, friendship, allowing yourself to love and be loved, and what it means to be home.

Happy birthday, fam.

[argisthebulwark]

Did I Find You, Or You Find Me?

summary: Due to forces outside of your control, you've found yourself stuck in an arranged marriage. f!reader, no y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Arnbjorn warnings: they're long lol. alcohol consumption, not super healthy relationship dynamics, a bit suggestive a/n: i meant to put some more fellas in here but tumblr was struggling to load this draft so i'll have to do a part two masterlist

Brynjolf

Born as the middle daughter of the Black Briar family you are fully aware of their interactions with the Thieves Guild. You've watched your mother meet with Brynjolf, catching glimpses when you're instructed to carry in stacks of paperwork or clearing away empty wine bottles after a long negotiation. His flirtatious remarks remarks leave you breathless, never going further than a shared smile or brushing shoulders in the hall.

As a middle child, you've often found yourself in an odd position - you're an adult and are expected to handle many responsibilities, yet still infantilized by your siblings. Often forgotten between Sibbi and Ingun's rebellions and Hemming's single minded dedication to the family, you're expected to pick up the pieces without making a fuss.

"We need to solidify our ties with the Thieves Guild." Mother's sharp voice interrupts your dinner. You nod along, picking at your potatoes and planning out the rest of your week. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty four."

"Oh, good!" The excited tone of her voice rouses suspicion. You peek up at your mother, heart ramming against your ribs - she's never taken an interest in your life before. This can lead nowhere good.

You can only hope that silence will make her forget you. Her schedule is usually so full that you're allowed to exist out of her eyeline - taking a few extra moments in the market to flip through some books or visiting Ingun in the alchemy shop to chat. There is joy to be found in those small moments when you escape from her calculated gaze.

Of course this doesn't happen. Before the week is out you find yourself standing in the Temple of Mara, heart in your throat and siblings snickering from the pews. The handsome thief is gentle when he holds your hands, voice a bit shaky as he reiterates every vow back to the priest.

Returning to the Ratways feels odd. You part from your family, ink drying on the many contracts as Brynjolf - your husband - leads you through the Cistern. You feel a bit like you're floating as the events of the day settle on your mind. Panic chokes out all rational thought - who will ensure that the animals are fed and organize the contracts in your absence?

"I'm sorry - this all happened so fast, you may need to show me around once more when my mind stops spinning." You can't recall half of what he's pointed out and your feet are aching. You gulp, staring up at Brynjolf's kind eyes.

"Don't worry, lass." That soft grin makes your heart race when he shows you the private quarters, a small room branching off from the tavern. "We're in the same boat, you've got me."

With each day that passes, that knot in your chest lessens. The anxiety shrinks as you settle into your new life, finding the lack of routine comfortable - no list of chores awaits you, no one calls for you to sit in on meetings. After twenty four years of responsibility it is terrifying to realize that no one expects anyone from you.

Despite all the initial fears you find yourself flourishing. Far from your mother's prying eyes you discover that you enjoy hearing stories from the other thieves, Vex and Delvin teaching you a few tricks and Tonilia offering to scrounge up a set of armor. No longer are you Maven's daughter or Hemming's sister - you are yourself.

Brynjolf maintains a respectable distance, never straying too far but making no moves toward romance. He acknowledges that your partnership is just that - an agreement set forth by others, it is not a true marriage. He joins you for dinner each night, finding himself eager to hear about what you've done that day.

"What did you mean back then?" You finally ask, surprised at how steady your voice has become. Brynjolf's gaze still makes your heart flutter but you no longer feel the need to shrink away from it.

"By what, lass?"

"When you said we're in the same boat."

"Ah." He leans closer, voice conspiratorially low. Your cheeks flush when his fingers dance over yours, barely a touch. "Well, I'm guessin' you weren't exactly excited by the prospect of marrying a stranger, yeah?"

"It wasn't my first choice."

"Wasn't part of my plan, either." You hate how your stomach drops at the admission. Of course you're aware that he hadn't truly wanted you, but that knowledge does little to soothe the sting.

"Delvin's too old and Vex hates dealin' with your mother." His eyes drop to where your fingers have twisted together, the toes of his boots brushing yours. "I didn't plan on it bein' me but I couldn't stomach the thought of anyone else marryin' you."

The weeks blend into months, changes in your life slow but steady. Brynjolf sets aside time each week to teach you how to wield a dagger. Your beds scoot closer and you stay up later talking, candles burning down to nubs while you share every little shred of yourselves. He tells you of this the people he's lost and you share the desperation you've always felt for more, blushing when he jokes about the fulfilling life of a thief.

Your confidence continues to blossom the longer you're away from your family, brave enough to disregard a direct summons from your mother. Somewhere she is steaming, Hemming probably cursing your name at her side. It's freeing to realize how little you care.

"Proud of you, lass." Brynjolf grins when you bounce up to him, excitedly recounting how cool it felt throwing her letter in the fire. His hand is warm when it cups your cheek. "How should we celebrate?"

A bit drunk on your newly found courage, you kiss him. You've thought about it for months, stomach fluttering when you first noticed the way his eyes linger on you. It's quick and your lips tingle a bit when your husband chuckles, already leaning in for another.

Miraak

"All of our efforts to reign in Miraak have failed." Arngeir's eyes pin you in place. Your ass is going numb from those stone seats but there's no escaping this conversation. "Dragonborn, the Jarls continue to call for action."

"I have tried everything to defeat Miraak."

"Yet we remain unsuccessful." Biting your tongue barely contains the multitude of protests. Your body bears scars from the many times you've faced Miraak and his cultists, brain addled by the ages you'd spent combing through Apocrypha's twisting hallways.

"Miraak has a clear interest in you." Borri chimes in, voice hoarse from lack of use.

"He speaks the truth, Dragonborn." Arngeir concurs. "We have formulated a new plan. The Jarls have approved, as have many leaders from Solstheim."

"Wonderful." You grumble, hauling yourself to your feet. Might as well start preparing. "What is this new plan of attack?"

"You will offer yourself to Miraak."

"Your plan is to sacrifice me?" The shrill tone of your voice echoes off the stone walls. "How will my death resolve anything?"

"Not as a sacrifice. As a bride."

Despite your many protests, it seems that Miraak could not pass up an opportunity to get under your skin. He agrees to the proposition - you become his partner and he scales back the attacks on civilians. The rage becomes almost mind numbing. You cannot believe that this plan is being enacted, that your elders are offering you up for the mere promise of peace.

When Arngeir bustles you out the door he instructs you to slay the First Dragonborn. His voice is stern when he informs you that you will not be welcomed back to Skyrim's shores until Miraak is dead. The old men don't listen to a single protest that passes your lips, somberly shaking their heads and claiming that this is the last resort. Their trust is placed in you.

There is no ceremony, no hint of romance - just your stack of books and a bout of seasickness as you're ferried to Solstheim. Cultists meet you at the dock, Raven Rock entirely silent as too many pairs of eyes watch them escort you to Miraak's palace. You walk with your chin held high and pray that no one notices the fear simmering just under your skin.

Miraak's glare tracks each move you make as you prowl through his manor. You keep your distance, intent on finding some hidden weakness that will break him without rousing too much suspicion. You circle one another, neither willing to break the peace and strike first. Even when you are alone he maintains some sort of mask - always obscuring at least half of his face, never giving you a full view.

Meals are silent except for thinly veiled threats. Doors to both bed chambers are locked and barred each night. You find comfort in his library, sprawling shelves holding volumes thought long lost and safe from the mind bending power of Apocrypha. On days when you grow too exhausted to search you tuck yourself away into a secluded corner of the library and read until your eyes can't focus.

"You do not have to hide." Miraak's deep voice shocks you out of your reading. He eyes the stack of books at your side and you feel terribly vulnerable. "This is now your home as much as it is mine."

Clearly displeased with your lack of response, he huffs and walks away. Your brain struggles to catch up - the usual nasty tone of his voice was gone, something almost kind about the way he'd spoken to you. It's disconcerting.

Thankfully, you are too preoccupied with your assignment to notice how deeply he burns for you. You do not see the heat behind his glare or the tension in his body when you drift too near, barely keeping a leash on the gut wrenching desire.

Miraak finds it quite easy to convince himself that he detests you - the flipping of his gut is mere disgust and your permanent place in his dreams is blamed on that damned prophecy. You are too distracted sniffing around for clues to notice how deeply and shamefully he wants you.

"What is it you seek?" His voice nearly stops your heart. Blade aimed for his chest you whirl around, scolding yourself for lowering your guard enough for him to get so close. You pause, gaping at the face he's hidden behind masks for months and fight back the horrible wave of attraction.

The crooked nose, stubble trailing up his jaw, dark eyes glaring down at you. Grey streaks are visible where his hair's pushed away from his forehead. A scar drags through his lower lip, drawing far too much of your attention. Grinding your teeth against the way your cheeks blush, you summon every ounce of vitriol you can.

"None of your business."

"Incorrect. You are in my study."

"What I am searching for does not regard you."

"Doubtful, little dragon." You curse your heart for flipping at that pet name. Miraak's grin is nearly a snarl when he leans closer, unable to keep himself away from you any longer.

For one night, he will release his self control. He will make himself vulnerable if it means he can get a bit closer to you.

Vilkas

As the eldest daughter of a Jarl, your duties never cease. Keeping an eye on your siblings, watching the advisors in preparation for your role, learning from wizards and teachers and warriors alike - it is endless. From a young age you'd intended on caring for your beloved city of Whiterun whether you acted as Jarl or advisor, content with putting in the work for your future.

"We need a foot in the door with the Companions." Proventus' words had roused no suspicion at the time - he'd said similar things about the guild before. "They are unregulated, acting entirely separate from us."

"This is true." Your father had turned to you, heart in your throat at the prospect of proving yourself. You'd fine tuned your political knowledge over the past few years and finally, an opportunity to prove yourself to his court. "Can you be trusted with this task?"

You had no clue what you were agreeing to. You'd anticipated a cordial relationship, that you would be acting as a emissary. You expected to form a diplomatic relationship with the Companions. You'd met a few warriors for training but the prospect of working with them was intriguing, their reputation was equally vicious and respectable.

You try to keep it together for the first meeting. Kodlak Whitemane is intimidating but you stand tall beside your father, chin held high and sword strapped to your side. It has never tasted blood but the advisors had insisted upon you looking your best, presenting yourself as a capable fighter.

Kodlak's warriors appear cleaned up, though you notice the scars - tattoos swirl between the gaps in their armor and wary eyes watching every shadow. The one at his side looks ready to implode; hand wrapped menacingly around the hilt of his sword and dark eyes sweeping over you with barely contained disdain. He sneers, clearly seeing through your carefully placed facade. Your stomach drops when he stands only a few paces from you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

The meeting moves too fast to follow. Kodlak and your father speak in hushed tones, all the other advisors cloistered around them. Notably, you are left out - they must be bartering on your behalf, right? Why else would you be left out of the conversation? Three Companions stand at your side, each appearing equally annoyed.

"May I ask why your folks seem displeased?" You whisper to the man at your side, the one who appears less standoffish than the others. Soft brown eyes blink back at you, a short laugh badly disguised as a cough.

"Surprised you're takin' this so well. We had bets on you running out."

"What?"

"Aela thought you'd last through the discussions. I thought you'd bolt as soon as you saw him. And Vilkas, well he refused to make a bet." The man laughs again, a hand extended toward you. Your head is spinning when the dark haired man walks off in a huff, his anger radiating through the hall.

"Vilkas?"

"Yeah." You follow where he points out the man now shouldering his way into the circle of advisors. "Your new husband."

Despite his initial vitriol, Vilkas is annoyingly formal. He speaks to you as a member of the court - stiff and respectful. He spends little time in your company, taking every assignment offered by his elders to get him out of the city.

You can't say it isn't hurtful. Your union was one of mutual convenience for your families but to see your husband so clearly uninterested wounds you. Your conversations are brief, each focused entirely on whatever business Kodlak has with your father.

You hold your chin high, remaining in your father's home and listening to the advisors fret. Your visits to Jorrvaskr are not unpleasant but there is a notable lack of progress - Aela and Farkas are friendly, Athis slowly warms to you, but it is abundantly clear that they all view you as an outsider. Vilkas can barely remain in the hall, his brother kindly making excuses on his behalf.

Sleeping in your childhood bedroom as a married adult feels strange, though you console yourself with the knowledge that it is not a real marriage. No rings or tender words had been exchanged. It was merely a contract signed by Kodlak and your father on your behalf. You drift off to sleep with the image of Vilkas in your head, wracking your brain for what can be done to smooth things out.

"Hey."

Scrambling for the knife under your pillow, you barely manage to swallow the scream building in your throat. With the blade quivering in your hand you aim it toward your attacker's chest. Vilkas' dark eyes glare down at you, hair mussed and usual armor missing. You blink a few times when turns toward the door.

"Can't sleep. You coming?"

"Coming where?"

"Anywhere but here."

He hardly says a word when you stride out of Dragonsreach. He scoffs at the way you sneak past the guards, dagger still gripped in your hand. You follow him down the chilly steps until you're seated on a bench, backs to the Gildergreen.

"Sorry." He grumbles, dropping his cloak around your shoulders. "Bet you're freezing."

You're too stunned to question it. The cloak smells of him and you find yourself burrowing deeper into it, the first kind move he's made. Vilkas sits at your side, glaring out at the starry sky for what feels like hours.

"What is happening?" You finally ask, glancing over at him. You catch his striking profile, outlined by the silvery moonlight of late night; the sharp bridge of his nose and harsh brows, the lips that look surprisingly soft when they aren't grimacing. Your stomach flips when his eyes slide to you, though they appear uncharacteristically kind.

"Needed to get out for a bit." He shrugs, heaving a sigh. "Figured you could use a break from that place."

It's hard to predict when he will seek you out. Vilkas only appears in the dead of night, often the night before he departs for an assignment. You wander through Whiterun, enjoying the emptiness of the town while he tells you of his recent missions. You are giddy each time he refuses your attempts to return his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders to walk aimlessly at his side.

Not wanting the conversations to be one sided, you soon find yourself sharing more. Stories of court and your siblings feel boring in comparison but Vilkas seems interested. He remembers names remarkably well, asking after your brother's injured arm weeks after you'd brought it up.

It takes months for you to broach the topic of your future. You've grown comfortable in his company, no longer unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. He is still far from a husband but there is something like friendship blooming between you, an attraction that squeezes at your heart each time he smiles at you.

"I just want to be free." You admit, gazing out over the horizon. As you've spoken the sunrise has begun, rays of pink and orange reaching out to steal the night. You have to return to Dragonsreach soon before everyone else wakes. Despite that reasoning you find yourself leaning into Vilkas' shoulder, heart fluttering when he accepts your touch.

"Free?" He snorts, chin resting on the top of your head. "You're the Jarl's kid, you can do whatever you want."

"I've never made a choice for myself - I didn't even get to choose my husband." Clearly the lack of sleep has loosened your tongue. Vilkas chuckles, a sound that never fails to warm your heart.

"That's fair." He sighs, staring over your shoulder at Jorrvaskr. He's sure that the others have already awoken, chest tight with the unending duties threatening to drown him. "Someday, when we're done solving everyone else's problems, we'll get out of here."

Farkas

Since an early age, you've been warned to stay away from the Companions - their shimmering armor and heroic deeds are inviting but they do not live like you do. Their beast blood is a secret held only by those in the highest ranks, hidden away from the rest of their guild. You've never understood the secrecy but abide by your parents' warnings, heeding the wisdom of your pack.

Numbers have dwindled over the years. Tales told around the long table recount times when your pack commanded Whiterun's rolling plains, hunting and celebrating to their hearts' content. Each generation shrunk - the beast blood not passing on to younger generations and civilization encroaching upon the wilds. Handfuls of families have splintered off, some moving to new Holds while others joined larger packs.

You're fairly certain your hearing must be failing - after ages of warning every wolf off from dealing with the local guilds, your grandmother grimaces around those unbelievable words.

"What?"

"We can no longer survive on our own." She reiterates, your ears ringing. "These lands have been overhunted and new farms claim acres of land every day. Now with the Silver Hand moving into Whiterun," she sighs, gathering herself. Tears prick at your eyes when she rests a wrinkled hand on your shoulder. "Our family has entered an agreement with the Companions."

"Okay." You're struggling to wrap your head around this change but you'll manage - the pit in your stomach for months could finally cease. You know that food sources are growing scarce and numbers are falling but you're still a bit lightheaded at the finality of her statement.

"We've assured their continued support. They cannot back out of this deal."

"How? What do we have to give them?"

"You and some of the others will be married to the younger members of their inner circle."

It's like a punch to the gut. Your marriage is still a handful of years off but you will never forget about it - wondering each day if this is your last before being shackled to the Companions for the rest of your life. Your first meeting happens during a celebratory dinner, your heart in your throat as Kodlak presents the members of his pack.

One boy glowers across the hall and sneers at anyone who dares to speak to him. His brother stands nearby, a friendly smile on his face when Kodlak's hand lands on his shoulder. You can only pray that you aren't partnered with the unpleasant one.

"I'm Farkas." The kind boy introduces himself, calloused hand warm against yours. It takes a moment to remember your name - thankfully, your grandmother pats your shoulder and speaks for you.

"Nice to meet you." You choke out, terrified to be staring into the face of your future husband. His smile comes easily, dimples in his cheeks eyes radiating kindness. Light brown hair is braided out of his face and a broadsword is strapped across his well muscled back.

You spend the night awaiting the horrible stories your elders passed down to come true - that the Companions will shame your way of life or scoff at the state of your hall, but they are amiable. A bit reserved but they do nothing to earn your distrust. They share food and drink hauled down from their hall, listening intently to the stories told by your parents.

Farkas fits in too well. Even after Kodlak and the others stop visiting, contracts signed and goods exchanging hands, Farkas keeps coming. He shows up on your mother's doorstep with an armful of food and brings your siblings presents on their birthdays. Each time he appears you're shocked - this was sold to you as a marriage of convenience, one to fully unite your families. The grin on his face when he teaches your brother how to properly swing a sword or his willingness to help clear the dishes after dinner make you wonder if he was told something different.

Even as the season of your intended wedding approaches you cannot scrape up any distaste for him. You find your heart fluttering when Farkas rolls up his sleeves to help your father chop firewood or falls onto your bed at your side, curiously eyeing whatever book you're reading. You've both grown into a comfortable friendship, choosing to not speak of what awaits you only a few months away.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Farkas offers, eyes sliding your way. Even after all these years he still makes speech difficult, the friendly smile causing your brain to stop functioning. He's asked the question dozens of times but there's something loaded behind his words that makes this feel different. He's so careful when he holds your hand, clearly giving you space to shake him off.

Farkas follows the same path as always around local farms, a pleasant expression on his face but you feel the nerves radiating from him. Perhaps you've just got enough anxiety for you both.

"What's wrong?" You blurt, unable to contain the nerves any longer. Eyes sparkling in the moonlight Farkas turns to you and you're certain the whole valley can hear your heart ramming against your ribs.

"I want to marry you." His voice is uncharacteristically serious.

"That's been arranged since we were kids."

"No, I mean for real." Farkas insists, chilly fingers tracing the shape of your cheek. You've been close to others but nothing has felt like this, no one else has set your skin ablaze with a simple touch.

"I need you to know that I'm not just doing this because Kodlak said to. I want to be here with you, with your family - I want you."

It takes a few minutes to digest that - he wants you. Farkas is patient when you work through that, fingers tightening around yours as he awaits an answer. Butterflies erupt in your stomach when you finally voice the feelings you've ignored for years.

"I want you, too."

Kissing him is so easy, it feels natural. He smells like home; the hands cupping your face are stained from helping your parents cook and the scent of your fireplace clings to hair you'd tied back. Farkas kisses you like it's the first time he's taken a breath, needy and desperate. His nose brushes yours before he's pulling back, that comforting smile rousing butterflies in your gut.

The wedding you'd spent years dreading surpasses all your expectations. Farkas cries the moment he sees you, tears streaming down his cheeks when he pledges each day of his life to yours. You pointedly ignore all the vows regarding duty and tradition - you love this man. You've fallen in love with him slowly and without realizing it, loving him a bit more each day you've spent with him. He speaks of his love for you and respect for your family, summoning fat tears in your eyes when he kisses you.

"Thanks for lovin' me." He murmurs into your hair, crushing you to his chest.

Arnbjorn

"You should do it."

"Absolutely not."

"It's the best way to ensure the survival of both our Guilds!" Delvin insists, that smug look on his face. He thinks he's already won. "If we don't come to an agreement, our groups are bound to cannibalize each other. Our customer base and services are too similar."

"All good points."

"Every Jarl is out for our blood and both of our Guilds have recently lost leaders." It's annoying how correct he is. Delvin nudges the ale toward you, clearly urging you to consider. "A partnership would solve nearly all our problems."

"And why can it not be a business partnership?" You ask, accepting the drink. "Your relationship with the Brotherhood has stood since before I even joined the Guild, has something caused you to doubt it?"

"Unfortunately." Delvin's expression sours at that. "Their new leader."

You agree to a meeting with their new leader, expecting the Listener - they've visited a few times when the Brotherhood needed Delvin's aid, most recently during their move to Dawnstar. Your friendship is easy but holds no attraction, certainly nothing that would tempt you into a marriage.

"The Listener isn't their official leader." Delvin corrects you at the last minute, the group of shadows entering the Flagon. "It's the old leader's widower."

He stands before you, intimidatingly tall and muscled. Unimpressed eyes shamelessly comb through the crowd of thieves, white hair braided away from a handsome face. Delvin's elbow nudges yours and your face burns when you stumble over your introduction, clearing your throat before the conversation begins.

It's rough. Their leader, Arnbjorn, clearly lacks his former partner's knack for negotiation. You'd only encountered Astrid a couple times before her death but remembered her way of speaking, calculated with a constant threat in each word. Arnbjorn is much more straightforward, the Listener and Nazir looking a bit uneasy at his side.

"I have no need of a wife." He speaks plainly, earning a glare from his companions. "My hands are full running the Brotherhood and looking after the recruits."

"My thoughts exactly." you concur, though the conversation spirals away from that point once again.

Gods, you feel like this is never going to end. Hours pass and Delvin's sheet of notes has become illegible. The Listener is predictably quiet, taking in everyone's words while Delvin and Nazir hash out the details - where barriers for contracts should be, how to notify the other, who can recruit in what regions. After far too many drinks their words devolve into an obnoxious drone.

You aren't entirely sure anyone notices when you excuse yourself. Maybe a breath of fresh air will clear your head. You're certain that the sun has risen and quite possibly fallen once more since the negotiations had begun, shuffling your way through the Cistern in search of the outdoors.

"Hey."

Two strong fingers grab your elbow just as you're about to climb to freedom. You turn, sucking in a deep breath when you realize that you're cramped into the secret passageway with Arnbjorn. His cheeks are flushed - he's had even more drinks than you, leaning on the wall for support.

"What?" You try to sound sure of yourself despite the distracting closeness of his body. It's troubling how handsome he is. Arnbjorn blinks at you, sucking in a deep breath before speaking.

"I didn't want you to think my protests have anything to do with you." He clears his throat, obviously struggling to speak so plainly. "It's just - my wife passed away. You're very pretty but I have to think about the Brotherhood."

"I understand." You breathe, unable to ignore the way his eyes seem glued to your mouth. He leans a bit closer and you can smell him, smoke and pine and you fight back the wave of attraction.

Kissing him is foolish. You know this. It is a dumb mistake that you cannot stop yourself from making, closing the tiny distance between you. His lips are warm and god, the large hand curling around your waist and drawing you closer feels divine. His body presses to yours, crowding you against the stone wall until you can feel every delicious inch of him.

"Oh gods -" Delvin's voice shatters the moment. You're shrinking back, Arnbjorn stumbling a few steps away but it's too late. Your face burns when Delvin and the Listener's stares pin you in place. "Well, looks like our problem solved itself."

Marrying him is strange. Arnbjorn is stiff and standoffish, barely grumbling when the arrangements are drawn up. It's hard to forget that kiss, heat creeping into your cheeks every time the memory emerges. He's not unkind, just unwaveringly professional.

"If you're not interested in your wife," the client's words are slurred when he nudges Arnbjorn. "Mind if I take a swing?" A few too many celebratory drinks have been shared after your first successful joint contract. He stares intently at you, arousal pounding through his veins at the sight of you wearing Brotherhood armor.

"What?" The wave of sheer rage catches him off guard. Arnbjorn glares down at the drunken lord, anger building when the man leers toward your group of thieves. He's restrained himself for so long, ignored the way your eyes linger and seek him out because of his damned principles - but he will not allow this.

"You clearly don't want her. No harm in someone else gettin' a chance, right?" The man grumbles into his goblet. "After all the coin I handed out for this job -"

All conversation ceases when Arnbjorn bolts out of his seat. Before you can ask what's wrong he's stalking toward you, fingers gentle but insistent when they grip your chin and tilt your lips toward his. His kiss is full of heat, brain flooding with unabashed arousal as your husband's hips press firmly into yours.

"What's this all about?" You pant, cheeks burning bright red when his nose brushes yours.

"Don't worry about it." Arnbjorn grumbles against your lips. He'll let his reservations slip for this evening of celebration. He tells himself that he will rebuild all those walls in the morning, allowing himself this one night as your husband.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey gator, can you make a fic of Homelander dating a trans reader?

(Also you’re doing amazing, I’m so proud of you, and you’re flipping cool :D)

John Gillman/Homelander x ftm reader

Headcanons

Im gonna ignore the fact that Homelander would definitely be transphobic in canon, and write this in my canon where I make the rules.

John probably wouldn’t get it in the beginning, as he was definitely raised not being told about the LGBTQ community by vought, outside of the fact that it didn’t meet Americas standards. So, imagine his surprise when he starts having feelings for you, a man.

You weren’t even another hero, you were just a member of the marketing team who worked closer to The Seven than the rest. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t fawn over them or fear them, or how you didn’t seem to put up with their shit when they made impossible demands.

The only one you seemed to get along with in the beginning was Black Noir and Starlight, as they were both polite in their own ways.

John couldn’t figure out what it was about you, and it would take some time before he realized you were trans, which he’s able to figure out pretty quickly with his x-ray vision. Whether you wear a binder, have top and bottom surgery, or a third thing, he can spot it, since you would look different than cis guys.

He doesn’t know what to do with that information, especially since he’s already attracted to you and has tried to woo you in his own, showboaty way. Its kinda like watching a peacock strutting around trying to attract a mate.

Homelander is very bad at it though, and is kinda obvious about it too, maybe only to you though. Hes cute in his own way though, as he reminds you of a puppy at times, a very dangerous puppy with laser eyes, so in the end you make take the step and ask him out.

John would sputter and blush, but agree to go on a date. Hes never been one for privacy, so expect a lot of questions about being trans, even very intimate ones that you wouldn’t normally ask a stranger.

I can’t say hed be a great boyfriend, but that’s not because you are trans or anything. It’s mainly because he’s just not a good person in general, and he’s very busy as the leader of The Seven and keeping up his ratings.

But if your fine with both of you having busy schedules, him breaking into your apartment at any time of the day, and him not being public about your relationship as it would ruin his ratings, then I say go for it.

I don’t think he would go out of his way to research the trans experience, as he has you to answer all his questions if he has any. John doesn’t end up caring much about gender as a whole, but he will finance any surgeries or treatment if you want any, because he loves you and shows it through pampering you any chance he gets.

If you have breasts though, he would mourn if you got top surgery, since hed want them in his mouth all the time. But just give him something else to fixate on, and he will be fine. Be it your fingers or your next chest, or something third.

If you just wear a binder, expect him to keep a very close eye on your ribcage with his x-ray vision, and expect to be scolded if you wear it for too long, or if he can see it damaging your ribs. He would probably go out of his way to rip it right off you If you have worn it too long, he will just buy you a new one anyways.

All in all, he’s supportive in his own ways, even though those ways can be… questionable at times. He never actually questions if you are a man or not, and never misgenders you, and lashes out as anyone who does, but he does lack behind in certain areas. John does his best with what he’s got though.

[scoobyrooster1]

"But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him."

Their relationship is so realistically tense and terrible i LoVe it. Because YEAH Qimir having 'killed my last teacher <3 ' in their resume doesn't really mean anything good for YOU does it.

I agree! Thats something that Qimir might want to consider haha! Glad you like it!

She's Mine [Part 2]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: You and Qimir travel with the crew to Corinth where you pose as a high class bidder at a black market auction. However, a few unexpected events complicates your mission leaving you wounded and with more questions than answers about the nature of the job. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1]

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

One month ago...

Under the thick canopy of trees, the clearing was small, just enough space for the two of you to move without constraint.

You and Qimir had stopped on this planet for a brief respite, also provding one of the few places you could train without drawing unwanted attention.

"Again," Qimir instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

You tightened your grip on the wooden stick in your hand. The makeshift training weapon was a far cry from a lightsaber, but it would have to do. You squared your stance, bringing the stick up in a defensive position.

Qimir moved fluidly as he swung his own stick toward you. You managed to block the first strike, the wood clashing with a sharp crack. But Qimir was relentless. His next move was faster, a low sweep aimed at your legs. You jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike. You were able to catch your breath if only for a moment as he spoke.

“Keep your elbow up,” he reminded you. “Or else I'll catch you before you can block.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his advice even as your muscles burned from the exertion. It had been a long time since you trained like this. Your heart beat inside your chest so rapidly and with such force that you thought it would burst. You had to remember to control you breathing, only letting air pass through your nose, and conserve what little stamina you had left.

Qimir lunged again. You lifted your arm to block, but your elbow dropped just a fraction of an inch too low. His stick slipped past your defense, tapping your ribs with just enough force to sting. Your torso buckled over in response.

Stepping back to give you a moment to recover, he didn't need to tell you what you had done wrong.

"I get it." You said sternly.

"You need to anticipate the next move. Don't just react—predict."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your stance, raising your arm higher this time. Qimir watched you carefully, nodding in approval before launching into another series of attacks. You parried each one, your movements more precise now, more controlled.

The two of you moved in a deadly dance, sticks clashing and feet shifting on the soft earth. You began to lose yourself in the rhythm of it, your mind clearing as your body took over.

It was just you and Qimir, the world narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

Until his stick found your ribs again.

Qimir stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Better," he said, his voice softer now, less harsh. "Still a lot to learn."

You made a face about to mock him for saying a high and mighty master line.

He caught you before you could. "Don't start."

You just laughed, then nodded, panting from the effort. Your arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing you had improved, even if just a little.

"Thats enough for today," he said, tucking his stick under his arm.

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

You jolted awake shaking off the memory that overcame your senses.

You had been traveling for a few hours and had fallen asleep regret-tingly straining your neck in the process. Qimir sat on the other side of the cargo hold.

After the heated discussion you both had… yeah it was probably for the best.

You had both taken precautions to hide any personal items that wouldn’t classify as civilian.

I.E. one cortosis helmet, vambrace, and lightsaber.

You remembered tracing your fingers over the embedded scars of the metal. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Try it on.

Those words sent shivers through your entire body.

You wondered if when you returned to Qimirs little backwater planet, you too would craft something made of the precious metal.

Would we ever be able to return?

"Put these on"

Ian had thrown a duffle at your feet. You unzipped the bag to find far nicer clothes than the ones you were wearing.

"What happened to drawing less attention?"

“You’ll be bidding with some serious credits, you need to look as though you didn’t just crawl out of a bantha pit.”

You didn’t bother to scowl at Ian for his cruel joke.

“And who will I be today?”

“Bidder 79.”

“Lovely.”

The outfit was formal, modest, a suit-like ensemble made from breathable fabric in dark hues of blue and gray. You took one of the scarves from the bag and wrapped it around your head and hair. The less recognizable you were, the better.

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer any questions you don’t have to—”

“I think she gets it” Qimir interrupted, his voice curt.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Ian finished.

You gave Ian all the confirmation he deserved. "Don't do anything you would do... got it."

You were dropped at the nearest corner with Rod following closely behind.

The coordinates Ian had provided led you to a rough, gritty part of the city, where the streets were narrow and the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay. The towering buildings around you were a patchwork of cracked concrete, rusted metal, and flickering neon signs, casting eerie glows onto the damp pavement. You approached the entrance of a large, nondescript building, its facade faded and crumbling, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

Pushing through the heavy, rusted door, you stepped into a dimly lit lobby. The few figures loitering in the shadows eyed you with suspicion. You made your way to an elevator at the far end of the room, its grated door screeching as you pulled it open.

The elevator groaned to life, descending into the depths below the city. As you felt the air grow cooler and the hum of the city above fade into silence, your pulse quickened. When the doors finally slid open, you were greeted by a stark contrast.

Before you lay the Corinth black market, a sprawling underground bazaar hidden beneath the city. The space was vast, its ceiling arched and lined with cables and dim, industrial lights casting a dull glow over the scene. The market was alive with activity—merchants hawking their illicit wares from makeshift stalls, the air buzzing with whispered deals and low, guttural conversations in a dozen different languages. The scent of exotic spices, machinery, and lawlessness filled your nose.

The Corinth black market was a place where laws were only mere suggestions.

Rules, Rules, Rules... If you don't follow them, you never have to break them.

Minutes later, you found yourself seated in an uncomfortable chair, dark lenses shielding your eyes as you scanned the stage ahead. You were in a small room dimly lit but far richer than the bazaar outside. The items up for auction you guessed based on size and weight was a mix of trinkets and far more dangerous contraband, all locked away in secure containers.

Your client had provided you with only a number, leaving you in the dark about what you were actually bidding on. Your job was to outbid everyone else. Rod, as Ian assured you, would make sure you had the funds to back up whatever figure you landed on. How they’d managed that was another mystery, but one you didn’t need to solve.

“Item number XN2187”

Your eyes tracked the stage.

This was it.

What the staff placed on the table next made absolutely no sense to you.

It was a book... or... a journal?

"Let’s start the bid at 100,000 credits."

Maker.

You had to withhold your gasp.

Two people had already called out raising the bid to 250,000 within 3 seconds.

You threw your card up.

“300,000.”

You saw another card go up near the front.

“350,000”

Maker how could a journal be worth this much.

You raised your card again with no hesitation.

“400,000.”

They matched it again. "4500,000."

“500,000”

It was all fake credits and Ian had given you your instructions... attain that item at whatever price... better to end it right here.

You waited for their response, but there was none.

Got it.

“Sold...to number 79.”

Small claps ensued.

You headed to the back of the stage where the transactions were being held.

Suddenly your path was blocked, now inches away from a hooded figure.

"Whatever your being paid, we can double it." They hissed in your ear.

Rod glanced at the human stranger with his fixed glowing pinpoint eyes that seemed to show concern even for a droid.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." You continued to walk past them.

They grabbed your forearm. Their grip was strong.

“You take it and you’re a dead woman walking.”

You could now see their face. A male human with rusty brown hair and dark eyes.

You shook off the strangers hand and stated with cold indifference, "I already am."

Your response seemed to catch him off guard.

You shrugged him off turning away, finally reaching the desk behind the curtains.

"Bidder 79?" the attendant confirmed.

"That's right. Item XN2187."

"Please have your droid exchange the credits for your purchase."

Rod stepped forward, inserting his chip into the computer. A moment later, a man presented the box.

The attendee looked at the screen, seeming pleased. "Thank you madam. Have a wonderful evening."

Your breath resumed as you smoothly took the box and gave the courtier a smile. What ever Rod had done it had worked. You cracked it open checking that the item was inside.

Rodney turned in the other direction taking a different route to meet back up at the rendezvous.

That had been surprisingly easy.

"See you back at the ship." You whistled as you turned into the crowd behind.

Something struck your mind. The force had shifted near you and you could feel it. You started scanning your surroundings more carefully.

Watch out.

You unholstered your gun but it was too late.

It was all of 2 seconds before you felt the box knocked out from under your forearm. The force of a back kick to your chest sent you crashing to the ground. Dirt filled your mouth as you hit the earth, the impact reverberating through your body. Your blaster had been sent flying across the ground.

Damn it had been a while since you were hit that hard.

Gritting your teeth, you turned to face your assailant— female Twi'lek with green skin, her imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Her face sheathed in fabric and some manner of breathing apparatuses. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the chaotic crowd fading into the background.

The journal had fallen out of the box now laying between you and your attacker.

It was too valuable to lose. You couldn't just run.

You pushed yourself off the ground, moving faster than you had fallen. As the warrior lunged for the book, you reacted instinctively, snapping your leg out to kick their hand away. The clash of metal and bone echoed in your ears as you simultaneously snatched journal, pulling it close to your chest. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you regained your footing, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She charged at you closing the distance swiftly. You dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding her grasp. She swung her arm in a wide arc that forced you to duck, the wind from her strike grazing the top of your head.

With the book still clutched tightly to your chest, you spun around, using your momentum to drive your elbow into the Twi'leks side. The impact caused her to stagger.

She recovered swiftly, raising her arm to strike again this time brandishing a small blade. You heaved your body from left to right to dodge, the knife dancing centimeters away from your chest.

You dodged another stab. But she was smart. The Twi'lek flipped the blade through the air catching it with her left hand. You felt a sharp pain spread in your chest. Too distracted with the wound in your right side, you failed to notice her right hand swinging towards you head.

Your brain rattled inside your skull as you hit the earth. Applying pressure to the bleed you turned your pounding head upwards. She picked up the journal from the floor, her other hand now brandishing a blaster pointed directly at your forehead.

"Should've taken the deal"

You only stared down the barrel of her gun. This couldn't be the end.

You wouldn't let it be the end. You blinked. She pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

You weren't dead.

You stared at the gun.

The blaster shot hung suspended in mid-air, glowing red just inches from your nose.

It floated there, trembling as if struggling against an invisible force, caught between you and the barrel.

Qimir.

You almost couldn't breathe and realized it could only last for so long. You ducked your head before the shot could continue its intended path, piercing the dirt behind you, leaving a small scorched black hole in its wake.

Your breathing was rapid and deep as stared at the hole in the ground that was intended for your head.

The Twi'leks eyes widened. Baffled by what she had just witnessed.

"You... you're a jedi." She sounded as disgusted as she was surprised.

“Not quite.”

In a fluid motion, you kicked a cloud of dust up towards her face. She loosen her grip on the journal stumbling back. Sprinting past her you grabbed the book, the pain of the stab wound luckily numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. She roared in frustration, but you were already several paces ahead.

You could hear her quick footsteps behind you, but you didn't look back. Your only thought was to put as much distance between you and her as possible.

You ducked into an alleyway once you thought it was safe to stop, determined to sacrifice just a moment to see what you were truly risking your life for.

You opened the book.

Scribbles you couldn't understand filled page after page. Flipping through it all you couldn't make any sense of it.

You stopped at the back of the last page.

Written then carved delicately into the leather near the binding was a name.

Mari San Tekka.

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

The plan had gone off without a hitch... if you hadn't included the unknown assailant that almost put a blaster hole through your skull.

Closing the blast doors, you buckled over, heart still racing. You ran your fingers over your cheek which was tender to the touch. It had to be badly bruised and you could better feel the one developing across your chest now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Not to mention the blood dribbling down your side.

"That went well."

Qimir had caught you off guard. You didn't think he'd be back to the ship by now with how much of a crowd that stood between you and the ship.

You inhaled deeply resting against the cold metal wall your right hand still pressing the right side of your ribs.

“You had me worried.”

You paused for a moment. You had him… worried?

"I thought I'd have to find a new acolyte after today."

You relaxed your shoulders dropping your hands into fists.

"You son of a bitch."

He smiled with his teeth, his eyes taunting, but his smile faltered when he saw your now exposed lower chest wound.

"That looks serious." You couldn't tell if he was still joking or being earnest. "And what a foul name to call with your mas--"

The ship doors hissed open.

In walked Ian and Rod.

Qimir went quiet not daring to finish his sentence. They didn't need to know what you and Qimir were. If they did, they'd all be dead.

The Jedi say I can't exist. They see my face... They all die.

If that's what it took for Qimir to shut his mouth then fine.

You snapped back to reality reapplying pressure to your side and took the opportunity to interrogate Ian.

"What the hell was that." You yelled.

Ian look disgruntled. "Seems like this cargo is more high priority than I thought."

"Ya think?" You only gave him a pleading look in response.

"Look nothing has changed. You knew what you signed up for."

"I didn't sign up for this... remember?"

"Rod, signal Shaun and Kiro. Prep the hyperdrive, set a course for Canto Bight... You might wanna take care of that." He motioned to the wound that was still leaking blood at your side. "Theres a med bay. Two rights and left."

"Thanks." You started walking towards the doors slightly lightheaded from the blood loss.

He extended a hand. "Here let me help. That looks bad."

You waved him off. "I've got it." Before disappearing down the hall to the med bay.

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

Luckily, Ian had the sense to keep a decent med droid on board. With how sketchy most of his jobs were, it would be foolish not to. The droid had effectively stopped the bleeding, stitched it close, applied bacta fluid, and recommended a pressure dressing before shutting down.

Okay, so not a fully functional droid.

You pulled out the rolls of gauze and compression wraps. The droid had cut through your bloody shirt to access the wound, leaving the tattered fabric hanging from your shoulders. In the mirror, you could see the damage--your chest was mildly bruised, the skin slowly turning a deep purple, especially closer to the wound. You applied a generous amount of gauze and began wrapping the bandage around your chest.

You managed 6 tight loops before a sharp pain made you wince, the movement of extending your torso and raising your arms too much to bear. Breathing deeply, you tried to steady both your head and your heart.

Then, a sudden movement caught your eye, and you nearly reopened the wound as you jumped—Qimir was standing in the now open doorway, silently watching you.

"Maker, you scared me... How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough."

"Ha. Ha." You mocked, still guarding your chest, covered but only by a sheer wrap.

"Need help?"

"I got it."

He gave you a look that said, Yeah, sure you do.

You sighed deeply. Every breath was painful. "Fine."

He walked up to where you sat on the med table, glancing at the now deactivated med droid.

"The droid couldn’t do it?"

You tilted your head in response.

"I can call Ian to wrap the rest. He seemed pretty eager," you teased.

Qimir clenched his jaw, clearly not amused, and quickly seized the large roll of gauze from your hand.

"Put your arms around me."

You shot him an incredulous look.

"Maker, you're difficult," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. With a gentle touch, he grabbed your hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he took the roll and began wrapping it around the rest of your chest.

You let your hands move closer to his neck, lacing your fingers together and allowing your arms to sag, finding a small amount of relief.

"It's a faulty piece of equipment," you continued. "Leave it to Ian to have a semi-working med droid on a risky job."

Qimir's eyes were only focused on his hands, meticulously layering the bandaging over your wound, making sure it was secure.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," you quipped.

His focus remained unwavering, but you noticed a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.

You allowed yourself to dissolve into this moment. It was innocent, and it was yours.

He finished the last length of the bandage, gently tucking it into the top wrap. His fingers brushed against your skin, and your breath hitched slightly. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Both his hands now rested softly against your ribs, checking the stability of his work. Your hands remained on his shoulders.

He looked up at you.

You met his gaze.

"If you let someone get that close, you must make every decision with confidence and conviction. Remember—"

"Don't react, predict," you repeated the mantra.

"There's no room for error in a fight that close."

"Yes, master," you added with a touch of sarcasm.

He only nodded, still getting accustomed to your use of the title.

"Thank you," you said, recalling what had happened only hours ago.

"For the wrap?"

"No. For saving me."

"Saving you?"

"The blaster shot."

"... You're welcome."

He released you, making you remove your arms from his shoulders.

The moment was gone... and something in you would've done anything to get it back.

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

The sound of the ship rattling against the void of space ripped you from sleep. The walls trembled, and a deep, ominous roar echoed from the rear of the ship, filling you with an immediate sense of dread. You ducked out of your cot.

Qimir was already on his feet.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was out the door, and you were right behind him. The cold, metallic floor vibrated beneath your bare feet as you both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, a brutal force that sent both of you stumbling. You felt yourself losing balance, your body careening toward the metal wall. But before you could brace for impact, Qimir’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. He swiftly twisted his body, pulling you against him, sending himself backwards.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. You felt the force of it reverberate through him as he grunted, but his grip on you remained firm.

For a second your chin rested on his collar bone. His mouth grazing your forehead and hair. The heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold metal wall you were expecting moments ago. You were pressed against his chest, your breath catching as you looked up at him. His expression unreadable.

"Your stitches." He questioned.

"Fine." You assured him.

He only scanned you for a moment then let go of you continuing to walk down the corridor. You hesitated for one second, your heart still racing, before following him.

When you had finally reached the cockpit you found Ian walking toward you and through the doorway before grunting. "Might be a problem with the hyperdrive. We have to make a pit stop."

Any thoughts of Qimirs skin against yours was gone.

You followed him back down the hall.

"Qimir."

He stopped.

You gave him a look.

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

"Mari San Tekka” he repeated the name you had given.

“Do you know that name?”

“Not the person, but the San Tekkas were a great dynasty, closely affiliated with the Republic as hypersurveyors”

"Hypersurveyors?"

"Mappers who worked for the clan, charting new hyperspace routes."

"The writing, I didn't see it at first but they could've been notes or calculations."

"Could you read any of it."

"I've seen hyperspace calculations before, but I didn't recognize the figures in this book. Why would someone risk so much to retrieve it?"

Qimir took a long pause. "I don't know."

The uncertainty laced in Qimirs voice irked you more than you'd like to admit.

———————————————

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[nightraiderwrites]

The Implications of an Unlocked Door

The nature of dreams.

Tws: unreality, explicit descriptions of violence -.-.-

The dream starts on a train. 

It’s one of the trains that are used for local transportation; rides across a city or a town. The people who ride it are ordinary. Students, yawning off a night of study. Office workers, struggling to stay awake, balancing a coffee in hand. Old men, on their way to the gambling hole. Women on their way to the market.

To you, there is a crowd in a train, and this is a perfectly normal dream. Slowly, you take it in. The train moves over a bridge, and the sun rises out the window. Someone has spilled coffee on the floor. You can smell it. The seats are old.

The train rolls into a dark tunnel. Overhead, lights flicker on weakly, washing the compartment in dim white light.

This is, you think, a nice dream. A different world, a different time, where things are normal.

It’s in a split second of darkness when you see him. As the lights flicker, throwing the train car in pitch black, you see his eyes. Deep, ominous red.

You shudder involuntarily. This is a dream, you remind yourself. He cannot hurt you here. You are safe.

The tips of his hair are blue. There are deep bags under his eyes. His hands are hidden.

This is a dream, you remind yourself. You do not know how you know it is a dream, but it must be.

The train rumbles on. Above, the automated voice announces the next stop.

“I love you,” he says, voice thick and raspy, and then you know it is a dream because he had never told you that and you know he would never say it.

“I love you,” he says again, and you hang on every word like it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

You had forgotten, the cadence of his voice. He did not speak for so long, and the first thing you forget about a person is the sound of their voice.

You take a step closer. He takes a step back.

The train slides out of the tunnel, the morning light flooding into the carriage. You blink at the sudden light, and he’s gone.

~

The dream starts in the plains.

Morning dew soaks the knees of your pants as your hands grip his throat. He isn’t doing anything to stop you. Why isn’t he doing anything? Why isn’t he crying out?

Blood is splattered over your arms. It stains the white of your shirt, and you press deeper, your wait digging into his chest. He reaches weakly for your wrist. Darkness creeps over your vision.

It’s taking so long for him to die, you note impatiently. You should just snap his neck. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You exhale.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His face is turning blue. Ice starts forming around you, solidifying the dew on the grass. It spreads around you, driving away everyone else, but not you. No, the ice never touches you.

He loves you. You love him too much to let the tender bones give way beneath your hands.

There is no world in which you kill him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His mouth moves. “Fal-”

Morning dew soaks into the back of your white shirt as his hands grip your throat.

You understand now, why he didn’t struggle. His weight presses into your chest, and you feel your ribs crack, a little.

The thing about being choked is that you can feel everything. There is air that does not enter your lungs and there are knees pinning your wrists to the floor. Wet dew seeps into your clothes. There is no more blood on your hands.

He’ll snap your neck. Any moment now, and he’ll do it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your hands move on instinct. Your wrists are pinned with his knees, yes, but your fingers can still touch his legs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You love him. He still kills you.

~

The dream starts in front of a glowing purple portal.

Lizzie stands in front of you. “Alright,” she says. It’s obvious to you that she’s a cat wearing a mask, but maybe you shouldn’t point that out. “We’ve got a weird magic portal, so obviously the most logical thing to do is go through.” 

Everyone nods, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. You think it’s insane, but no one else disagrees.

Katherine and Shelby lock hands. They share a kiss before stepping through the swirling magic portal. You watch as Joel hugs Lizzie and kisses Sausage carefully before jumping in as well. 

You’re the last to enter. You watch as Pix and Jimmy and all the others go through and your heart aches. 

Something tugs at you as you are about to step through; a hand, maybe, someone with hands the same size as yours, and familiar enough to grasp your own like nothing else matters.

Don’t go, the person begs, because you are sure it is someone now. If you go, you’ll be changed forever. 

There is nothing more terrifying than change. You had woken up in this world with bleeding wings and half empty memories, and the world has done nothing but change.

The portal hums, almost menacingly. Change is scary. You don’t want to change. You want to stay exactly the same, because if you change, you’ll never know who you are. You’ll never know who you were. You’ll never know who you could be.

So you don’t go through. No one will notice if you don’t, so you stay. You shake your head and turn away from the glowing portal, boots heavy on the unsteady wooden platform.

You step. Left foot, right foot, feeling like you have been unmoored.

The platform isn’t built well. There is no one to catch you when your foot goes through the splintered plank and submerges you into the river.

~

The dream starts with your hand resting over a familiar door knob.

You hesitate. It’s night time. When you walk in, you know that Tango will be waiting on the couch, and Pearl will be upstairs, Pix will be in his room or out in his swamp base, and Gem will be…

Gem will be gone.

You turn the handle. “Hey, Tango,” you say. No one replies.

The lights are on, but the house is empty. There is no one home. 

Fire crackles, casting a soft glow over the wooden flooring. Four pairs of shoes are lined up where you left yours. There are no dishes in the sink.

You climb the rafters. The paper eagle- the one from god -is gone. Your shelf is bare, the satchel you had brought to this world, your spare knives and the threadbare blanket that you had folded this morning are all gone.

Gracefully, you tip backwards and fall silently to the floor. The house is quiet, deathly still, almost as if it's holding in a breath. You don’t like that. Dead houses don’t breathe.

You climb the stairs, struggling to find your way in the dark. There’s never really a reason for you to come here, other than calling Pearl to dinner or dragging Pix to bed, so the beautifully carved handrail feels unfamiliar in your grasp.

It’s cold. Despite the fire you know was running in the living room, chill clings to your fingers and your breath fogs your vision.

There is no way it should be this cold. The stairs are slippery with ice and frost covers your sleeves. Your movements are stiff as you step, joints creaking and squeaking. But you’re so close.

The landing is two or three steps away. Surely you can make that. How long have you been walking up for? It’s impossibly close.

Squeeze your eyes tight. Squeeze them so hard you feel a hot tear streak down your cheek and turn to ice. This house is not your prison. This house is not your home. This house is not your love.

When you open your eyes, you are on the landing. The cold is gone. It is no longer dark.

Sunlight fills the hallway. Golden light falls through the window, lighting your path to the room at the very end of the hall.

You have a feeling about who is waiting. You missed her so much.

At first, your steps are slow as you feel your feet on the hardwood below. In your lungs, it’s like breathing sunlight. The air is like honey.

But you can’t take it anymore. You break into a sprint, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re grinning. You shouldn’t let yourself hope it’s her, but you can’t help it.

The corridor shortens, and you stop, breathless. A sun is carved into the door, and the soft morning light makes the rays glow. This has to be a sign, right? It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

God, why are you hoping? It never goes your way. Everything you hope for never happens. People betray you, they leave you or you leave them. Nothing you hope for ever happens.

Still. You really hope it's her.

Your hand hovers over the familiar door knob.

Take a breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only opening a door.

It’s only a small change.

You grasp the knob and turn. It opens, easily, as if it was made to be opened. As if it was made to be changed.

The first thing you notice when you walk into the room is the light. Every nook and cranny is filled, and you can see everything. From the shrine of candles on a table to a small bed tucked in the corner of the room, everything is… gold.

She’s leaning against the windowsill, eyes closed with a smile curling on the edge of her lips. Her hands are folded in front of her, and her crown shines gold. Soft breaths rise and fall in her chest.

You don't… remember her ever looking so content. There was always sadness or stress or a glance at the future creasing her brow or pulling her mouth into a frown. She had always been burdened with destiny, and you had never been strong enough to lift it.

As you stop in the doorway, she opens her eyes and turns to you. They’re green, with little hints of purple. It makes you pause, unnerved.

“False,” she says. She opens her arms, wide. It’s been so long. 

You can’t take it anymore. No more waiting. No more looking over your shoulder a missing presence. No more cold.

You crash into her, buying your head on her shoulder. “I missed you,” you mumble. You sniffle. It really has been so long.

Gem strokes your hair. “I know,” she says. “But you’ve been so brave. I’ve been gone, but you’ve been so brave.”

Tears start welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” you sob. They streak down, hot and fast. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her hand stills. You cling to her like you’ll drown if you let go. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Gem murmurs. It’s strange. It’s almost like she’s apologizing for leaving you alone. You start to panic.

You pull away, breathing hard. “Gem,” you say, shaky. The world feels unsteady under your feet. Nothing is golden anymore. “Are you leaving again?”

The sunlight drips away. From the bed to the candles to the door, flashing the sun at you the color bleaches, fading away. Even the color on that gets sucked in towards the center. Gem’s room pales in comparison to her, and she herself grows in color, vibrancy bursting from her figure.

Your hands are still on her shoulders. It burns.

“Gem,” you repeat, desperate. She keeps leaving. Nothing good ever lasts. You should know this by now. “Gem.”

The room is faded, like a toy left in the sun too long. All the color has been sucked dry, and Gem is the radiant sun.

She’s still smiling softly at you. You hate it. No, that can’t be right. You could never hate Gem. But how can she be standing there, smiling…?

“False,” she says. “My knight. My loyal soldier. But most importantly, my friend.” Your chest is heaving, and you cannot let her go. “You are a good sword,” Gem tells you. Her eyes flash - purple, gold, green, gold - but she smiles, carefree. “You are a good sword,” she repeats, “but you are an even greater friend. Don’t forget that, okay?”

It hurts to look at Gem. You want to shield your eyes, look away, protect yourself, but you’ve never been good at caring for yourself. She is your blazing sun, and you are a helpless little dog.

“Don’t go,” you beg. She takes your hands off her shoulders and holds them tight. It burns. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh False,” Gem says. The color in her eyes finally settle into a deep purple hue. Wings like the rays of the sun emerge from her back, and her robes flow like the ocean. Her crown glitters gold. A wry grin plays on her lips. “Don’t worry.” You can hear her heartbeat, like thunder.

It’s terrible.

“I’ll always be Watching.”

~

The dream starts on a train.

The sun sets over the horizon, throwing the city in front of it into a midnight silhouette. You sit in one of the seats. There is no one else in the carriage.

Someone had spilled coffee on the floor. Brown stains the grimy carriage floor, glistening wetly in the dying light. The seats are old.

You sit in one, observing the sun set. A soft orange glow makes everything feel warm. Unsteady. Unreal.

Your teeth rattle as the train rumbles on. In your chest, you feel your heart; ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud, assuring yourself that you are still alive.

Where is this train heading? You don’t know. All you know is the tracks seem to stretch forever, into eternity.

There are things to ponder. Your purpose, for example. If there is no one around, if there is no one to dedicate your life to, what are you even here for? Did you ever matter? 

Maybe. Maybe you mattered. More likely you didn’t.

Who cares, anyway? You?

Sometimes, thoughts are not there to be listened to.

The train heads into a tunnel. The lights remain off, throwing the carriage into total darkness.

When you come out the other side, he appears on the other side of the seats, facing you. His face is clean. His hair is yellow. There are no bags under his eyes.

“Hello,” you say. Swallow. “How have you been?”

He stares. “Oh,” he replies. “Good.”

The silence stretches between you. What are you supposed to say? What is he supposed to say? There is nothing that can be said.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” you say. Curl your fingers into a fist. Your nails dig into your palm. A lie. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Across the carriage, his lips curl into a smile. Do you remember the last time he smiled?

“I know,” he tells you, but you know he knows it’s a lie. Everyone always says you suck at lying. “You’ve been very brave.”

Now he’s echoing Gem’s words. Gem left, so is he leaving too? You force the tears and the panic down, and shove them into a little locked chest inside your heart.

You close your eyes, leaning sideways. Your head lands on his shoulder. His breaths, steady and deep, are a soothing rhythm. He grasps your hand.

“Can you stay, this time?” you ask quietly. 

His breath hitches. “Okay,” he says. 

The train rumbles on.

~

So the implications of an unlocked door is this: it is just a door until you try and open it. Then, it gains either the adjective “locked” or “unlocked”. This means if you describe the door as “unlocked” you have changed it in a fundamental way so as the door is not just a door, but a door that you have interacted with and changed.

Therefore, the implication of an unlocked door is that a person existed to unlock it. A person has existed to change the door in a way that allows for further expansion and development. The door would have remained a door even if no one had bothered to try and open it.

Nevertheless, the sheer fact that someone opened the door showed they care about it. The door cares about the person too. It stands strong and guards the house. It unlocks for the person, allowing them to enter the home and rest.

A door is just a door until you try and open it. At the same time, a life is just a life until someone else enters it.

-.-.-.-

Hi :)

[asillylittleistik]

Poly Isobel & Dame Aylin with asexual reader please?

I am so glad that the first request I got on here is an Isobel and Dame Aylin request because GOD I love these two

Poly Dame Aylin & Isobel with Asexual Reader

Oh man, dating these two, you just know no one will ever so much as touch a hair on your head

Girlfriends? Nah, you got bodyguards now

Seriously though, both of them have had to experience losing their lover once already, so the both of them are terrified to let it happen again

They are so, so, so, protective of you

Just imagine being at a market of Baldur's Gate one day, and some stranger starts raising their voice at you for whatever reason, and all of the sudden, the demigod daughter of Selûne appears from the heavens and tells them to fuck off

Not to say Isobel isn't fiercely protective as well, but she is also just as mortal as you are, so Aylin always keeps her out of danger

She's like a literal guardian angel to you guys, never letting anything get past her

And, god forbid, someone does injure you, she is after them with a rage so potent it almost terrifies you, if you didn't already know she would never hurt you

And all the while, Isobel sits at your side, keeping you comfortable against her while whispering quick and desperate prayers to Selûne to bring you back to health

Even if your wounds do heal, expect to be pampered to no end, though

At camp, when it's pitch black out and everyone has already fallen asleep in their tents, imagine just the most godly of cuddle piles

Aylin is always on her back, since her broad form is perfect to cuddle up against (and god knows she'd crack someone's rib if she tried to lay on them for a change)

I wholeheartedly believe that, after you and Isobel had fallen asleep against her, one on each arm, she'd keep her eyes open and ears peeled for as long as she could just to make sure no threat comes for you two in the night

Being an immortal, nothing scares her more than the mortality of her lovers

Both of them, Isobel especially, are prone to nightmares after all the trauma they've been through

Occasionally, you wake up in the night to the sound of quiet sniffling and trembling, just to see Isobel with her face buried into the fabric of Aylin's shirt

Pull her into your arms, whisper to her that she's safe, you're safe, and Aylin's safe. Nothing, not her father, not the Absolute, nothing can hurt them anymore

She usually isn't able to verbalize it at the moment, but your words do so much to calm her down

And, if she wasn't already awake to begin with, all the commotion is sure to wake Aylin up, who does everything in her power to reassure Isobel

And, at the end of the day, you know that if any one of you, not just Isobel, was ever in need of comforting, the other two would be on their beck and call for however long it takes

As for you being asexual, neither of them have any qualms with it

Sure, the two of them are certainly very active, but they would never make you feel excluded in anything

They are very respectful of your boundaries and making sure that nothing they ever do with each other makes you feel uncomfortable or excluded in any way

And besides, while sex may be nice and all, there's nothing they want more to have you safe and happy at their side

And seeing you fighting valiantly next to them, laughing with friends, or fast asleep on one of their shoulder's, they know they have everything they could ever want

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Blue and Fire Engine Red, Pt 5

Special thanks to @magicalstripedhorse, who helped keep this installment on track. :)

-----

“Oh no,” Kara drawls the moment she steps out onto the stoop of her building eight days later. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Lena smirks, leaning casually against the side of an old beat up pick up truck. The red ball-cap on her head is just as worn, its frayed bill extending backwards from Lena’s head.

“Flannel? Really?” Kara eyes the shirt in question where it’s tied around Lena’s waist. “Can you be any more of a lesbian?”

Lena spreads her hands. “We’re going to a farmer’s market,” she says. “What did you expect? An LBD?”

“Hm,” Kara hums, bouncing down the steps to greet her girlfriend with a kiss. “Maybe for dinner later.”

She definitely wouldn’t mind seeing Lena in a little black dress. Her mind conjures up an image that very nearly makes her pull Lena back upstairs, but the call of fresh fruit and vegetables proves to be too strong.

“All right, Tegan and Sara, let’s get going.”

The drive is somewhat familiar, as Kara has been to the farmers market before, but it’s been a while and it takes longer than Kara remembers. She’s not mad about it though– it gives her time to catch up with Lena about their weeks, which are relatively tame for a week in the life of first responders.

Lena had a few oven fires, a serious case of whiplash during a fender bender, and not one, but two cats stuck in a tree. Definitely tops Kara’s days of petty larceny, jaywalking, and a single wellness check. But she knows better than to comment on the relative slowness– the moment it’s acknowledged is the moment the sky starts to fall.

Just when the city gives way to suburbs, Lena turns the truck into a graveled parking lot. Kara takes note of the cars already there, and the thin stream of people already circulating through the stalls. It’s only mid-morning, and she expects the crowd will only grow as the day progresses. 

“Come on,” Kara calls as she hops out of the truck, slamming the dusty door behind her. “I need asparagus.” 

She gets her asparagus, and much more. She snags an artichoke and some lettuce as well as some strawberries she makes a note to prep for the next time Lena comes over. Lena splits away for a short moment, and comes back with fava beans and a joke about a nice chianti that makes Kara laugh.

Produce leads to cuts of various meats out of coolers. Lena nudges her. “You like steak?”

Kara’s mouth waters. “Oh, yeah.”

Lena requests two prime ribs, and tucks them and a slab of bacon into her tote alongside her fava beans. By the time they get to the baked goods and crafts, Kara’s own bag is sitting heavy in the crook of her elbow. She moves it to her shoulder instead, and has just prodded Lena towards a live herbs vendor when a call splits the air.

“Hey, Sarge!” 

Kara turns on instinct, and to her surprise Lena does as well. The expectant set of her features strikes Kara as odd, but she focuses her attention instead on who might have called for her. She doesn’t recognize any of the oncoming faces, which makes her frown.

“Sarge!” 

The crowd parts just long enough for a man in a wheelchair to roll out from the throng of people. His face is round and creased with joy as he coasts towards them, but Kara pulls back slightly when she doesn’t recognize him.

Lena steps forward. “Hey, Gonzales.”

Kara watches stunned as she extends her hand and engages in a sort of handshake with the man– palms, backs, and a fist bump top and bottom. Clearly, Lena is more than familiar with the man. Kara’s gaze darts back and forth between them, taking in Lena’s easy smile and the man’s eager countenance, which had yet to dim even when he turned his gaze to Kara.

“Yo,” Gonzales says with a grin. “When Jess said you stopped by the bar with a new lady friend, I knew she must have been a looker, but damn, Sarge–”

“Watch your mouth, Corporal.”

Kara steps up to introduce herself. “Sergeant, huh?” she says, smirking. Lena has yet to return to the subject of her time in the service, so Kara is thrilled to have even just her rank. “Who’d’a thunk?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gonzales confirms. “The sergeant here was the best damn medic in the company. Saved our unit’s ass more than a couple times.” He rolls forward a few inches to offer a handshake. “Hector Gonzales, ma’am. Pleasure to meet one of the Sarge’s lady friends.”

“Police Sergeant Kara Danvers,” Kara returns. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Corporal.”

The man waves her off. “Please, it’s just Hector or Gonzales now. Gotta get used to the civvie life now. Right, Sarge?” 

Lena rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Sure.”

“You said you’re Jess’ brother?” Kara briefly scans Gonzales and notes an above the knee amputation and a serious burn scar on his right arm that stretched from his wrist to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt. 

Hector nods enthusiastically. “Yes, ma’am!” He shoots a bright look towards Lena. “Did she tell you she got early admission to NCU? Honors track.”

Lena beams. “No, she didn’t! That’s wonderful!”

“First choice and everything. She’ll be the first one in the family to go to college, you know.” 

“What is she planning to study?” Kara asks.

Hector’s grin is infectious. “Art. Our mother wanted her to be a lawyer, because that girl argue like nothing else, but she's had her sights on art from the beginning. Sarge has seen some of her drawings, when she sent some to me overseas. Remember Sarge?”

Lena nods. “They were pretty amazing.” 

Kara smiles, but a tug of sadness pulls at some of her joy for Jess. She’d almost gone to art school once. That had been the goal, before the shooting. After everything that happened… well, she hasn’t picked up a brush in a long time. 

“Hey,” Hector says, pulling Kara’s attention back to the conversation. “I’m getting some friends together to watch the game next weekend. You guys should come!”

Kara has no idea what game he means, or even what sport, but Lena nods. “Yeah, shoot me the details and we’ll try to make it.”

“Wilco, Sarge. Oh! And you can invite any of your folks from the firehouse too. I can tell them how lucky they are to have you.”

Lena’s cheeks flush pink. “Gonzales, I swear to god–”

“Hector!” A young hispanic woman calls from further down the aisle. “You were supposed meet me at– oh!” 

“Cecilia!” Hector waves at her, beckoning her closer. “C’mere, this is the Sarge!” 

Cecilia’s go wide. “Oh! Sergeant Reilly! I’ve heard so much about you!”

Lena’s easy smile widens. “Uh oh,” she groans comedically. She reaches for Kara, drawing her forward into the conversation. “This is Kara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Kara offers gamely. They exchange handshakes, with smiles all around. Kara revels in being included, but even more so in the sense that she’s being allowed a further glimpse into who Lena is. 

Hector and Cecilia are sweet together. Hector is engaged and enthusiastic, while Cecilia is a little more reserved. But Lena converses easily, laughing and grinning, totally at ease in the presence of her fellow soldier. Eventually, Cecilia reminds Hector that they’re almost due to be somewhere else. 

“Right, right,” Hector nods. He prepares to roll away, but pauses to peg Lena with a stern gaze. “Game, next weekend. You’ll tell your crew?” 

Lena nods with a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll let ‘em know. Good catching up, Gonzalez. Take it easy.”

“You too, Sarge! Rolling out!” 

Lena watches them head off, then turns back towards Kara with a chagrined roll of her eyes. Her mouth opens, but Kara cuts her off. “Don’t you dare apologize,” she warns. “He was delightful.”

“Yeah,” Lena agrees. “He’s a good guy. Him and Jess both. They’re good eggs.”

“And besides, anyone who adores you like he does is definitely good in my book.”

This time, Lena’s roll of her eyes are directed at Kara. “Ah yes. Remind me to not let you two in a room alone. Who knows what shenanigans you’d get into–”

Suddenly a cry further down the aisle breaks through the buzz of people. Without conscious thought, or even a look between them, Kara and Lena both begin to push towards the call. Breaking through the circle already starting to form, they find a young woman seizing on the ground. 

Lena immediately kneels beside her, smoothly untying her flannel and folding it as a pillow to pad the woman’s head against the pavement. “Calling a bus,” Kara says briefly, already pulling her phone out to dial. 

“Hold up,” Lena calls, her voice firm with easy authority. “Got a medical alert bracelet here.” She flips the silver tag to read the inscription, then nods to herself. “No ambulance. Known condition.”

Kara nods her acknowledgement, pocketing her phone as she crouches. “What do you need?”

“Some water would be good, if you can find it.”

“On it,” Kara confirms, rising back to her feet. But the time she returns with a bottle of water from a nearby vendor, the girl’s seizing has stopped. She answers Lena’s questions with slurred, mumbling responses, but Lena doesn’t look concerned.

“Okay, Lydia, you’re doing great. Just take your time.” 

Kara kneels to one knee, handing over the bottle of water. “Any chance she hit her head?”

“I’ll evaluate once she’s a little more with it. So far nothing concerning.” She glances towards the lingering crowd. “Could you get us some space?”

The remaining onlookers moved on once Kara started waving them away, assuring them the situation was handled. When the last resume their shopping, Lydia is blinking up at Lena with eyes rapidly sharpening with focus.

“Welp. That’s embarrassing,” she delivers drolly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“There you are,” Lena says, gently giving Lydia’s shoulder a pat. “Lydia, my name is Lieutenant Riley with the National City Fire Department. Do you feel ready to sit up? I’ve some water here I’d like you to sip.”

Lydia manages to sit upright with only a little bit of an assist from Lena. She accepts the open water bottle with both hands, which tremble as they lift the water to her lips. She takes several long gulps before groaning.

“Do you mind if I check your head for bumps?” Lena asks. “We want to make sure you didn’t hit your head on the way down.”

Lydia nods her consent, and holds still as Lena begins to investigate the back of her head with expert fingers. “Anything hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Lydia quips. When she catches Kara’s sympathetic gaze, she continues. “It’s still relatively new. My doctor says it should get better with medication, but… ugh! All I wanted was some asparagus!” She sighs. “At least I felt this one coming on– managed to sit down before it hit.”

Lena pulls away, placing her hands on her knees as she gives her patient a warm smile. “Well, I didn’t find any bumps or lumps, so it looks like that did the trick. Good thinking.”

“Oh god,” Lydia groans. “You didn’t call an ambulance, did you?”

“Nope.” Lena nods towards the girl’s wrist. “Medic alert did its job.”

“Thank goodness,” Lydia sighs in relief. “I seriously can not afford another trip.”

Lena chuckles, rubbing Lydia’s back. “I can imagine. How do you feel about trying to stand? I’d feel better if we got you to some shade.”

She gives Lydia a hand up, who seems steady on her feet. Once satisfied the girl wasn’t about to keel over, Lena nods towards a small patch of trees. “How about that bench over there?”

Kara hovers, adrift without a way to help. She carries hers and Lena’s bags of goodies along with her as they all move towards the bench. 

“How are you feeling?” Lena checks in once they’re seated.

Lydia pauses, taking stock. “Just tired, I think. Always feel like I got hit by a freight train, but it usually goes away.” She glances at Lena. “You guys seriously don’t have to stay.”

“I’d feel better if we did. Just until you feel well enough to finish up and get yourself home.” 

“Okay.” Lydia stares at the open water bottle resting on her thigh, then looks back to Lena. “You said you were a firefighter?”

“And medic,” Kara offers, unable to keep quiet. Lena’s eyes flash at her, but in affection or irritation, Kara can’t tell. 

Lydia’s eyes spark with interest. “I want to go to med school after undergrad. I don’t know what discipline yet, though.”

Kara listens to them converse for several minutes, propping herself up against the nearest tree. Closing her eyes against the sun, she breathes deep the smell of spring blossoms and fresh cut grass, letting the hum of their voices lull her to a state between waking and sleeping. Well, maybe more asleep than not, considering the bench is empty when she next blinks her eyes open. Lydia is nowhere to be found, and Lena is sitting on the ground beside her, scrolling through her phone. 

“You could have woken me up,” Kara gripes half-heartedly. 

“But it’s such a nice day to lean against a tree,” Lena returns, half teasing. 

Kara reaches over until she finds Lena’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Neither of them move to rise. 

“You were amazing just now.”

Lena merely shrugs. “Anyone in my position would have done the same.”

“We both know there aren’t many people who can do what you do.”

A hum answers her, but Lena refrains from saying anything else. Kara bites back a frown. She knows Lena doesn’t feel comfortable sharing anything about her time overseas as a combat medic– not entirely unexpected. Some of Kara’s veteran coworkers feel the same. And not all first responders respond well to positive recognition, which isn’t uncommon in the first responder community either. But Kara can’t shake the feeling in her gut that she heard a note of shame in Lena’s voice.

Whatever it is, Kara resolves to know it better, no matter how long it takes. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Lena asks quietly. “I think I hear a steak dinner calling your name.”

Kara grins, but closes her eyes and leans her head against the tree behind her once more. “Just a few more minutes.”

She hears Lena smile, then a rustle as Lena leans back as well. 

A good day indeed.

[orcasoul]

Din Djarin Headcanons:

Din When You're Injured

Warnings: injury, mention of blood.

Oh how we love a protective and attentive man, and Din Djarin is the perfect example :)

Word Count: 1,278

Din shifts nervously, head searching in every direction. Something's wrong. He can feel it in his bones, in the pit of his stomach. "She should have been here by now," he mumbles nervously to Grogu, while placing a hand gently on his tiny head. Grogu wriggles in the satchel at Din's side, a little wimper of concern coming from him. This was only supposed to be a quick supply run on Tatooine so where the hell were you? And why, as the minutes pass, does Din's chest feel like it's about to cave in on itself?

When contact via com link fails, he decides enough is enough. He's waited too long as it is. "Don't worry, pal," Din said, softly, "We'll go find her." The market is still quite busy as Din and Grogu make their way through the crowded streets. Ten minutes of searching has turned into twenty, and still, no sign of you. Apprehension swirls in Din's gut, anxiety conjuring up the worst things imaginable in his head.

'What if she's hurt? What if shes scared? What if she's screaming for me right now?' He can't lose you, can't let anything happen to you! Why the hell did he let you go off alone? His heart beats wildly behind his ribs, panic and frustration taking root the longer you are missing. After questioning a few of the vendors, a woman informs Din that someone fitting your description had come to her stall earlier, pointing in the direction you'd left.

With a nod of thanks, Din immediately makes his way to the outskirts of the market. It's getting late now, the side street he's searching eerily empty and still. The silence is broken by a wailing Grogu, causing Din to look down at his side. Grogu's large brown eyes stare worriedly while pointing ahead. Din's stomach sinks when he sees it; Your satchel. Your unmistakable sage green canvas bag, with a picture of a loth cat on it, abandoned with it's contents strewn across the dusty ground.

With shaking hands Din picks up the bag and calls your name, over and over. The silence is deafening. He just needs to hear your voice, to know you're okay. 'Please, please answer me, Cyar'ika!' The world is suddenly too much, too suffocating, oppressive darkness closing in around the edges of Din's periphery. To lose you would be to lose the very best part of himself. His breaths begin to come shallow and quick, causing his head to swim.

Squeezing his hands into fists, he takes slow, deep breaths, trying his best to maintain some composure. He'll be no good to you if he falls apart now. Engaging the sensors in his helmet, Din urgently scans the ground. Dank Ferrick, there are too many footprints to discern. But then, an area of kicked up dirt at the entrance of a nearby alley catches his attention. Upon inspection, it's obvious a scuffle had taken place here very recently.

In true hunter mode, Din follows the telltale signs of dragging, all the way to a dead end, to be greeted by a sight that almost stopped his heart. There you are, face down and unmoving! Din's legs move of their own accord, carrying him to you by pure instinct and adrenaline alone. He drops to his knees beside your prone body, your name leaving his lips like a prayer, a prayer he's desperate for you to answer. Gently cupping your shoulders, he rolls you over onto your back.

Din chokes on a breath at the sight of you. His vision now clouding over in a sweeping tide of red, rage boils his blood to the point where he feels like he's going to explode. Your face is almost unrecognisable. Two black and swollen eyes, a clearly broken nose -still trickling blood - a split lip and a nasty gash across your forehead is the last thing he would have ever expected to see on you. "Cyar'ika?..." his voice trembles while trying to rouse you. "Can you open your eyes? Come on, sweet girl, I need you to open your eyes for me!"

Grogu reaches out for you, whimpering. Din can see he's distressed but what can he do? He could say you're okay, he could tell him not to worry, but how can he try to comfort him when he, himself, is cracking at the seams? Din cautiously scoops your unconscious body into his lap, handling you as if you were made of fine china. With your head lolled back, he can now clearly see big purple bruises littering your slender neck, bruises in the shape of fingers.

His whole being is now shaking with outrage, teeth almost cracking from the pressure of his clenched jaw. Who the fuck did this to you?! Why would someone do this to you?!.... And where can he find those fuckers?! A small groan slips from you, and Din released a breath he didn't realise he was holding, shoulders slumping, slightly in relief. You're alive. Thank the maker you're alive!

But that relief is snuffed out when you weakly cry out and clutch your side. Din removes your trembling hand and gently tugs up your top. How the kriffing hell did he miss this?! He'd been so preoccupied with trying to wake you, that he'd missed the stab wound, which is still oozing blood. "Dank Ferrick!" Din curses under his breath while inspecting the wound. To his relief, it doesn't look too deep. Clutching your limp form to his chest, he quickly rises, being careful of your state, and also trying not to jostle Grogu too much, who's sad eyes have not not left you.

Back at the Razor Crest, Din is silently seething. He cleaned and applied bacta patches to all lesions and stitched up the knife wound. A part of him is thankful that you'd lost consciousness along the way. The last thing he would want is for you to have to go through any more agony. Grogu has become your shadow, refusing to leave your side and snuggling up to you in the bunk. Now that the adrenaline has vacated Din's system, and you are home safe with him, he feels like he can breathe again.

He could have lost you today. It's unthinkable, the very notion that you could have been ripped from his life in the blink of an eye. How could he exist in a galaxy where you don't? He'd failed you toady. He should have been there to protect you. He'll never forgive himself! Looking at your battered and bruised face, Din is overwhelmed with a primal and desperate need to shield you from succumbing to harm ever again.

It brings tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat, seeing the brutal devastation left all over you, painting your body with all the horrors this cursed galaxy hides around every corner. This will never happen again. He'll make damn sure of it! He will destroy every bastard foolish enough to even try and lay a finger on you or Grogu ever again, starting with the pieces of Bantha fodder who attacked you. But that will come later. The main priority now is you. Din sits beside you on the bed, holding your hand and smoothing his thumb gently over your knuckles.

His heart skips a beat as your eyelashes flutter open, your heavy and exhausted gaze meeting his behind his helmet. His taut shoulders instantly relax and a warm wave of reassurance fills his aching heart with the smile you give him. You're okay, you're home and you're safe and he'll never let anyone hurt his Cyare again!

[nightlyrequiem]

Be Still My Heart

Chapter 11- Cohabitation

Masterlist AO3 Next Previous

New Chapter Every Saturday

You're the best in the meth industry but a new product suddenly pops up. You and your boss, Valeria, must figure out who is making it so you can take back the market. All the while tension is building between the two of you.

A/N: We were making monthly payments on a bedframe, and it's been fully paid off for three months now and I still don't have it. I've been sleeping on just a mattress since May. Three months of waiting is crazy. Or maybe I'm just impatient. Should've used Wayfair.

Tags/Warnings: Illegal Substances, Boss Employee Relationship, Angst, Some Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Manipulation, Suggestive Themes, Smut (But Only in CH20.), Dual POV

You use the wall to help you walk. You should have crutches. Or a cane. Even a large stick would've been nice. Instead, you're left to awkwardly navigate the halls of the compound with a barely useable leg. Every step sends sharp pains shooting up your calf.  It turns into a dull ache in your thigh. You just climbed a flight of stairs and have to pause to catch your breath. It's not that effective, considering every deep breath makes your lungs push against your ribs in a hellish manner. You shake your head and limp along to Valeria's office.

You rap your knuckles against the wooden door and wait. You were supposed to be here by eleven but you were slowed considerably by your injures by ten minutes. A dark splotch has appeared on your punctuality record, and you are not pleased about it.

"Come in." Valeria calls, smooth voiced muffled.

You push open the door and hobble on inside. Valeria sighs and pushes a small stack of paperwork to the side. She stretches, arms and head back. Exposing the tan column of her throat. You lean against the wall to give your leg a break while Valeria stands.

"Lets go." she jerks her head, beckoning you to follow.

The drive to Valeria's home isn't long. You expect to see something extravagant like Diego's villa.  Wrapping balconies and large potted plants. Instead, she pulls up to a more modest dwelling. Still miles nicer than your sad, cramped apartment. It's one story, though you suspect there's a basement. Large floor to ceiling windows reflects the headlights of Valeria's vehicle as she pulls up and cuts the engine. The lights cut out and leave you two in the darkness. Barely illuminated by the full moon.

"I'll help you get out." Valeria sighs. She gets out and the car shakes a little when she closes the door.

You watch her silhouette round the front towards your side, pulling open the sleek black door. You grip Valeria's forearm and allow her to slowly pull you out. Your leg jostles but you ignore the pain. Valeria lets go of you once your secure and sets ahead of you, clearly not going to help you inside. Her keys jingle as she roots for them in her pocket. There are no walls to help you along the way. You try to limp the good old-fashioned way but without anything to help you distribute your weight, you end up putting too much pressure on your bad leg. You should have crutches. Or a cane. you spread your arms for balance and hop towards her. You gasp in pain as your leg jerks. That's not a great idea.

Valeria, hearing the noise pushes open the door and turns to look at you.

"What are you doing?" She scoffs. Approaching you.

You don't like her judgmental tone. "I'm trying to get inside." There's some bite to your voice. 

"Well you're going to hurt yourself doing that." Valeria says disapprovingly. Before you can protest she places her hands just below the backs of your knees and lifts you. 

"Hey?" You say, caught off guard. Her strength is surprising. You'd expect her to struggle a bit more but the only sign she gives is a light grunt. An unbidden thought enters your mind about how much she must lift. An image soon follows. A sweaty, grunting Valeria with flexing muscles as she lifts heavy weights. You shoo it away.

The warmth coming from Valeria is distracting. So is the way she smells. A hint of sandalwood and under that, her. Valeria shoulders a light switch and flicks on some bright, warm lighting. Inside, the house is quite spacious. The foyer is tidy and has enough room for at least six people to stand comfortably. The walls are white except for a brown accent wall. A few paintings with religious imagery hang from it.

"I think you can put me down now." You say. The walls will aid you in your movement now. At least until you get crutches. You're convinced you weren't given any because they thought it would be amusing to see you hobble everywhere. Well it wasn't and the joke is over.

"I'll just carry you." Valeria dismisses to your surprise. She adjusts her hold, and you feel too awkward to tell her that her hands are under your ass. "It'll be quicker."

You don't protest. Being carried by your evil, criminal, drug lord of a boss is weird. You'd never tell a soul, but it does feel nice though. Valeria carries you through her home. The hallways are narrower than the rest of the house naturally, but even they are somehow still spacious. She stops outside of a dark room and pushes open a white door - not a faded, splintering brown door like the ones in your apartment - and steps inside. She turns on a light.

It's a blank canvas of a room. A curtain covered window with a double bed right below it. There's a single night table to the right of the bed. The sheets are white and there's a distinct smell of unoccupancy. You feel a sharp spike of homesickness. for your small, creaky bed. For the sheets that smell like you and the decor that watches over you at night. 

"You'll be in here for a while." Valeria speaks. You can hear her voice vibrating in her chest. "My room is the first one down to the right."

"... Okay." You reply quietly.

Valeria sets you down on the bed with careful consideration for your leg. The blankets are cold. They smell like failure and loneliness.

"Tomorrow, we'll go to your apartment and get some of your things." Valeria states calmly. 

"Okay, um.." You hesitate. "Thank you for this, it's very kind of you."

Valeria doesn't reply right away. Instead regarding you with a guarded look. Finally, she speaks. "Nothing I ever do is with the intention of kindness."

"Oh." You weren't expecting such a... blunt response. Embarrassment warms your face. You should know better than to humanize Valeria. To think she might have anything human inside of her.

"I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't getting something out of it."

You blink, rubbing your hands together in your lap. "What are you getting out of it?"

Valeria shakes her head, strands of black hair swaying with the motion.

"Nothing that you need to be concerned about."

Yet somehow, you remain concerned. It dawns on you that you are almost immobile, isolated in the desert, alone with Valeria. It's not that you don't trust her, (although one should always regard Valeria with a certain level of mistrust.) but you're painfully aware that should she decide to attack you, you'd be practically defenseless. An unbidden, intrusive thought about her slinking into your room while you sleep and shooting you point blank between the eyes floats through your mind.

You shake the thought away. Valeria is violent but it's not baseless. Instead, a new thought takes its place. Somehow causing you more anxiety than the first. You hadn't thought about it, considering you had been more focused on your injuries. Your notes were on your desk. The ones containing every single recipe and ratio for the meth. You barely register her bidding you a goodnight and leaving the room. Trying to come your breathing as you fight off the dread threatening to consume you.