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lolibles · 4 years ago

Text

A-Z with kazuha

character: kazuha x reader

pure fluff, complete brainrot, some angst not much tho

synopsis: the fluff alphabet with kazuha

implied gn!reader but please let me know if there are any mistakes or things i should look out for when writing gn!reader, im still learning!! <3 NOT PROOFREAD its so long and im lazy :)

A- how affectionate are they with their s/o?

kazuha is a very affectionate person, and he doesn’t try to hide it. kazuha is known for his flowery words, while kazuha loves to turn all kinds of things into poetry, its painfully obvious when one is about you. kazuha never fails to show his affection and love to you with his words and endless haikus of you. he can not stop talking about you, and even though sometimes he does it to tease you and get a laugh at your flustered expression, every time he declares his undying love for you, he means it.

B- what their s/o does that takes their breath away?

there are many things you do that take his breath away, but one thing that makes his heart do backflips is when you remember his haikus, and keep his gifted poems. kazuha has dedicated too many of his poems to you to count, kazuha himself can barely remember all of them. so you can say he was very shocked when one night you randomly whispered a poem he created for you months ago into his ear. kazuha was beyond shocked, his head never turned so fast to look at you, eyes widening. when he asked how you still remembered it, you pulled out a little notebook with scribbles of the poems and pieces of paper stuck inside with notes of dates, and the occasional doodles. you said it was so you never forget any of them, even when you were old. as kazuha flipped through the book he noticed poems from as far back as when he barely knew you. kazuha turned back to you and buried his head in your neck, attempting to hide the blush on his face as he kept mumbling i love you. his heart was swooning with love and joy for you, he knew you loved him, but he never knew something as simple as that could make his whole world stop.

C- do they like cuddling? if so, how and when?

kazuha loves cuddling so much. kazuha is honestly pretty touch starved so he constantly craves your touch. kazuha also gets pretty tired after working a full day out on the alcor or helping out with the resistance. he believes after a full days worth of hard work nothing beats lazing around tangled in your arms. kazuha doesn’t mind being the big spoon or little spoon. there are times of vulnerability where kazuha just needs you to hold him close, run your fingers through his hair and tell him everything will be okay. and there are times where he wants to hold you tight in his embrace as if he was protecting you for the most malicious forces in the world. there are also times where he simply just wants to be close to you, bodies smushed together, his hands wrapped around you with his neck buried in your collar. he tries to make you laugh or giggle so he can feel the vibrations of your sweet voice. kazuha loves to cuddle you at night before bed, he loves to fall asleep with you, the sound of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep, the warmth of your body is so pleasant and inviting. however cuddling at night often means waking up much later than usual. it means that either beidou or gorou angrily barging into your quarters to wake you guys up because you both were late, threatening to split the both of you up since you can never wake up on time.

D- what do they dream of doing with their s/o?

kazuha is a simple man, he finds joy and love in the littlest things. but that doesn’t ever stop him for dreaming- or rather hoping. he wishes one day he can walk down the streets of his hometown and show you the different sights. he hopes that there will be a day when he can see you wear a kimono, under the moonlight as he takes you up to a secluded spot to view the beautiful fireworks, although he will argue that you are far more lovely. kazuha hopes to bring you to see the sakura trees bloom, as you talk about how you wished you could’ve have seen them earlier, he wishes he can brush off the flower petals on your head before pulling you in for a gentle kiss. most importantly kazuha hopes that one day, he can bring you to visit his friend. even if he no longer is blessed upon this world, kazuha is sure he would have loved you. it is only necessary for kazuha to introduce his beloved to his only family.

E- how much effort do they put into the relationship?

kazuha pours his entire soul into your relationship, you are the only one he has left after all. kazuha believes his sole purpose is to treat you like his queen, if even for a second you feel like you aren’t loved, then he has failed. kazuha wants to serve you, though you often tell him he should try to put himself first, he’d merely chuckle and say “if i’m the reason you smile as brightly as the sun, the reason you sleep well at night or the reason you wish to wake up the next day. then there is not a thing i would change.”

F - do they want to start a family with their s/o? what is parenting like with them?

after getting over kazuha's fear of marriage (check M), kazuha wouldn't mind starting a family. although he is perfectly fine if it is just the two of you. if you want children then he is ready to learn, for you. i think kazuha would settle with one or two children, and he says he doesn't mind if you have a girl or a boy- but he is hoping on a boy. kazuha would be a great dad, apart from the fact he travels a lot and is rarely home. he tries his best to be there for you, he usually takes on jobs in the area you are staying or go on shorter trips with the crux while you are in the first few years having a child. he doesn't want to leave all the work to you of raising a young child, nor does he want to miss out those precious years of being a new parent. he loves adventuring but he loves his family too. another thing kazuha can not get enough of is seeing the look on your child's face when he arrives back after a trip, waiting for him at the harbour, flailing their arms about to capture his attention. and he can not ignore the look on your face either, so happy that your loving husband is home. kazuha can be strict but he prefers not to be, he can't say no to those curious eyes that look just like yours. i like to think that kazuha teaches your child to be a smooth talker just like him, this means they both get out of trouble a lot with you. despite kazuha's aloof demeanour, he actually has a rather playful side to him often pulling small pranks with your child on you. he tells your child stories of all kinds of adventures he has been on, your heart swoons at the sight of your child resting atop his chest trying his best not to fall asleep due to the warmth kazuha radiates. kazuha teaches your child all about inazuma and his heritage, telling them about the history and how one day he will bring both them and you to visit his homeland. the safety of his family is his number one priority, he will do anything to protect you and your child. he also teaches your child how to fight, and most importantly self-defence. if you both are travellers though, you decide to wait until your child is older to bring them on your adventures. and when they are, beidou certainly doesn't mind having a little kid running around the alcor causing a ruckus amongst other crew members.

G- what kind of gifts to they give their s/o? do they want one in return?

kazuha has always loved the sentiment of crafting a handmade gift. the amount of time and effort that goes into making something, is enough to show how much love someone has for them. kazuha also always loves to imagine what kind of expression you’d have after receiving his gift, he never asks for anything in return, well actually occasionally he’ll ask for a kiss thats it. kazuha remembers making you a beautiful hairpin, one that matched with his maple leaf haori. he gave it to you one night randomly, his hands pushing aside a bit of your hair to pin up. the way your eyes closed as he inches closer, his fingers occasionally brushing against your skin. when he finally backed away from you to take a look at his masterpiece, he was stunned. the way your face glistened from under the moonlight, you were so ethereal. his breath hitched, and the calm man sitting in front of you became flustered. kazuha made a note to always mentally prepare himself before giving you a gift that you could physically wear- if not he’d definitely blow a fuse.

H- do they hug their s/o? how often?

kazuha definitely hugs you, but i feel like hugs only happen at specific times. of course he will indulge you if you ask for it. kazuha hugs you when he misses you, when he needs you close to him. if you didn’t travel with him, he hugs you a goodbye and a hello. kazuha hugs you tightly because he knows he will be leaving soon, or he misses you so much and never wants to let you go. if someone ever makes kazuha jealous (which doesn’t happen very often), he will hug you from your waist whilst no one was looking, as he buries his head into your neck, taking in your scent. “your mine.” he’d whisper, hugging you tighter. “i am yours.”

I- how romantic are they? do they have problems with being intimate?

kazuha has very little problems with intimacy, he is a naturally romantic person. the way he speaks should be more than enough as evidence. he doesn’t get flustered easily, and he loves to see your expressions when he does something overly romantic- cheesy even, at the most random times. his poetry and haikus are often of you, he doesn’t shy away from flirting with you, teasing you, and constantly he is thinking of different ways to show his love to you. like i said he never knows what may happen tomorrow, so he is going to spend every day in the present being romantic and loving to you.

J- do they get jealous easily? how do they act?

i can’t typically see kazuha as getting jealous easily. there is often the rare occasion of him getting impatient because someone else has held your attention for too long, but other than that its very rare for kazuha to get jealous- he trusts you too much and feels like there’s simply no need for such feelings. i feel like one of the only few times kazuha would get jealous is when he’s drunk. drunk kazuha is needy and clingy, he wants to be around no one but you. if there is the slightest bit of space between you two, kazuha is determined to get rid of it by any means necessary. if you’re having a conversation with someone, be prepared to continue it another day because kazuha is whisking you away and peppering you with kisses while glaring at the person who kept you away from him the whole time. it gets a little uncontrollable when it happens, but kazuha remembers everything that happens the night before and his reaction is absolutely priceless.

K- are they a good kisser? do they like it? how often?

kazuha is miraculously a great kisser, well that is debatable from the beginning since he didn’t have much experience but he learnt very fast, and he is an amazing learner. kazuha’s everyday kisses can range from many varieties. kazuha’s forehead kisses usually linger for just the right amount of time, they are comforting and homely. it feels like you can tell how much kazuha trusts and adores you when he gives you forehead kisses. kazuha’s cheek kisses are different. they are quick and fleeting, usually he peppers your face with them, instead of a single kiss. it is playful and often filled with laughter, kazuha does it with a teasing note as his hands cup your face and pulls you closer for another kiss attack. lastly kazuha’s kisses on your lips, saved for the most romantic and intimate moments you share. often hidden from the public where kazuha can show you how much he loves you without any interruptions. they are passionate and always leaves the both of you wanting for more. he kisses you not too rough not too gentle, just until your lips are slightly plump and red. he takes your cheek in his hand, his other on your waist, pulling you close he whispers “may i?” and if you allow him, he will make sure this is a kiss you never forget.

bonus: kisses on the back of your neck, saved for the most private moments. if you have longer hair he likes to brush your hair back and place a teasing kiss on your neck, just to see you get flustered. and if you have shorter hair he finds himself often staring at the back of your neck, and just decides to indulge himself a few times with a kiss- teasing you along the way.

L- when do they say i love you? how often? do they say or show it more?

kazuha has always been more of a mix of both, he tends to show his love a lot yet he never fails to let you know he loves you. kazuha says it when it is just the two of you, when he has your attention and he has yours. he says it while tangled in your arms, under the blankets as you try to fight the feeling of sleep so you can spend more time with your beloved. kazuha shows it in his actions, even if done unconsciously, he somehow manages to convey ‘i love you’. its evident in the way he smiles for you, his eyes glistening as he lets out a hearty laugh. its evident in the way he holds your hand, guiding you down the stairs- even though you are perfectly capable of walking on your own. it is evident in the way he stares at you while you patch him up after he got hurt again, listening to your mother-like nagging to be careful. he doesn’t always say it outright, but you know, you know he loves you.

M- thoughts on marriage? how do they want to hold the ceremony?

well kazuha definitely has thought about it, thats for sure. in all honesty he is a little intimidated by the idea of marriage. don’t get me wrong, he wants to get married to you, its just kazuha has an interesting past. he’s afraid that somehow even if he’s miles away from her, she’d end up coming back to haunt him, and this time take you too. kazuha also knows unlike others, he can’t offer you the most stable life. he fled from his own country, a god literally wants him dead. he wanders around without an end destination, no real home anymore. he wonders if you really want to get married to someone like him- this thoughts are the things that keep him awake at night. if you ever help kazuha get over his fears and make him understand you love him for who he is now, perhaps he wouldn’t hesitate before popping the question. he would love a quiet and small ceremony, he doesn’t mind a grand wedding but he would prefer something more lowkey and intimate. no distractions so he can take it all in, you finally are his.

N- what are dates like with them? how often do you guys have night outs?

dates aren’t as easy to come by with kazuha, working on the sea or with the resistance means work needs to be done and there isn’t much time for going out. but kazuha makes it work, most of the time its rather spontaneous. kazuha would appear before you and ask you to close your eyes, taking your hands in his to guide you to a little spot he made up on the alcor. hidden away from the drunkards causing a ruckus on deck. he sits you down next to him on a nice blanket and asks you to open your eyes. its a cute little get up, a few snacks and sake under the stars. kazuha would apologise for not being able to give you a proper date, yet you couldn’t ask for more. he’d pull you close saying he didn’t want you to get cold, and he’d teach you about stars and constellations.

another time while you both were working hard for the resistance, kazuha showed up by your tent at night and asked you to accompany for a walk. kazuha would take your hand in his, as he carried an umbrella over your heads. he wouldn’t bring you too far from camp but he tried to make your time worthwhile. he’d tell you about the poems he made of you the afternoon since he missed you the whole day. he’d promise to take you somewhere nicer once everything was under control again- he gives your hand a squeeze and kisses you on the cheek. it wasn’t much but it was all you both had. )

O- what would they do if their s/o got hurt or injured badly? (ouch)

it doesn’t matter how hurt you got, small or big, kazuha feels his world stop spinning. his mind flashes back to the moment he watched his friend die, and he desperately tries to keep his emotions at bay. tears threaten to spill, his voice cracks as he asks where you are. he gets to you as fast as he can, he begs that his legs don't give way yet. he blames himself for not being able to protect you, he couldn't save his friend, but please not you. the moment he catches the glimpse of your body bandaged up, bruises scattered all over skin, he can not contain the amount of guilt that rushes over himself. kazuha is by your side in an instant, taking your hand gently as he lets his eyes scan over your injury. he doesn't stop apologising, he lowers his head as he lets the waterworks run. ironically watching kazuha blame himself for not being able to protect you hurts more than the injuries you have sustained. if you can, please take him into your arms, tell him it's not his fault and you are okay. kazuha wouldn't know what to do if you were gone too.

P- are they playful in the relationship? how do they mess around with their s/o?

it may not look like it, but kazuha is rather playful. especially when it is just the two of you, kazuha suppresses the urge to not tease you. he can't help that you are just so easy to tease. he likes to challenge you to little games at the expense of a kiss. he loves seeing your expressions when he teases you, or purposely loses to you at a game. he also loves to flirt with you, tell you how much he loves you and how much he wants to make you his- even if you already are. he definitely is the type to ask you if your single and want to date him while you are dating, he says "your boyfriend doesn't need to know, so just come with me" and if you play along he falls more in love. it's also dangerous if your a ticklish person, he will often poke you just to hear your laugh or squeal. he craves to hear your melodic laugh, he never wants you to shut up. kazuha is never mean when he plays around with you though, he never crosses the line and he can read the mood well. he knows when is the right time to mess around with you, and he knows when to stop. as much as he loves it he never wants to make you mad. i

Q- what will they do if their s/o is queer or part of the LGBT community? how will they react?

kazuha doesn't mind, he believes that love is love and coincidentally he loves you for you. kazuha listens and is keen on learning your past and why you decides to be who you are now. he picks up on your prefered pronouns without hesitation and treats you with nothing but respect. if you are insecure about it, he will make it his only goal to write you a poem a day about how much he loves you and how much he wishes for you to find self love. kazuha is aware of the occasional disapproval from outsiders, and he doesn't think twice before using his vision to mess with them, knocking them off their balance or messing up their hair. he tells you that others may say what they want but you need not worry for there are many others who love you and will love you for the rest of their lives- him included.

R- how random and spontaneous is the relationship?

a relationship with kazuha is beyond random. there are moments when kazuha just grabs your hand and takes you away to some place because he wants to be with you. kazuha enjoys surprising you with things as well, if he sees something he thinks you will like, he will buy it or attempt to make it for you. when he travels he definitely brings you back pressed flowers or pretty gemstones that remind him of you. kazuha often does things for you on a "just because" basis, even if it holds no significant reason, he will give you a gift, give you a kiss or whatever you want. kazuha also randomly declares his love for you just because.

S- what do they do is their s/o is scared?

kazuha knows what its like to be scared, to feel petrified to the point its hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to move. his world crumbles at the thought of how you may go through emotions like that. he never wants you to go through any pain, it simply doesn’t matter what causes you to feel so frightened. if it scares you, it scares you. there is no need for him to laugh at you or belittle your feelings. kazuha will never forgive himself if he makes you feel invalidated. when you are scared, kazuha will be by your side in an instant, his arms engulfing you like a warm blanket, as he whispers sweet nothings into you ear. he asks you to focus on his fingers tracing shapes onto your back. he doesn’t let go of you until he feel your heart rate return to normal. and when it does, he releases you from his tight grip to kiss away the tears rolling down your cheeks. giving you a simple smile. “my love, i wont let anything harm you. i love you.”

T- how much do they trust their s/o?

to be in a relationship means kazuha trusts you a lot. kazuha has gone through much, and is constantly on the run. there are few people he can open up to and trust that they would not leave him behind. it takes a while for kazuha to tell you about everything, don't get me wrong he knows he loves you but it isn't easy to bring something so dark about his past to light. he hopes you don't get mad or disturbed by him for keeping it hidden for so long. when he finally does tell you about his past, and you stick by him no matter what he feels his heart slowly gets put back into place.

U- do they like to take things slow or fast? (urgency)

kazuha takes things at a pretty average pace. honestly it's kind of like a write off, he knows it will take him a while to fully trust someone yet he is undoubtedly touch-starved. and when it comes to you he can't seem to hold himself back. when kazuha courts you its slow and relaxed, he never wants to force you into a relationship and make you uncomfortable. he takes his time to learn what you like and dislike, he takes his time to get to know you. and when you finally start dating he tends to take things faster, not too fast though, he makes sure everything he does is okay with you before rushing in head first. unconsciously he tends to touch you a lot, he finds comfort in your warmth. sometimes it's as simple as brushing your hair back, and sometimes it's having his hands on your thigh while you sit next to him. he just loves it so much.

V- how vocal are they about the relationship? do they want it to be a secret?

kazuha prefers to keep it lowkey. only a few people know of your relationship with him. he doesn't want you to get hurt because of him, after all he is rather infamous for escaping from the shogunate and their leader. he also is more on the private side. however its very easy to tell that kazuha is infatuated with you solely by the way he looks at you, talk of you. you can tell that he is completely smitten over you, it takes someone awfully dense to not realise his feelings for you.

W- random scenario with them! (wild card)

the first time kazuha saw you dressed up so beautifully was when beidou insisted that the both of you attended a party in liyue with her. he didn't enjoy parties as much but he thought it would be nice for you to take a break from running away, and if you were there he was sure it would be a lot more bearable. and he was right, it was. beidou had whisked you away earlier to be presentable for the occasion, kazuha himself had to wear something he wasn't used to- he thought it was uncomfortable. but the moment he saw you walk out of the room dressed to the nines, all the discomfort that came with his outfit was thrown out the window and replaced with fluster. kazuha was quick to regain his normal charm however, throwing compliments in your directions as he held out his arm for you to hold- yet not even his sly behaviour could escape your eyes, there indeed was a blush on his cheeks. beidou left the two of you to be, enjoying the food and lovely music playing in the background, yet all kazuha could hear was the melody of your voice. as the room fell silent and a slow tune began, kazuha earned a few nudges from beidou "ask them to dance" she whispered. and he did, it felt like it was straight out of a fairy tale. his eyes were burning into yours as he reached his hand out. you gladly accepted, but you never knew kazuha had learnt to dance, especially so well. you suppose everything about him is eloquent. the moment was something you'd cherish for the entirety of your life, the feeling of him guiding your footsteps along to his. his hands resting perfecting on your waist as yours did by his neck. he often made small jokes about the other stuck up guests, which made you laugh. his heart fluttered. as the song came to an end, you gave him a small kiss on his cheek. a smile appeared on his face, your action warming his chest.

"won't you dance with me again, my love?"

X- do they like petnames? do they use petnames? (XOXO)

kazuha loves using petnames on you. he likes to call you darling or my love. he finds using nicknames rather endearing, and he loves how you react with a simple "hm?" because you know he loves you like that. if you ever give kazuha a petname his heart swoons in adoration for you. he loves them! but kazuha also loves the way his name rolls off your tongue, the sound of your voice is like maple syrup in his ears.

Y- what do they do when they yearn for you?

missing you is something kazuha is unfortunately used to. given that kazuha is a traveller it is understandable why you two are often apart. when kazuha misses you, everyone can tell. especially since your absence in his life is all his poetry becomes. he muses how you are and how it hurts being so far from you. he often finds himself immersed in creating more haikus to show you when he finally reunites with you. more here.

Z- what is sleeping like with them? (zzz)

sleeping with kazuha is warm, you never have to fear the cold especially with kazuha's arms wrapped protectively around you. kazuha doesn't care whether he is the big spoon or small spoon, he just wants to be with you. if he spoons you, just make sure that he wakes up earlier than you if not he is never letting go. his grip is not too tight but still very strong around you. he enjoys being close to you and he loves how you let him be near you. if you are spooning him, please let kazuha rest his head in the crook of your neck. he loves to feel your heartbeat as he tries to fall asleep, the last thing he hears is your heart thumping every so peacefully. the smell of your soap puts him to sleep in a way he never knew it could. he loves how this time you wrap your arms around him to protect him instead, for once he feels like in your arms, he is perfectly safe.

oh my god this took so damn long???? but i didn't have much inspiration and this just came to mind. some letters were EXTREMELY hard to write so please excuse if its a little ooc i tried ;-; im glad im done tho, this honestly is the longest thing i have written in a very very long time and im really happy i did. im also pretty excited to try it for other characters i already have childe's and xiao's one in mind :) anyway!!!!!! please let me know if you liked this thank u bebs muah...

#lolible writes #genshin #kazuha #kazuha x reader #genshin x reader #kazuha imagines #genshin imagines #kazuha fluff #kazuha angst #genshin fluff #genshin angst #lolible likes writing

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gaysimpsstuff · 4 years ago

Note

can you write a drabble of s/o age regressing after a scary situation and maybe hawks or dabi (whatever you feel) hugging them and just general fluff and comfort? I totally understand if you don't wanna write this so no pressure!!

Yeppers! As someone who experiences something similar to age regression/ little space, this will be based on my own experiences

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Type: headcanons/drabble

Warnings: Age regression/little space, crying, Manga spoilers for Dabi's backstory, reader being adorable

Other: I'm not %100 sure if I'd call my experience 'little space,' it's something that only showed up in the past year or so. Also, I usually only go into 'little space' when I'm very happy or comfortable or I'm doing something childish, and even after talking to people who actually age regress, I'm not sure what to call my experience.

Fluff Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy @catcherisvibin @thesubtlewhore @popcatx0

Touya Todoroki/Dabi-

I feel like he doesn't understand it at first; like mans has never even heard of people who age regress until he met you.

When you first mentioned it to him, he was so confused.

"Okay so- hang on what?"

The first time you actually do it in front of him he literally has no idea what to do, he's so confused and probably more scared than you are.

He has the best intentions, but he did lock you in a room and call Toga for advice when you started to cry.

When you got big again, you were pissed.

And reasonably so.

It took a while, but he eventually got used to your little space and figured out what to do when you did this.

There was a point where he tried to deny how cute he thought it was- you acting like a child and doing childlike things.

He uses it as an opportunity to atone for the things he did as a child to his younger siblings, and as a way to feel like he can actually take care of something.

"Y/n, I'm back!" The door swung shut behind him as he stepped into your apartment, looking around, he couldn't see you. The whole place was a mess, books torn off their shelves and even some broken dishes in the kitchen.

Dabi frowned, he'd seen your apartment like this a couple of times before, usually what happens when you absolutely can't take it anymore.

He peeked inside your room, finding you sprawled on top of the sheets with your clothes still on, fast asleep.

He wished you'd called him, he knew he told you he was on a mission and not to bother him but if you had called he would've dropped anything and everything to appear by your side to comfort you throughout whatever caused this. He crept into your bedroom quietly, pulling the blankets you had kicked onto the ground up and over your body, turning the lights off.

He sighed, grabbing the broom and sweeping up the glass from the broken plate, and throwing it away. He put everything back in its place, even vacuuming the carpet so it was nice and soft when you woke up.

He was just finishing wiping down the counters when he heard you coming out of the bedroom. He turned his head to see you waddling towards him, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

"Touya?" you murmured, looking up at him "What are you doing here?"

"I live here too, y'know, it's only natural I come here in my free time," he explained. He felt your arms wrap around him, face pressing into his back.

"Warm..." your voice was soft, and he had to stop himself from burying his face into his arms to escape from the pure ball of cuteness that was hugging him. "Wanna cuddle."

He glanced over his shoulder at you, finding you staring up at him with a pout on your face, oh yeah you were definitely in 'smol mode' as he sometimes called it.

"Wanna cuddle, hm? Sorry baby you gotta wait until I'm finished cleaning."

"Nooooooo" you whined, slowly sliding down his body until you were clutching his leg. "Want cuddles!"

"Just let me fini-"

"Do that later! Cuddles now!"

Dabi chuckled, pressing a hand to his face.

"I can't- I just can't you're too cute like this." He shook his head, laughing now. "Okay fine, I'll cuddle you ya clingy lil baby~"

"Yayyy!" you were on your feet a moment later, arms in the air, giggling "I wanna wear your coat!" you pointed at his jacket, and he chuckled again, shrugging it off his shoulders and flinging it onto your back, helping your arms into the sleeves that were just a little too big for your body.

He pressed his lips against your forehead, looking down at you, he only saw pure love and admiration staring back up at you.

He had to protect this little bundle of joy in his life, this human that made him feel so happy, he would never let anything bad happen to you. When you were big again, he'd ask you what happened, and he'd make sure you'd call him if you were ever stressed.

But he did like the adorable faces you made when you were little.

Keigo Takami/Hawks-

He's a pro hero, he's done his research; so he knows what 'little space' is before he meets you.

But I can promise the commission probably made it seem like something gross, but you're his partner, he knows you're not some horrible person, so maybe he understands age regression wrong.

So.

Many.

Questions.

Like constant questions- it almost feels like he's interrogating you, like seriously it's getting old, Keigo

But he's so precious you kind of have to answer his questions.

Like Dabi, he finds you acting little to be the most adorable thing in the world, sometimes he leaves kid's stuff around the house hoping to trigger your little space so he can hold you and play with you.

He thinks of it as practice for when the two of you have children

The one day Keigo has off, to regrow his wings, all he really wants to do it sleep. Just lay in bed, wrapped up in his blankets and just dream and nap and snore and do nothing.

But little ole you had other plans.

"Keigooooooooo!"

The blonde bird boy shot upright in bed upon hearing your distressed call. He sped down the hall into the living room, panicked, only to find you sitting on the carpet with a box of crayons next to you, a coloring book open, page half filled in.

You looked up at Keigo with wide tear-filled eyes, shakily holding up the blue crayon snapped in half. Your lower lip quivered as you whimpered.

"I-it broke!" you cried, "I'm sorry it broke, Kei!" Keigo melted on the spot, slightly annoyed that you woke him up for something so small, but also-

Holy fuck you were just the cutest thing in the world.

He hoped your only stress would forever be broken crayons.

"It's okay, Y/n, things break sometimes, you're not in trouble." he cooed, sitting down next to you and patting your head.

"But- but it broke!" you exclaimed, sniffling

"It still functions though, doesn't it?" He scooched the coloring book closer to you, and you pressed the pointed end of the crayon against the paper, coloring the smiling puppy dog's nose blue.

You lit up, a bright smile spreading across your face, you cheered, bouncing up and down and hugging Keigo.

"It still works! It still works, Kei!" he giggled, holding you close to his body and enjoying the way you laughed.

"That's right! There's nothing that can't be resolved!" He pressed a kiss to your cheek, but couldn't hold himself back from attacking your entire face with little kisses.

"Keiiii noooo that tickles!" you giggled, pushing at him gently.

"One more? Please, baby?" he pleaded, pouting a little.

"Okiii!" you sat up, pressing your lips to his, pulling back with a laugh. "Can I have a juice box?"

"Of course," Keigo's face softened, you were just too precious, too cute, to perfect.

He really did hope the only thing you'd ever worry about was the crayon.

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organic-guacamole · 3 years ago

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HSMTMTS SEASON 3 EPISODE 6 REACTION

fully sleep deprived rn let's go

these cameramen snooping around in children's bunks is so fun!

sorry but like, the caswen moment of hugging Ricky from behind to keep him from jumping on Corbin Bleu's head 😍

jet is cute.

the same Kourtney who was scared to leave the tent is running around at night to claim the mental health status of Corbin. love that for her tbh.

"you just have to commit to one side" 🤨🤨🤨🤨

ooo brother trauma share

EJ's sweatpants

they were gonna canoe in a pool? huh??

I love portwell again !

"unless you praise Nickelodeon, it's going in the doc" SEE THESE ONE LINERS SHOUKD NOT BE AS FUNNY AS THEY ARE

dude how am I supposed to believe that Ricky and EJ aren't friends.

woah they actually explained why the other campers don't get any important parts... good for them though, I'm not letting chad film me in the woods for weeks either.

imagine fighting to win sweaty sports to get back your phone....*slips on headband*

at what point did Ashlyn realise that she likes Val? has she yet? why is she running??

I'm still trying to figured out which one is older, Maddox or Jet. what he said about "why does she get to date when I'm not allowed to" implies that she's younger than him? but idk maybe they're really close in age?

the way Ricky talks about joining the show to make her happy as if Nini was not extremely pissed at him for that.

no they did not put that in as a throwaway line

"THERES A THIRD OPTION WHERE THEY BURN THE RESULTS IN A PIZZA OVEN" GIRL WHAT

is she... okay

"EJ my tallest child"

🧍🏻‍♂️"...I've missed you"

the horror part of the season starts now.

I love the part where she says "the local shopkeeper, Susan. Fine selection..."

SUSAN FINE

I actually desperately need sleep

the horror continues, Gina is the first to die.

why is the audio like that-

this is really... Sofia's voice is nice but like, the song and cinematography is not it imo

girlie pops she was just knocked out, take her to the hospital, why are we making her shoot a basketball now?

this EJ and miss Jenn montage is actually the funniest part of the episode I think

"don't use Carlos, Carlos is mommy's" see! funny! (if we ignore the implications)

what is this timing? was the miss Jenn/Nini scene in ep1 like before camp? otherwise how was she back from the cruise?

WHY DID EVERYONE TURN TO JET WHEN HE CHEERED ON KOURTNEY HELP MY HEART

love how miss jenn shuts up a bunch of strangers just by saying "mommy's talking" like this is all really weird, isn't it?

still not convinced Miss Jenn isn't like, a witch of some kind

what kinda hacky sacky wrapping paper wad is that present? it better be something good in there Michael Bowen.

"they're so good" dewey, darling.

the blue team kid with the tutu on is so... scary? horror #2, revenge murder?

portwell what is going on with yall?

the tears in ashlyn's eyes when she realises and the fireworks and everything omg its so beautiful

nice idea for the moon rock but like, anything else? for your only child's 18th birthday??

ricky can you rest for like, a second

I can't believe there are only 2 more episodes. i feel like nothing is happening but also, everything is happening and i don't like 60% of it.

still love the show obviously, for some reason.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts s3 #hsmtmts season 3 #ej caswell #ricky bowen #gina porter #carlos rodriguez #kourtney greene #ashlyn caswell #val hsmtmts #jet hsmtmts #maddox hsmtmts

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petite-ely · 4 years ago

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Afraid // JJ Maybank

Seven- Mommy Issues

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem routledge! reader

Warnings: mommy issues, mother abandonment, anger, maybe some mistakes, tell me if I missed anything

Description: y/n has always wanted answers about her mother, but the truth seems more harsh than what she had in mind.

A/n : hello, hello friends. Sorry for not updating sooner. I had absolutely no inspiration, lol. Anyways, hope you enjoyyyy! :) (also I know the gif is terrible quality but I really wanted to put this clip and I couldn’t find any cleaner option to make a gif)

Previously

Afraid Masterlist

Song recommendation

Gif made by me!

As a child, y/n never realized how her family was different than the others. A lot of kids on the cut had single parents, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Her mom had left when she was only three, to go pursue her dream job in Colorado. It wasn’t a bad thing in the girl’s eyes. It didn’t feel like she was missing out on anything.

As she blossomed into adolescence, y/n finally understood how unconventional her family was. She heard the other girls at her school talk about their mothers. About the cakes they made or the precious moments they spent together. Mother-daughter bonding moments. She had to admit it she felt jealous. Or maybe was it envious?

She had lived all her life without a mother to kiss her scraped knees or braid her hair before going to sleep. And she would have given anything to experience it, even for one single night.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her brother or her father, far from it, she adored them. They were both so precious to her. Still, she felt as if something was missing from her. Or more like someone.

She didn’t remember her mother, she was so young at the time, but she cherished the stories her father had told her. She fed her imagination on these stories. Making up fake memories where her mother was still there. In her heart it was all real. Reality was bitter compared to the sweet comfort of her imagination.

By the time she was 12, she’d heard the famous story enough to know it by heart, each word of the letter engraved into her head. She begged her father again and again. She wanted more stories, even the smallest anecdotes, she wanted to hear them all. Anything to improve the sketch, constantly redrawn, of the woman she didn’t remember. The woman she couldn’t really call a mother.

She knew the story by heart and yet it felt incomplete. She’d heard enough fairytales and read enough books to know when a story was complete. This one wasn’t.

And she was right.

A week after the twins’s 13th birthday, their dad gathered them around the kitchen table. He wanted to talk. It was very important. Y/n had to admit, this was quite strange, as her father was never the one to bring up important issues. In front of him was placed an envelope, yellowed with the years.

The girl knew this envelope all too well. Every scratch, every little bump, she could almost feel them on the tip of her fingers. It was her mother’s letter. This time, when he pulled out the folded pages, a third paper came out. The missing part.

Big John didn’t say anything, only slid the pearl white sheet to the twins. And though no words came out of his mouth, a million could be seen in his gaze. He wore an unfamiliar expression on his face. It was mix of sadness, fear and regrets. It was the expression of a man who only wanted to protect his children from being hurt.

The missing paper read as so:

“This is my dream, John.

And I know you might think there’s a way for us to fix this, but there isn’t. This time you can’t fix it.

When I got pregnant with the kids, I was so scared. And when I told you, I saw this glimmer in your eyes. This flame suddenly being lit inside of you. You were so excited to have your first child and it was twins! You seemed so happy. It was beautiful.

Then I thought that maybe we could do this, maybe I could be a mother. I had you, so everything would be fine. My friends kept talking about this amazing connection that felt with their babies when they were carrying them. But I never felt it with the twins.

And I thought that maybe once I held them in my arms I would finally feel it. That motherly connection. It never came. And I tried, John. I tried so hard. But I just can’t.

I do love them, I love them so much, but not the way you do. Not the way a parent loves their child It can’t do it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Life is cruel that way sometimes.

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that you were meant for this. I can see it in the way you look at them. You can do this, John. I know.

Be the parent I will never be able to be.”

Y/n’s curious eyes scanned the paper excitedly. Her face showed a variety of emotions in the span of a few minutes. First, excitement and joy, then, confusion and finally, anger. The tip of her ears burned red, her hand shaking beneath the table.

John B. placed the paper on the table, a loud sigh escaping his lips. Though, compared to his sister, he seemed relatively calm.

Y/n couldn’t contain it anymore. She stormed out of the house, her feet shoeless and her shoulders bare. She had no idea where she was going, but she ran.

It didn’t matter. As long as she was going somewhere. As long as she was moving and running, then she wouldn’t have to think. And if she was thinking, then her mind would take her to a bad place. She didn’t want to go there. So she ran.

The Routledges were never reputed to be angry people, much less violent. They were generally very calm, maybe a bit arrogant, but always composed. Of course, when a Routledge was after something, they would do anything in order to obtain it.

But y/n was one of the exception. She was the first Routledge woman in nearly 150 years. For generations, every Routledge man had sons, who had sons, who had sons until her father. He had a son and a daughter.

She wasn’t an angry person or mean in any way. On the contrary, she was kind and gentle. But compared to her brother and her dad, she felt emotions deeply.

And maybe it was her mother’s side and not the Routledge in her. It was so intense, sometimes. Almost blinding, at some moments. It was like the emotions took over her. It didn’t happen very often but it felt like she didn’t control her body anymore.

When she finally came back to her senses, y/n was standing on an empty beach. She hadn’t realized how far she’d gotten until she felt the warm sand under her feet. A cold breeze wrapped itself around her shoulders. She was so far from home. And so alone.

She walked to the ocean, letting her toes dip gently into the water. The water was cold but calming. Her anger slowly disappeared with each breath she took, until finally she could see everything clearly again.

Y/n turned away. She thought of going back home, when a wave of emotions hit her. She fell to the ground. It was like the air had been sucked out of her lungs.

Her chest burned, she felt like she had swallowed fire. Her shoulders shook and loud sobs escaped her lips. She dug her hands into the sand, trying to ground herself. It didn’t stop her tears from crashing onto her shirt.

A shadow appeared in front of her and she recognized its shape in a matter of seconds. It could only be one person.

“Are you hear to laugh at me?” She said through tears.

“No, not this time,” said John B. He sat down beside her, his eyes looking into hers. “Oh, y/n.” He wiped the tears off of her face

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “It’s just that, that,” he placed his arm around her shoulder, she took a deep breath. “Part of me always thought that she would come back.”

“That she’d come stay with us and finally be our mom. But she’s never coming back, ever,” her tone was almost accusing. “I lost so much time making up scenarios for her and she doesn’t even love us.”

“You know that’s not true,” reasoned John.

“Yeah, but it feels like it.”

“We don’t need her anyway,” stated the boy. “We’ve got dad, surfing, plenty of fish and well, each other. It’s not that bad is it?”

“No, you’re right.” She looked at him. “I just feel like I’m missing out on something. Like I’m,” she paused, looking for the right word, “incomplete.”

“I get it. If the roles were reversed and dad wasn’t there, I guess I would feel that way too,” confided her brother. “But don’t give her this much power. She doesn’t get to make you feel this way. You’re whole on your own, y/n/n.”

“Thank you, bird.” She slid her arm around his shoulder, letting her head rest on top of it. “You know, you can be an amazing brother sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Yeah, sometimes.”

“Hey, bird?” “Yeah?”

“How did you find me, anyway?”

“You always come here when you wanna be dramatic.”

“I do not!”

“You so do!”

And slowly, the imaginary memories fell apart and disappeared. Y/n didn’t need them anymore. She’d be better in the real world.

Taglist

@kaelyn-lobrutto24 @poguestyle17 @im-a-stranger-thing @lasnaro @thoughtsofthestars @briandaflores19 @lunaposey @allycat449-blog @ifilwtmfc @kitty084 @coloradogirl07 @ponyboys-sunsets @chaoticbisous @p0gue420 @sloaneemily @babygal-babygal @itsagurl @mendesmaybank

If you wanna be added or removed or if I forgot you, tell me and it’ll be modified!

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hey-hamlet · 4 years ago

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BNHA AU Ideas : Your blessings are your curses.

Also on AO3

TL;DR:

Dead All Might acts as a guardian angel to this heroic quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

Your blessings are your curses:

TL;DR: Dead all might, acts as a guardian angel to this quirkless kid he runs into. Izuku gets put into a dangerous situation and turns out – DNA wasn’t needed to pass OFA. Just intent. Izuku gains the ability to see All Might along with the ability to use his quirk.

Sadly, AFO notices.

Now Izuku is on the run with a ghost for a guardian after AFO’s goons kill his mother.

So – In the fight between All for One and All Might six years before canon, All Might loses.

Not horribly. All for One is still left almost dead and retreats into hiding, but All Might falls unconscious never to open his eyes again, later dying of sepsis in the hospital. His eyes may never physically reopen, but he does awaken – translucent and noncorporeal.

For a while he doesn’t know if it’s a latent quirk, or maybe something All for One did as a final blow, but no – it’s One for All. One for All has a mind of its own and refuses to disappear until Yagi has found a successor. Not that Yagi knows that.

His old haunts are too painful to hang around, the whole nation is grieving for him and seeing that pain on his old friend's faces burns something fierce. So he does what he’s always done. He helps.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when his favourite hero dies. He sees how the nation is grieving and his desire to be a hero only burns brighter. The bullying he suffers worsens, hate crimes against the quirkless and those with ‘villainous’ quirks uptick. Japan isn’t a pillar of safety and security anymore – crime rates have risen to match or overtake worldwide averages.

Still, he feels almost, safer? He gets luckier – the book his classmate stole shows up in his bag by the next period, bullies trip more often, and sometimes as he runs from villain attacks or classmates with their quirks popping against the nape of his neck, he feels a broad hand push him forwards, giving him an extra burst of speed.

He decides it must be the All Might charm he bought the day before the news of All Might’s death broke. A small solid plastic charm meant for a phone with a bright yellow bell attached, along with a tag reading “I AM HERE”. He fills the bell with scraps of paper so no one can hear it ring as he holds it tight in his hand when he gets nervous.

Midoriya Izuku is nine when he is almost killed.

With All Might gone, organized crime spikes. Quirk trafficking rings spring up – very rare, but no less real. It’s one of these such rings that kidnaps Izuku on his way home from school. He awakens, sore and blurry-eyed in a warehouse with a half dozen other crying children. One by one they are forced to show off their quirks, to gauge their value.

Izuku has no quirk to show. He has no value to these people. They growl at him to stop playing around, to stop pretending to be a hero (his All Might charm is almost cutting into his hand from how hard he holds it. He needs his luck more than ever please all might save me one more time - ). He can't bring himself to shut his eyes as a flaming hand reaches towards his face.

For a moment it feels like he's being held. He feels safe.

A shockwave levels the warehouse, leaving he and the other children untouched, the villains buried in the rubble. Green sparks sink into his skin, dancing over the rapidly purpling bruises decorating his arm. He runs.

He comes back to himself in a park, sobbing and shaking, arms wrapped around his shaking form and an oddly familiar voice murmuring apologies and praise as a broad hand runs gently through his hair.

It seems One for All never needed DNA, only intent, to pass itself along. With the passing of the quirk, Yagi should have dissipated, but he refused, clinging to the child he’d accidentally burdened with his legacy, the same quirkless child he’d been playing guardian angel for all this time.

When Izuku sees All Might he freezes. It’s not All Might as he knew him, rather – this is the All Might that died. He’s translucent, faded around the edges, with a tattered and bloodstained costume, thick padded bandaging over his stomach hiding stiches staining to close infected wounds, doing little to stop the blood oozing through. Still – All Might’s eyes are bright blue and kind and his smile is as it always was. Izuku throws himself onto his hero and sobs.

All Might – Yagi, as he insisted Izuku call him – led him to the nearest police station, as he tried to explain what had occurred. It wasn’t easy considering Yagi didn’t seem to be sure himself, but Izuku was pretty sure the quirk he’d been accidentally gifted was sentient.

Izuku held his arms up to the sky, stretching his fingers to the pinpricks of light in the night sky. Sparks of glittering gold, green, white, blue and red jumped across his skin, like the static shocks he’d get when he wore his wool socks in bed, but less painful. They almost felt playful.

“What are they called?” Yagi looked at him, confusion clear on his face. One of his spikes of hair drooped, and if Izuku could ignore the dust and blood that ran through it it would almost be funny.

“They? My boy, do you mean the sparks? If so, they don’t have a name.”

Izuku frowned, letting his hand drop. He could feel the sparks gently brushing his injuries, almost soothingly. “No, I mean your quirk. They should have a name, they’re so nice to me.”

Yagi coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth, never to hit the ground. “One for All. It’s called One for All.”

Izuku’s frown deepened.

“All Might, mama says it’s rude to call someone an it.”

Inko is reunited with her only mildly injured son, now excitedly gushing about a quirk he’d somehow manifested. She privately thanks whatever spirit finally decided to smile upon her son, even if it took so long.

Their happiness doesn’t last long. Days later Izuku receives a summons to the head office. He freezes when he sees the police officer, Yagi’s comforting hand on his shoulder the only thing that keeps him from running.

It was a villain attack, the officer says with kindness so forced Izuku wants to cry. Yagi looks angry. If you’ll just come with us so we can get you to the safehouse with your mother –

Yagi almost growls with rage. “She’s lying.” He whispers, habit enforced despite the fact Izuku is the only person alive that can hear him. “Follow her out of the school then run” Izuku does exactly that, quirk sparking up his legs and pushing him forwards, down the familiar path to home. He takes the stairs six at a time, quirk chipping the edges of the concrete as he hurls himself forward.

Their apartment is in shambles, bookshelves tipped, small objects laying scattered on the floor, a pale arm laying limply from a half-open bathroom door.

Yagi pushes him out of the apartment and confirms the identity himself. He urges a sobbing Izuku to say his goodbyes to his mother’s corpse as they quickly gather all the money in the house, a few spare clothes and whatever food and water Yagi could knock down from the pantry shelves for him. Izuku crams it into his backpack as he sobs, Yagi guarding the entrance as he boils with rage and guilt.

He didn’t think All for One would find Izuku. He didn’t think he would even be looking. He was wrong and now his boy was paying the price.

So starts his time on the run.

He meets Shinsou first, saving him from some rubble in a villain attack. He meets him again later, battered and bruised – not from a villain, but from his foster parents. Shinsou joins him, no matter how Izuku explains hes in danger. Shinsou wants to be a hero, and if the only way he gets to be a hero is stubbornly keeping Izuku out of trouble? That’s not a bad trade-off, considering izuku was the first person to save him.

A little while later the two run into Shouto feverish and badly burnt and try to nurse him back to health as best they can. A few days in Touya and Toga run into their little camp guns blazing, expecting them to have kidnapped Shouto only to see Izuku patiently trying to feed him rice porridge with a veritable pile of ‘liberated’ fever reducers on the floor beside them.

They apologise but Shinsou and a still feverish Shouto refuse to talk to Touya or Toga for like three days bc they made Izuku cry.

They refuse to leave no matter how Izuku explains he has a centuries old villain after him. These kids are ride or die. So Hitoshi, Shouto and Izuku are like 9 and trying to learn what they can from libraries and newspapers, never settling down for too long. Toga (12) and Touya/Dabi (14) try and keep them all alive by working or stealing what they need to live. It doesn’t take long for them to evolve into a mini vigilante group.

Aizawa becomes familiar with the messy group of short vigilantes that seem to bounce from prefecture to prefecture every second day, to the point that the force is pretty sure one of them has a teleportation quirk because they don’t seem to have any kind of home base. He’s completely uninterested in trying to arrest them in the beginning – they aren’t hurting anyone and are not half bad at what they do.

That changes when he meets them.

Battered and bleeding out in a rainy alley with a villain looming over him with a knife, Aizawa is pretty sure this is the night he dies. The knife swings back, glinting in the streetlights as he tries in vain to scramble backwards with heavy limbs. It never connects. The villain jerks back as a brilliant blue plume of flame cuts him off, burning the tips of his hair. Not expecting backup the villain bolts. Aizawa feels small hands helping him into a sitting position – his stomach starts to sink. When the short masked figure with curly hair speaks he feels his heart turn to ice. The figure couldn’t be older than 11, probably closer to 10.

He wakes up in the hospital and he makes it his mission to save these kids.

Ghost All Might is having a rough time. His boy is in danger and the best he can do is rattle windows and trip sprinting villains. He can’t help them enough.

He has a plan though.

He warns Izuku that he’ll be gone for a while and to keep safe without him and he goes out scouting. Being invisible and impermeable is normally a curse but when trying to find a paranoid 200-year-old super villain? It’s pretty damn useful. It takes months but eventually he’s not only tracked down All for One’s main hideout he’s also memorised his schedule. It’s nothing impressive considering the man is still mostly bedbound after what All Might did to him, but he won't be a pushover. It’s a start, though.

Izuku cries tears of joy when he sees All Might again and cries even more when he shares what he found. It’s do or die time. He offers every one of his friends the chance to split now because there is a good chance they’ll die, but none of them wants to leave him. With that, he starts planning.

They’ll need Eraserhead, no bones about it. Without him, there would be no way to strike the final blow. They spend a few weeks refining their stealth then they seek Aizawa out.

They knew he’d have a price for helping them, but they never expected it would be so high, but simultaneously so kind. In exchange for his help and a vow of silence he wants each child to let him help them, to find them a safe place to live, a school to go to – a future. Izuku has spent his whole life being told he doesn’t have a future, from when he was diagnosed quirkless to the almost 2 years spent on the run from Japan’s most dangerous villain. He’s still not sure he’ll have one, even with All for One dead, but he knows he wants his friends to grow up happy and safe.

He accepts.

With Aizawa’s help, with Dabi and Toga clearing the way and Shinsou standing in the wings as the last resort, Izuku kills All for One as he sleeps. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just quiet footsteps, a sharp knife and shaking hands.

Aizawa is horrified this child just killed someone in front of him, but Izuku is sobbing and All for One is notorious in underground circles so he keeps his quirk up until the blood stops flowing from his neck. He takes the children and flees.

#bnha au #full au #your blessings are your curses au #all might #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #dabi #shinsou hitoshi #toga himiko

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise. Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote. That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”. Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May. Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability. Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized. Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns. He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath. He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought. Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker. Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up. From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?”

“No’ really. Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.” Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond. “I ignored her. Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed. Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture. Massive coronary. I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable. The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah. I dinna think I’m tae blame. I ken it. I was the only surviving son, ye see? In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations. I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da. Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it. I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer. It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra. She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile. “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file. The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months. The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards. They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms. Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny. She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping. Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp! Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks. Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on. She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room. Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach. The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust. With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store. The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp. She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork. Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response. Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly. “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like. Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses. He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window. With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask. Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday. Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge. Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.

Not Fraser, then. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather. Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile. That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages. A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie. What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood. “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets. A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean. Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess. Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie. It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp. We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie. You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either. An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier? Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach. My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?” She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland. Seemed tae suit ye, is all.” He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is. When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way. A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last. “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye. Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy. Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed. Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth. “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach. Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken? I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly. Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough. Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts. A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment. Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no. Not exactly. I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.” It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’. I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile. What a precious child. “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued. Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living. Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried. She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie. I’m certainly going to try.”

#my writing #outlander

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oscar-lettjohanssonloveme · 4 years ago

Text

Purple Roses (Ms Venable x reader)

I guess this is a big fluff fanfic lol

summary: you work in a flowershop..

request by anon: Heyyy I was thinking about a fanfiction (Ms Venable x reader) where reader starts to work at a shpo (I don't know what kind of shop 😅), where Venable usually goes. They fall in love at first sight, but Venable is afraid of showing her feelings, so it's up to reader to try to gain her trust.

well..its a little bit different than the request

pt 2:

https://littlejeaniehugsbumblebees.tumblr.com/post/642067045376245760/purple-roses-pt-2-miss-venable-x-reader

google translate lol

You've worked in your aunt's flower shop since you dropped out of school at 16. Flowers were something very beautiful, you always thought that. It might not be an important job, but it was enough to make people happy and that made you happy too. Unfortunately, your parents couldn't understand that and at home everyone was waiting for you to catch up on your school leaving certificate or finally get a boyfriend. And it annoyed you so much simply because you were happy with your life. Why couldn't they see that?

It was Tuesday afternoon and, as always, there wasn't much going on in the shop. Mrs. Rodriguez, an old woman who lived on the block next door, had come to collect her roses, as she always did on the first Tuesday of the month. And like every first Tuesday she was in your ears with how badly you needed a rich boyfriend to develop your talent, which was wasted in this flower shop.

"You know, when I was your age, I was already the mother of three children, lived in a big house and had visited the whole world .." she told you while you were removing the thorns from her roses.

"I can only tell you again and again, we only live once, so make something with your life!"

"Yes Mrs. Rodriguez .." you mumbled and were distracted by her words as the shop door opened.

A woman entered the shop and immediately the whole atmosphere that had made up that boring Tuesday afternoon changed.

Her long, purple coat came almost to her knees and the gold belt buckle shone in the light of the shop lamp. The woman had beautiful red hair that she wore in a perfect ponytail. Your eyes wandered to her face and you watched her dark eyes critically examine your shop. For a brief moment you stared at her painted lips and then directed your gaze to her stick, which was probably the most interesting thing about her. And by that you didn't mean the fact that she needed a stick, but rather the way she walked with the stick. It was more of an accessory that underlined the pride that it already exuded, even more than it was a walking aid.

All in one, you thought she was beautiful.

"Uhm, Y / N, you're bleeding ..." said Mrs. Rodriguez suddenly and made you look at your hands in confusion. She was right, you cut yourself.

"Fuck .." you mumbled and pulled a plaster from under the counter to wrap it around your finger.

"Are you okay?" The old woman asked confused and you just nodded and gave her her roses.

"See you next month, Mrs. Rodriguez .." you said and she just mumbled a quick bye before leaving the store.

Your eyes were again on the mysterious woman who was still undecided in the shop.

"Can I help you?" You asked aloud and put on your nicest smile.

The stranger looked up and frowned at you.

"I'm looking for flowers .." she said curtly and made you laugh.

"Well, I think I can help you with that. For what occasion do you need flowers? As a gift, to-"

"I want some for my apartment. I live alone and everything seems relatively dead .." she interrupted you.

"Wouldn't a pet be the solution then?" You tilted your head.

"I work too much for that."

"And what about tinder?", You grinned cheekily and she just looked at you disapprovingly.

"Can you help me now or not?" She asked gruffly and you became serious again.

"Which colors do you prefer? And do you have a lot of time to look after the flowers?"

"I like purple .." she said, clutching her cane with both hands.

"Ouh that's perfect!" You exclaimed and came out from behind the counter.

"We just got a delivery of lilac-colored roses yesterday ..", you walked past her to go to the box with the roses.

"Look .." you said and held out the box to her.

The woman nodded curtly.

"They are beautiful.."

"I know .." you smiled again. "I can also remove the thorns if you want .."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Sure you can?"

Your gaze followed hers and you blushed when you realized she was staring at the plaster at your finger.

"I can do that .." you mumbled and went back to the counter before you put the box on the table and started to remove the thorns from the roses.

The stranger said nothing and went wordlessly to the counter, which assured you the approaching knock of her stick. The fact that she was closely watching your handicrafts made you nervous and you remembered the critical look that had been in her eyes after she walked into your shop.

"Why did you come to our store?", You asked to break the silence between you two.

"Lies on the way to my work .. ", she muttered and you looked up briefly from the flowers to see that her eyes were indeed staring critically at the roses.

"Where do you work?" You tried again before you started pulling the thorns out of the flower stems again.

"Kineros Robotics .."

"Ouh, that's cool .. a friend of mine once had an internship .." you said and pulled the last thorn out of the rose. You reach under the counter to pull out paper, in which you then wrap the roses and press them into her hand.

"$ 55 .." you said curtly and leaned on the counter to watch how she pulled the money out of a black leather wallet and put it in your outstretched hand. And for a moment you had the opportunity to look at her perfectly manicured nails, which were painted in a dark shade.

"Thanks .." you said, smiling again as you watched her just nod before leaving your shop.

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

When this mysterious woman showed up at your store a week later, you couldn't help but be surprised, which didn't mean you weren't happy. As strange as it was last week, you still enjoyed this encounter very much.

"The flowers have wilted .." she said as she leaned against the counter.

"I want my money back.."

You let out a laugh.

"You want your money back? It's not my fault if the flowers wither .." you laughed and looked into her deadly serious face.

"Did you water them?"

"Of course I watered them," she growled.

"Did they stand in a dark room?"

"What the hell..no .."

"Then I have no idea why they might be withered .." you said with a grin.

"Then you're doing your job very badly ..", she replied and pressed her lips together. You rolled your eyes

"I'm a saleswoman and not a biologist ... Now I understand why you can't get a pet when you can't even take care of a few flowers."

"It's not funny .." she hissed, glaring at you. You shrugged and ran your hair through.

"I don't think it's funny either ... Rather wasteful, $ 60 for roses just so they wilted after a week .."

"As I said, I watered them.."

"Then maybe they have committed suicide .." you started and you couldn't help but grin again. "... Because they thought you were creepy."

She was still glaring at you and looking like she wanted to punch you in.

"Look ..", you sighed and put your hands on your hips. "I don't know exactly what you want from me, but you definitely won't get your money back ... I can sell you new flowers .."

"Then do that .." she managed and you had to smile.

"Those roses again?"

She nodded and you ran past her to get the box.

"I hope you cut yourself again while cutting the thorns .." she said suddenly as you put the box on the table and made you laugh.

"Be careful what you say, otherwise I won't cut the thorns at the end, but one of your pretty fingers ..", you grinned and began to remove the thorns. And again you felt her eyes watching every movement of your fingers, but this time it wasn't as weird as the week before.

"My name is Y / N .." you said suddenly.

"Miss Venable .."

"Miss is a very interesting first name .." you said sarcastically.

"I don't know what my first name should bring you," she replied.

"Well then I'm Miss Y / L / N ..".

You reached under the table to get the paper out before you wrapped the roses in it again and gave them to her.

"$ 55 .." you said, smiling smugly when you saw that she was still frowning at you.

Like last week, she took out the money and put it in your outstretched hand, but this time her fingertips lingered a little longer in your palm and let your smile freeze. You didn't know if she was doing this consciously or if it was unintentional. But you knew it made your knees go weak.

"Thanks .." you mumbled and withdrew your hand to put the money in the till.

"Better take care of the flowers this time, okay?"

"I promise .." she replied and for the first time a smile seemed to dance on her lips before she turned and left the shop.

You just stared after her thoughtfully. She was by far the weirdest customer you have ever had. But definitely the most attractive.

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

"That's impossible .." you scolded when she was back in your shop a week later and told you the roses had withered.

"I'm sorry .." she said annoyed.

"So either you're doing it on purpose or you're just irresponsible .." you mumbled and suddenly gave an Lache off.

"If it is the former, you can just say that you like to see me and you don't have to pay $ 55 every week .."

You lifted your eyes to see her pale skin turn reddish.

"Do you still have those purple roses?" She asked, ignoring your comment.

"Nope .. but I have red ones, if that's enough for you ..".

"That works too ..", Ms. Venable said and you did not go unnoticed as she nervously knocked her stick on the floor.

As in the previous weeks, you hopped past her, got the box with the roses, put them on the table and began to cut out the thorns.

And just like the weeks before, you could feel her staring at your fingers spellbound. It was uncomfortable.

"Jesus, could you please stop staring at my fingers like you're about to have an orgasm?" You asked, putting the knife down before looking at her annoyed.

"It's fascinating .." she muttered, embarrassed.

"Probably rather disturbing ..", you rolled your eyes as you picked up the knife again to continue your work.

"May I give it a try?" She suddenly asked, making you grin.

"You could also simply plant rose bushes yourself"

She shook her head.

"Too much work.."

You snorted in annoyance and put the knife in her hand.

"Well, you have to hold the knife up with your thumbs .. And then you pull the knife from top to bottom over the flower stem .." you explained and put one of the roses in her other hand.

As critically as she always watched you, you now stared down at her hands and watched as she tried to remove the thorns.

"No no no .." you interrupted and tapped her wrist.

"If your strength comes from here, you will get stuck with the knife in the stalk ..". Your hand went to her elbow.

"You have to work from here ...".

She nodded slowly and you watched with a grin as she continued in vain.

"And you said last week that I would do a bad job .." you said when she gave up and put the knife back in your hand.

She mumbled something unintelligible before you started to do the rest yourself.

You sighed as you put the flowers in her hand and watched as she pulled out her wallet.

"You know, you could just give me your number instead of the $ 55 .." you said, cocking your head.

"Forget it .." she mumbled as she pushed the money into your hand.

"Pity."

And like the weeks before, she strutted out the door without saying anything.

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

When Miss Venable came to your flower shop a week later, she was disappointed to find that a strange woman was standing behind the counter.

Somehow she got used to coming here every Tuesday and watching you at work. And that the roses had withered was of course a lie (3 beautiful bouquets of flowers were now in her apartment), it was just an excuse to come here every week and now you weren't there.

Wilhemina slowly went to the counter and watched the strange woman in front of her, instead of you, cut thorns from the roses. But she couldn't do it half as well as you.

Sloppy .. went through her head.

"How can I help you?" Asked the woman and gave Wilhemina a polite smile

"Where's Y / N?"

"Ohh Y / N is sick, I'm her aunt .." said the woman and put the roses aside.

"Are you a friend?"

"Something like that .." muttered Miss Venable.

"Um, I can give you her address if you want?"

Miss Venable frowned. Was that right?

"You don't have to visit her, but if you want, you have the adress .." added the woman in front of her and Wilhemina nodded slowly.

She watched as the woman took a small piece of paper and wrote on it before holding it out to her.

"Thank you ..", Wilhemina mumbled, took the slip of paper and turned to leave the shop.

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

You groaned in frustration at the sound of the door ringing. What idiot would dare to bother now? Tired you trudged out of the kitchen into the hallway to open the door. Your eyes widened when you saw who was standing in front of you.

"Oh no .." you muttered, staring at Miss Venable. You could only imagine how awful you must look. Disheveled hair, pajamas, no makeup and a flushed nose from your cold.

"You look good .." said Miss Venable, looking dead serious, but you knew it was meant ironically.

"Ha ha .." you made dry. "Where the hell did you get my address from?"

"Your aunt gave it to me ..".

"My aunt?" You repeated confused and she nodded.

"Come in then .." you muttered and stepped aside to let her in.

"Excuse my chaos.. ", you gave her a crooked smile as she entered the apartment.

"Usually my customers don't visit my apartment .." you laughed and went into the kitchen.

"Sit in the living room .. Do you want coffee or something?"

"Black with one sugar please ..", you heard her voice from the living room and made you grin, somehow she was cute.

"Don't you have a bed?" She asked you when you came into the living room while she was sitting on your sofa with your bedding on it.

"Too much space ..".

You gave her the cup and sat down next to her on the couch.

"It's also so much more practical .."

She frowned and took a sip from her cup.

"How long do you live here?"

"Since I was 16 ... dropped out of school .. please don't ask why .."

She nodded slowly and you couldn't help but stare at her. The fact that she was sitting here in your living room was more than confusing and you didn't know if this was really happening or if it was your medication to blame. Actually she was a stranger, you didn't know anything about this woman and yet she was now sitting in your messy living room and drinking your cheap coffee.

"What did you want in the store today? .." you yawned

"Flowers .." she replied dryly and played with the cup in her hands

"Because the others have withered?"

"Why else?"

You shook your head, grinning, and pulled the sheet over your legs before closing your eyes.

"You're unbelievable.."

"Thank you ..", the woman in front of you muttered with a frown and let you raise an eyebrow with closed eyes.

"That wasn't a compliment .."

The answer you were hoping for did not come and you noticed how you became more and more sleepy, which was due to the medication you were taking before the doorbell rang.

"Wilhemina .." you suddenly heard her voice say far away.

"What?"

"My name is Wilhemina .."

"What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman .." you muttered before finally drifting away.

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

"I thought you weren't coming ..." you greeted Wilhemina with a soft smile as she stepped into the shop on Tuesday evening.

As always, she had a dead serious face and you wondered if she could even smile.

"I had to work longer .." she explained as she stood in front of the counter.

"So, my dear Mina, how can I help you today?" You asked, tilting your head.

Miss Venable raised an eyebrow.

"Mina?" She repeated.

"Its cute .."

"It sucks .."

"Okay okay .." you raised your hands defensively.

"Anyway, do you want roses again?"

She shook her head.

"Not today .. You know, I have a date on Thursday and was wondering what kind of flowers she likes .."

You froze at her words.

Somehow you felt betrayed.

Confused, you watched as the serious woman burst out laughing.

"You should have seen your face .." she laughed and you blushed.

"I'm sorry .." you mumbled, embarrassed.

"Of course you are and now sell me your stupid roses"

"My stupid roses .." you repeated quietly as you turned around to the shelf behind you and held out the finished roses.

"You're already done ..", she remarked with a frown.

"Yep ... no horny stare at my fingers today .."

She snorted at your words and you watched her take the money out.

"So you have nothing to do on Thursday?" You asked, giving her a subtle look.

"It was a joke ..": she said and gave you the money, which you accepted with trembling hands. You bit your lip in nervousness before squeezing out the following words.

"And what do you think, if we do something together on Thursday?"

"Like what?", She looked at you disapprovingly.

"Like a date? I dont know .." you muttered and screwed up your eyes.

"Okay."

"Okay?", You stared at her confused.

"Does that mean 'yes?"

"Yes .." she said and shrugged her shoulders.

"As long as I don't have to go back to your horror apartment, everything is okay”

"Well, thank you very much ..", you moaned. "Will I at least get your number now?", You said with a grin and got a pen and paper that you gave her and then watched her scribble her number on it.

"See you Thursday ...", you smiled sweetly as she pushed the paper back across the table.

She just gave you a vague look before turning to walk to the exit. But shortly before the door she stopped.

"6 pm .." she said without turning around.

"And don't be late, I hate unpunctuality..."

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

Two days later you were cycling through the city to go to Mina's apartment. The fabric of your dress fluttered around your bare legs and made you tremble. The wind tousled your hair and you had to find with regret that what you had just stood in the bathroom for two hours for probably schon was destroyed again.

To say you were nervous would have been the biggest understatement of the century. On the one hand it was because your last date was a few years ago and on the other hand it was because of Wilhemina. This woman was so extraordinarily different that it seemed almost impossible for her to exist.

And you found her incredibly attractive. You found her stern demeanor, how perfect her hair looked and the fact that the whole atmosphere changed when she walked into a room...

Your breath caught as you turned into her street and her house came into view. A large white new building with a cube-like shape stood on a plot of land surrounded by lawn. The building had huge windows, all of which were lit with soft light.

No wonder she called your apartment a "horror apartment", probably even her cellar was nicer than the place you lived in.

After hooking up your bike, you hurried to the black door and looked nervously at your watch. It was exactly 6 p.m.

You raised your hand on the doorbell and before you could ring the doorbell swung open and presented Mina.

"On time." Was her only comment, but you didn't listen to her at all and were only fixated on what was in front of you.

How could she look so good?

The woman in front of you was dressed in a purple blouse with a lace collar and the matching skirt. Her red hair, which was usually tied into a ponytail, was pinned up and, as always, she wore this dark lipstick.

"You're staring, Y / N .." she remarked with raised eyebrows and made you blush.

"M'sorry .." you mumbled before you held out the red wine that you bought a few hours ago.

"Uhm..for you? I thought flowers were uncreative .."

"Thank you ..", she said curtly and made room for you to enter the house.

The house looked just as perfect from the inside as it did from the outside. White walls were adorned with pictures whose motifs you did not understand. There was expensive designer furniture everywhere and instead of doors there were just passages. But what fascinated you most was the fact that instead of lamps there were candles that were placed everywhere and provided the dimmed light.

"I like fire .." she told you when she noticed your interest in the candles.

You nodded briefly. "It is nice.."

And of course her kitchen was beautiful too. You felt more and more ashamed of your small apartment. Wilhemina probably had more different knives (which, by the way, were all perfectly arranged on the wall) than you had cutlery in total. And the thought of her living alone in this huge house was a little scary.

"So Y / N ..", she started and pointed to the set table.

"I'm not the best cook, but I really tried hard with these noodles .."

"I am sure, that its perfect ..", you smiled gently at her and sat down on one of the two chairs before she sat down opposite you.

For the next few minutes you just sat in silence and quietly ate your food. You just didn't know what to say.

"It's disgusting, isn't it?" Mina suddenly asked and let you lift your head.

"Oh god, Mina, no," you said quickly when you saw her narrowed eyes.

"Its delicious .."

"Okay .." she mumbled quietly, poking the noodles with her fork.

"Why do you actually need this stick?" You asked after a few more minutes of silence. She was clearly surprised by your question.

"Is that important?" She frowned.

You shook your head quickly.

"No .. I was just wondering .."

"Well, it's because of my back .." she finally said after wrestling with herself for a minute.

"I have scoliosis .."

"Oh .." you uttered and she subtly lifted her gaze to see your face.

"I'm sorry .." you added quickly.

"Does it hurt?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"It is not permanent pain .. some days every step hurts, while other days it only hurts when someone touches it .."

With worried eyes you watched as she took a sip of her wine and her gaze was fixed on the stick next to her.

"It's incurable .." she added and put her glass back on the table.

"I had an unsuccessful operation a few years ago and now I only get regular painkillers ..."

"That's awful .." you muttered, playing with the fork in your hand.

"You know, the problem is less the pain .. I just hate to see it, it looks disgusting .." she was still staring at her cane.

"I guess you can't look ugly .." you said softly and put your hand on hers. She raised her gaze to you and frowned at you before mumbling a little "thank you".

Like it was something you said to make her feel better. But you meant it, she was just beautiful. It was just sad that she didn't know.

You spent the rest of the evening in the woman's huge living room.

She told you about her work at kineros robotics and you about yours in the boring flower shop. Actually, not much happened, but you thought it was just right and by the end of the evening you already had the date for your second date.

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

Ms. Venable was more than surprised when you invited her back to your apartment on Thursday last week. In her eyes, your weird apartment wasn't a nice place for a second date, but for your sake she'd agreed.

for your sake

That felt kind of weird .. In general, she felt weird around you. Unlike all the other people, she didn't hate you, on the contrary .. And she hated herself for not hating you.

Jesus, she could never hate you.

She loved watching you work, she loved your laugh, and she even loved your annoying, overt flirting.

She loved you.

But she could never tell you that, she couldn't even admit it to herself anymore. That would only make everything unnecessarily complicated and actually she wanted to break the whole thing off before it became too much.

The problem was, she couldn't cancel it, it had been too much since she first visited your shop. And now the thought of breaking your little heart made her feel guilty.

Finally she arrived on your floor and let out a relieved breath. Climbing stairs with that stupid stick was very strenuous.

Just like you did a week ago, she checked her watch.

10 p.m.

She was on time.

10 p.m. was a bit late for her taste, but you insisted and now she was standing here and knocking briefly on your door, which opened less than a minute later.

"Hello beautiful woman ..", you greeted her with a grin and Ms Venable couldn't help but smile.

"I thought flowers were uncreative ..", she repeated your words from last week and held out a box of plasters to you.

"That's why I have plasters for you, in case you stare at your customers again and cut yourself away while thorns ..", she grinned and enjoyed the blush that was forming on your face.

"You're mean .." you muttered before you took her box.

"Wait here a moment ..", you disappeared back into your apartment.

Wilhemina frowned.

"I thought we would spend the evening in your apartment ..?"

"Not quite .." you explained when you reappeared in the doorway with a jacket around your shoulders.

"I didn't want you to get scared in my 'horror apartment', so I hope you don't mind climbing a few more stairs .."

"Okay ..", Miss Venable muttered, still confused, and followed you up the stairs.

"You weren't in the shop on Tuesday .." you said, sounding a little disappointed as you climbed the steps in front of here.

"I thought it was superfluous because I see you today .."

You turned your head to face her and grinned at her.

"So do you admit that you always came, just because you wanted to see me ..?"

Wilhemina stopped and stared at you. Damn.

"Shut up, ..", she growled and you laughed before you started climbing the stairs again.

"You know, not everything is bad about living in a skyscraper with small horror apartments .." you told her when you got upstairs.

"Unlike you, I have a roof terrace .." you said proudly and opened the door that led to the roof.

The icy wind immediately whipped against Mina's face as she stepped on the roof.

But as cold as it was, she had to admit that the view was beautiful.

Not only did you have the opportunity to look down on the whole city, also the sky seemed to be open to you and no tree, no house and no cloud blocked your view of the stars.

Ms. Venable had never seen the night sky so clearly and for that alone it was worth climbing the remaining steps.

Her gaze fell when she saw you in the corner of her eye as you stared at her with a grin.

"Better than my horror apartment, right?" You asked smugly and she just shook her head in amusement.

"You know, I didn't mean the 'horror apartment' badly .."

"That was hardly a compliment ..", you remarked skeptically and turned around to go over the roof. Miss Venable followed you, of course, and inspected the way the roof had been designed by the residents. It was obvious that everyone had their own area up here, as many areas were separated from the others with temporary wall. Some had set up tables or chairs, while others had set up a kind of garden.

"Uhm .. this is mine ..", she suddenly heard you say and followed what your finger was pointing at.

Behind a partition, which was a simple wooden frame covered with fabric, was an obviously self-made bed. A simple mattress lay on a couple of Euro pallets.

At the head of the bed there was a board with a chain of lights winding around it and the bed itself was overflowing with pillows that didn't match in any way, but it still looked pretty cozy.

"Oh fuck .." you suddenly uttered and made Wilhemina flinch.

"What is it?" She asked confused as she stared into your worried eyes.

"I'm so stupid ..", you hit your forehead with your hand.

"I forgot that you probably can't sit here with your scoliosis .."

"Don't worry about it .. it works for a while," Mina calmed you down and watched you chew your lip.

"For real?"

"Yes.", She gave you a reassuring smile

"Then come here .." you said with a grin as you sat down and reached out your hand to her. Wilhemina hesitated briefly, but then took your hand and let you gently pull you onto the bed. For a brief moment, she was afraid it was actually too much for her back, but when she leaned against the pillow that you had placed in front of the wooden board, she relaxed.

You sat down next to her and now pulled a cloth blanket over both of you before you leaned back and put your head on her shoulder.

"We have to do that in summer too, because it's not that cold and you can watch the sunset ...", you mumbled and Mina was shocked by your words. In summer.

That was confusing, it was just winter, you had known each other for a month and now you were talking about what would be in six months.

"Did you make the bed yourself?" She asked to change the subject.

"Nope, my cousin helped me ..", you explained. "And I'm really grateful for that .. my apartment is really quite cramped at times and then I'm happy if I can come here to think about everything .."

"I thought you like your life?"

"I like it, but everyone else doesn't like it ... everyone says I should catch up with my school leaving certificate and then do something useful ... sorry, but I hate my parents .." you said and took her hand in yours.

"And sometimes I also wonder what if I had finished school?"

"Understandable ..", Wilhemina muttered while she stared at the starry sky and lost herself in it. It was one of the best moments she'd ever shared with anyone. The rustle of passing cars, your flowery scent, which didn't come from perfume, but from your job and then this sky.

Also the fact that your head was on her shoulder and your hand was intertwined with hers didn't make her jump and somewhere she was enjoying it.

She had no idea how many minutes you had spent and it was your whisper that broke the silence.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please what?", Mina winced and instinctively slid away from you.

You quickly took your head off her shoulder and looked carefully into her eyes, which were staring down at you in alarm.

"If it's okay, I mean .." you added quickly, clinging to the ceiling between the two of you to hold on to something.

" I don't quite understand what this is supposed to be..", Mina said and tried to keep calm so as not to go crazy. She watched you take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers.

"Okay Mina .." you started and screwed up your eyes.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I generally don't believe in love ..." she replied coldly.

Your eyes widened at her words.

"Then why are we dating?"

Miss Venable didn't answer and just stared at you. That was bullshit ... you only knew each other a month, you couldn't love her. It was impossible.

Your eyes started to fill with tears when she didn't answer. And when she saw that, she closed her eyes.

Great, Wilhemina, now she's crying because of you.

"Y / N please ..", she mumbled and tried to grab your hand, but you jumped away.

"No Mina .." you said, still crying, and got up.

"It's my fault, I should have known .."

Again Wilhemina could only stare at you. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was that you were hurt because of her.

You ran your hair through before you crossed your arms over your chest.

"I'm sorry if I got too close, but I thought you would feel the same way .."

You stared down at her expectantly, but she looked at you again with a frown

"This is pointless .." you muttered and grabbed your jacket.

"I think you can find the exit on your own .."

You started to leave and just wanted to go down to your little horror apartment to bury yourself in your uncomfortable sofa, but she stopped you by grabbing your wrist.

"You're not going anywhere .." she growled and you let her pull you back onto the bed. You sat across from her and looked at her impatiently while she was trapped in her head, trying to form sentences.

"Are you still saying anything or just staring?" You asked annoyed

"Okay, I guess, I like you too .." she finally pressed out.

"You like me too?"

"Yes? I dont know .."

You snorted and rolled your eyes.

"You dont know .."

"It's complicated ..", Mina stammered and struggled for words.

"Tell me more.."

"I'm not really good at saying what I'm feeling .." she tried further.

"Obviously."

"Y / N please .." she muttered. "I hate being emotional, it makes me weak .."

Weak. At her words you frowned. You'd always noticed that she was a little stiff, but she actually seemed to have trouble talking about what was going on inside her.

"What did they do to you, that you think something like that .." you whispered when you saw tears running down her face and she averted her gaze from you and stared into her lap.

You carefully reached out your hand to place it on her cheek. She looked at you carefully and with all the pain in her gaze you couldn't help but feel bad.

"I hate people .." she said quietly and more tears welled up in her eyes and made their way down her face. Your heart broke at the sight.

You reached out both arms to her to pull her to your chest. You rubbed her back gently with your hands, trying to be as careful as possible not to hurt her while she cried into your shoulder and clung to you.

It took a few minutes for her to calm down and pull back from your chest to look at you.

You actually wanted to say something, but she was faster and suddenly pressed her lips against yours. It was unexpected and her lips tasted like the salty tears, but still it was the best kiss you had ever had.

"I love you .." you mumbled against her lips so as not to get the answer you had hoped for a second later.

"I love you too.."

#wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #american horror story

212 notes · View notes

moonbeambucky · 5 years ago

Text

Friday Night Fights

Pairing: Wrestler!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 5948 Warnings: action, fluff

Summary: A night at a wrestling show proves more than you may be able to handle.

A/N: I’m so excited because I haven’t seen this before and I’m really, really happy with how it turned out! Thank you to my pizza love @all1e23 for beta reading 🍕❤️ Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated! gif source (x)

It was early in the evening but the sky showed otherwise. Its pitch black blanket draped the world in darkness; a consequence of winter where night rolls over earlier as the days go on. Y/N is huddled together with her friend Wanda, teeth chattering as they brace for a gust of wind, the kind that’s so cold the icy breeze burns your face. They’re standing in a line that wraps around the block, hearing the excited chants from people all around them. Some are a little louder than others and Y/N suspects a few have been keeping warm thanks to those beers wrapped in paper bags. While she was too cold to physically show how excited she was, inside she was thrilled. It was the first Friday of the month and Y/N was spending it the way she’s spent all of them over the past year, front row at a local wrestling show.

MWF had been running monthly shows for a few years now but it wasn’t until Wanda’s brother Pietro begged them to come with him that she was hooked. It was so much fun to watch the athletic matches and even though there were some storylines that bordered on ridiculous they were a lot of fun. Y/N can honestly say she’s never laughed harder than watching a man named Doctor Doom wrestle The Invisible Woman. He was so convincing in kicking his own ass she was almost positive he really was in a match against a woman that no one could see.

Tonight was different though; Y/N and Wanda were alone, waiting to get inside the venue without Pietro because he was making his debut! He caught the wrestling bug from the moment they all went to a show and after speaking with some of the wrestlers he found a local school and started training. Things were rough, as Y/N remembered the day after his first lesson, Pietro was so sore he couldn’t even get off the couch of the apartment they all shared. As his training continued so did his injuries; his body was covered in bruises from all moves he was learning but he didn’t care. Pietro loved it so much and eventually his body got used to the new brand of workouts he was putting it through.

While he was training Pietro still went to shows with Y/N and Wanda but now things were different. He was on hand to help set up the ring during the day, staying after the show to help break it down and pack it in the truck. He no longer viewed each match through the eyes of a fan but as a student, carefully studying each move and the story the wrestlers were telling. Watching them interact with the crowd made him hopeful, imagining himself in that ring one day with a crowd of people cheering for him. That day had finally come.

The show wouldn’t start for another half hour at least so Y/N and Wanda went to the line for refreshments, saying hello to a few people along the way. They had grown familiar with some of the crowd, seeing familiar faces that were also dedicated fans. Besides the regulars there were always new people, fathers with their young children either using this as a replacement for expensive WWE shows or just bonding over more wrestling in their lives. It was always a treat to watch the kids yell at the bad guys as they walked around the ring, pointing fingers in their face before recoiling back with fear if they were snarled at.

There were a lot of women there too, some older ones where it was clear they had grown up watching classic wrestling. Sometimes it was obvious that they were there to meet their favorite stars from the past. Usually the shows had one match that featured someone that used to be really popular. They were older now, a little slower but still put on an entertaining match. During intermission they would sell signed 8x10 pictures from a table off to the side. It isn’t anything compared to the money they used to make but it’s something of a living, and taking a selfie with their fans makes everyone happy.

Other women filled the crowds, young ones that hoped to get in the ring themselves one day or those who were only there to support their boyfriends or other friends who were in the show. You could always tell who was there to support who, watching their disinterested face lift up from the phone it’s been glued to all night to cheer for someone, and once the match was over you could see how quickly they got back to their phone, furiously texting away probably asking when they could finally leave.

After the shows some kids would wait around hoping to meet their favorite wrestler, full of nervous joy as they took a picture with them. It wasn’t always the kids who were anxious to meet someone, a lot of times there would be some women blatantly flirting with some of them. Y/N’s seen a few wrestlers take someone by the hand, pulling them behind the curtain to get lost for a few minutes. As long as everything was consensual there was no issue with it though she couldn’t help but grimace as she watched it happen unbeknownst to that wrestler's girlfriend hanging around and waiting for him to leave the locker room.

Pietro always told her not to say anything. “Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.” It’s a lesson he learned the hard way after confronting someone about cheating on their girlfriend. They took it out on him during training, leaving a red handprint shaped welt on his chest for days for not minding his business. This was not a side of wrestling that any of them liked.

Making their way to their seats they were taken aback by the presence of the large ring assembled in the center of the room. It was always a beautiful sight and being there felt like home. The cold metal chairs brought comfort, the bright fluorescents that shined down on them from the vaulted ceiling brought warmth like a cozy fireplace. This was more than something to do on a Friday night; it was tradition, creating new memories with every show.

Y/N took off her jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. “Do you like it?” she said, turning to Wanda, proudly showing off her sweatshirt.

The bright blue fabric was eye catching but the design on the front really stood out. It was the symbol for a wrestler that everyone knew was her favorite; red and white circles surrounding a bright white star in the center meant for “Captain America” Steve Rogers, the current MWF heavyweight champion. He was a blue eyed, blond haired, six foot wall of pure muscle with the sweetest baby face she’d ever seen.

Steve was enthralling. Women would scream extra loud as they ogled him (those tights don’t leave much to the imagination) and kids would jump up and down cheering as he gave each and every one a high five. Steve was an all American wrestler, a good-hearted person who believed in clean matches and rushed out from the back to help others if their own opponents were cheating to win. And lately he’s been coming out a lot.

There was a faction known as Hydra that Steve has been feuding with for some time now. A man named Red Skull, whose face was painted to look like one, served as their leader, standing ringside as his assets would fight their way to the top for a shot at the championship. For a while he pushed Crossbones, a real sleazy villain that took cheap shots at the audience, sneering at them as he told them how lucky they were to be in the presence of his greatness. Steve had many fights against Crossbones but he wasn’t alone.

Steve used to be a tag team, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the Howling Commandos, brothers in arms that were the reigning tag team champions. Fans adored them, cheering as they took on Crossbones and his partner Baron Zemo. One night Steve held up his belt over his head, rejoicing in another win for himself and Bucky, proudly showing it off to the crowd and never expecting what happened next.

A vicious blow knocked him to the mat, the belt dropped from his hands. Confused, Steve tried to get up but a heavy boot kicked him back down. He wondered who was attacking him and if Bucky was faring better than he was, that is until he was able to turn around. Bucky was standing over him, his foot kicking Steve in the ribs. He groaned in pain, his body feeling the agony of the attack but his mind suffered more. “Buck, why?” But Steve never got an answer.

Bucky grabbed his head, forcing him to his feet but Steve fought back to defend himself. He blocked one punch but not the next two blows that came out of nowhere; a swift kick to the stomach from Zemo that sent him right into another strike from Crossbones across his back.

Steve wobbled to his knees disoriented and Bucky took advantage of his former friend’s weakened state. Bucky pulled Steve by the top of his tights setting him bent over between his legs. He smirked feeling his attempt to find the strength to fight back, clawing at Bucky’s thighs to break free. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist and with all his might he hoisted him up, flipping Steve’s body up quickly so his legs were straddling Bucky’s head and just as fast he used all his force to slam Steve’s back down onto the mat.

Bucky got up, laughing as he stared at Steve laid out in the ring, joining Crossbones and Baron Zemo as the newest member of Hydra as the crowd roared with anger. Ever since that day Steve has been facing Bucky Barnes now known as The Winter Soldier– an enemy with the face of a friend.

The main event tonight was Steve against the Winter Soldier who was fighting for a shot at the title. Everyone was excited. Y/N wasn’t the only one in a Captain America shirt although some people in the audience smudged black paint around their eyes, emulating their new favorite villain to show their support.

The Winter Soldier had become an intimidating figure, wearing a black mask that covered the bottom half of his face, piercing blue eyes stood out against the smear of black war paint. His left arm was wrapped in silver electrical tape from his wrist and up his forearm, the sections making it look like his arm was replaced by metal plates. A final piece was taped just above his bicep as if to show off the prominent muscle.

He traded bright blue tights for a dark black fabric with a jarring red star on his thigh. It was like he had it just to taunt Steve, showing him he remembered his roots and all the years they spent together as a team but now he no longer cared, twisting the image of a patriotic star for one that was blood red, dripping with the hate that fueled him.

Like everyone else, Y/N couldn’t wait for that match but first the show had to begin. A man walked out from the curtain to a roar of cheers. He was an older man with grey hair that bordered on silver and bright teeth that flashed against tanned skin. He entered the ring with all eyes on him, partially because of his striking gold jacket, beneath it an even bolder red tie that stood out against a bright cobalt blue shirt.

Bringing a microphone to his mouth he spoke, “Welcome to the Marvel Wrestling Federation. I am your host, the Grandmaster!” The Grandmaster smirked, taking in their enthusiasm. The crowd was pumped and he knew it was going to be a great night. “Please welcome your referee for the night Phillip Coulson!”

“COUL-SON! COUL-SON! COUL-SON!” The crowd cheered as a man in a striped shirt entered the ring, a modest smile spreading across his thin lips.

With that the first match of the night began but Wanda could hardly pay attention. Pietro had texted her saying he was going to be in the second match and her leg bounced nervously. She vacillated between feeling excited and nervous, wanting to cheer on her brother for his debut but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but fear for his safety.

Sure, Pietro had been training for a while but that didn’t mean that things couldn’t go wrong. Y/N looked over at Wanda, taking her hand and squeezing it, hoping to provide some comfort to her, realizing how hard Wanda was squeezing her own hand back as the first match ended.

“Making his debut, all the way from Sokovia, here is Quicksilver!” the Grandmaster’s voice boomed as music hit, and suddenly a figure raced out from the curtains to the sound of fast paced music.

Y/N and Wanda shot up to cheer for him, proudly screaming as he ran around the outside of the ring, slapping hands with everyone before he jumped up on the apron. Stepping inside the ring he went to the corner, standing on the middle ropes as he raised his arms up, smiling at the crowd.

He looked incredible. Neither of them had seen his outfit, ombre blue pants with a white lightning bolt going down the side of his leg. His white boots shined brightly, their luster not yet marred by the history of a long career. His chest was bare and though he was not as tanned as some other wrestlers he still very much looked the part with bright blue elbow pads on his arms. He winked towards Y/N and Wanda, who was filled with nervous energy she could barely hold her phone steady to record his match.

“And his opponent, from Queens, New York he is the amazing Spider-Man!”

Everyone jumped up from their seats to cheer for a masked wrestler who was always a crowd favorite. He was a few inches shorter than Pietro but much slimmer, wearing a full body spandex suit in red and blue with a webbed designed all over it and a small black spider in the center of his chest. His eyes were blocked by a white mesh surrounded by black trim but somehow you could see the expression in them.

Pietro began clapping his hands, a rhythmic beat for the crowd to join in as he and Spider-Man circled each other in the ring. Once they began both men showed off their skill of high flying moves and near pinfalls for each of them with nonstop action throughout and the crowd loved it. Wanda’s smile was stretched proudly across her face as she watched her brother. The match was over before anyone wanted it to be, with Spider-Man climbing to the top turnbuckle and doing a backflip splash onto Pietro for the three count.

Ref Coulson raised Spider-Man’s hand in victory but he quickly went to his opponent and helped him to his feet. Pietro was half-keeled over with one arm across his stomach, feeling the pain from where all of Spider-Man’s weight had landed. Spider-Man took Pietro’s hand, celebrating Quicksilver as a mutually respected opponent.

Wanda and Y/N stood up and cheered loudly, sitting down again once Pietro had gone back through the curtain.

“He was incredible! Did you see that? My. Brother. Did. That!” Wanda exclaimed.

Y/N was just as proud of him, knowing how hard Pietro trained. His first match was a great success and she hoped it would be the start to an incredible career.

The next match saw Quake take on Black Widow, another member of Hydra. She was a short redhead but her opponents should know not to be intimidated by her size. Though she was a strong fighter Black Widow was also conniving, cheating to win whenever it seemed victory was just out of reach.

She walked around the ring with a slow stride, ignoring the boos and comments from the crowd. As she was approaching Y/N she noticed the Captain America shirt she was wearing and her red lips pulled into a disgusted scoff. Black Widow snarled at Y/N, unable to bear the mere sight of her enemy’s symbol.

As soon as the match began the crowd was behind Quake all the way which only seemed to upset Black Widow more, anger that she held firmly inside. She launched a vicious attack, raking Quake in the eyes to impair her vision as she tried to pin her right away. Quake kicked out, and after a lot of back and forth it seemed like Quake was finally getting the upper hand.

Not wanting to lose Black Widow found the strength to stop herself from being thrown into the corner, reversing the move and whipping Quake right into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat in pain. With Quake and the referee both down Black Widow smirked, using this opportunity to slip out of the ring and grab a metal chair.

Black Widow raised the chair above her hands, about to slam it down onto Quake before she noticed from the corner of her eye that Ref Coulson was using the ropes to ease himself up. Not wanting to be caught, she slammed the chair down onto the mat. The sound alerted Quake who turned around and just as quickly Black Widow threw the chair to Quake and fell down onto the mat. Ref Coulson turned around and was stunned to see Quake holding the chair above her opponent. He refused to listen to her protests as she was caught red handed, signaling to the announcers to end the match and the bell rang.

The Grandmaster’s voice echoed through the room, “The winner of this match as a result of a disqualification, Black Widow!”

The crowd booed as Quake continued to argue with the referee. He helped Black Widow up from the mat, unable to see the wicked grin that spread across her face. Her expression was one Y/N saw again that night as Crossbones and Zemo fought against Falcon and Hawkeye but unlike Black Widow, their opponents would not fall for Hydra’s tricks.

Hawkeye spotted Zemo hiding by the apron of the ring, trying to hold Falcon’s foot down so he couldn’t kick out as Crossbones attempted to pin him. Racing towards him, Hawkeye speared Zemo into the guardrails, knocking him out. Crossbones and Falcon were trading punches and Falcon was stumbling in the center of the ring. Crossbones began to climb to the top rope, setting himself up to jump off and hit his signature move, the Strike Force.

Seeing this Hawkeye jumped to the apron, knocking into Crossbones who landed crotch first into the turnbuckle, letting out a painful groan. Hawkeye called out for Falcon who turned around, and both men climbed to the top rope, lifting Crossbones to a standing position as they threw his arms over theirs.

This was their finishing move, the Birds of a Feather, as Falcon and Hawkeye did a simultaneous backflip off the top rope, while holding Crossbones who flipped along with them, slamming furiously onto the mat. Thunderous applause carried through the room as the referee counted to three and Falcon and Hawkeye remained the MWF tag team champions.

There were so many other matches that kept Y/N and Wanda entertained, like Thor against his brother Loki, the two having their own long standing feud but now it was time for the final match and Y/N was full of anticipation.

The Grandmaster stood in the center of the ring again, commanding the microphone as he spoke to the crowd. “Wow, what a show, what a night! And now, without further ado… it’s main event time! Making his way to the ring at 240 pounds he is the fist of Hydra, The Winter Soldier!”

The faint sound of music is heard over the crowd, like a scream heard underwater. The tension builds with a growing hum, the cry is louder yet different, mechanized, like someone is trapped inside a machine. A motorcycle hums, revving its engine, racing louder and louder until a crash of metal clangs.

At the height of tension the Winter Soldier takes a solid step through the curtain as the haunting scream blares out. It’s as if the person he used to be was still inside, Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, friend to Steve Rogers, trapped inside the shell of a brainwashed assassin, scratching at the walls and screaming to free himself. But the Winter Soldier is nothing like Bucky Barnes.

His movements are deliberate and slow as he stalks the ring. Blue eyes visible through the darkness of black around them. They speak volumes with every glare as he makes his way around the ring. Kids who are brave enough scream at him but the Winter Soldier doesn’t react. He’s cold, devoid of emotion, as mechanic as the sounds of his entrance music. Y/N does see something in his eyes, the subtle squint as he sees her Captain America shirt. She, like many others, boo him as he passes by.

Not everyone hates the Winter Soldier though; he has his own fan base that doesn’t care about what side of good he’s on. Y/N can hear the difference in the tone of their screams, lascivious howls as he steps in the ring. They cry out as he undoes the buckles of his leather jacket to reveal a broad chest and she wouldn’t be surprised if they had dollars ready in between their fingers to stuff down his pants. His hair is dark and stringy, falling just on top of his muscular shoulders. He removes his muzzle, rolling his neck from side to side as he awaits his foe.

“From Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at 225 pounds, he is your Heavyweight Champion, Captain America, Steve Rogers!”

Patriotic horns blare along with rhythmic percussion, building triumphantly until Captain America pops through the curtain to a clamor of cheers. The belt shines brightly around his waist as he takes a second to pose, hooking his thumbs into the top, proud to be the champion.

Y/N stands up, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound of her cheers making them rise above the rest. Steve was slapping hands with a group of children but he heard her, his boyish smile growing as he turned to see her in the front row wearing his symbol.

As Steve approached Y/N he took her hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it that set her cheeks on fire. She sat down giggling in her seat with Wanda, hardly able to look at Steve anymore even though she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her breath got caught in her chest for a moment as the Winter Soldier glared in her direction. She swallowed the hard lump in her chest uncomfortably, feeling on edge by the intensity of his stare.

The Grandmaster leaves the ring as Ref Coulson pats down the legs of both men to make sure none of them have any weapons. Steve would never but you can’t put anything past Hydra. The bell rings and the match begins, both men circling each other. Steve puts his hand out to shake, an honorable sign of respect he shows towards all of his opponents but his former friend roughly slaps it away. The Winter Soldier lunges towards Steve to spear him to the ground, unleashing an assault of vicious punches to the champion.

Steve blocked what he could but it seems like the Winter Soldier is on a mission to take him out. Steve is able to push him off, rolling over to try and stand but his opponent is on his feet first The Winter Soldier grabbed Steve and squeezed him into a headlock, tightening his grip as Steve hissed. Steve tried to get out of the hold, clawing and punching his way to get the man who used to be Bucky to release it. Instead he bends his knees and gets his arms under the Winter Soldier’s thighs, with all of his strength Steve flipped him over his shoulder but the reprieve did not last long.

Just as quickly he was attacked again but Steve grabbed the Soldier’s hand, whipping him into the ropes. As the Winter Soldier ran back towards Steve he was caught with the strong force of Steve’s drop kick that sent him to the mat. Steve went to cover him for the pin but the Soldier kicked out. The match had everyone on edge, back and forth as they traded powerful moves until both men were laid out in the ring.

“Come on Steve!” Y/N shouted.

He was dazed, trying to get up as the ref began a countdown from ten. He slapped the mat with his palm slowly and the crowd joined him; slow claps that built with speed, encouraging Steve to get to his feet. The Winter Soldier stood before Steve did so he grabbed him by the back of the head, slamming his face into the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier set Steve up in the corner, slapping his chest with a violent thwack. Steve screamed in pain, the sting burning his skin.

The Soldier slapped him two more times before he grabbed him by the hand and violently threw him into the other corner. Steve’s back hit the turnbuckle and he groaned in pain. The Winter Soldier ran towards him but at the last second Steve lifted his foot to kick him in the face. The Soldier stumbled and Steve hoisted himself up to the middle rope, jumping off and locking his arms around the Winter Soldier's head; the momentum allowed him to swing his body around and as Steve landed on his back the Winter Soldier was stunned from the impact of the top of his head being driven into the mat.

Steve goes for the cover but the Soldier just barely kicks out. The crowd groans in frustration with Steve who gets up. With the Winter Soldier still down Steve gets up, he leaps to the center of the ropes, springboards off the top rope and does a back flip. It’s the Star Spangled Splash and the crowd goes wild as Steve crashes down on the Winter Soldier. He goes for the cover again, the referee counts, one, two, thr– The Winter Soldier kicks out at the last second.

Frustration washes over an exhausted Steve. He grabs the Winter Soldier by the hair to get him to his feet. Steve gets the Soldier in a front facing headlock and tosses his left arm over his own neck. He hooks his own arm behind the Soldier’s left leg, cradling the Winter Soldier against him. His hold is locked tight and then Steve throws himself backwards, tossing the Winter Soldier over his head. He’s pinned to the mat, his head and leg still locked in Steve’s clutches, and Steve does a bridge to add more pressure to the hold.

Steve is waiting, holding the Winter Soldier down expecting the referee to be counting. He’s been holding him down for longer than the count of three so where is the ref? The crowd is screaming, telling Ref Coulson to turn around but he doesn’t hear them. He’s too busy dealing with Red Skull and Black Widow who had rushed out from the entrance. He knew it was almost over for the Winter Soldier and he wasn’t going to let Captain America have another victory over them.

Red Skull made Black Widow jump up on the curtain to distract the referee as Crossbones and Baron Zemo snuck inside the ring, stomping on Steve’s stomach. He released the hold, groaning as the men continued to stomp him.

“Turn around! Ref, turn around!” Y/N, Wanda and so many others pleaded.

Crossbones grabbed Steve, lifting him into a fireman’s carry as Zemo climbed to the top rope. He swung Steve around to disorient him, inadvertently knocking into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat. Zemo flew off the top rope to add to Steve’s pain as Crossbones spun him out, spiking his head into the mat.

The Winter Soldier rolled out of the ring, going over to the table where the Grandmaster was sitting. He grabbed the championship belt in a vicious tug of war that the Grandmaster had no shot of winning. Steve was using the ropes to get to his feet and the Winter Soldier ran full steam, hitting him in the head with his own belt.

Chaos broke out as the bell was ringing for the match to end but no one inside the ring seemed to care. They used every opportunity they could to continue their assault on Steve.

Y/N got to her feet, leaning over the guardrails as she screamed at all of Hydra. The Winter Soldier whipped his head in her direction, his eyes flaring with rage. He signaled to Crossbones and Zemo who dragged a half-conscious Steve to his knees. He was in the corner, his head dropping forward as both men held his arms back.

The Winter Soldier jumped down from the ring with determination, stomping towards Y/N who was still giving him shit, screaming “You knew you could never beat Steve in a fair fight!”

Wanda was trying to pull Y/N down to her seat as the intimidating frame of the Winter Soldier hovered in front of them but it didn’t stop her. Y/N’s arms were in his face as she continued to defend her favorite wrestler. “You’ll never win! Steve will always kick your ugly, frostbitten ass!”

A round of “oohs” spread out from around her, the sound that quickly turned into “ahhs” as Y/N screamed. Her words were enough to break the Winter Soldier who grabbed her with two hands by the throat, lifting her over the guardrails. Her legs kicked furiously to get out of the chokehold as she struggled to breathe.

Wanda was screaming as the Winter Soldier placed Y/N down, only to quickly toss her into the ring. Confused, she crawled to the corner in an attempt to get out, feeling the unfamiliar padding under her palms but she didn’t get far. The Winter Soldier pulled her by the foot, dragging her back.

Y/N screamed for help and the Grandmaster shot up but Red Skull saw him coming and kicked him in the face, laying him out before he could make it into the ring. Cowering on all fours, Y/N began screaming as she felt the bottom of her sweatshirt being pulled off. She held onto the hem of the shirt she had on underneath; far too thin to be worn alone, her arms prickled with goosebumps but Y/N couldn’t think about that. Fear ran through her veins and she stumbled backwards, leaning against the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier held up her sweatshirt that bore Steve’s symbol to the crowd and facing her again he ripped it in half, tossing the shredded fabric at Steve.

This jolted him alert and Steve looked around, getting his bearings. His eyes shot open wide as he realized one of his fans was in the ring. Steve struggled to break free and Red Skull saw the determination in his eyes. Steve was straining his muscles to loosen the hold but Red Skull came up behind him, locking Steve’s head in a chokehold as Crossbones and Zemo strengthened their hold on Steve’s arms.

Black Widow sauntered towards the fearful Y/N, who begged mercilessly to be left alone but she should have known Hydra only cares about themselves and they needed to make a point. There was nothing Steve could do but watch as Black Widow lifted Y/N above her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the girl helpless in her arms.

Wanda screamed in fear as Black Widow popped Y/N’s legs up, throwing them behind her as she locked her arms around Y/N’s head, magnifying the impact on Y/N’s neck as she hit the mat.

The crowd lost their minds, screaming as one of their own was unmoving in the center of the ring. Steve fought harder to be free of his hold and his enemies let him go. He walked straight into a fierce kick to the stomach from the Winter Soldier who quickly hooked Steve’s arms behind his back, locking his grip around them.

This was it, his finisher– the Dead of Winter.

He lifted Steve into a vertical position with his back against the Soldier’s chest, holding him there as if to prove to the fans that he was obviously the stronger of the two former Howling Commandos. The Winter Soldier then dropped to the mat, driving Steve’s head straight into the unforgiving ring.

“HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” The crowd went wild as the Winter Soldier bared his teeth, a growling scream as he defeated his former friend.

Steve was on his back unmoving as Black Widow dragged Y/N’s lifeless body and draped it over him. The Winter Soldier laid Steve’s belt on top of her, as he and Hydra taunted the crowd, showing them what they thought about Captain America, his fans and his stupid title.

Security was finally called in but it was too late, Hydra had left the ring. Ref Coulson was dazed but awake, horrified to see a fan in the ring. Weakened, he called out for medical attention the girl in the ring and Steve, telling them not to touch them.

Most of the crowd filed out of the building but some of them stayed, like Wanda who cried as she watched Y/N being loaded onto a stretcher, carefully taken out of the ring with a collar around her neck.

Y/N opened her eyes to find a massive shadowy figure standing over her. Through a curtain of dark hair she recognized the blue eyes of the Winter Soldier. A smile spread across his face as his hands came for her throat… removing the collar that was stabilizing her neck.

“How’d I do Buck?” she asked with excitement bursting in every word.

“So good doll,” Bucky said, taking her hand so she could sit up.

He stood between her legs, his arms finding their spot on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her lips. She tasted salt from his sweat but it was something she was used to after so many nights of training together.

“I can’t wait for you to make your debut. You and Steve versus me and Tash.”

She nodded, smiling just as widely as he was. “I think Wanda’s more excited to seek revenge on what ‘the Black Widow’ did to her friend,” Y/N joked. “Did she tell you she picked a gimmick name? Scarlet Witch.”

“It suits her,” Bucky said, taking his hand to gently rub away some dirt from the mat that was on Y/N’s cheek. “How ‘bout we get cleaned up and maybe tonight you can try and pin me?” A smirk pulled at his lips, the glint of mischief twinkled in Bucky’s eyes.

“Try?” Y/N scoffed, looking into the eyes of her boyfriend with a smirk of her own. “Oh I don’t need to try Bucky, I can get you on your back with ease.”

Bucky grinned, pressing another kiss to her soft lips as he helped her off the stretcher. Y/N already won his heart, a match that Bucky happily lost.

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years ago

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Luke Crain Headcanons

Request: Hi🥺I’m usually not to good about making request but I’m trying to breakout of my shell on that cause you are an amazing writer and I love everything you write!! But can I request a Luke Crain headcanon where you guys grew up together but distanced while he was in rehab but you came back together after what happened with Nellie! Thank you so much you’re an angel🥺💛

Thank you SO much @cathrinexxxv I LOVE LUKE CRAIN! Also I’m so ready to binge watch all of Bly Manor tomorrow!! <3

You and Luke first met when you were very young. As in, really really little. To this day, you’re still constantly teasing him and making him blush smile about his huge magnifying pair of glasses and his obsession with bowler hats.

You and your family used to live in the small village which was a fifteen minute walk away from the looming heights of Hill House, so when a rumour started spreading down the houses that a new family full of children were moving in for the summer, you, naturally, were intrigued.

One night, when you had heard from your mother that the new family had moved in, you sneaked out your back garden on a warm afternoon before dinner, cutting through the dark and dingy forest until you reached the outskirts of the property. Seeing a boy around your own age sitting on his own on the burnt grass, you waved to Luke from behind the branch of a nearby, crooked oak tree. He was startled, to say the least, but as he watched you hide slightly behind the bark, he was surprised to find he wasn’t scared in the slightest.

He felt as if he almost knew you already. As if this was always meant to happen, that you were meant to find each other here.

Nudging his glasses back up the bridge of the nose, he shyly waved back. Once he finally realised that you weren’t going to budge from your hiding place, nervous from the stories your neighbours had told you about this house, he decided to pick up his crayons in one fist and his paper in the other, before he sets off half stumbling, half stomping along the uneven ground towards you.

When he finally reaches the trunk, he stops and looks at you kind of funnily, tilting his head slightly before he decides the right reaction was to smile at you.

‘My name is Luke Crain. Do you want to play with me? All my siblings ignore me and they don’t want to draw with me.’

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon huddled under the shaking leaves, sitting on the roots of the tree, Luke tracing out a picture and you giggling as you tried to bump his hand out of the way to colour it in.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Nellie loved you of course, and saw you as her honorary best friend as well, as did the rest of the siblings (even though Shirley would never admit it, and Theo was too stubborn to), which meant constant sleepovers at Hill House.

Hugh would always chuckle and shake his head when he peeked into Luke and Nellie’s room, seeing Nell asleep on a red bean bag with a half open bag of sweets lying deserted by her feet, and you and Luke sprawled out on the mat by the iron railings of his bed, snoring.

You were also the only one he allowed up into his treehouse. Although, sometimes he was too embarrassed to let you, or his siblings, in, because he had stuck pictures up on the wall of the drawings he had tried to do of you.

Growing up with Luke also meant having to calm him down after he starts seeing the tall, floating ghost. Sometimes you would try to climb up the ivy outside of his bedroom window, only to topple into the house headfirst when you start to hear Luke’s high pitched screaming coming from under his bed. Although Olivia would come running in, she would always end up comforting sobbing Nellie, as Luke would only grab onto you, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed as you remind him the rule.

‘Breathe in and out Luke, that’s it. In and out, seven times - that’s what keeps you safe.’

‘Eight’, he would say with a trembling breath. ‘Eight times. You’re my family too.’

The two of you were gutted when Luke had to move away, but your parents could already see how close the two of you were, and so decided that a move away and a new school for you, perhaps, wasn’t the worst idea. Especially, they decided, since you had been there that night as well.

Although the two of you were close for the whole of your childhood, it takes Luke until he’s eighteen years old to realise just how long he’s really been in love with you. It takes some nudging on from Nellie, pointing out how you would run up to his locker during breaks between classes and just fill him in on how your day was going - each break, no matter how long it had been, without fail. Luke was the only person you wanted to talk to, and from the look of pure delight on Luke’s face as he leans against his locker door and gives his full, undivided attention to you, you’re the only person he wants to listen to.

Or how, Nellie would continue, you would come round to their house for dinner, and although Aunt Janet tried to separate the two of you by sitting you opposite each other, you would just spend the whole dinner ignoring whatever Theo was talking about and giving each other funny looks as you kicked each other in the shin.

Or, when the two of you got a bit older, and you would sneak out of your dorm to visit him in the middle of the night, throwing little rocks at his window until his curtains would rustle and the window latch would be thrown open, his grinning face peering down at you. Despite having spent the whole weekend together, reading to each other in the town’s local library, or just lying shoulder to shoulder watching movies, the two of you would sit out in his garden, on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you.

That’s when he finally realised how immensely, and terrifyingly in love with you he was.

It scared him, to realise this, but deep down he knew it had always been you.

He has so many nightmares though. So many nights are spent with his head lying heavy in your lap, as you brush through his golden hair, trying to shush him and calm him down, or rocking him as he cries into your shoulder because of the nightmares he has about his mother, or about Abigail.

As the two of you start to escape your teenage years, and the wishful chasing after each other that came with it, your relationship becomes slightly more strained when he starts using. You choose to move in with Nellie for a while, once he finally goes to rehab. When she gets married, and you're forced to find somewhere new to live, you think you'll never hear from the Crains again - you get the odd visit from Nell, or Theo, but they're so busy enjoying the newly wed life, or studying for their degree that it's not enough - nothing fills the hole that comes from missing Luke.

It hurts that he never comes to see you, but little did you know that he used to sit at his little beige desk every night, underneath the barred window, just staring up at the moon as he bit on the edge of his pen, a feeling of such wistfulness and loneliness and longing weighing down his chest.

He used to write you a letter, every day, just pouring out all the feelings he was too afraid to tell you, but he always crumples them up and throws them away, too scared to send them.

When Steve phones you up to tell you the news about Nellie’s passing, you told him to immediately come and pick you up.

You're terrified when you open the door and walk out into the bone chilling night to hug him, your heart thumping in your chest when he tells you about how Luke has left rehab again and is somewhere out on the streets, probably using. It breaks your heart, but you know you have to be the one to find him, to bring him back.

When you reach him, and see the man you've loved since you were a child wandering, shoeless and shivering along the freezing, cracked pavement, muttering to himself, you can’t help a tear slip out as you unbuckle your seatbelt and hop out of Steve’s rental.

Luke is so terrified, he doesnt recognise you for a second. It’s only a second, though, before his eyes widen and he pounces on you, wrapping you into him so familiarly, his frame looming large above you but yet feels so fragile in your grasp as he buries his head into the side of your neck and starts crying.

‘I’m so, so cold, Y/n, and my arms are s-s-so stiff, and I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry-’

You can’t bear to tell him the news, so you just hold the nape of his neck and pull him tight against your chest, hating the way his whole body shakes in your hold.

On the day of Nell’s funeral, he doesn't leave your side once - it’s as if the two of you had never been separated at all. As everyone files in through the main door, ignoring the sour face on Shirley as they wander into the reception area, you and Luke just sit knee to knee on the couch opposite the entryway.

‘I tried to write to you,’ he starts, as he fumbles a cigarette from out of his breast pocket and tucks it away behind his ear, trying to busy himself with anything so he doesn’t have to meet your confused eyes, and so you don’t have to see the guilt ridden in his. ‘I want you to know that. Nellie kept on telling me off, but i just didn't know how to say what i needed to say to you.’

‘Luke, its okay, i understand how difficult it was for you-’

‘No-no, Y/n, no more excuses! You mean so much to me and i- i cant... i can't lose anyone else. Just-’

He's so gentle when he finally reaches over and kisses you, trying to shake off his fear and just show you what he meant instead. His suit rumples against your chest as he smooshes himself against you, cupping your cheeks softly with his large hands as he tilts you to the side to meet him in a needy, a desperate, a long anticipated kiss.

He doesn’t pull away - he can't - until you finally break for air, and only then does he finally concede and places his forehead against yours with a soft thud, just closing his eyes in both agony and bliss.

‘I’m sorry that took me so long to do.’

‘It was worth the wait. Although, I have to be honest, your timing has always been rubbish.’

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against your chest as he rests his head on your shoulder like a lost puppy, gazing up at you with those wide, lost eyes, and for the first time you can finally see the adoration and awe and just pure love that’s always been in them.

For the rest of the reception. before he tells you of his plans to go back and burn Hill House to the ground, is spent with the two of you escaping from his siblings by stepping outside and sitting on Shirley’s porch. Your arms stay linked tightly together, as if afraid to let go again, and his coat is wrapped around both of your shoulders as he rests against you, just content to be surrounded by your presence.

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indianamoonshine · 4 years ago

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c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

#DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THIS TOOK TO TYPE OUT #din djarin x reader #din x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mw1 #strawberryfic

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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Wait For Me // D.M.

Request: hi! can you do a request where draco performed the obliviate curse on his gf before the war, then met her again post war when he became a healer? the storyline is up to you! by the way, i really really like your fics 🥺 - anon

A/N: This request let me explore all the things I love: angst, healer!draco, and redemption. Thank you for trusting me with this request, I love it so much. This was not also on my WIP lost but I had an idea and I ran with it. With some hope, my next few fics will be from that list!!

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares and injuries, some anxiety, short words and tempers, swearing. A HAPPY ENDING or at least the start of one.

Word count: 5.2k

1996:

“You know why I have to do this, right?” Draco whispers: worried that if he were to speak any louder his voice would give away how close he is to breaking.

You nod once. A solemn nod that juxtaposes the tears falling freely down your face. How could you be agreeing to this when it made you feel like your heart was being ripped out?

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, arms reaching for you, the urge to touch too strong to resist. “If they used you against me or if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

You hush him; not missing the irony of the situation. To be comforting him when you were going to have a large chunk of your memories taken from you, it was almost laughable.

The final few moments together are spent in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, getting as much of the other as possible before inevitably having to let go. You bury your face in his chest, almost refusing to let go of him as he unhooks your hands from around his waist.

The time has come; it’s come too soon.

You barely register Draco’s tears mixing with yours as he hauls you in for one last desperate kiss. His forehead remains pressed to yours as he whispers three words.

“Wait for me.”

Then everything goes blank. A flash of white and your life begins anew.

No memories of the last year of your life; no thoughts about the blonde haired teenager that had occupied your mind and stolen your heart.

There’s nothing.

Five years later:

The strong antiseptic smell has your nose crinkling in distaste. The overhead lights buzz as the bright light bounces off the overly clean floor; it makes your head hurt more. You place a tentative hand to the side of your head, frowning further when you feel the large bump growing there. Removing your hand, you sigh, remembering the tears of the pupil that had done this.

Not long after the war, a new decree was issued setting up centres of education for young witches and wizards that showed magical promise. They operated extremely similar to a muggle primary school; however these followed the curriculum created by the Ministry of Magic.

It was in one of these schools that you worked, choosing to train as a teacher after finishing your education.

A rogue ball is what had landed you in the emergency room of the only magical hospital in Britain. It had come out of nowhere; the children playing happily as the weather had improved over the course of the day.

Tapping your foot impatiently off the tiled floor, you had to admit to yourself it had been partly your fault for not seeing the ball before it knocked you on the side of the head and subsequently knocked you to the floor. The child, a young Hugo Ward, had felt terrible – sobs wracking his body as he apologised to you over and over again to the point where you had to reassure him you were fine.

An hour after the accident, it became evident that you were not fine. The dizziness and double vision being symptoms of something worse, your boss had sent you off to St. Mungo’s without room for argument, promising you she would cover your class for the rest of the day.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” calls the triage nurse. A blonde middle aged lady with bright eyes and a kind smile; she points in the direction of exam room two and you flash her a grateful smile.

The hospital bed is uncomfortable as you take a seat on top of the crinkly paper. The pounding in your head had not stopped since you arrived but the dizziness was calming somewhat, and for that, you were thankful. It happens as a flash; a memory washes over you of a large hospital wing, two rows of beds and an elderly lady with fierce determination written over her face.

A single blink and it disappears. The flashes hadn’t happened for a while; the aftermath of a memory charm inflicted upon in your Sixth Year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t known who had done it; they had found you wandering the halls of Hogwarts alone and confused before realising what had happened. You had recovered fairly quickly; the only aftermath being the flashes of what could be memories.

You sigh, sinking further into the gurney as you think of the pile of marking waiting for you at home. Even a sore head couldn’t put off the inevitable.

The Healer doesn’t look up as he enters, pulling the curtain closed behind him, “I’m Healer Malfoy, how can I help you today?”

You sit straighter as you take in the healer. Blonde hair down to the nape of his neck, tied back with what seems to be a leather cord. He hasn’t looked up at you yet, but from your spot, you could tell he was handsome. A strong jaw being home to a distracting mouth. You look away, admiring the rest of him before you could be caught staring at his lips.

Healer Malfoy’s face slackens for a second as his eyes rake over your face. He collects himself after a second, but still, you noticed. He clears his throat, looking down at the chart in his hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“You hurt your head at work?”

Again, you nod, “Twice over. A pupil threw a ball at my head by accident, but I knocked my head on the playground as I fell.”

Healer Malfoy places your chart on a nearby table, pulling latex gloves out of his pocket as he does so. He smiles at you, but there’s something guarded about the expression on his face that has question after question springing up in your overworked and pained mind.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Healer Malfoy asks routinely, silently gesturing to your head, asking for permission to feel the injury.

“No,” You answer, turning your head for him to feel the bump on the side of your head.

You hear his sharp inhale as he examines the large bump there. As if seeing you hurt physically hurt him too, yet how was that possible? Thinking through your admittedly fragmented memories, you cannot find a whisper of what the blonde haired man could have looked like younger. Something niggled in the back of your mind, a feeling, a hunch. You didn’t know what, but it got stronger every time you met the grey eyes of the handsome Healer Malfoy.

“This is going to sound odd but go with me on it please?” You say, voice lilting into a question at the end. The idea of not giving this man in front of you a choice simply abhorrent to you.

Healer Malfoy smiles: it’s polite and doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back from you, needing the distance but also done with the examination of your injury. “Okay, I’ll go with it,” He states warily.

Your hands clench into fists; overcome with the urge to try and coax a smile out of him. “I don’t know how else to say it. Do we know each other? You feel familiar to me, as if I know you from somewhere.”

Whatever smile was on Healer Malfoy’s face falls the instant the words leave your mouth. His entire demeanour changes – shoulders stiff, hands gripping your chart so tight it could snap in half. Unclenching his jaw, Healer Malfoy grits out, “No. We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure?” You press, deciding desperately that you needed to know the man standing in front of you.

“Very sure,” He murmurs, scribbling your discharge notes and handing them to you. “I would remember you if we had met before.”

The blank confession leaves you speechless. Blinking in what could only be described as shock, you take the outstretched papers.

“Your prescription is there too. You show no major signs of a concussion, just rest for tonight at least and watch out for anymore footballs,” Healer Malfoy starts, “Should you have any more problems, you know where to find us.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you hurriedly grab your bag from the gurney and leave the exam room, taking extra care to hide the dejected look on your face as you pass the handsome healer.

Draco watches you go. You all but sprint out of the hospital, almost desperate in your escape to get away from him and his short words.

The threat has been gone for years; vanquished not too long after the night Draco had taken your memories, after the night that continues to haunt his nightmares.

Draco Malfoy had faced the Dark Lord and lived – he has stared death in its sallow face and was not the first to look away. Yet, Draco was ever more terrified of what you would do should your memories ever return. Your rage was entirely more terrifying than staring into the soulless eyes of the man his parents so blindly followed.

Draco releases a breath as he spies your figure finally leaving the hospital. The released breath does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest; the tightness that had been there since that fateful night in the astronomy tower.

He’s had this argument with himself countless times, always the same words and the same fight. His own justification for why he did what he did; why he took your memories of your relationship and sent you away. Deep down, Draco knows that he should have communicated better. He knows that he should have sat you down and explained to you his worries and his fears. However, at barely seventeen years old, Draco was just getting used to the idea of love. He knew what was coming; he knew that there were dark times ahead and he was unfortunately aware of how you could be used against him should the time come.

He had a decision to make, so he did. Thinking back on it now, it had almost killed him. He had never experienced a pain like it. Draco had been hit with the Sectumsempra curse and the pain that followed was nothing compared to the pain he felt when erasing your memories.

Draco turns away from the door. You’ve disappeared around the corner; your head bowed, and shoulders hunched. He has no reason to watch you now. He turns away from the door, wondering whether it was fate that had brought you back into his life after such an absence.

An absence he caused.

-------

You return to work the day after; feeling fine enough to stand in front of your class and deliver your lessons of literacy and maths but also of spellcasting and magical control for infants. You followed your lesson plans to the letter; resolutely refusing to stray from them should they let your mind wander to the handsome healer and his cold words.

The healer continues to play on your mind for the rest of the week: at work, at home. You would go over the brief conversation you had with him; wondering at which point his demeanour changed, that he became closed off and cold. He hadn’t been welcoming from the beginning, but by the end of it he had downright cold. It should have warned you off; it should have been warning enough to keep your distance and to do your best to ensure you never needed to return to the emergency room, yet there was something about him. There was something hidden within his grey eyes, a dark secret ravaging him from the inside out and you felt desperate to know what it was.

-------

As much as you adore your vocation, as much as you love coming into work and greeting the children with a smile, there was something sweet about sending them home to their parents. A sweet relief that loosens the weight on your chest somewhat.

A shock of blonde hair has you turning back to the school gates. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognise the handsome face of the healer that had treated you only a week ago. His face not one you felt like you could forget.

“Healer Malfoy?” You call out, confused at his presence.

He smiles bashfully, “Draco, please.”

“Draco,” You greet. “Do you often make home visits?” You tease, a smile crossing your face.

“Technically, I’m at your place of work so this would be a work visit,” Draco comments, laughing lightly, seeming to be in a much better mood than the last time you had met him.

Your smile grows larger at the sound of his laughter. “Okay… do you often make work visits?”

He shakes his head, “No. I do not.”

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are.”

“One, and one I thought of just now – I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the hospital the other day, I was rude, and it was out of line so I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I doubt that you get asked by many of your patients whether you know them.”

Draco smiles, “You’re right, I don’t, but nevertheless, I shouldn’t have been so rude, and I apologise.”

“Then I accept your apology, only if you accept mine.”

He goes to argue but stops himself at the last possible moment. You meet his gaze head on, watching the emotions pile up there. There’s something lingering in his grey eyes; something deeper as if he has more to apologise for but he isn’t ready to confess to what or why he even needs to say more.

“What was your second reason for being here?” You question, curiosity piqued but also wanting to move the conversation on, unable to look into his grey eyes any long for the fear that your heart may burst out of your chest.

Draco smiles, “I’m picking up my godson.”

“Your godson? Do I know who he is?”

“You might. Tobias Dawsey?”

Recognition flashes across your face as you picture the small brunette in your mind’s eye. “I do know him! I taught him last year,” You all but shout, “He’s your godson?”

Draco nods, “He is. I’ve worked with his mother from my very first day at St. Mungo’s, she asked me to be godfather when she found out she was pregnant with him.”

His words warm your heart; the care he has for his godson obvious in his voice. You go to say more, to try and coax more information out of him. Your need to know him almost choking you with its intensity, but for the life in you, you couldn’t figure out why you needed to know him. You move to speak, but you’re interrupted by the excited crow of a young child.

“Uncle Draco!” Tobias shouts, running up to his uncle on his little legs, his bookbag banging against them with every step.

“Hey kiddo,” Draco greets, picking up the child making grabby arms for him.

“Do you know Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Draco nods. “Miss (Y/L/N) came into work the other week,” He states, thankfully not exaggerating further.

Tobias frowns, turning his attention to you, concerned about his favourite teacher, “Are you okay though?”

You smile at the young brunette, “I’m all better. Your Uncle Draco fixed me up.”

Tobias nods seriously, “He’s the best Healer ever.”

You laugh; the love Tobias has for his godfather so clear within his voice, it only warms your heart further. “I have no doubt in that, Tobias. Off you go anyway, I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting home.”

Tobias and Draco wave at you as they leave the school grounds. The smile on your face doesn’t fade as you watch them walk away, the young boy chattering the ear off his devoted uncle.

Deep down, where you would only admit to yourself and no-one else, you hoped that you would get to see the handsome blonde healer again.

-------

Over the following weeks you spy Draco’s presence more by the school gates. Tobias clearly adores him, sprinting into his uncle’s arms the moment he sees him waiting for him. Crossing your arms across your chest, you comment, “You must be a very devoted godfather to volunteer to pick up Tobias this often.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly as if the task of reorganising his shifts was nothing of a chore, “I enjoy spending time with him and…”

“And?”

Draco ducks his head, feeling the familiar heat of blush creep up his neck, “I like talking to you.”

He feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. If he had an ounce of human decency within him, he would turn away from you the moment Tobias arrives. He would walk away from you, never to come back into your life again. What he did all those years ago was unforgivable despite having your permission. Draco knows he shouldn’t be back in your life, but now that he had seen you once or twice, he had to see you more.

He felt like an addict. He couldn’t leave you alone. Draco didn’t want to if he was honest with himself especially when you grin at him so widely his heart pounds in his chest.

You duck your head, your hair hiding your face. “I like talking to you too even if it is only at the school gate,” You shyly admit.

“Then we should change that,” Draco stutters out before he backs down. He wants to kick himself; he should turn away from you now and leave you alone for good, but that one selfish part of him that powers his heart tells him to stay put.

If possible, your smile grows larger, “Then we should change that.”

------

The friendship feels so natural once it starts; once the both of you get past the initial awkwardness that seemed to loiter from Draco’s cold words earlier in the year. It started with longer conversations at the school gate, but then he would come with Tobias’ mother and wait for you as Tobias would reluctantly leave with his mother. From there, it grew into a timid friendship that slowly grew more surer of itself as you invited Draco out for food or to museums or to spend the weekend with you, walking around the city when he wasn’t working.

However, as the friendship became more solid, you could not ignore the way your heart sped up with every smile and every laugh. You could not ignore the way your face heated each time he winked at you; a private joke shared between you. It didn’t feel like a passing fancy. It felt like something deeper, as if the feelings had been there before and had been dormant until now. You felt as if you were always meant to feel this way about Draco – the feelings tugging on memories you weren’t even sure were yours. Flashes of blonde hair and the powerful scent of jasmine all tied in with late nights in a tower you could barely recognise. Draco made you feel like the only person in the world; he was supportive and kind and funny. He was everything you could want and more – how could you not fall for him?

There was still the remaining secret though. It haunted him; his eyes clouded over whenever it was on his mind as if he was returning to the very memory itself. He would return shier, unsure of himself as if the friendship he had forged with you was about to implode and leave him shattered once more.

You ask him about it once. The two of you sat on your couch; you introducing Draco the wonders of muggle films and showing him your favourites when you catch him zone out. Your finger reaches out, pokes his cheek. “Where did you just go?” You question, a smile in your voice.

Draco reaches out, grabbing your finger, “Nowhere of importance.”

You frown, pulling your finger out of his grip, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?”

“Disappear on me. It’s like you have something big to tell me, but you just aren’t ready yet.”

Draco feels certain his heart stops in his chest. He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled; choked by the worry creeping up from his gut. Draco opens his mouth to reply but you beat him to it. “I’m not saying you have to tell me what it is now,” You start, “I just want you to know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Draco closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of your couch. You had so graciously opened your home to him, opened your life and offered friendship to him, and he felt awful. As he should, he thinks to himself. He had taken memories of importance from you, and here you sat, unaware of the crime and sitting with the criminal himself.

It felt like there was a countdown ticking over his head. It felt like he only had a certain amount of time until he had to come clean and he had to tell you about that night in the astronomy tower.

Yet for all that was in him, for all that created his moral compass, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you and ruin whatever was blossoming between the two of you. Draco supposes he is a coward. He probably is, he tells himself, but he cannot bring himself to care about his cowardice when you smile at him like he holds the sun and stars for you.

Does he regret that night? With everything within him. Would he do it again knowing the outcome? Of course he would. He would sacrifice himself and his happiness a thousand times over to ensure your safety.

---------

Draco tells himself he’ll confess the next time he sees you which is both all too soon and not soon enough. His love for you had never faded; he hadn’t been the one to forget the short relationship you had. The intensity that accompanied teenage love and infatuation had never left the forefront of his mind. After all, how could they? Now that you were back in his life, he felt the teenager again – utterly drawn to you and unwilling to let you go.

He confesses late on a Tuesday night. The shift at St. Mungo’s had been long and arduous, but he got through it with the single thought of you. He knew that at the end of it, he would get to knock on your door. He only hoped that you wouldn’t turn him away once you found out the truth. Your hatred of him could never rival the hatred he feels for himself, but he finds himself hoping for your forgiveness.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco states, plain and simple.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before answering, “You can tell me anything.”

“You had a memory charm used on you in Sixth Year, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?” You demand. Despite the friendship grown between the both of you, you hadn’t told him that. You had given him bits and pieces, alluded to the fact that there were gaps in your memories, but you hadn’t told him the truth. Just like he hadn’t told you what made him disappear inside his mind like he so often does.

“I took your memories. It was me.” Draco confesses, his voice clear in the quiet room.

“What?” You shout, anger shooting through you.

“I took your memories. I used a memory charm on you in the middle of Sixth Year when things started to take a turn for the worst.”

“What gave you the right?” You cry, tears building out of upset and anger.

“You did,” Draco states plainly, “You didn’t want to at first, but you came round to my way of thinking when you saw how bad things were getting at home.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because once upon a time, you were in love with me.”

You shake your head, pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to get to grips with the piles of information only just dumped on you. Draco watches you pace; his grey eyes following each step intently as you work through everything in your head.

Worry shines bright in his eyes when you stop pacing. He goes to take a step towards you, but you step back. The small space between you feels like a great chasm, a gaping void that Draco is desperate to fill, to patch up.

“Tell me everything,” You state before adding on, “Please.”

Draco releases a shuddering breath before starting: “We were friends through school. I don’t remember how the friendship started, but it did and for years we were really good, close friends. Then along the way, the friendship changed. We fell in love, or whatever it is at sixteen/seventeen years old. We had less than a year together when things started to change; when whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return were strengthened by continued attacks on the Ministry.

“You argued with me for hours,” Draco pauses, laughing as he remembers what you clearly couldn’t, “I had never seen you so angry or so stubborn. You were adamant, you didn’t want to but then you went quiet and I knew you saw what I had seen. You agreed after a minutes silence; told me yes even though it broke the both of us to do so.

Draco’s grey eyes are lined with unshed tears as he murmurs, “I couldn’t let them have you. My family was working with the darkest wizard there had ever been in the last century, if he had gotten a whiff of what you meant to me, you would be used in ways that not even I could imagine. My aunt would have taken great pleasure in ensuring that you would be a bargaining chip for me to fulfil whatever mission they handed me. That was something I couldn’t allow.

“It broke me to do it. To watch your eyes go blank as the memories of what we shared disappeared. Selfishly, I asked you to wait for me, not knowing that they would be tied to you afterwards. I just… I couldn’t let you go. As a teenager and an adult. There’s no real excuse for what I did, but know it was out of love for you that I did it.”

Draco falls silent. His heavy words adding to the growing tension in the room. Draco’s mind runs a thousand miles a minute; his eyes don’t leave you as he watches you work through every emotion coursing through your body. He sees the anger, the sadness, the frustration, but he also sees the relief at having an answer for those gaps that you had only recently confessed to him.

You break the loaded silence, “I forgot the relationship, but on some level I don’t think I ever forgot you.”

“What?” Draco asks, the air rushing out of him in one fell swoop.

A smile creeps across your face; relishing somewhat at having caught him off-guard. “I have glimpses of what I always assumed was a past life. The memories were always fuzzy around the edges, but they were clear enough for me to catch glimpses of blonde hair or to spy the pattern of a ring much like the one on your signet ring.”

Draco remains silent; he doesn’t dare talk; he doesn’t dare breathe. Nothing prepares him for your next words.

“I waited for you… like you asked.”

Those words. Those foolish words that he had absolutely no right to whisper to you. Draco had been so overwhelmed in that moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the small kernel of hope that despite the strength of the memory charm, a part of you would remember him and would wait for him.

But you had.

You had waited for him. You barely knew who he was, but you had waited for him, hoping that one day he would cross your path.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, running a hand through his growing hair, starting to pace the length of your living room.

“When I woke after my memories had been taken, I clearly didn’t remember a single thing, but I had the echoes of three words ringing in my ears. A beg, a plea of someone – a boy asking for me to wait for them. I didn’t know completely who I was waiting for, I didn’t know it was you until I saw you at the hospital that first time and then again so soon after leaving. My memories haven’t returned, and I doubt they will, but I just know that it was you who I was waiting for.”

Draco falls silent, letting your words fall over him and sink into his skin, settling deep within his bones.

Years. It had been years since that night in the astronomy tower where he took your memories. It had been years since he felt the longing and love; there had been no-one lese and there would be no-one else. For Draco, there was only ever you… and you had waited.

You had waited for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, hands continuing to run through his hair in frustration as he paces the room. He faces you; grey eyes wild with emotion, “How are you not angry with me?”

“I am angry with you! I’m furious with you, Draco! You took my memories, but if you say I agreed to it, I’m just as angry with myself for allowing myself to forget you.”

“What do we do?” He asks, a hand running down his face as he tries to figure out the next step.

“Forgiveness,” You state simply, “We try to move on.”

Draco’s hands drop limply at his side as he gasps, “Forgiveness?”

“What happened after you erased my memories, Draco?”

“There was a war. I was on the wrong side,” is all he says. He isn’t ready to go into too much detail. That’s another story for another day.

“Was that what you were trying to protect me from? The wrong side?”

Draco nods wordlessly. He saw things going south so quickly but his parents hadn’t. They pushed and they pushed; inducting him into the same pureblood fanaticism they relished. “How can you even think of forgiving me? I took your memories. I stole them from you, and you won’t ever get them back,” He argues, wanting to know whether you truly understood what you were doing by forgiving him.

“Let me ask you something, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you plan on leaving again?”

He shakes his head immediately. He doesn’t think he could leave you even if he tried.

You shrug your shoulders, “That’s how I can think of forgiving you.”

“I don’t understand,” He whispers; his own self-hatred confused by your words.

“The wizarding war was about to descend into war. We were confused, scared teenagers who didn’t see another option. You asked my permission, Draco, and I granted it clearly.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No buts. I said yes. I gave permission and we cannot change the past, Draco but we can control our future. It’s going to require work on both sides, but you can tell me about what I’m missing and at the same time we can forge something new.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile shyly, taking that all important step towards him, “Make some new memories with me, Draco.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @just-a-belgian-girl @aspiringsloth20 @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

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pixelatedrose · 4 years ago

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Sleepy Bois Wing!Au Masterpost

The master post for the Sleepy Bois in my Wing!Au! Under the cut will be links to their art as well as long descriptors of their relationship to one another, the way they feel about their own/others wings, and how they interact with each other on a daily basis!

Full Masterpost

Tubbo: Tubbo loves his wings, and quite enjoys how they feel and look, he loves having bug wings! But seeing Tommy so unhappy with having Moth wings makes him feel almost guilty for loving his own so much. He's not ashamed of his wings, and never has been, but he sees how angry Tommy is at the world for giving him such flimsy wings and often begins to feel upset. Tubbo can very often be found wrapped up in Phil or Techno's wings or with his head on Wilbur's shoulder when he feels this way as he vents out his frustrations to them, the old men always telling him the same things: you shouldn’t worry yourself with Tommy too much. I know you’re worried about him, but feeling bad about something you can’t change won’t help anyone- least of all Tommy. And he tries to take it to heart. And while he may not know the reasons behind it, he can always tell when his friends are upset, and he takes it upon himself to try and make them smile. They always do. But the worst part about it is that Tubbo knows when those smiles are fake only for his sake.

Tommy: Before Tommy's wings grew in, he had always imagined he'd have strong wings. Something big or at least a little bulky- it would match his personality after all. So when he found that he was not going to have bird wings or bat wings- but bug wings- needless to say he was upset. Tommy was already a little late to get his wings when he did, and Tubbo had tried to console him. Easy for Tubbo to say- he had gotten the most perfect wings in the world for him. And Tommy was getting moth wings. They looked and felt like a thick piece of paper- but paper is paper, and paper is NOT strong. To make matters worse, whenever he meets someone new they always call his wings butterfly wings. And that, made him furious. He wasn't happy with what he got but he'd be damned if he let anyone think they were anything but moth wings. They may shit wings, but they were his shit wings. More than a few times Tommy would find himself upset about his wings for one reason or another- too delicate to do something, not strong enough for another, they didn't look right- and would somehow find himself in the comfort of one of his friend's wings or arms. He never spoke about it and neither did they, but he appreciated those moments.

Wilbur: Wilbur is proud of his wings and he likes to show it. He isn’t as blatantly obvious as some people, but he takes pride in his wings. He isn’t good with aerial tricks like Phil or Techno, but instead is very expressive with his wings, flapping them about when he gets excited and such. Some people are jealous of the fact that he's able to do such things, seeing as how short his wings actually are, but Wilbur just sees this as a bonus. The only times he's not smug about his luckiness is around Phil (who scolds him for being narcissistic) and Tommy, for obvious reasons. He knows Tommy is especially jealous of his wings, and if given the chance, probably would trade with the boy. He may love his wings, but he loves Tommy more and knows how important it is for the boy- much more important than nearly anyone else Wil had met- and so the decision is obvious for him. He also ends up trying to help Techno when he feels overwhelmed- the shorter man stress cleaning his wings till feathers come out- but that's an even touchier subject. So he'll clean up his friend's room or make him his favorite meal, anything he can to show Techno that he's got people who love him.

Techno: Techno is a little more indifferent about his wings than most people, especially considering the the wings he has. Most people who first meet Techno will ask him about his wings or compliment them endlessly, seeing as having large, white bird wings are considered one of the most beautiful kinds of wings to have- something to do with angels and such- not that Techno cares at all, he just cares that they're useful. And they are. But they're also not, sometimes. He consistently trips over them or they end up knocking things (or children) over by mistake. Their white color also means when they get dirty it's VERY noticeable, and while Techno wouldn't usually care, he once showed up to a formal event with blood in his feathers, and was so mortified he that fell into the habit of stress cleaning his wings- now to the point of feathers falling out. Wilbur and Phil have tried to help, but its been a slow-going process. It was years and years ago that the event happened, so long ago that Techno hardly remembers the it, and now it's just a stress habit, so whenever he gets overwhelmed he ends up leaving to go clean his wings. The floor of his room is littered in pretty white feathers and he hates it, but doesn't have the heart to clean it up. But sometimes he'll come home and find that all the feathers are gone, and maybe he'll notice Wil or Phil give him a kind glance or sweet smile. He appreciates it, even if he doesn't say so. He's well aware of how Tommy feels about his wings, and while he may not be the best or first person you'd go to for comfort, sometimes he'll sit down next to the kid and wrap his wing around him, not sure if it was the right thing to do until Tommy sighs and rests his head on his shoulder. They never speak about these things. And maybe they never will...

Phil: Phil finds that his wings serve him perfectly. They're a wonderful length and strong, they do what they need to do and have yet to fail Phil. The real conflict begins when it comes to his friends. He knows how each of them feel or act. Wilbur wants to help others as much as he can, but doesn't know how and ends up stressing needlessly over things he has no control over. Techno is a perfectionist with less than savory habits that only end up harming himself. Tommy has fallen hard into a growing hole of self-hatred and is quickly becoming blind to what he has. And Tubbo is well aware of the fact that people fake when he tries to cheer everyone up on a bad day. And so Phil spends the bad days helping his friends in whatever way is best for them- cleaning Techno's room for him- Singing a song with Wil to help him relax- Sitting and chatting quietly with Tommy- Helping Tubbo with chores and giving genuine smiles. He cares for his friends and wouldn't trade them for anything the world had to offer him. Sure he overworks himself sometimes, but what does it matter if everyone ends up better of it?

#mcyt #tubbo #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #ph1lza #sleepy bois inc #sbi #Wing!Au #Wing!Au Masterpost #my art #my writing #please ask me questions about my au it's the only thing keeping me going

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no-droids · 5 years ago

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The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion. He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong. But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs. I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh. Probably not. None of this is real. Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One. This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock. It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork. “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times. “Come, open the door. Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend. Truly exhausting. It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door. You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training. Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?” He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains. Bantha shit, you and him both know it. He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door. “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.” No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds. What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp. You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more. “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more. “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically. “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately. “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word. You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket. “First. You cannot tell anyone. Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.” He blinks up at you. Maker, his eyes are so… wide. Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes. “If you do not want it, just say. Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows. This is new. It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new. New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come. Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on. “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same. “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?” He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.” You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him. “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands. Where’s my cat, asshole? Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug. You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good. His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose. It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good. The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond. “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel. He’s never called you that before. Caraya. What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace. It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you. “No. Not a… a cat, but…” He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside. It’s. No, he’s right, it’s not a cat. It’s a… a stick. Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding. Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice. Hand-rolled. Expensive. Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of. Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base. Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light. “You don’t think we’re children. You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.” He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice. You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before. “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now? What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow? Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.” He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce. “Only five hours high, not detectable after. Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him. “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.” He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least. “Also—you were right. This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.” You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it. “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?” Cassian swallows. “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing. I will be leading red squadron tomorrow. Or, today.”

You blink at him. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it. “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically. “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects. “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.” He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away. “But only for that. Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it. “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully. The Rebellion is fucking doomed. You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize. A footnote. Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us. Died horribly and in pain. Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back. “Okay? You will start it then? Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right? So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth. “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call. At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.” He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter. “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here. Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling? It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot. You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor. His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that. His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there. A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding. Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now. They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.” His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat. It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine. He blinks twice. “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?” You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins. “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…” He closes his eyes. “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice. He’s fucking gorgeous. Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else. He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh. Oh. You see now. You see what he meant. Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body. Fuck, you’re getting turned on. You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence. How do you speak to him normally? “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want. Lay down. You’re too tall, your eyes are too big. Look like a… like a Kaminoan. Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke. Maker, he’s so beautiful. Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer. You both need to calm the fuck down. Hopefully the pillow will help. Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt. “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry. Fuck, it’s warm in here. Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you. Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder. “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?” He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you. You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative. Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now. Holy fuck, you’re sweating. What the fuck is in this shit? “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow. “Me too. Not.” He shakes his head. “Neither. Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal. “I’ll get us some water. We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him.

Stars, he was right. It’s not supposed to feel like this. It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn. Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones. The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before. Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source. Not the drugs—but him. The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed. He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before. He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize. This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real. Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now. You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here. Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now. At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand. If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep. Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided. Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went. He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him. It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No. Hold strong. Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it? Taking such a gorgeous fucking form. You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?” You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat. He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering. You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups. “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it. We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process. Your heart skips in your chest. “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop. Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet. What if this is just the beginning? What if this is just laying the foundation? What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid. At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet. You feel ready to burn up. “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you. “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly. Does he know what he’s really asking right now? He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right? But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently. Fuck, you should stop. You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup. “You need to. Chill out, alright. Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid? Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation. You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend. Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high. If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him. “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.” You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think. Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding. Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?” You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed. His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?” You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you. “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers. “They were very cute. But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly. “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you. “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?” You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange. “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more. “Caraya. What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second. As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you. You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him. Probably something to do with birthdays, right? Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit. But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence. “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare. I have seen it only twice. Each time, for less than a minute. It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.” His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words. “The sky shines with every color. Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east. It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you. “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari. To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him. Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing. Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight. He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…” You sound winded. “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you. “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly. This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start. You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers. You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him. You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did. It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost. Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands. It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life. Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t. He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…” He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again. “You can… come closer, if you want. Here. With me.” He pats his belly. “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now? Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you? His best friend? The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?” Your cunt clenches. Stars, you’re so wet already. You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more. “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you. He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into. Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good. He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you. You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples. “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath. “You have something on underneath, yes?” He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames. “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that. It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now. And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…” You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you. You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers. “We are best friends, and this is your room. You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous. He’s dangerous. He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle. He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore. Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all. Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now. Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules. You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out. He’s… he’s totally right. You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax. Nothing sexual about it at all, right? Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes. You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush. Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance. “You wanna help me? Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving. “What did I say? We are best friends. Of course I am not going to help you. You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way. It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now. Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is. You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart? Maybe? Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work. Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned. But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze. But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that. He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move. It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted. Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you? Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them? Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up. Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you. So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms. He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?” He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor. “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?” Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling. Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you. No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades. “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay? Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal? Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped. Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now. He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together. It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this. You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you. You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel. Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated. He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him. Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take. His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual. Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it. It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can. “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder. He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him. More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts. More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more? Do you want him to keep winding you up like this? More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you? Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something. To stop, maybe? Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs? Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face. Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it? Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes. A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once. You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement. Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him. He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy. The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it. You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?” He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns. They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it. Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist. “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings. “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice. “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—” You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat. You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly. Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh. “Is it the spice?” He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more. “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither. Both, maybe? Mostly it’s just him. Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word. His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you. “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence. He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire. You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing. “So it is the spice. Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…” Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking say it. Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t. “Yeah. It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him. He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers. “Take your hit. We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first. Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter. His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment. “Are you going to cum soon? You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close. Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you. You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you. You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?” He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice. “You are usually so… mouthy with me. Is this helping? Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers. “Right here. All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm. A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins. It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before. Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful. You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks. He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot. It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him. You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind. It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one. Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?” He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions. Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good. You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this. But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers. His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient. He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you. So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit. He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still. He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there. Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers. Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm. “We should do this. More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you. Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you. You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale. “You are. Very g-good. Fuck. And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm. Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this. Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva. Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning. You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head. “You’ll want more than one, okay. Trust me. Cum like this, okay? Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head. And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt. You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth. Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was. The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth. You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you. And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks. “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound. “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely. “Today.”

“Fuck. Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach. “Fuck. In a few hours. You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh. “Caraya. Two suns. Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts. Stars, why is he so… so lovely? Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky. Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with. Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?” You whisper. Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.

“You do not want me to taste you?” Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs. “I want to. I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence. He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared. “Sometimes. Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep. I think of… of you. What you taste like. Right here.” He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand. “I bet you are so sweet. Will you let me find out?”

Except. Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before? Like this? Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right? Just telling you what you want to hear? Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last. You feel like you’re dreaming, and it. It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him. You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips. The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you. Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he? Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load. You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms. You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly. You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss. The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment. “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock. Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure. You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body. It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you. He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean. He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said. Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat. “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out. “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya. You are. You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations. Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you. Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards. It’s huge. You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice. Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs. Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress. He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest. Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore. The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too. Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you. Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more. Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss. He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making. It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling. Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that. For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine. You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again. You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make. You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy. It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun. “What—what time is it? Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh. “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows. “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?” Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest. “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed. We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin. Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh. “You will not. Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling. What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs. “We are going to Lothal.”

#Cassian Andor x reader #Cassian Andor x you #Cassian Andor #Smut #fanfic #no-droids

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