#but like this whole thing made me realize I need clarity

[animalsandskyyy]

so like what does it mean when the girl you’ve been talking to met up with her ex boyfriend last night and didn’t interact with you after that until almost noon the next day and just said “i’m so sorry I got all busy” when she’s just been at home but like still valid, but when you ask how the night went she hasn’t responded even tho she read the message 3 hours ago?

asking for a friend😭

[hispg]

Comfort

Pairings: R4! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Your husband is glad that he has you, just like he's glad to have his little family.

Wc:4.8k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, mentions of ptsd, mentions of birth and pregnancy, soft sex(nothing too kinky), oral sex(f receiving), just Leon being a sweetheart.

An:So, this week has been very busy for me. As I've been saying in my last few posts, university has been taking up a lot of my time, as well as my mental health being pretty messed up. I didn't manage to finish the chapter of 'Between Love and Vows' so I probably won't post anything new until next week. In compensation, I'll post another one of my drafts (smut), I'll make a poll so you guys can choose. And next week I'll post two new chapters of the series! Thanks for your love and understanding <3 If I haven't answered your comment, ask or request, don't worry, I will eventually🫶🫶

MDNI

Sleepless nights, the nightmares that kept tormenting him, his mind that was in turmoil all the time. Leon was used to all this, he had already realized that these were sensations he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

His trauma, ptsd that haunted him every day. Things he had seen and heard, all so fresh in his memory, so vivid. Things that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he couldn't. As if it were a mark stamped on his soul.

But he coped, as he always does with everything in life. Little by little, he understood how to deal with panic attacks, how to calm down even when he was about to collapse. He learned all this, but that didn't make things any less worse than they were.

Although he thought he had everything under control, that it wouldn't affect him as much as before, he was wrong.

His last mission in Spain proved it, he went from hell to heaven to save the president's daughter. Everything worked out in the end, but that doesn't erase what he experienced or saw.

Many times he could have sworn that if it hadn't been for you, he would have gone mad a long time ago. Even if you weren't able to end the pain he felt, you were there to be the light at the end of the tunnel for him, the clarity to his own insanity.

All this because every time he returned from a mission, he came home first, not caring if he was all dirty with mud and dirt, even blood. His safe haven was here, with you.

That was the only reason he always came home, no matter how difficult things might be for him. You were what he needed, you were the person who healed all his wounds, and he couldn't be more grateful.

If it had been anyone else, he would have left you by now, but you understood him. You listened to him even if he didn't make any sense, you were still there.

Your love was the remedy for all his problems.

And if he was being honest, it was the reason he woke up every day, the only reason he had a place to call home. You, simply you.

And that night, he found himself on another one of those nights when he couldn't sleep, and there he was, pacing around the house, finding something to occupy his mind.

It had been two weeks since he had returned from his mission in Spain, and he was still terrified by everything that had happened, even though he was safe and sound in the comfort of his own home.

He woke up from a nightmare, yet another one. And in order not to wake you too, he preferred to get out of bed. You were already tired enough to have to deal with him in the wee hours of the morning.

He was so careful with you, even though you had told him several times that it was okay for him to wake you up if he needed to. But he was stubborn enough to say no.

As he made some tea, just to see if it would calm his nerves, he watched the rain falling outside, the gentle drips hitting the window.

In that silence he began to have some sweet memories, it always helped to calm him down a little. One of those memories was when he asked you to marry him, God, he still remembers the nervousness that ran through his whole body. The trembling hands that held the box with the ring, the words that he had rehearsed so much and still came out messy. He was so afraid of being told no, but his heart calmed down when you smiled and threw yourself into his arms, saying yes again and again, making his heart melt each time.

That night he fell even more in love with you, if that were possible.

When you started living together, every time he came home he was greeted with a hug, you welcomed him with love and affection. He felt his cold exterior crumble at the same moment, words couldn't describe how much he liked it. Every little gesture that came from you, no matter what, he always took it to heart and considered it with all his soul.

He still vividly remembered a conversation he had with you as soon as you moved in together. It never failed to crack a smile.

"Darling, did you let something burn?" Leon asks as he feeds himself, looking around the kitchen.

You look at him with a laugh, seeing that he arrived so tired that he didn't even realize he was still in his work clothes. And then you answer, "No, why do you ask?"

"Nothing, it's just that something stinks." He says quietly, focused on finishing his food.

You can't help yourself and a giggle escapes your lips, "You haven't showered yet, sweetheart."

"Oh..." He mumbles, looking down at his state.

He was so entertained that he only noticed a baby crying from one of the bedrooms, it was you guys son.

He didn't hesitate to go into the baby's room, watching the little one whimpering in his crib, even though he was warm and comfortable in his blankets, the little boy was still bothered by something.

Leon imagined that he wasn't hungry, since you had fed him not long ago. Then he thought it might be his diaper that was dirty, which he soon confirmed.

So the baby was in his arms the next second, he put the little boy on the changing table and changed him properly, not forgetting a single detail, from carefully wiping him down with a wet wipe, to the ointment he had to apply to prevent diaper rash.

He checked the diaper to make sure it was fastened properly. Once he'd checked everything, he rocked the baby in his arms until the little one fell asleep again.

He even sang a lullaby, one of the little boy's favorites. He still thought it sounded ridiculous, but he didn't care as long as it soothed the baby.

Every time he looked at the little one's face, he couldn't hold back the loving smile that always appeared on his lips. It was still hard to believe that he had his own little family.

It's still clear in his memory when you announced that you were pregnant, the uncertainty and fear that consumed him. The anguish he felt, the apprehension of being a bad father. As well as the shock he felt when he received the news, since it wasn't something either of you were expecting. Not least because you had just started living together, so it was a lot all at once. But nothing that shook the relationship, quite the opposite.

But every time he saw you laugh, every time you came home with a little baby thing, whether it was clothes, shoes or even a toy. He couldn't contain his joy at the thought that he was going to be a father, that he was going to have a child.

It wasn't long before he started buying lots and lots of things for the baby, rattles, diapers, baby cloths, various types of educational toys, plush toys and everything else.

In a matter of weeks, the spare room in the house was full and ready to receive the baby, even if you weren't that far along in your pregnancy.

Not only did he become even more protective, the kind that wouldn't even let you lift a thing, but he accompanied you throughout your pregnancy. From start to finish. Even though he sometimes had to leave for work, he never failed to call you, even if it was late at night.

He always made video calls to see how you were doing, even talking to the baby in your belly on the phone. Even if they were quick calls, he still made sure they happened.

It was obvious that he wanted to be there for you, and he made it clear whenever he could, because he did everything for you, simply everything. Craves? He'd arrange anything you wanted. Going out late at night to buy a slice of cake in a particular flavor? Well, he was there. He would go to the end of the earth to find whatever you wanted.

When you were uncomfortable he was there, always whispering kind things to you, always trying to calm you down and relax in his embrace, trying to give you all the security you could have. He still remembers when your water broke, you were so calm, and he was about to have a heart attack.

Yet he was with you the whole way, holding your hand as you went into labor.

But all his worry went away as soon as he heard the baby's cry, the little being that had just come out of you. He still remembers the unconditional love he felt as soon as he laid eyes on the little one, as soon as he saw you cradling the boy in your arms, crying with exhaustion and joy. Just as he was crying as much as the baby, he felt so happy that he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but there with you and your bundle of joy.

"What are we going to call him?" Leon asked through tears, wiping away his own with the back of his hand.

"I don't know, sweetheart, we agreed that if it was a boy you'd choose." You say in a whisper, giving him a small smile. Rocking the newborn in your arms.

"No, I'd rather you chose." He says softly, running his fingers through the baby's thin golden strands, which by the way had the same hair as his father.

"Leon-," he doesn't let you finish, giving you a kiss on the lips. Letting his forehead rest on yours, looking at you with tear-filled eyes and a sweet smile.

"You've already given me one of the greatest joys of my life. Nothing could be fairer than for you to choose any name you like." Kind words that made your heart melt, and you just nodded.

At that moment he realized that there was no better place in the world. That there was nowhere else he wanted to be, all he needed was you.

While he was lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that the little one had already fallen asleep, making cooing noises, his mouth hanging open while he slept peacefully. Even the way he slept was like Leon's, it was funny to see how similar the two of them were.

Then he slowly placed the little one in his crib, tucking him into the covers and making sure he was warm and comfortable for the rest of the night.

He stayed for a few more minutes, humming some more until he was sure the boy wouldn't wake up too soon.

After that he moved into the kitchen, where he found you awake, which was enough to make him wrinkle his eyebrows.

"Love?" He asks softly, moving towards you.

You answer him with a smile, giving him a hug, "You should have called me."

He shakes his head, kissing the top of your head, "I didn't have to."

You pout, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder.

"Here, I've made your tea. I've also put out a slice of cake for you." You murmur with a smile, pointing to the plate on the table.

He chuckles, holding your face and kissing the tip of your nose.

"You're amazing." He whispers before walking over to the table and sitting down, taking a sip of tea and eating the cake, which, by the way, was his favorite flavor.

So you sat next to him, waiting for him to finish eating silently.

"Your food is fucking good." Leon says, taking a bite of his cake and smiling at you.

You couldn't help but giggle, knowing that even if you burned the food, he'd eat it and say it was good.

"No, you're just being nice." You say softly, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He laughed genuinely, entwining his fingers with yours. Then he lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

You were always amazed by his loving gestures, which he always made towards you. And so the two of you remained until he had finished eating, rubbing his thumb against your hand to give it a gentle caress.

When he had finished, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking at you with a smile. But you couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his eyes, just as he still had a few scratches and bruises all over his body. As well as the scars, some new, some old. All a mark of his profession.

"Did you have another nightmare?" you ask, running your fingers along his cheekbones, smiling softly.

He nodded with a tired sigh, leaning into your touch, "No big deal."

You knew that he always hid these things from you, not least because it took time for him to feel comfortable sharing the events of his mission with you.

"You can tell me, smartass." You said smiling, rubbing your nose against his, letting his hand rest on the small of your back.

His lips curved into a small smile, just as his eyes met yours. And that was enough to make you blush slightly, no matter how long you'd been together, he always had that effect on you.

The rain began to fall harder outside, enough to make you both look out of the window. The rain left a comfortable atmosphere in the kitchen, just the two of you sharing the warmth of your bodies, making that cold night a little warmer.

You picked up the dishes and took them to the sink, taking the opportunity to wash them right away. And it wasn't long before you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, just as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath beating against you.

"I swear to God I love the smell of your lotion." He purrs, rubbing his nose against your neck, hugging you tightly.

You smiled, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek. Even if it was late at night, those moments were so precious to you both. A little intimacy was always nice.

But even with all the affection coming from him, you could feel how tense his muscles were, how his breathing wasn't very regulated. Every time he had these nightmares, they took a while to wear off, and he was still scared for a good few hours.

You then turned to him, held his face in your hands and looked at him seriously, "You should have called me."

He knew how this conversation would go. But to be honest, he wasn't paying attention to your speech, only to the way your lips moved as you spoke, your sweet voice entering his ears. Even if it was you scolding him.

All he could do was give you a silly little smile, stroking your cheeks with his thumb. No matter how much you talked, he would forget the next day. He just didn't want to worry you with his work matters.

Gently he put his index finger to your lips, whispering, "Why don't you hush, darling?"

You widened your eyes, preparing to protest, but he interrupted you, giving you a loving kiss. The kiss was full of affection and tenderness, just as he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around your waist once again, gluing your body to his.

Without giving you time to say another word, he carried you in his arms, taking you to your room like a princess, as if you weighed nothing, he did it with the purest ease.

His grip was firm, as if he didn't want to let you go, he wanted to have you there, in his arms.

Your room was dark, lit only by the faint light of the moon, while the rain continued to fall outside. It wasn't long before he laid you down on the mattress, letting you sink into the soft surface.

The door locked, the baby asleep, just the two of you in that room. The perfect moment for what was about to happen.

No matter how many times Leon looked at you, he always lost his breath, his breath caught in his throat.

You were so beautiful, so perfect, he didn't know how he had been so lucky to have found someone like you, and he couldn't thank you enough for that.

His hands began to move slowly up your thigh, callused fingers caressing the soft skin, letting his hand wander over the flesh, touching you with all the passion he had to offer. And he would do this for the rest of your life.

His mouth finding your neck, his hot breath making you gasp, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Soon the wet kisses began, leaving his lips hovering over the weak spots that he knew, he knew exactly where to touch, because he knew well that every touch of his made your body shiver with desire.

"You're beautiful." He whispers, giving your thigh a light squeeze, feeling the soft fabric of your nightgown on the back of his hand.

You give a sly smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close.

He soon understands what you want, and he gives it to you right away. A tender, passionate kiss, gently capturing your lips.

You don't know how, but he always manages to show his devotion to you with every kiss, every touch, every night of love. He makes it seem like the first time, always showing you how much he loves you.

His fingers keep tracing your thigh, feeling how warm your body gets from his touch. Your body reacting under his, squirming and shivering, an incentive for him.

When he pulls away from you a little, just to stop the kiss. He nibbles your lip, lifts your leg and grabs the back of your thigh.

Making a point of giving you wet kisses all over your neck, shoulders, collar bone, all to hear the sweet sounds that escaped your lips every time, the way you begged softly for him to continue.

"Oh, fuck Leon..." You whimpered, watching his fingers purposely wrap around the strap of your panties, he was taking his time.

As he always did, because he wanted to make sure he gave you all the affection he could give.

As soon as their trail of kisses went down to your chest, he spared no effort in giving little kisses to your nipples, which were already hard, crying out for any kind of touch and attention.

It was more than enough for you to let out several moans and low squeaks, letting your hands nestle in his golden strands, feeling the softness they contained.

Both his hands slid under your nightgown, and before long his fingers were playing with the waist line of your panties, fingering and stretching, all the while keeping an eye on your every reaction.

The look he had in store for you was yours alone, he had never looked at anyone else like that. Nor would he ever, you were the only one capable of bringing it out of him. The only one.

Just as you never tired of looking into those gentle blue eyes, similar to the color of the sky, or even the ocean. You lost your breath every time.

And there he went, slowly dropping wet kisses over the thin fabric of your nightgown, feeling your body tremble beneath his, just as he made a point of running his fingers over the wet surface of your panties, only to give a smug smile, knowing that he could get you soaking wet for so little.

As soon as he reached your navel, he lifted your nightgown completely, exposing your lower body, which was enough for him to let out a low noise, excited by the image in front of him. Which only fueled his cock to throb even more under his pants.

"I wonder what I did to make you like this." Leon said with a sly, mischievous smile, sliding his index finger down your slit.

Did he know the answer? Of course he did. But it was nicer to hear it from your mouth, your sweet voice echoing through the room.

"You know, you just need to touch me..." You said with a pout, looking at him with piteous eyes, a look he already knew well. And yet it broke his smile every time.

"Because of me?" He purrs, pushing his fingertips against your covered pussy, teasing you as far as he can.

You whimper, spreading your legs as if it were an automatic reaction from your body. Understanding the signal, he pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, taking off your panties and sliding them down your legs, soon the garment was lying in a corner of the room.

You were there, completely exposed to him, legs dangling from his shoulders, clit throbbing and begging him to do something.

It felt like magic, every time he touched you he was able to drive you crazy with the smallest things. You often got wet just watching him, seeing the way the muscles in his arms flexed every time he held your legs tighter.

Or the way he always looked at you throughout the process, as he positioned his face close to your center, biting and licking your inner thigh, making sure to leave soft marks all over the area. He loved looking at the love bites the next day, not least because you looked beautiful with each one.

"You're all mine, aren't you?" He asked in a whisper, which sounded more like a question to himself. Especially because he didn't even need to hear the answer.

You were about to answer, but your mind turned to crumbs as soon as he started planting wet, caressing kisses in your folds, letting his tongue linger in certain spots.

His wet muscle slid into your wet pussy, making you arch your body and tremble under him. The tip of his tongue brushed against your clit, swirling around your sensitive part, enough for you to roll your eyes and moan a little louder.

"That's so good, so good..." You mumble, biting your lower lip to hold back your moans.

Every time he eat you out, he didn't hold back with the noises he made, he didn't even care about the slurping noises he made, or the way he did it in a completely sloppy way.

Not least because he never wasted any time, it wasn't long before he was fucking you with his tongue. Moving in and out, hitting all your sweet spots.

It didn't take long for you to be a mess, moaning and whimpering, your sounds echoing around the room. Your hands nestled in his hair, pushing his head against you, letting him get buried in your thighs.

Despite this, you couldn't help but crave his cock, a need to have it inside you, you needed him fucking you.

"Leon..." You called out, rolling your hips against his mouth, you could already feel your orgasm approaching.

He smiled sideways, kissing all over your intimate area, making a point of running his tongue over it in the process. The way he did this so masterfully left no doubt that he knew exactly what to do to bring you to the edge, he knew exactly.

As soon as he started tongue-fucking you one more time, it was enough for you to come apart in his mouth, gushing out all your climax. You could feel your body hot and bothered, your mind confused and without any other thoughts. It was surreal the way your orgasms with him were always that intense.

Just as he spared no expense in giving you sloppy, wet kisses on your wet folds, as if he were smoothing the area, taking the opportunity to clean up the mess that was between your legs. Even though he was about to make another one.

"It tastes fucking good, love." He purrs, licking his lips and lifting his head.

Having the beautiful image of you, with your legs spread, sweaty body, chest rising and falling. The way your eyelids were closed and your lips were open was more than enough to send a wave of electricity to his cock. Which, by the way, was already leaking pre-cum, the wet spot on his sweatpants was already clearly visible.

He wasted no time in removing his pants and underwear, letting his cock pop out. Which was a divine sign for you, seeing every inch of his shapely body, the way he was hard as a rock.

His cock resting in his palm, as he gave it a few small pumps, watching the precum drip down a little. Despite this, his eyes were focused on you, the way you bit your lip and stared at him.

"Please?" You ask in a whisper, spreading your legs even wider for him.

In response, he gives you a puffy smile, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, his sticky liquid pooling with your own juices.

You whimper and pout to get him in at once. As if on command, he obeyed, lifting your legs over his shoulder and fitting himself into you. Hissing once he was all the way in, the way your walls clenched around him was enough to elicit a grunt from him.

"So fucking eager..." He whispers in your ear, taking the opportunity to nibble on it. Making you gasp easily.

"Oh-Oh, so deep!" You moan, your nails sinking into the muscles of his back, a reaction he loved every time.

You can't say how, but he thrust into you in such a sensual way, his hips rolling with a dexterity you couldn't even describe in words. It was calm, sexy, who knows how you could describe it.

His eyes never left yours, he could reach all your weak points, all the places where he made you roll your eyes and curl your toes.

At that point, he didn't even try to understand you. Not least because you could only mumble half-words, whimpers or moans, and he couldn't have been prouder to leave you in that state. Your mind so foolish as he fucked you numb.

"Are you going to come already, love?" He asks softly, kissing your cheeks and pulling you even closer.

"Mhmhm." You hum and nod, feeling your walls tighten around him. Just like the feeling of butterflies in your stomach that you were beginning to feel.

He chuckled, speeding up his thrusts, making an even louder sound of skin hitting skin. He wouldn't be long either, he'd probably come right after you.

And there you went the moment he started making circles with his thumb on your clit, you're sure you went to heaven at the same moment.

Your lips parted only for you to let out a silent scream, a noise that came from deep in your throat. He was quick to pull you into a hot, thirsty kiss, moving at a much faster speed than before.

He wanted to get there now.

In and out he went, feeling his cock throb with each jerk of his hips. On the last thrust he came, thrusting deep, spilling all his seed into you, as deep as he could.

He let out a grunt through your lips, holding your sides tightly.

By the end you were panting, covered in a thin layer of sweat. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead on yours, giving a silly, tired smile.

"Sore?" He murmurs under his breath, trailing kisses down your cheek.

"Maybe a little." You whisper, closing your eyes and sinking into the mattress.

He then gets off you and places you properly on the bed, rolling you under the covers, and then doing the same. He hugs you from behind and cuddles you, giving you massages in the places he knew would be sore. He loved worshiping your body, and you couldn't complain.

"I love you." He says, full of love and tenderness.

"I love you too." You return, kissing his hand.

You fell asleep a few minutes later, and he watched you sleep as always, giving you kisses and caresses from time to time.

He loved you so much he couldn't explain it, you were his comfort. Everything he needed most. You and your son were his adored little family.

And the way he loved you, he knew that you would be the death of him.

Oh God, how he loves you.

[rockyteriyaki]

okay SO my beloved ezra @hellohallowedhalo inquired after my tags on this post, which made me realize that my FIRST EVER F1 FIC is almost an entire year old (??????) and THEN i read THIS MASTERPIECE by @fast-burn and it set off a nuclear bomb inside my head...so i wrote a free-use-ish factory followup to RSWT. thank you all for one year of freaky derangement <3333 ily

Daniel leaves Red Bull as a driver and becomes—he doesn’t even know what to call it. In his contract, it says ambassador. On suspended Twitter accounts, they call him a blood bank.

Max doesn’t know about that part, because Max doesn’t have Twitter, and even if he did he wouldn’t be term-searching his own name with asterisks in the vowel places like a nutter. Daniel’s people tell him soothingly to block and report, if he insists on being on social media in the first place, and Daniel does–he reports. He doesn’t block. Sometimes, he screenshots.

It had been a leap, obviously, to go from–from a driver, incidentally bound to the whole blood thing, to then this: a full-time gig. A singular purpose. They’d gone over the language of the contract in more detail than Daniel thought was possible, rewording and reworking every point until it maybe resembled something that seemed less obviously like exploitation, but even after it was all printed out with the little RBR letterhead, it felt swampy in ways nobody could explain or do away with.

Still, when Daniel put pen to paper, it was with life-ruining clarity. I want this, I want this, I want this.

“Ah, here you are,” Max says, knocking on the glass wall of one of the conference rooms in the factory. He cups his hands against the pane, like a kid against a department store display. “Are you hiding, Daniel?”

“Nah,” Daniel says. He hasn’t been, actually; he just wanted someone to find him. He puts his phone down as Max pulls the door open. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Max says, and it’s so uncomplicated Daniel doesn’t feel the need to even ask a followup, which is what he likes–loves, even–about Max. Daniel crowds him in the doorway, leans on him.

“You need it?” Daniel whispers.

“Yes,” Max says. “Please. I have, already–they have everything they need, so. We can go now, if we are back before the hour.”

Daniel reaches behind Max, pulls the door closed. It pushes Max into him a little, feet falling forward. Max blinks.

“Why not here?” Daniel says. He stretches his neck out, which he knows is a dirty move, but it works; Max’s nostrils flare. His eyes dart to the glass wall, the big transparent window that looks out onto the floor where dozens of people in navy polos are working to make sure Max can deliver them to glory next year.

Well, Daniel is one of those people, technically, now. Working.

He steps back towards the conference table, a dark fake-oak thing that’s big enough to fit the shareholders and their massive egos all side-by-side. Max follows. The number of times they’ve done this and it hasn’t ended in one or both of them coming can be counted on one hand. Max knows this, and Max is following, with a blinding willingness reminiscent only of Daniel’s own desire to get Max’s fangs on him, in him, since the first time he saw that glossy pink shine over them.

“I was just thinking about my contract,” Daniel says, as casually as he can manage, which is probably not at all. He scoots onto the table, kicks the rolling office chairs out to carve a gap. “You can, y’know.” Max nods fervently, even though Daniel isn’t making any sense. “Like, anywhere? If you wanted.”

He can pinpoint the exact moment the images parade into Max’s mind. Daniel in meeting rooms, instead of bathrooms and backseats. Daniel on his lap. Daniel over dinner, only one plate between the two of them because–because he’s Max’s—

Max sinks down to his knees, cradles his head in Daniel’s thighs. It takes Daniel a moment to pinpoint the feeling through the denim of his jeans, but the saliva gives it away–Max is rubbing his gums over the seams. The hooked points of his fangs snag and retreat on the fabric.

“Hey,” Daniel says, on a shaky exhale. “Is that good teeth? Or, like, bad-idea-Daniel teeth?”

“If I don’t, I will bite you here.” Max gestures miserably to the glass wall. “And then, probably against the window too.”

There are people walking past now, and Daniel can see them look inside only long enough to register who’s who, and then avert their eyes. Daniel’s laughs turn into moans. He can’t help it. Max laughs too.

“Go on then,” he tells Max. “They don’t pay me enough to keep secrets.”

[mmogurl]

Last to Fall Chapter 2 - The Future Is Now

18+ | 4.3k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | less miserable now and more typical, alcoholic, still needs reassurance Aegon | half sister reader - you're not really a maid anymore - I guess that means you got a promotion? P in V, smut, wholesome, fluff, this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

I've decided to take this story home and revisit some of the scenes from the show going forward. Because the more I looked back at them, the more I realized a lot of messed up shit happens in season 2 with Aegon that I don't personally like! Let it be known, I'm mostly using scenes from the show, but I'm also going to be mixing in a lot from the book from now on. So, it's going to come off like a weird amalgamation of show, book, and my own fiction thrown in there! So, here we're going to overhaul the small council meeting where Aemond makes a fool out of Aegon and we're going to bring it in line with something more like what they would have discussed if the show followed the battle plans from the book.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall). I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - The Future is Now Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for headers and I actually made the above gif myself! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna, @meggletoomanyfandoms, @theanbitchless (If you wanna be removed or added from/to the taglist, just let me know)

-You “I find it highly unorthodox for you to keep your mistress as cupbearer, Aegon,” Alicent spoke up with clear distaste written upon her features as you filled her glass. You smile awkwardly in acknowledgment and she quickly diverts her eyes from you and onto the king. “We cannot trust one such as she with matters in need of the utmost secrecy.”

“I trust her more than I do any of you,” Aegon says nonplussed by his mother’s complaint. “I wish for her to be here and so she shall. Now back to more pressing matters.” He turned his sights towards Prince Aemond, gesturing for him to continue as he took a swig of wine from his cup. “Please continue with our efforts on the war front, Brother.”

Aemond sat perched like an owl in search of prey, one hand resting on the table while the other manipulated a golden coin effortlessly over the tops of his knuckles. The prince always held a slight smirk taut at the corners of his lips that unnerved you, holding back a viciousness that seemed barely restrained. He had his eye trained on you and it made the hair on the back of your neck prickle with discomfort. It was a relief when he met Aegon’s gaze and spoke.

“Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest. The castle is small, weakly defended, and Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council,” his words are deliberate and precisely executed as though he’d rehearsed the very words all morning in the mirror, yet you know that’s not the case.

“Whittling away at her morale seems a worthy effort indeed, “Aegon says with a devious grin. “And when Rhaenyra sends reinforcement, which she is sure to do… We’ll be lying in wait?”

You notice Lord Larys Strong’s brow raise in concern at the mention and soon the meaning washes over you as well. You quietly step towards Aegon, filling his cup and looking down at him anxiously as you try to swallow the lump that is forming in your throat. He does not return your worried stare, instead engaged deeply in the conversation with his brother, excitement written all over his face at the prospect of action.

“Precisely,” Aemond replies with cool clarity, his expression more serious now. “Cole will set the bait with his forces and Staunton will send word to Dragonstone for support. The only aid that might answer in time is a dragon and when it arrives, the trap will be sprung and we shall answer it with advantage on our side.”

“One less dragon to face later,” Aegon chuckles mirthfully, not taking the situation seriously at all. If you could, you would grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he snapped out of it and realized how dangerous this idea was.

“Surely we cannot risk losing our king on the field of battle?” Lord Strong finally speaks his dislike of the strategy out loud. “Would we not be handing the throne to our enemies?” You cannot help but feel relieved that he has voiced your fears, even if it wasn’t for your benefit.

The other members of the council all share glances with each other, neither Lannister, nor Orwyle, nor Ironrod willing to lend their thoughts. You take your place to the side of the long table, standing next to one of the newly appointed Kingsguard, regarding the scene with trepidation.

“I agree,” Alicent states with a growing look of concern. “What if you are both lost? Then who will rule?”

“You show such little confidence in our capabilities, Mother,” Aemond replies in a voice that sounds surprisingly sweet despite the venomous sarcasm that laces his words. “Surely encouragement would serve us better at this hour.”

Alicent’s eyes widen as he puts her on the spot. She quickly schools her expression, her lips flattening as she clenches her jaw briefly before speaking again. “Yes, of course, I wish you both well. But that does not change the potential losses we might suffer. Strategies do not always go as planned.”

“They do when you have dragons,” Aegon quips, still treating the war as though it were a game. You are glad to see his spirits improved since that very first time the two of you laid together, but could certainly do without the impetuousness he’s displaying at the moment.

“What if Rhaenyra sends more than one dragon?” Lord Strong poses the possibility to the king.

“It is highly unlikely,” Aemond interjects with a smug menace so intense that only the bravest of men might continue to argue. “Rhaenyra will no doubt be advised not to venture into battle herself and Daemon is presently holding down Harrenhal.”

“And no doubt she would be loathe to send another of her sons forth after what happened to the last,” the king concurs, letting out a derisive, pointed laugh. He runs his tongue along his teeth as though anticipating the taste of blood that will be spilled and relishing in it. “No other dragon yet tamed offers a significant challenge to the might of Vhagar and Sunfyre combined,” he adds, his eyes beaming with pride and superiority.

“Indeed,” Prince Aemond replies with barely curling lips, his eyes sharp as he regards his brother.

The Queen Dowager sighs, knowing she has lost this dispute and exchanges a despairing glance at Lord Strong. Your attention is drawn back to Aegon as he picks up his stone ball and places it in the large dish on the center of the table.

“We will leave when the second sun rises, then?” Aegon confirms to his brother who nods in return. It seems clear to you now that they have already spoken of this matter in private before even bringing it to the attention of the small council, and that it had already been decided upon.

The king steals a glance back towards you, nodding slightly in your direction as his eyes urge you to follow him. You eagerly oblige, anxious to have some words with him about his risky tactics in private. Aegon heads back to his chambers and you shadow him quietly as two of his Kingsguard take up the rear.

You almost can’t recognize the sweet and tender lover you’ve come to know so intimately. The sorrowful and lonely man you once comforted now replaced with a bloodthirsty warrior, a change you do not fully understand. Perhaps you are not fulfilling your duties as his companion well enough to satisfy the demons that haunt him, for he now seeks relief in brutality instead of you.

Aegon throws open the doors to his apartment and you are right behind him, closing them shut as you enter. He walks towards the table, not wasting any time in pouring a chalice of wine for himself. Bringing the cup to his lips, he takes a long swig before turning to face you.

“Alright then. Get on with it,” he says with mild annoyance. “I can already tell you are not pleased.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you say against your best judgment to quarrel with the king, but spurred by concern for him. “Any number of things might go wrong. I would prefer you stay here where it is safe in the keep. With me.”

He rolls his eyes with clear indifference to your worries, striding up to you confidently and running his knuckles softly against your cheek. “It will be fine,” he counters smoothly, his voice smooth like silk as he leans in to press a brief kiss against your lips. “We have the upper hand with two dragons, love.”

“Did you not ask me to sit in on your council meetings so that I might assist in offering you sincere and valid counsel?” you retort, hating his lackadaisical attitude towards the situation.

When he’d first requested you be his cupbearer, you had argued that you had no place in the chamber of the small council. Aegon had insisted though, stating he needed someone with a keen eye who was on his side for once. Now you wondered if he had even meant those words.

“Yes, but this is a matter of war, not court nor politics,” he replied with a scoff, turning and walking towards the center of the large room. “And you are just letting your womanly heart lead you.”

“Womanly heart?” you repeat, feeling your shoulders tighten at his cruel implication. “Or perhaps you must accept that war is not a child’s game,” your voice runs cold as anger grips you. “That a king has a responsibility to his people and not just to his own sense of glory.”

Aegon turns with a chuckle, regarding you snidely. This condescension actually bothers you more than the fury you expected from him. “Tis not glory I seek, but the alleviation of my boredom,” he says plainly and there’s an apathy in his voice that makes your chest ache.

“Am I not enough to keep you engaged?” you ask quietly, feeling your wrath fade into pain.

The king’s smile falters, a flicker of guilt crossing his face as you speak. He hesitates a moment before letting out a long, drawn out sigh. “Love…” he murmurs, sounding a bit repentant now. “It has nothing to do with you. I simply feel… constrained in this city. While everyone else fights to retain my crown, I am expected to stay here and be idle. I wish to prove myself.”

He closes the distance between you both, his violet eyes piercing into yours. Aegon reaches out to cradle your face, his touch gentle and his demeanor much warmer now. “I know that you worry for me,” he says, his voice tender as he rests his forehead against yours. “But I cannot lead my army from behind these castle walls. I trust you understand?”

“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” your voice is a whisper as you try to hold back the desire to cry. “Treating me as though I matter not to you.”

Aegon tugs you closer towards him, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. He lets out another weary exhale, seemingly releasing all of the tension that had held him taut moments prior. “I didn’t mean to be a bastard to you, my darling,” he says, voice heavy with remorse.

“You are not my enemy,” he adds, leaning back slightly to kiss your golden crown of hair. “There are whispers afoot within the Red Keep, they abound in the city as well. The people all speak of my cowardice. How I have usurped the throne and now hide in my castle, afraid to face the might of the true heir’s forces. I find myself on edge.”

“You might have told me this sooner,” you reply, shifting your head to peer up at him. “I am here for you, my king, and you alone. If you cannot confess such tensions to me, than they will only serve to devour you whole. I am not here to judge, but to listen, to offer support.”

“Such habits are not easy to break,” Aegon says with a flicker of shame adorning his features. “I have been ridiculed my entire life and it has made me averse to showing weakness.”

“But you revealed yourself to me and it brought us together,” you argue his absurd logic. “Do not hide from me. Ever.” Your hands slide across his chest, moving upwards until your fingers dance delicately across the line of his jaw.

Aegon lets out a shaky breath, his body easing under your gentle touch. “What is it about you, love?” he asks closing his eyes as your hand rakes back into his hair. “You always manage to disarm me so completely, breaking down the fortress I’ve spent a lifetime erecting.”

He opens his eyes and smiles at you with amusement. “Very well then. I will not distance myself from you, or at least I shall try not to. But I still intend to join Aemond and fight. Can you stand to watch me go?”

Your grip tightens slightly in his hair at the mention of the battle. You had hoped you could sway him to stay, but it is clear now that he will not listen. The king was dead set on clearing his name, on making his constituents believe that he truly deserved his seat on the Iron Throne.

“You must promise me that you will be careful,” you plead with him, knowing deep down that such a request was impossible to accommodate in war. “Do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“That shouldn’t be hard to accomplish from the back of a dragon, my darling,” Aegon lets out a small laugh, resting his hands on your hips. “But I will do my best and I have no intention of dying at Rook’s Rest.”

You lean up to kiss him once more as your hands wrap around his back, clinging fiercely. His lips are hot and wet and so alive with passion as he hungrily returns the embrace. You cannot help the gnawing feeling beginning to coalesce in your gut, that something horrible is going to happen to him. Each press of your lips against his echoing your desperation and the fear that he might not return to you.

He walks you back to the table and plucks you up, placing your bottom on the hard surface. His hands work at bunching up your skirts, lifting and pushing them aside so he has access to you. His hands slide up to your hips, hooking his fingers into the waistline of your smallclothes and pulling them down. He doesn’t waste any time in spreading your thighs apart with his knee, stepping closer until you can feel just how much he wants you.

“I’ll return to you, love,” he says breathlessly between kisses against your jaw. Aegon urgently unties his breeches as he continues, “Nothing could keep me from you.”

His lips crash into yours, devouring your mouth with intensity as he grinds against you, making you weak in your desire for him. Withdrawing from your mouth, he peppers kisses down your neck, and along your décolletage before letting out a gasping groan of lust.

Pulling you to the edge of the table, his purple eyes appear black with arousal as they lock onto yours. He slides into your wet slickness in one fluid motion, filling you completely. Aegon leans forward again, his face buried in your neck as he grasps onto your hips and moves into you with a desperate frenzy.

His lips nibble against your lobe as he whispers raggedly in your ear, “You will be waiting for me when I return, won’t you?” his words almost sounding insecure. “Tell me you love me. Tell me you need me. I must hear you say it.”

You are powerless to your king’s wishes, especially when he is fucking you so well. “I love you,” you say panting as his throbbing cock invades your wanting cunny. “I need you.”

Aegon groans loudly at the sound of your voice, the table quaking as he increases his pace, his hips snapping forward and driving into you harder, deeper. He is relentless in his efforts, pounding into your core with an urgency you’ve never experienced before. “Say it again,” he demands, his breaths short and heavy. “Again…” he growls as he buries himself within you, his grip on your hips bruising as he holds you steady.

It is hard to concentrate, let alone ponder the king’s strange choice of dirty talk, but Aegon’s vulnerability has always drawn you to him. It seemed mixing physical and emotional release at the same time was becoming quite commonplace for you both and you could not deny how therapeutic it felt for you either, to give of yourself and receive his devotion in return. Even if you had not been together for very long, you were sure that your attraction to Aegon was not simply fueled by sexual pleasure alone.

“I love you, Aegon,” you repeat, breathless and gasping as he chases his high within you.

He moans your name, a pained sound as he leans back and takes in your expression. “Make me believe it,” he pleads, pressing wet kisses against your face as he punctuates each spoken word with a particularly hard thrust.

“Gods, Aegon!” you cry out, feeling your peak near as his pelvis rolls mercilessly against your pearl. Each deep invasion paired with a ruthless grinding motion that makes your toes curl. “I-I do…” you confess with shaky breaths. “I have since I came into your service.”

“You what? I need to hear you say it,” he prompts you yet again, searching always for reassurance in you. “Let me taste the truth in your words,” his voice is ragged as he beseeches you.

Your hands that had been braced on the edge of the table, now find his hips and grasp firmly. The motion of your bodies like waves on the ocean, and it is not long before the familiar feeling of completion spreads through your inner walls. He immediately devours your lips in a desperate kiss. It’s tender and passionate at the same time, making you forget every rational thought or worry that you had.

Against his lips you reaffirm your adoration, your voice rough as you speak your convictions, “I love you, Aegon… Only you make me feel whole.”

A grunt breaks from the back of Aegon’s throat as he buries himself completely inside you, prodding against the tender entrance to your womb. His length swells as he spills his seed within you, his body twitching as he moves to wrap his arms around you.

Aegon collapses against you for a time, capturing his breath as you leave hungry kisses all along his neck and shoulder. You make a startled sound of shock when he suddenly pulls you off the table. His hands slip under your bottom, urging your thighs around his waist and you cling to him dearly making sure you don’t fall.

He holds you tightly in his arms and moves to the large velvet couch against the wall, flopping down on it and pulling you into his lap. Aegon cups his hand behind your head, pulling you close until he is all you can see, his violet eyes fixed on you.

“I don’t believe I’ve said it as much as I should,” his voice is low and quiet. “But I love you as well.”

Your expression softens from one of lusty playfulness to something more sincere at his heartfelt words. It was true, he hadn’t often, if ever, acknowledged his direct feelings towards you, but you’d still known that he cared. It was plain to see that needed you, even if he didn’t always admit it.

“I will come back to you, I swear it…” he says with a knowing smirk, reading the affection in your tender eyes. “And when I do, I intend to you make you mine forever.”

“How?” you ask quirking a brow in confusion, the haze of your orgasm still lingering.

“By wedding you, of course,” Aegon replies, as though it is the most obvious answer in the world. “I will take you as my second wife. There is no rule that states I cannot. Besides, it might be seen as disrespectful to my namesake if I did not follow in his footsteps.” His hand lifts to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he regards you with a dreamy look, as though imagining a future where you are his wife.

“Do you think it prudent to cause an uproar with such a controversy?” you say with a look of worry deepening your brow. “With the civil war? With the food shortages? As you said, there are already whispers among the people. Should we give them more to talk about?”

Aegon releases a heavy sigh, a look of displeasure crossing his face as his jaw clenches. You continue before he can get too upset.

“I am overjoyed that you’d have me as your wife, my love.. But I am also concerned. Perhaps we could have a private ceremony? Keep it secret until the war has passed?” You run you fingers gently from his forehead down his temple until your palm is resting on his cheek.

“Why should I keep you a secret!?” he asks petulantly. “My wife, Queen Helaena, sits in her rooms all day, crying and speaking to herself. I cannot blame her for the pain she has suffered, sadly, she was quite fragile to begin with… But as it stands, she is no queen. The people could do with a figurehead, someone to follow, to reassure them that everything is alright in these trying and uncertain times. I have never been adept at such persuasions, but you… You would be wonderful in that role. It is how a queen should behave.”

You shake your head and let out an exasperated breath. “Be that as it may. You seem to forget that I am not a noble. The people will not accept it.”

“And you forget that I am king,” Aegon replies with a shrug. “In fact, I will fix this issue before I leave for Rook’s Rest.” He gently places you to his side, setting you onto the plush cushions. You watch dumbfound as Aegon gets up from the couch and ties the laces of his breeches absentmindedly as he crosses the room to his desk. He takes out a piece of paper, a quill, some ink, and begins to write.

“What are you doing?” you ask with furled brows as you make your way over to him, impossibly curious to know what he is up to.

“I’m writing a decree,” he says, not looking up from his parchment. “It is not unheard of for nobles to petition the king to legitimize their offspring. Given you are my father’s daughter, that would elevate you to a Targaryen princess, with all the rights and privileges the title entails.” Aegon finished writing and signed the paper with a flourish. As he blew on the ink, impatient for it to dry, he added, “I think a princess would be considered more than suitable for a king, don’t you?”

You are dumbstruck at the precise and confident way he asserts such a complicated matter as concluded. “Is such a thing possible? Truly?”

“It’s as good as done,” Aegon says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It is likely for the best that I take care of the issue before I leave for battle. I would not wish for my mother to think she had any say when it comes to your well being in my absence.

He examines the parchment, making sure that the ink has set and then carefully folds it. You watch as he melts a chunk of red wax and presses his seal into it, sealing the decree and placing it aside on his desk.

“There, the matter is resolved,” he says with a satisfied smile as he pulls you down into his lap. “Now what are you going to do while I’m away?” he asks softly. “Without your king to serve?”

“You might still change your mind and stay here with me so that I do not wither away from loneliness,” you riposte with a slight puff in your cheeks as your lips purse.

The king lets out a laugh, shaking raising a finger to your mouth to shush you. “You are incorrigible,” he purrs fondly, placing a kiss upon your pouting lips. “You know I must go, love. I need to prove it to Mother, to the council, to the people… Hells, even to myself that I am worthy of the crown.” He looks at you earnestly, his eyes searching yours as though trying to convince himself that he’s right in this. “But, I will miss you terribly. More than you could possibly know.”

“What will I even do without you?” Leaning in you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, letting your nose nuzzle against his skin. You sit back in his lap more, fixing his hair by tucking it behind his ears dotingly. “Everyone treats me even more coldly now that we are together so openly. They all turn their backs to me as though I’m invisible,” you say sadly. Even though he is not due to leave for another day and night, you feel as though you miss him already.

Aegon’s arms tighten around you possessively, his hand caressing your back. “When you are queen they won’t dare turn their backs to you,” his voice was low and gravelly. “They will bow and scrape at your feet , and if they don’t…” he trails off, leaving the threat hanging the air.

“Ah yes,” you say with a morose chuckle. “There is nothing more civil then the threat of a noose.”

He laughs wholeheartedly at your jest, his eyes beaming with affection. “You worry too much,” he says with a warmth written in his expression. “There is only one matter left unresolved as far as I’m concerned.” Aegon looked you over with an almost stern gaze, sizing you up.

“And what is that, my love?” you ask with a curious glint in your eye.

“You haven’t said yes yet,” he says with a smooth grin, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “Will you be my wife?”

You gaze into his eyes, a happiness building in your chest as you realize the levity of this moment. You’re not sure if it’s the right choice to make in terms of harming his reign as king, but deep down you know there is only one answer you could ever give him.

“Yes,” you reply with a humble smile, your eyes threatening tears as you lean in and taste the lips of your lover, your future husband if the Gods so willed it.

Read Chapter 3

[goddessinnerglow]

Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 7

Building Better Habits

So, yesterday we talked about creating a personal mission statement. I hope it helped you get a little clearer on what you really want from 2025. And if you haven’t gotten to it yet, no worries! It’s there waiting for you whenever you’re ready. Now, today, let’s chat about something that can make all the difference in turning that mission statement into real-life action: building better habits.

You know, it’s easy to think that changing our lives means making huge, dramatic shifts, like completely overhauling your entire routine or signing up for a year-long gym membership. But I’ve got a little secret for you: It’s the small changes that add up to big results over time. Don’t believe me? Stick with me for a sec.

Imagine this: You’re standing in front of the kitchen counter with a cup of tea in hand, scrolling through your phone. You’ve had a crazy day at work and feel like you deserve some relaxation, right? But then you stop and think, how can I use this time to move toward my goals? What if instead of diving into social media, you set the phone down for 5 minutes and just breathe or read a few pages of a book? That’s it. It’s simple, but it’s powerful.

I’m not talking about doing a complete 180 on your life today, just about carving out a little space for something that moves you in the direction of your best self. Small habits like these are actually the key to creating lasting change. They sneak up on you, turning into something much bigger without you even realizing it.

Here’s an example: Let’s say you want to get healthier before the new year. Instead of starting with an intense workout routine that’s hard to stick with, how about you start by drinking a glass of water every morning when you wake up? Then, once that becomes a part of your routine, add something else, like taking a walk after dinner or swapping your afternoon soda for herbal tea. These small shifts will eventually snowball, and soon enough, your overall health will be better than ever.

I know it’s tempting to try and change everything at once, but here’s the truth: Trying to change too much too quickly will only set you up for burnout. Instead, focus on one habit. Be specific. Want to read more? Set the goal to read one page every night. One page, that’s it. Stay consistent. No matter what, show up for that one page every night. Eventually, you’ll find that reading becomes a natural part of your routine. And remember, celebrate your wins. Don’t wait until you’ve read a whole book. Celebrate that one page. Seriously, give yourself credit for showing up and sticking to it.

This approach is a lot like what we talked about with setting SMART goals, right? The "small" part is just like making sure your goals are specific and realistic, something that you can do today that’s still meaningful. We’re breaking things down into simple, manageable actions that add up to big results, one step at a time.

When I first started setting daily goals, I knew I needed to create habits that would help me manage my time better. Instead of diving straight into complicated time-management systems, I started with one simple habit: writing a to-do list the night before. No fancy planner. No specific apps. Just a piece of paper and a pen. It took maybe five minutes, but it helped me wake up with clarity the next day. Over time, this simple act turned into a consistent habit that made a huge difference in how productive I felt.

Okay, now it’s your turn. Think about one small habit you can work on today, something that’ll take just a few minutes but will make a real impact. It could be anything: drinking water, stretching, journaling, or even just sitting in silence for 3 minutes. Make it small. Make it simple. And most importantly, start.

Don’t worry about getting it perfect. It’s not about being flawless; it’s about showing up and making progress, even if it’s just a little bit at a time.

And, as always, I’d love to hear how it’s going. Drop a comment about the small habit you’d like to start implementing.

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

[mediumgayitalian]

“I made this for you.”

Nico stares, blankly, and the freckly hand extended out to him. Twisted around the long, calloused fingers, snagging on a black-lacquered chipped nail, is a bracelet.

Hesitantly, Nico takes it.

It’s woven in some way. He doesn’t recognize the exact pattern; Annabeth probably would. Not a braid, certainly, not any particular shape he can recognise. It’s bi-coloured, a twist of black and yellow, strings wrapped around them in an aborted spiral, almost. There’s a snag a third way into the bracelet, a tiny little error betraying its homemade status.

Under the guise of still inspecting the bracelet, Nico peers through his eyelashes. Will’s attention has long since shifted to somewhere to the left of him, rocking back on his heels, teeth gnawing into his lips as he hums. No longer extended out between them, waiting for Nico’s next move, his hands pick at the colour on his nails, picking off the polish chip by chip.

Dozens of similar bracelets stack his wrists, his ankles; rainbow of colours clashing horribly with the mint green of the cheap plastic shoes.

“What…” He pauses, clearing his throat. He feels Will’s attention on him, the warming rays of his soft smile. Surely this can’t be…

“It’s a friendship bracelet! We were makin’ pottery in Arts ‘n Crafts; I got distracted and the whole thing went squelch.” He blows a raspberry, smacking his fist into his hand. Nico jumps. “Totally collapsed! Anyways. Made a friendship bracelet for all my friends, yellow for me, black for you. I got a matching one!” He holds up his his wrist. It takes Nico a second of squinting to find the matching one — yellow and black, twisted, just like the one he’s wearing, nestled against the others like he’s been wearing it for years.

I made one for all my friends.

“You, uh.” His palms sweat. He tucks them behind his back before Will notices, although the twinkle in his eye tells him he might have an idea. “You’ve done this before.”

It’s not much of a question. Will takes it as one anyway.

“Mhm. You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want to, I can take it —”

Nico wrenches himself away. Will blinks.

“Absolutely not,” he says, before he realizes what’s coming out of his mouth. “You made it for me. It’s mine.” In a flurry of movement, he tugs the bracelet over his hand, twisting the loosely hanging part around his thumb.

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, a freckly hand comes back into his space. When Nico — frozen — doesn’t flinch away, they rest on the jut of his wrist, the scar on the palm of his hand.

“I got it,” he murmurs. Nico glances up to find Will already looking at him, blue eyes wide and imploring and soft.

Nico has never associated blue eyes with softness. Intensity, maybe. Clarity. Softness, to him, has long been the understanding brown of Reyna’s, the softly glowing embers of Lady Hestia’s. The golden glow of Hazel’s, especially, ever-smiling. (The gentle, endless, sun-warmed clay brown of Bianca’s. Too big for her face, hidden behind her bangs; except, of course, when Nico was overwhelmed and miserable and needed her, needed her, needed her. Or when the lawyer came to their room door, steel-faced, giving the same news, and Nico would slide a small hand in hers, squeezing.)

Will’s eyes are soft, though, he realizes. Like cotton candy at DC fairs, like grape hyacinth, like the blanket he toted around as a baby. Like a sunny smile and golden hair and teasing winks when everything is too too much.

“There.”

With a gentle tug, the loose strings of the friendship bracelet tightly pull the bracelet snug against his wrist. Looser, barely even touching, Will’s fingers follow the contours of the bracelet. He lingers. Nico wonders if he can feel his pulse, pounding, endless.

“Thank you,” he manages, finally. His throat is dry. “For.”

The rest of his sentence won’t come out. Before he can panic, Will smiles; beams, really, eyes crinkling shut, and the short breaths clattering his lungs fizzle out entirely.

“Oh,” he says, several things slotting together at once. “Oh.”

“Anytime,” Will responds grinning, squeezing Nico’s wrist once more before bouncing off. “See you around!”

He’s far gone before Nico finds his voice again. But he smiles, still, eyeing the pretty bracelet, and whispers, “You, too.”

[soaringwide]

Pick a Card: What is blooming for you this spring?

Spring is always a magical time for me, and I know I'm not alone. This time of the year, I can feel excitement rise in my heart, the desire to make plan, to savor life to the fullest. And every time feels different, like I'm living it for the first time, with only a vague memory of what it was before.

So I wanted to make this pick a card collective reading about what is blooming for you this spring? I will leave the message open to welcome any area of life and type of message, and provide not only an energy check, if you will, but some advice on how to welcome it fully.

How does that work?

Take a moment to recollect yourself, breathe, close your eyes if you need to, focus on the moment. Look at the 4 pictures and select the one that draws you in the most. Not the one you think looks cooler but the one that creates that pinching feeling inside of you. The one that makes you feel it has something to say.

It is possible to feel attracted to more than one pile, just as it is possible to only find parts of the reading relevant. Remember that this reading is meant for many people so it won't be perfectly applicable to your situation.

PILE 1

Cards: 3 of Swords Rx + Page of Swords Rx + Death + The Vow + 9 of Wands Rx The Gem / 7 of Swords + 10 of Swords + Stress + Page of Cups + Courage + 5 of Cups Rx + Ace of Swords / The Protectress + The Shaman

For the energy-check part, The Death arrives like the return of lifeblood in the branches, shaking things up to leave space for the new buds that are to come. This beginning of spring, a massive cleanup of old ties and energies is occurring. Cutting away the old to let the new emerge.

You're in the process of leaving behind a tie that, while not negative per say, was definitely something you had to leave behind in order to move forward and rise to the skies. It seems this tie was something you found value in for a very long time, but you made or are making the choice to move forward.

This comes somewhat like a battle you had to experience within you, as it was not easy to separate from and left you feeling victimized and defeated, like the entire world was against you or out to get you. This whole situation caused intense heartache and a feeling of almost unbearable internal pressure which you may have turned against yourself in fits of self destructive impulses and anxiousness.

On some level you were or are still resisting this change, or rather, what this change is going to lead to. You are trying to control the outcome and refusing to surrender due to a lack of trust or faith. You are trying to burn the steps to reach the end of this uncomfortable time quicker.

The good thing is by going through the motion of this change, you are finding your inner light. From the pressure is born a beautiful gemstone that catches on the tiniest gleam. You are also not only learning to stand up for yourself and your values, but also to embark on a new journey.

There will be a time of transition. At first you will feel guilty of what you're leaving behind which will cause a lot of inner turmoil and tears shed. You will feel like you're getting away with something you shouldn't be. You will feel like you've hit rock bottom in a rather dramatic way, but the good thing is that the only way to go is up!

What's going to follow this is that you'll become at peace with your own feelings, will learn to be sovereign in yourself no matter what's happening outside of you. You know yourself and what you stand for and you won't get put out of balance anymore. You're learning the courage it takes to stand up for your emotional peace and you will know how to defend it ferociously.

Once you'll be done mourning what you've lost, you'll find a lot of clarity and desire to initiate the next step of your life in a very stimulating phase full of new ideas. You'll realize that the key thing in your situation is to trust the process and let it flow.

Now onto some advice on how to navigate that:

You need to be mindful of how you spend your energy, and by that I mean, you need to get enough rest. Yes spring is stimulating and you may find yourself wanting to make a billion plans, but you've got to understand that your body and mind need rest and relaxation too. Protect yourself, say no when you need to, even to yourself. The other more spiritual side of this is that you're somewhat vulnerable at the moment and need to be careful not to be swayed by the opinion of others. Stand strongly in your own skin, your own beliefs and don't give into something that doesn't truly align with yourself.

You inner fire is unique and you need to remember that whatever it is you will become, you will always be you in all your beautiful strangeness. So embrace what it is to be you, don't be ashamed of if or try to hide it, and shine of your fucked up light.

PILE 2

I just wanted to preface this reading with a warning, it's a bit difficult but the advice is very hopeful and sweet so please don't feel too down about it because it will get better!

Cards: The Poet + The Queen of Cups Rx + Healing + Ace of Cups Rx + Let go + Courage Rx + Ambition + 5 of Pentacles + Acceptance + The Unseen + Bottled Up + The Pilgrim + Anger / 10 of Pentacles Rx + Forgive + Death Rx + Overwhelmed + High Priestess Rx + Gloom + Blessings and Curses Rx + The Shaman Rx / The Devil + 4 of Swords Rx + 10 of Swords Rx / Temperance Rx + Manic + 9 of Cups + Love + Joy + Harmony

In the first few moments of spring, I see you slowly leaving a phase where you didn't allow your emotional needs to be met, or allowed yourself to feel something specific. Due to past experiences, you've felt like your deep feelings where not listened to and were dismissed. Your own light was not seen and remained in the dark because it seems that no matter what emotion you shared, it only led to chaos around you. You ended up discarding them like an useless relic, baring yourself from the ability to heal with them, ending up stuck in place because you don't see that from accepting the sorrow you can learn lessons that will lead you to bloom again.

You are scared of leaving something behind, something that doesn't fulfill you emotionally like it used to, something you had great ambition for. Maybe it's a relationship. Maybe it's a passion or a dream. Ultimately, this is leaving you feeling like you're stuck in the winter, unable to feel the new energy of spring, because you're not accepting this new wave of change.

You are about to embark on a new journey, but unable that you are to see the top of the mountain, you remain wandering in the snow doubting it's even worth it because all you can see is a difficult path. This is causing a lot of anger, which ironically is the only emotion you let out, everything else is trapped within.

This spring, I see your going through this struggle but learning very important lessons in the process. Basically, you're on a journey of self acceptance, both of your flaws and qualities you don't express to the world.

There will be a need to let go of familial expectations that were placed upon you and to forgive the hurt it did to you. It seems you will be resisting change until it becomes overwhelming in order to force you to make a choice. Once that point is reached, it will be hard to see the situation from a different perspective, as in, you will be emotionally drowning into feelings of despair, but, really, that's necessary because you've been shutting yourself from that for too long, keeping busy in order not to think about it.

The process of spring is to free yourself from those heavy bonds. Here is the advice in order to navigate that better:

First of all, you need to cool down and restore your balance. Don't try to fix things by being overly active but instead try to find some rest and moments of silence to listen within.

Also, there is plenty of love around you to be felt and to enjoy, perhaps even a new relationship or one that you closed yourself to. The advice is to be positive about the future. Really all those advice cards are super bright so you're getting massively encouraged.

You will be able to share joy around you once those dark yucky feelings have been cleared.

What if you stopped resisting? I think you would find change doesn't have to be so difficult and painful, and that there is beauty and sweetness waiting for you just around the corner. Open yourself, be playful, and try to remember the wonder of a child discovering spring once more.

PILE 3

Cards: The Bridge + The Moon + Let Go + 10 of Wands + Relieved + Ace of Pentacles + Queen of Swords Rx + The Comic / The Devil + Renewal Rx + Anger Rx + Strength + Forgive Rx + Page of Cups + You are Deserving / 2 of Swords + Gratitude + 2 of Wands + Gloom + Energy

The energy check in this change of season indicates for you a time of transition, where you're crossing from one stage to the next.

At the moment, you're letting go of the very introspective vibe of winter, that forces us to retreat within and inside and rest while waiting for the return of the light. Perhaps this winter was the opportunity to reflect over something painful for you and you've finally reached the point where you can disengage from it and move forward. Because it seems like a burden you were carrying is being released, which is bringing you a renewed sense of hope. To be more precise, you were working hard to carry that weight and now that you finally were able to release it, you feel at ease again.

You're lightening up, seeing the humor and joy of life and learning to be in a more lighthearted mood. I see you really enjoying this change of season and having some type of mood shift. After the heaviness of winter, your new found freedom gave you a reason to smile again.

It also seems you're getting finally getting some new opportunities that were previously barred from you which caused a lot of resentment, because you felt like you were owed something you weren't getting and it was getting in the way of your prosperity. I see that you still have some work to do on that front as you may be lacking courage to seize those opportunities because you feel too unsure of yourself and vulnerable. You may want to isolate yourself as a mean of protection, despite wanting those opportunities direly.

This spring, I see you will need to be careful not to fall back in your old limiting habit of letting yourself be trampled on. You might have a tendency to repress your anger, because you have been told it's not a good emotion to express, which is true, but in your case, your anger can free you because it makes you aware of other people stepping over your boundaries. I'm not saying go punch your boss in the face, but use this anger to reflect on why exactly you feel disrespected, and use that as a motivation to change your circumstances and honor your boundaries.

I also see, and it's a continuation of the previous message, that you will build your character by learning that you don't always need to forgive. It's okay to burn the bridge and take care of yourself first. You don't need to accommodate everyone. Keep your gentleness for the people who deserve it. And I'm saying that because in your case, the balance is waaay off.

Something else that's coming this spring is a message to open yourself to new emotions, perhaps regarding to love, be it romantic or platonic. There is a strong message that you feel like you are not deserving of it and you are somewhat shutting yourself to discovering this part of yourself. Spring is the seasons where so many bubbly feelings awaken and you can welcome that in your heart.

The advice on how to navigate this time better is to, first, try not to shut yourself off the blessing that are coming to you. It's easy to expect the worse and blinding yourself in the process. The key to move forward is to find a more positive mindset, not to assume that everything will be doom and gloom but daring hoping for the best! A mindset exercise you could use could be gratitude. There's already so much good things happening around you but you might not see it because you focus a lot on the negative. Allow yourself to dream and plan the future from an optimistic perspective.

The final message is very fitting considering the title of this reading, as it is advising you to redirect your energy to make your own flowers bloom, not other's. Work on cultivating a fertile soil within yourself and you will be in a much better mindset to attract good things. Remember that while it is altruistic to want to help others, you can't do it if you are yourself depleted, you need to help yourself first.

PILE 4

Cards: The Fool + Knight of Wands + Joy Rx + 3 of Cups Rx + Intrusive Thoughts + The Mentor + Wounded Heart + The Animal + Jealousy / The Portal + King of Pentacles + Bottled Up Rx + 4 of Cups + Let Go + The Star Rx + Fear / The servant Queen

Much like all piles, the start of spring and current energy check, is the time of a big renewal for you, indicated by the Fool. It's the start of a new journey with a fresh mindset and an adventurous heart. However, I can sense that it's very much a desire of yours at this point and not something you can fully indulge in at the moment.

You don't quite dare to let yourself go to celebrate this new change you feel being birthed inside of you, because you have these automatic intrusive thoughts born from anxiety that you have a hard time detaching from. But I see you working on it with a mentor figure, perhaps a therapist, a teacher or someone wise close to you. You seem to be especially working on emotional wounds that are still fresh, or felt to be still fresh.

Also, you feel energy rise within you, a desire to pursue your passion, to start planning things, perhaps a trip or a festival, but something is stopping you from doing it. It's like you know you want it and will make you happy, but you can't access it and it kills your joy.

As a result, you sort of feel like a caged animal, caged in your routine and full of desire to break free, which leads to feelings of envy for what other are able to enjoy and not you.

What is blooming for you this spring is that, there is some type of adventure to be found despite everything. There is something you don't expect coming for you, a new adventure to be had.

It seems something is going to unlock prosperity-wise, something that has seemed blocked for a while but is finally giving you the ability to soar. However, you will have to seize it and not let your low thoughts get in the way of even noticing it. You will have to learn to let go of that tendency of yours. There is renewal, healing and blessings coming for you, but you will miss out if you let fear dictate your actions.

The advice on how to navigate the season is to stop believing that you don't deserve nice things. You have a tendency to self-sabotage and it's doing you a massive disservice. It ties into what I was saying earlier about not blocking your own blessings because of your negative thoughts, because there is something great within your reach.

You must nurture your mind because it's through your mind that you experience the world. It's like a big lens and if it's dirty you get a blurry vision of reality. Work on cleaning your lens and you will see that the world will become an open field for adventure as a result.

[daisynik7]

Iris

And I don't want the world to see me, ‘cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Mature – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~4.5k (I went way over than I was supposed to, lol)

cw: switching POVs (2nd person reader, 3rd person Eren), canon-universe, VERY canon-divergent, consider this a what-if scenario, major AOT spoilers up to season 4, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), fingering 

Summary: At the Battle of Fort Slava, Eren Jaeger, hell-bent on launching his ultimate attack on Marley, injures himself to pose as a wounded soldier, granting him admittance to the hospital to finalize his plans. You, an Eldian volunteer working at the hospital, start treating this new patient, nervous about his mysterious demeanor. Eventually, you learn that you have much more in common with each other than you think. 

Author’s Note: Thank you @ichinosejager13 for your second request for the y2k karaoke party! I did something totally different this time; I wrote a fic set in the canon universe. I thought it fit well with this song, so I hope you like it! While it’s set in the canon universe, it is very obviously canon divergent, so please remember I took a lot of liberties with this. I am in no way suggesting that any of this is what I wish happened in canon. I just think it was an interesting idea to write. Also, I understand that this will seem very out-of-character for Eren, but let’s just roll with it because it's all in good fun, lol. 

Like, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

Fort Slava, huddled in the trenches. Blade through his leg, bullet in his eye. This is the last vivid memory Eren can recall as he stands in line outside the hospital, waiting to be admitted. Some asshole Marleyan imitates explosion sounds, causing all of those around him to fall to the ground, cowering in fear. They suffer trauma from the battlefield, and even Eren, with a clear conscious now, is affected by it. A kid, another Eldian dawning the same yellow armband as he is, steps towards them, kneeling down to help them up. He even assists Eren, correcting his armband to his left arm instead of the right. Luckily, it goes unnoticed by everyone else, which is exactly what he wants. 

It's all part of his plan; the attack on Marley. It’s been in the works for months now, starting with his infiltration of the army, fighting alongside Marleyans and Eldians alike. He thought he’d have better clarity of the situation, maybe get convinced to call the whole thing off after bonding with other solders through the tragedies of violence and war. Unfortunately, it’s only made him realize how much more he needs to follow through with it. Nothing will ever change in this cruel world unless he’s the one to do it. 

There are days when he gets cold feet. He’s tempted to re-evaluate, find a way back to his home of Paradis, reunite with his friends, devise a better plan and figure it out together. But in all the futures Eren can see, his current plan is the only one that will work. The only one that will grant him the freedom he’s been chasing his entire life.  

The process is slow to get a room in the hospital. Luck remains on Eren’s side when he’s assigned a private room. It’s barren; a single-bed, just long enough to accommodate his stature, withered sheets and rusted iron on the frame. There’s a small nightstand beside it with two drawers to hide his belongings, which is essentially nothing, and atop is a small lamp, illuminating the room in a dreary glow. It’s not luxurious, but it’s enough for the time-being. Because that’s all Eren needs right now: time. 

Eventually, Zeke will find him. They’ve been contacting each other for a while now, and Eren has a firm grasp on what his older brother is trying to convince him to do with the Founder’s power. While he doesn’t agree with his idea to euthanize the entire race of Eldians, Eren needs to entertain it long enough to manipulate Zeke into letting him use his royal blood. 

It's all convoluted and fucked up, he’s aware of that. Somedays, he wishes he could escape this curse without doing anything at all. That one day, he’d be gone from this world, liberated from his Titan power, saved from this burdened life. This isn’t what he imagined while reading all those books he and Armin would marvel at as kids. This isn’t the freedom he was hoping for. 

He rests in his pathetic, yet oddly comforting bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. His leg and eye are still wrapped in bandages, so a nurse should be coming soon to check on him. There’s a faint commotion out in the hallway, but Eren is too lazy and too uninterested to investigate. Soon, it subsides, and the door swings open, revealing a women around his age, wearing a nurses uniform and the yellow Eldian patch on her left arm. He recognizes the attire from battle; the army had a few nurses stationed at the fort for casualties. 

“Mr. Kruger?” she asks. 

It takes him a second to remember the alias he decided to use. He confirms it, nodding his head silently. 

She gives him a warm smile, introducing herself. “I’ll be helping you from now on.”

~~~

You started working at the hospital a few months ago. For Eldians, it’s nearly impossible to be accepted into higher education, so nursing school was never an option. With opportunities so scarce, your best bet was to apply for a volunteer position at the hospital in hopes of using that as a steppingstone for an actual paying job. You don’t expect a promotion any time soon, not even in the near future, but at least you’re spending your time helping others.

While it’s rewarding, it isn’t glamorous or pretty in the slightest bit. Because you lack the proper education, your tasks mostly include bathing, feeding, cleaning up any accidents or messes. Occasionally, if your patient is open to it, you spend time with them chatting, doing activities with them, listening to their stories. This is rare, though. Most that are admitted are Marleyans who refuse to speak to you because of your status. Some are even reluctant to have you help them in the first place. The Eldians, sadly, are usually too traumatized to open up, so you do your best to make them comfortable however you can. 

When you meet your newest patient, Eren Kruger, you don’t expect him to be any different from the rest. You are, however, surprised at how young he is; he can’t be any older than you, judging by his appearance. His records show nothing except for his name and his status as an Eldian, which isn’t unusual, so you don’t think much of it. “Mr. Kruger, I know you must be hungry,” you start. “Lunch will be arriving soon. If you need assistance, I’ll be here to help you.”

He acknowledges you with another curt nod, remaining silent. You can’t help but notice how brilliantly green his eyes are. Have you ever seen irises like his before? You let the inappropriate thought vanish quickly before you ask, “Would you like me to bathe you now or after you eat?”

At this, his brows tighten. “Bathe?” 

“Yes, Mr. Kruger. We can bathe you before or after lunch, it’s up to you – ”

“I don’t want to bathe,” he says, avoiding your gaze. 

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. “Surely you must want to be clean – ”

He interrupts you again, muttering, “How can I, when I’m like this?”

You understand his hesitation now, not needing further explanation. Sometimes, patients with missing limbs have expressed concern submerging themselves in a tub full of water, not wanting to get their bandages wet. Quickly, you clarify, “It would be a sponge bath. We can do that while you’re lying in bed, actually. And your bandages will stay intact.”

This seems to be the answer he’s looking for. His expression relaxes when he says, “After. I want to do it after I eat.”

You smile softly at him, noting it on your checkboard. “Understand. I’ll go check on your meal now. Is there anything else you need from me?”

A beat passes before he replies, “Pen and paper. For letters.”

You write it, reminding yourself to bring it when you return with his meal. “Got it.”

A few minutes later, you return with a tray of food along with a wad of paper and two pens. You set it on his nightstand beside him, waiting for him to move it. When he doesn’t, staying still, staring blankly at the foot of the bed, you clear your throat. “Mr. Kruger?”

“I’m not hungry,” he murmurs. 

“But you haven’t eaten all day. You need nourishment if you’re going to get any better.”

“And who says I want to get better?” He glares at you, startled by the intensity in his gaze. 

You swallow hard, nervous, but still resilient. “You have to eat. You owe it to yourself after what you’ve been through.”

“And how would you know what I’ve been through?” His voice is steady, a hint of venom, barely enough to sting. But you’re determined. You sit at the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him. Reaching for the tray, you set it down on your lap, sighing. “I don’t know. I have no idea what war is like out there. All I know is that it’s not great for us here. At least out there, you’re fighting together as a unit. Marleyan, Eldian, it doesn’t matter. You’re working to defeat our enemy. And who knows? If we ever win the war, maybe life will be better for us here.” You shove the tray towards him, glaring back at him. “So the least you could do is try to see it through and survive, right?”

He studies you carefully, contemplating how to respond. Glancing at the tray in front of him, he smirks, scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. You ease up, tension releasing from your shoulders. 

After a few more bites, he speaks. “Who do you think the enemy is?” 

Just when you thought you were in the clear, he asks you another question. “It was the Mid-East Allies. That’s who you fought at Fort Slava.” 

“But who do you think the real enemy is?” He’s finished with his potatoes, now moving on to his meatloaf. 

“Well, I suppose it’s whoever the government says it is.” You’re unsure what kind of answer he’s searching for.

“And if they say that we’re the enemy, then what?” He points between you, leaving you confused. 

“We…?”

“Eldians. Devils.”

“No, no. The Devils are on the island. We’re…we’re not like them.”

“Are you sure?” He stuffs the rest of the meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it all down. “What makes you think you’re any better here than you are there?”

Your face feels hot now, and you start to stammer. “Because…because that’s what we were told. We’re on the right side. They’re on the wrong.” 

His plate is nearly clean now. He slides his fingers on the remnants, licking it off before chugging half a glass of water. “What if I told you there’s a place for people like us? A place where you wouldn’t have to walk around with an armband. A place where you were treated fairly. Would you want to go to a place like that?” 

You feel yourself drawn in by his words. The idea of it sounds impossible. Ever since you were born, you were taught to know your place in this world. That place was here in Marley, destined to be a second-class citizen. You were told that the island across the sea was full of devils like you, but because you’re here, you’re better. You can’t deny that you’ve been curious what life is like out there. All this time, you thought it must be worst, secluded on an island, hated by the rest of the world. 

But is this life any better? Secluded in your own community and still hated by the rest of the world?

You pick the tray up from his lap, muttering, “I’ll go get your sponge bath ready.”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you silently. You walk towards the door, ready to leave. Before you do, you say, “And to answer your question: I would.”

~~~

It was supposed to be innocent banter, that’s what Eren intended. He figured he could chalk it up to the trauma speaking for him, that she wouldn’t even be remotely interested in what he had to say. He thought she’d be like all the other naïve, brainwashed Eldians, ignorantly believing everything that was told to them. He realizes soon enough that he was wrong to underestimate her.

She comes to him every day, fulfilling her volunteer duties. Their daily routine begins with breakfast, then a morning stroll in his wheelchair out in the courtyard. Sometimes they’ll play chess at one of the tables, sometimes it’s checkers. Lunchtime comes, and then it’s time for a bath, one of Eren’s favorite parts of the day. Her hands are always gentle, gliding along his skin with a damp sponge. They’ll do another stroll outside, this time on his crutches, where he practices how to walk. Dinner arrives when it’s already dark out, and occasionally, he’ll ask her to read the latest news from the paper. 

While all this happens, they talk. They talk a lot. 

As expected, she figures out that Eren is from Paradis, though he bends the truth about his true intentions for being here. She doesn’t know about his Titan powers, thinking he’s a refugee seeking sanctuary here. Surprisingly, she isn’t offended about it; in fact, she’s curious. They spend most of their time together sharing stories of their childhood. Eren describes life in Paradis, she describes life in Marley. While there are stark differences between their upbringings, there are also blatant similarities. And together, they come to the gut-wrenching conclusion: Eldians are terrorized wherever they are, whether it’s here, or across the sea. 

Eren has only sent one letter in the past two weeks, and that was to his friends back home, informing them that he is in Marley, safe and sound. He doesn’t disclose his plan to them yet. In all honestly, he’s not sure what the plan is anymore. Zeke still hasn’t found him, nor has Eren gone out of his way to be found. What Eren does know is that he enjoys spending time with the woman who helps him. So much that he’s losing grip on what he’s supposed to be doing here. He has to do something soon.

It comes to a head one night, three weeks after he was admitted to the hospital. Eren requests for another sponge bath after dinner; it was a hot day and he worked up a sweat during their afternoon walk. She helps him strip his shirt off, starting with the wet, warm sponge at his chest, massaging small circles onto his sticky skin. He watches her carefully, noticing her eyes lingering on his body more so than usual. 

He speaks softly into her ear, leaning in close. “I have something to tell you.”

She continues above his waist, hands gently scrubbing, not bothering to look at him when she responds. “What is it, Eren?”

He’s thought about this all day. The plan. “Would you like to visit Paradis?”

This time, she does look at him, confused. “What?”

Louder now, and more confident, he says, “Come to Paradis with me. See what it’s like there.”

She scoffs. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my home.”

“They treat you like nothing here,” he argues. “At Paradis, you’re somebody. We can be safe at Paradis.”

She stops, tossing the sponge into the bucket of water beside her, frustrated. “Safe? After everything you’ve told me? You said it yourself; you’ve been terrorized by Titans since you were a kid. Every nation in the world wants Paradis gone. How can it be safe?”

He swallows thickly, gripping her hand delicately in his. “I can’t explain everything right now, but I have a plan. We have a plan.” He recalls one of the last memories he has of Armin, his brilliant friend, suggesting a small-scale Rumbling, enough to scare the rest of the world from attacking Paradis for centuries. He dismissed it quickly then, but now, he considers it. Could this be their best option? Instead of the billions of casualties Eren had originally devised? “You just have to trust me for now. Once we’re there, I can explain everything.”

She stares at him, clearly in shock from his suggestion. He doesn’t blame her. Eren is asking her to give up everything she knows. 

“Eren,” she starts, squeezing his hand tighter. “I don’t know if I can do that.” 

He smiles at her, brushing his thumb across her knuckles delicately. “I understand. I know it’s a big ask, and I shouldn’t have expected you to say yes. I just…I just think I know what I can do for Paradis to make it safe for people like us. Somewhere we can be ourselves, where people will know us for who we are, and not for what they see on our armbands.”

“It sounds like paradise,” she says quietly.

“It does. And I think I could make it that way. I know I can.”

She sighs, retrieving the sponge again. “I want to believe you, Eren. But I don’t think I can throw away my life for something I’m unsure of.” She starts to slide his pants off, ready to wash below his waist.

“Please, just consider it. I plan to leave soon, within the next few days. I just have to send out a letter tomorrow, and I should be ready to go.”

“You’re leaving? Already?”

“I know what I have to do now. I can’t waste any more time when we can end this war now.”

She peers at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I…” 

“What is it?” He sits up, leaning in close to cup her cheek, brushing away her falling tears. 

“Will we ever see each other again?” Her voice is trembling, lips quivering. His heart sinks into his stomach, seeing her like this.

He presses his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you when this is all over. I promise you. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere near the shore, okay?” The small-scale Rumbling should only affect the fleets, which will be in the middle of the ocean, far from the shore. Still, he can’t risk anything happening to her. Not when he isn’t there to protect her.

She nods, not asking for any further explanation. He presses a small kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring us peace.” 

~~~

Eren asks you to drop off a letter in the mailbox, addressed to someone named Azumabito. Apparently, she is an ally to Eldians who is stationed here in Marley, so she can arrange a ship for him to head back home. 

There are still so many questions left unanswered, though you decide not to ask them. Maybe it’s foolish to trust someone you’ve only known for a month. But Eren has given you more truth about this harsh world that anyone else the entire time you’ve been here. And he’s the only one who’s ever promised you a better life. 

Two days after you mailed the letters, you receive a response. It’s addressed to you, though you’re sure it’s meant for Eren. There’s a fancy insignia stamped to one corner of the envelope: a circle with a triangle in the center, formed by samurai swords. You keep it safe in your pocket as you head for the kitchen, ready to deliver Eren’s dinner. 

He reads it when he’s finished with his meal. You watch as he scans the letter carefully, mouthing a few words under his breath. When he reaches the end, he looks up at you, a small grin on his face. “She’s arranged a ship for tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

You gasp, surprised at how soon his departure is. “Tomorrow?”

He nods, folding the letter and tucking it beneath his pillow. 

You let out a deep breath, unsure what else to say. Noticing your quiet demeanor, he reaches for your hand to hold it. “I know this is happening so fast. But I’ve never been more certain about what I need to do until now.” He interlocks his fingers with yours, smiling. “And you helped me with that.”

“Me? How?”

“By being you. By giving me a chance to explain myself. Even when you found out I was from Paradis, you didn’t judge me. You got to know me. It showed me that there are people, good people, on this side. That even in a ruthless place like this, there is beauty to be saved.” 

You don’t say anything, throat too heavy with emotion to respond. Blinking away your tears, you take his tray from his lap, walking quickly to the door. Before you can leave, he asks, “Can you please come back to help me shave?”

Without turning to face him, you nod, exiting his room, stifling your sobs on your way down the hallway. Your heart yearns for more time with him. For the past few weeks, being here has been an escape from your painful reality. You’re not seen as an Eldian, you aren’t considered a second-class citizen. With him, you’re just you. 

You know that you can’t keep him caged here forever. Like a bird, he’s ready to spread his wings. He’s ready to be free. While you’re heartbroken to see him leave, you’re thrilled for him to fulfill his destiny. All you can hope is that one day, you’ll be reunited in a better place than here. 

You return to his room a couple of minutes later with everything you need to give him a close shave. His facial hair has grown out quite a bit since he arrived. You lather his face with a small amount of soap, scrubbing the suds off with a warm, wet towel. He closes his eyes, indulging in your relaxing touch. After mindful preparation, you begin to shave his goatee with a straight razor, pulling his skin taut, gliding the blade carefully across his chin, cleaning it after every stroke. When you’re done with his beard, you focus your attention on his mustache, delicately moving the razor until his skin is smooth and shaven. You smile as you wipe off any remaining residue with the towel. 

With everything discarded into the bucket of water set on the nightstand, you take this time to admire his face, memorizing every detail. The flutter of his lashes, the bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his jawline, the plush of his lips. It’s only now that you realize how close to him you are. You’re kneeling beside him on the bed, noses almost touching, your fingers grazing his smooth skin. He opens his eyes to look at you, and his breath hitches at the intimacy, glancing at your mouth. 

Before you can move, he closes the short distance, kissing you on the lips. As quickly as it happens, he pulls away, blushing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have asked first. I’m sorry – ”

You cut him off with another kiss, hungry for more. It’s his last day; in mere hours from now, he’ll be gone, and you’re not sure when you’ll see him again, if ever. It’s crossed your mind many times by now, how it would feel to be with him like this. The feeling of his lips on yours, the slide of his tongue in your mouth, the taste of his spit. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you’ve never thought about it. In fact, it’s been on your mind every night as you fall asleep, wishing you were in his arms instead of alone in your bed. 

He doesn’t pull away this time, sinking in deeper, slipping inside your mouth to swirl his tongue with yours. He’s just as sweet as you fantasized he’d be, luscious and rich in your mouth. His skin is smooth against your fingertips, tracing his jawline. One hand slides around your waist, tugging you closer to him, the other wraps around the nape of your neck, holding your head steady. You swing one leg over him, straddling his lap, hoisting the hem of your dress past your hips, revealing your panties. He moans, shifting beneath you in the bed to slip his trousers down, displaying his erection bulging in his underwear.

“Is this okay?” he huffs, catching his breath. His voice wavers, his only visible eye half-lidded with arousal, unable to keep his cool.

“Yes,” you answer, grinding yourself on him, kissing him sloppily. His grip is on your hips, guiding you to rut against his cock faster. The friction between you is enough to make you wet, your slick soaking through the fabric. 

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to make you feel good.” His thumb teases the elastic of your waistband, hand slipping inside to rub your clit against his fingers. 

“Eren,” you moan, his sensual touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He slowly slides two digits inside you, massaging your bud with his palm while he pumps his fingers into your sopping cunt. His cock is stiff beneath you, watching you ride his hand, cursing under his breath until you reach your climax, coating him in your arousal. 

You’re breathing heavily, in a daze from your orgasm. He removes his hand from you, slipping it past his underwear to jerk his cock. You reach for him, tugging his bottoms down his legs, replacing his fist with yours, stroking him eagerly. He whispers your name, bucking his hips in tandem with your movements. You’re aching for more, desperate to feel him inside you, feel him deeper. You position yourself correctly, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side to  tease the head of his cock up and down your folds. He sits up on his elbows, watching you with a nervous expression on his face. “Are you sure?” he asks.

You nod, smiling at him. “I’m sure. I want to be close to you, Eren.”

He swears, letting his head fall back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. You sink down on him, his dick stretching you out smoothly, still sleek from your previous orgasm. He moans, craning his neck to take in the lewd sight before him. “Oh my god,” he groans, thrusting his hips into you. 

You ride him slowly, his entire length filling you up to the brim. He plants his feet into the mattress to fuck you deeper, the metal frame creaking with every thrust. It doesn’t take long until you’re both coming together. He shoots his load inside you while you gush all over him, creating a wet mess between you that you couldn’t care less about in the euphoric state you’re in. You lift off him, rolling to his side, relaxing into the pillow with him beside you, cradling you in his arms. He gives you a smooch on the cheek, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“What?”

“You really are an angel,” he says, smiling at you.

~~~

Eren wakes up alone, and he’s almost convinced that it was all a dream until he spots the small note scribbled on paper laying his nightstand. 

It’s too hard to say goodbye, so I won’t. I trust you to keep your promise. We’ll see each other again soon.

With daybreak approaching, Eren leaves for the docks quickly with only the clothes on his back and letters in his pocket, including hers. With sunrise teasing the horizon, he makes it to the meeting place just in time. He recognizes Azumabito and greets her, explaining the situation as they board the ship. She informs him that they are waiting for several other passengers, so he makes himself comfortable by a window.  

A few minutes pass and one of the crew approaches him. “Mr. Jaeger, there is a woman trying to board, claiming they are with you. Do you know anything about this?”

He glances out the window towards the docks and to his shock, he sees an angel with a suitcase in hand, talking to Azumabito. His heart races, overjoyed as he jumps out of his seat, sprinting out of the ship to meet her. 

[sidekick-hero]

First Love, Second Chance (Part 5)

(steddie | explicit | @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt "make up sex" | tags: exes to lovers, canon divergence (Eddie lives), future fic (set 2001), Top!Steve, Bottom!Eddie, emotional sex | Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Find the whole thing on AO3

“Eddie,” Steve half-laughed, half-gasped, “Eddie, come on, let me open the door before we get arrested for public indecency.”

Eddie groaned against Steve’s neck, where he’d been busy leaving a trail of marks, but he loosened his tight grip just enough for Steve to fish his keys out of his pocket. It took him a few attempts—Eddie’s hot mouth biting and licking along his skin made it hard to concentrate—but with a triumphant little “A-ha!” Steve managed to push the door to his apartment open. The two men stumbled inside, into the darkness of the hallway.

For once, Steve was grateful that Robin had moved in with her girlfriend about a year ago, leaving him to find an affordable place on his own. If they were still roommates, he and Eddie would have had to come up with some other plan for alone time after sneaking out of the event.

A pang of guilt hit him for leaving his date behind so abruptly. Lisa had been great—a woman he could have seen himself with if he hadn’t just realized, with absolute clarity, that his perfect match was standing right in front of him. He silently vowed to ask the agency to send her a gift with a note that read something like, “I’m so, so sorry for being such an ass, but the love of my life came back, and I couldn’t let him slip away again.”

Before he could finish the thought, he was slammed against the wall with a soft “Oomph!” The impact knocked the breath out of him, but Steve barely had time to inhale before Eddie’s mouth was on his again, eager and demanding, lips soft and tongue insistent. Who needed air, anyway, when he had Eddie Munson’s kisses to keep him alive?

They kept kissing, the only sounds in the dark hallway their ragged breaths and the soft, wet glide of their mouths against each other. Steve had missed this—not just the physical attraction or the raw, undeniable chemistry that made every moment with Eddie electric, but something deeper. He'd had plenty of sex with plenty of people before and after Eddie, some of it really good, even great. But it almost felt unfair to compare anyone to Eddie.

Because what he missed most was the way Eddie made him feel.

For most of his life, Steve felt like he was just playing a series of roles: the obedient son, the all-American golden boy, the Casanova, the babysitter, the chauffeur. All these personas crafted to win attention, admiration, maybe even affection. Some kind of love.

But with Eddie, none of those roles mattered. With Eddie, he was enough. More than enough. He was everything. He could feel it in every touch, every brush of Eddie’s fingers along his cheek and down his neck. He heard it in the way Eddie’s breath hitched whenever Steve touched him back. He tasted it in Eddie’s fervent kisses, the way he couldn't seem to stop himself from claiming Steve's mouth, over and over again. Most of all, Steve could see it in Eddie’s gaze—a gaze that found him like a compass needle pointing true north, no matter the room or the crowd.

To feel Eddie’s undivided attention on him again, after being deprived of it for so long, was almost overwhelming.

When their lips finally parted to gulp down much-needed air, Steve rested his forehead against Eddie’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. He stared into Eddie's eyes, illuminated faintly by the light filtering through the street lamps outside. He hadn’t even had time to flip on the lights before Eddie was on him, and it felt like they were teenagers again—caught in that intoxicating swirl of hormones and love, a heady mix that made him feel drunk on desire.

"Are you sure?" Eddie whispered in the tiny space between them. At Steve's soft, questioning sound, Eddie nudged his nose against Steve’s and clarified, "I feel like if we keep going, we're headed straight for a home run. And I'd love that, Stevie, more than anything. But only if it’s what you want, too. Whatever happens next, I’m all in—completely and enthusiastically. If you send me home right now and tell me to call you tomorrow, I’d go, and I’d spend the whole night thinking about everything I want to learn about you and your life here, everything I want to share about mine. If you asked me to come to bed and just hold you, I’d feel like the luckiest bastard alive."

Eddie finally drew in a breath, like he’d been holding it in since he started speaking. Then he gave Steve that smile—the one Steve could easily fall in love with if he hadn’t already been there for years.

A giddy laugh escaped Steve, unable to help himself. "How could you not know?"

Eddie raised an eyebrow, amused. "Know what?"

"I’ve been sure since the first time you kissed me," Steve replied, "and then tried to bolt in a panic—until you realized you still couldn’t walk very far and fell down like a baby giraffe."

Eddie snorted, joining in the laughter. “You make me sound incredibly suave and sexy.”

With a grin, Steve tugged Eddie closer by the lapel of his coat and kissed him again, keeping it sweet and teasing. “Oh, you are, baby. So suave. So sexy.”

Eddie placed a hand over his heart with a mock-offended look. “Now you’re just mocking me. I’m mortally wounded—the knife twisted by the very man who owns my heart. Et tu, Brutus—”

Steve decided to silence Eddie’s theatrical rambling with another kiss, deeper this time, while pushing Eddie's coat off his shoulders. Eddie’s words melted into a pleased hum as Steve’s fingers moved deftly, unbuttoning Eddie’s shirt.

“I’m sure,” Steve panted against Eddie’s lips, pausing just long enough to look him in the eye. “I want this. I want you. We’ll figure out the rest, step by step.”

“You have me, sweetheart, for as long as you want me,” Eddie vowed, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m done running.”

“Good,” Steve whispered, his voice quiet but sure. It felt like time had stopped around them, the air between them thick and heavy like warm honey. Suddenly, Steve wanted nothing more than to see Eddie clearly, to look into those familiar brown eyes that always gave everything away.

Steve quickly shrugged off his own coat and pulled his shirt over his head. He couldn't help but smirk at the soft groan Eddie let out, his hands instantly finding their way to Steve’s chest, fingers threading through his chest hair. “God, I missed this. My precious.”

Steve chuckled, hooking his fingers into Eddie’s waistband and starting to tug him toward the bedroom. “I see your weird obsession with my chest hair is still going strong,” he teased.

Eddie followed him eagerly, his hands roaming over Steve’s skin like he was trying to memorize the feel of him all over again. “Can you blame me?”

Finally reaching the bedroom, Steve wasted no time pulling Eddie toward the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. Eddie bounced, laughing with delight at how the scene felt like it could be from a cheesy porno. But his laughter quickly faded when Steve flicked on the bedside lamp and let his hands drift down his chest toward his waistband, making a show of getting undressed. Steve popped the button on his jeans, his hips swaying with a teasing slowness. His hands slid down his muscular thighs, accentuated by the tight fit of his Levi’s, before moving back up to tug at the zipper.

Just as Steve grabbed the waistband to pull his jeans down, Eddie slid off the bed, dropping to his knees in front of him in one fluid motion. Steve caught the slight wince that crossed Eddie’s face.

“You okay, baby?” Steve asked, concern threading through his voice. He knew Eddie had a habit of hurting himself in the name of sexiness.

Eddie chuckled, nodding. “Just my knees reminding me of the inevitable passage of time.”

Steve’s fingers threaded through Eddie’s curls, still as full and dark as they were the first time he’d done this. “Is that your way of telling me I should go easy on you, old man?”

He wasn’t prepared for Eddie’s response—a swift, almost desperate yank at the back of his thighs that pulled him closer, Eddie’s face nuzzling against the hard length straining against the metal of his open fly. The wet heat of Eddie’s mouth through the thin fabric of Steve’s boxer briefs was enough to draw a low, needy moan from his lips.

“Easy on me?” Eddie rasped, his voice already rough like he’d spent hours worshiping Steve’s body. “That’s the last thing I want. I want to make up for every single day we lost. I want you to claim me all over again, and then I want to return the favor. I want to forget there was ever a time I didn’t belong to you.”

With that, Eddie tugged Steve’s pants and underwear down in one swift motion, leaving him completely bare under Eddie's ravenous gaze. Eddie licked his lips like a starving man eyeing his favorite meal. The intensity in Eddie's eyes sent a wave of heat through Steve, his body already trembling with anticipation.

“You know, the first time I saw you naked, my first thought was how fucking unfair it was," Eddie murmured, almost sounding offended even as his gaze raked over Steve's body. "How can everything about you be so goddamn pretty… even your dick?”

His voice was thick with admiration, his long, dexterous fingers wrapping around Steve’s hard length in exactly the way Steve loved. Steve opened his mouth to respond, but the words got lost in his throat as Eddie, wasting no time, sank his mouth down over Steve’s cock. The wet heat, the sensation of Eddie's lips and tongue, overwhelmed him, making his knees nearly buckle.

In the five years they'd been together, they had learned each other inside and out, knew exactly how to make the other come in mere minutes, how to touch and kiss and lick and fuck until the other was a trembling mess. So it didn’t surprise Steve that Eddie still knew every single thing that drove him mad with lust. Eddie’s clever tongue focused on the head of his cock, teasing the slit, swirling around it, before suddenly sinking down in one smooth move until his nose was buried in Steve’s pubic hair.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, doubling over as his hands gripped Eddie’s curls tightly, anchoring himself in place. He felt Eddie smirk around him, clearly proud of the reaction he’d provoked. But Steve couldn’t even begin to care, not when Eddie started moving up and down his length, his tongue gliding along the underside of his cock, tracing the vein, humming with pleasure every time he hit the back of Eddie’s throat. It was the sweetest kind of torture, Eddie’s mouth working him over with practiced ease while he gazed up at Steve with those dark, adoring eyes. Like blowing Steve was a privilege, like Steve himself was a wonder Eddie had been lucky enough to find.

It wasn’t like Steve had lived like a monk all these years. If anything, his stamina had only improved with age and experience. But somehow, with Eddie worshiping him on his knees, he felt like he was seconds away from the edge, like he could come just from the way Eddie looked at him.

“Baby, if you want a home run tonight, you gotta stop,” he managed to gasp out, his voice breathless as if he’d just finished a marathon — though, knowing from experience, marathon sex with Eddie could be even more exhausting than an actual marathon.

Eddie reluctantly pulled off, taking a moment to catch his breath before playfully biting Steve’s hipbone. “Remember when we could go several rounds in one night?” He sighed with mock wistfulness, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

“Actually, Robin and I decided to repress the entire era when Reagan was president,” Steve replied with a grin. Then he carefully pulled Eddie back up to his feet, mindful of his knees that had seen better days. No one warned them that hitting their mid-thirties would feel like this. His respect for Hopper, Joyce, and even Murray had grown exponentially since getting closer and closer to the age they were when they first battled monsters from the Upside Down. Some days, he didn’t even feel like running to catch the bus.

They shared a kiss that started almost chaste — if not for the lingering taste of Steve on Eddie’s tongue. “Catcher or pitcher?” he asked, a playful edge to his voice.

“Huh?” Eddie looked dazed from the kiss, swaying forward like he was chasing Steve’s lips. The sight was impossibly endearing.

Steve chuckled softly. “You wanna catch or pitch? You know, for our home run.”

To Steve's surprise, Eddie let out a pained groan at the question. “I hope you know I blame you and only you for the fact that I even get that fucking metaphor, let alone finding it as hot as I do.”

Smirking, Steve reached out to cup the bulge in Eddie's pants. "Hmmm. I don’t know, this doesn’t feel like you’re all that mad about it, Munson." He squeezed, delighting in the way Eddie twitched beneath his hand. "And you still haven’t answered me. You wanna spread me out on my bed and make me take this," he said, stroking Eddie through his jeans, "inch by inch, feel me squeeze tight and hot around you?” Eddie’s hips jerked into Steve’s touch, a needy whimper escaping his lips at the image Steve was painting with his words.

“Or do you want me to undress you slowly," Steve continued, "lay you down, lick and finger you open until you’re begging for me? Let me give you everything you want, take you apart and put you back together? Hold you down and fuck you so good you forget everyone else who ever touched you but me?”

Steve had never been one for sharing, and while he didn’t hold it against Eddie that there had been others while they were apart — he had been with other people too, after all — a darker, more primal part of him wanted to remind Eddie exactly who he belonged to.

His hand never stopped teasing, and by now Eddie was clutching Steve's forearms tightly, his hips undulating, seeking more friction, more pleasure. "This. That. What you just said. Please, Stevie. Want you to."

“Want me to what?” Steve demanded, his voice low, rough with need. He wanted Eddie to say it. He needed Eddie to say it.

“Want you to show me I’m yours,” Eddie breathed, eyes dark with desire.

And who was Steve to deny them what they both so obviously wanted?

He kept his promise and undressed Eddie slowly, his hands trembling with the need to explore every inch of the beloved body beneath them once more. He found new tattoos, but also a few more scars that hadn't been there the last time they were like this. Steve made a mental note to ask Eddie about them later. Right now, he simply pressed soft kisses against each new mark he discovered, silently vowing to love them as much as he loved every other part of Eddie.

Once they were both naked, Steve murmured for Eddie to get onto the bed on all fours. Eddie obeyed without hesitation — a miracle in itself, showing just how much he needed this, needed him. Steve took a moment to gather the lube and condoms from the bedside drawer. He took a moment to mourn the fact that they had to use a condom, wishing he could feel Eddie bare, skin to skin, but he knew it was the right thing to do. At least until they could talk about being exclusive again and get tested.

When he turned back toward the bed, Steve's breath hitched at the sight before him. Miles of pale skin stretched out before him, adorned with black ink and pink scars, old and fresh alike — testaments to the battles Eddie had fought and survived. His body was leaner, his shoulders broader, his arms more defined, but he still retained that wiry frame that always drove Steve wild. Eddie's cock hung full and heavy between his spread legs, his back arched in a way that put his ass on perfect display, open and inviting, ready for Steve to take.

"You should take a picture, might last you longer," Eddie teased, glancing over his shoulder with a wicked grin.

Steve chuckled, momentarily caught off guard by the idea. He still had a few grainy, clandestine photos of Eddie from back in the day, capturing their moments in bed, raw and unguarded. The thought was tempting, and he mentally filed it away for later. For now, he put the lube and condoms within reach and settled in behind Eddie, his hands moving instantly to the soft flesh of Eddie’s ass, stroking and squeezing, relishing the heat and softness under his palms.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, unable to keep the awe from his voice, feeling Eddie shiver beneath his touch.

Determined to show Eddie exactly how much he meant every word, Steve leaned in, diving between those enticing cheeks without hesitation. His tongue, wet and insistent, teased at Eddie's rim, making a point to keep it as sloppy as possible. He knew how much Eddie loved the filthy, wet sounds and the sensation of spit trickling down to his balls.

Eddie’s hoarse moans, punctuated by his breathless mix of praise and pleading, were like music to Steve’s ears. One of his favorite things about sex with Eddie was how unapologetically loud and expressive he was — just as passionate in bed as he was about everything else in life. For Steve, his partner's pleasure had always been paramount, and knowing he could make Eddie feel this way filled him with a deep, satisfying pride.

It had been a revelation for Steve when he realized that his talents with his mouth could be applied to a man just as effectively as with all the girls he'd been with during his days as King Steve. Back then, his oral skills were the stuff of legend, and when he figured out how to use them on Eddie, they’d both reached new heights of sexual fulfillment.

“Oh my god,” Eddie gasped, voice raw and strained as he pressed the words out between desperate moans. “Your fucking mouth.”

Steve chuckled against him, tongue still buried inside, amused by the way Eddie unknowingly mirrored his own thoughts. He knew he could make Eddie come like this, with just his mouth — he’d done it many times before — but tonight, they had something different in mind. Reluctantly, he pulled back, biting playfully at the plush curve of Eddie's right cheek before grabbing the lube from the pillow beside Eddie’s head.

His first finger slipped inside easily; Eddie was already stretched by his tongue, his body pliant and eager. Steve could feel the heat and tightness around his finger, and as much as he wanted to draw this out, to tease Eddie until he was a trembling mess, his own need was overwhelming. He wanted to be as close to Eddie as humanly possible, to feel every inch of him, to erase every bit of distance that had ever been between them.

One finger was soon joined by another, Eddie’s body yielding easily, drawing Steve in. “Taking it so well, baby. So eager for me to fuck you, huh?”

“Ye-yes, fuck, please, don’t need another finger, just you, I—” Another moan, high and needy, slipped from Eddie’s lips. “I can take it, you know I can,” he babbled, hips pushing back against Steve’s hand, fucking himself on his long fingers. Eddie was right; Steve knew he could sink in just like this. They’d always used their fingers to drive each other wild, not because they needed the stretching. When they were too impatient or time was scarce, they’d often skip the foreplay altogether.

Steve had wanted to take his time, to make up for all the days and nights they’d missed, but he realized there was too much pent-up desire, too much yearning for each other. The need to be close was overwhelming in its intensity. They could take their time later, once the burning urgency had softened into something slower and more languid.

“Okay, baby, okay, I’ve got you,” Steve promised, stroking Eddie’s trembling back like he was soothing a skittish animal. He could feel the tension in Eddie’s body, taut and electric. “Eddie, baby, can you turn around for me?” His hands continued their gentle path, trying to calm whatever had Eddie on edge.

Eddie turned slowly, reluctantly, until he was sitting in front of Steve again. He was still hard, his skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, and his dark eyes were wide and uncertain. His bottom lip, red and swollen from his own teeth, trembled as he avoided Steve’s gaze.

“What’s going on? You seem nervous. Do you want to stop?” Steve asked, his voice filled with concern. Eddie had been so eager, so hungry for this — but what if he felt pressured, like he had to do it just to keep Steve?

Eddie shook his head but kept his eyes downcast, something clearly weighing on his mind. Steve reached out, lacing their fingers together, and brought Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “You can talk to me. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Remember what you said? Whatever happens next, I’m all in. We can stop right now; I’ll make us some cocoa or tea, and we can cuddle or talk, whatever you need. And I’ll still want you just as much.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say because Eddie squeezed his hand, thumb brushing over Steve’s knuckles as he finally spoke. “I don’t want to stop. I want this… I want you… so much. That’s the problem.” At Steve’s confused hum, Eddie continued. “I’m scared, Stevie. It’s stupid, I know, but… God, I’m so fucking scared.”

“Scared? Of what? Of me?” Steve asked, his heart tightening in his chest.

Eddie finally looked up, and Steve’s heart broke at the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “Of how much I want you. How much I need you. It’s terrifying. I feel out of control, like I’ll break apart if you stop touching me.”

Steve’s heart clenched at Eddie’s admission, feeling the weight of every word settle between them. Eddie’s eyes, so wide and vulnerable, flicked up to meet his, and Steve saw the fear there — not of him, but of the intensity of what he was feeling. It was like a tidal wave, something too big to contain or control. He tightened his grip on Eddie’s hand, drawing him closer, feeling the heat and tremor of his body.

"Hey," he murmured softly, "it's okay. You're safe here. I know it feels like too much right now," Steve continued, voice low and soothing, "but it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to rush this. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for."

“I am ready,” Eddie insisted, the desperation in his voice making Steve's heart twist. "But it feels like — like if I let go, I’ll lose myself. Or worse, you. And I can't… I can't lose you again. Not when I just got you back."

Steve shifted closer, cupping Eddie's face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You’re not going to lose me," he promised, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, his eyes searching Steve's, and Steve leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. He kept it soft, reassuring. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against Eddie’s, his hands still cradling Eddie’s face. “We’ll go as slow as you need. We have all the time in the world now. And if you need to stop, we’ll stop. But if you want me to keep going, I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

For a moment, Eddie just breathed, like he was soaking in Steve’s words, his promises. Then, he nodded, a small, tentative smile breaking through the anxiety in his eyes. "I don’t want to stop," he whispered, voice steadier now. "I just… needed to know you’re with me. That you feel it too."

“I do,” Steve replied, brushing a kiss to Eddie’s brow. “Believe me, Eddie, I never felt like this about anyone but you.”

Eddie swallowed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay,” he breathed. “Then… don’t stop. Just… hold me while you do. Please.”

Steve's smile was gentle. "Always," he whispered, pulling Eddie closer, as if holding him while making love could ever be anything less than a joy.

The next few minutes felt like a dream. Steve never stopped touching Eddie, and Eddie never stopped touching him, their hands and bodies in constant, tender contact. Eddie rolled the condom over Steve’s length, slicking it with lube, while Steve kept caressing Eddie’s thighs, kneeling between his spread legs.

And then, finally, with Eddie on his back and Steve poised above him, he sank slowly into the familiar heat of Eddie’s body after years apart. Every movement was slow, deliberate, filled with care and affection. Their gazes were locked, fingers intertwined beside Eddie’s head, and it felt as if time had ceased to exist. Steve leaned down to capture Eddie’s lips in a tender kiss, hips flush against Eddie's, and they kissed again and again, the earlier urgency softened into something gentler, more profound.

When Steve began to move, his hips rolled languidly, their mouths never more than a breath apart. Eddie’s grip on his hands was firm, as if Steve were the only thing anchoring him to the present, holding him together with touch alone. Maybe he was. Steve certainly felt the same way about Eddie.

Their bodies fell into a rhythm that only they knew. They were pressed together from head to toe, chests flush, Eddie’s hard cock trapped beneath Steve’s stomach, Eddie’s legs wrapped tightly around Steve’s waist. It felt like they were caught in the eternal dance of the moon and the sea, Steve’s hips mimicking the ebb and flow of the tides, pushing into Eddie again and again. Beneath him, Eddie met every thrust with his own, welcoming Steve home with a smile Steve could feel on his lips.

“I love you,” Steve whispered against Eddie’s lips, aware of how insane it might sound to anyone else, but knowing the truth of it deep in his heart. The last ten years had melted away the moment their eyes met again. After learning what had caused Eddie to walk away all those years ago, and knowing Eddie had missed him just as much as he’d missed Eddie, those old feelings that had never quite disappeared resurfaced, filling his heart until they overflowed from his lips, just like they always had.

Eddie’s eyes went wide, his grip tightening almost painfully. “Steve—”

“You don’t have to say it back, but I needed you to know. I never stopped loving you, Eddie. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Thank God, because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop loving you, too.”

Steve captured Eddie’s mouth in another passionate kiss, pouring all his love and devotion into it. He knew that this moment would forever be one of the best of his life.

Confessing their love seemed to ignite the earlier fire between them, bringing a fresh urgency to their lovemaking. Suddenly, all Steve wanted was to feel Eddie come because of him, to see him unravel from the pleasure he gave him. His hips picked up speed as he sought the perfect angle to hit Eddie’s prostate with every thrust, each raspy ah, ah, ah from Eddie like a siren’s call he followed, focused entirely on Eddie's pleasure.

Not to be outdone, Eddie began whispering in his ear, telling him how well he was fucking him, how perfect Steve’s cock felt, how Steve was made for him, making him feel like no one else ever had. Eddie’s voice, breathless and raw, promised he couldn’t wait for Steve to fuck him bare again, his cum dripping from his used hole, wanting Steve to push it back in, to mark him as his, and his alone.

Even with the way both of them focused on chasing heights of pleasure, Steve’s orgasm still snuck up on him, the only warning the tight coil in his belly that suddenly twisted painfully. “Fuck, baby, you’re making me come.”

“I’m close, so close, I just—I need—” Eddie’s voice was husky, desperate, and Steve knew exactly what he needed.

It was a tight fit to get his hand between them—neither of them willing to have any space separating them—but Steve managed, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s cock. It was slick with precum and sweat, easing his strokes.

The keening moans falling from Eddie’s lips told Steve just how close he was, so he allowed himself to chase his own orgasm, thrusting into Eddie with short, forceful movements while stroking him just the way he knew Eddie liked it.

And when he felt Eddie clench around him, cum spilling between them and down his fingers, Steve finally let go. He came with a low, guttural fuck, his hips stuttering, his body tightening as he pressed in as deep as he could, filling the condom.

His arms gave out beneath him like a puppet with its strings cut, and he half-sank, half-fell onto Eddie, who let out a soft oof at the weight on top of him.

“Too heavy?” Steve asked, hoping for Eddie to say no so he could stay just like this.

“No,” Eddie replied with a soft smile, probably reading his mind, “stay. Please.”

“For as long as you want me to.”

He was rewarded with a kiss that felt like both a confession and a promise. “How does forever sound?”

“Perfect,” Steve whispered. “Forever sounds perfect.”

[wynvyuu]

hi there!! just came across your blog; was wondering if i could have first kisses between the reader + sova and chamber?? thanks so much!

Hi there!! Thanks for the request! Happy to oblige~ click the read more below to see your requests! 𓆩♡𓆪

if you like what i do here or would like to request a commission for something more longform, please check out my kofi or fiverr!

there's an implicit sense of trust between you and sova. above all else, beyond even the valorant protocol, between all the friends you've made here, you know sova has your back, and sova knows you have his.

in moments like these, where you're tracing the curve of his jaw with your eyes in between training simulations, with sweat soaking his brow, you can't help but wonder how your situation got to this point. it seems magical how you two grew so close. he was the first to greet you when you were a new agent. he was the first to train with you when you were struggling with a fraction of your toolset. he was the first to save you when you were stranded in the middle of enemy territory, struggling with a cracked rib and a bullet hole in your leg. somehow, the two of you meld together like matching puzzle pieces, as if you knew each other once before meeting in such clandestine circumstances. it's only now, in the deep haze of post-training clarity, that you realize you don't even know that much about him.

what's his favorite color? does he prefer dogs, cats, or another domestic animal? his favorite food? what were his parents like? how did he feel about his hometown?

he restrings his bow in front of you, a tiny smile on his face, and you realize that you desperately need to know the answers to these questions. not as a friend, though. above all these questions, you need to know only one thing: what do his lips feel like?

sitting on the same ledge in the vast training space, you impulsively lurch closer. sova turns to look at you just as you do, opening his mouth to say something, but abruptly pauses when you wordlessly steal the breath from his lips with your own.

it lasts only a moment, your hand over his. it's electric, like lightning through your body, but ends too quickly—you want to keep going, you know you do, but your mind bumps into your heart quite abruptly in the very middle of the whole affair. what are you even doing?

you pull away, scrambling back as if bitten. your eyes are wide, and sova's are too, mouth parted and breathing hard. this cannot be happening, you think to yourself. why did you do that?

"ah," you stammer, mind racing. "fuck. I’m so sorry. that was stupid of me, I should have asked or something, or I shouldn't have even done it! god, you probably don't even like—"

your breath leaves your lungs as sova's hand moves to your cheek, and his lips meet yours for a second time, this time initiated by him. you're tense for only a moment, and then the stiffness evaporates from your body as you melt into the kiss, grabbing onto his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself beneath his passion.

moments later, he slowly parts from you, though your lips hover close together for whole seconds in the aftermath, as if held in place by some threshold of intimacy. your warm breaths mingle with his in a tender waltz. and as you open your eyes and briefly glance into his eye, your forehead pressed close, you can't stifle the question on your tongue. "you... you were okay with it?"

he laughs. you can't help but smile. "more than okay," he returns, eyes warm. "I’ve wanted to do that for too long. I just didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."

it's your turn to laugh. "I was thinking the same thing, actually."

"well," sova murmurs, lurching closer with his fingertips brushing across your cheek, "now that there are no more misunderstandings..."

another kiss comes, then another, and another, and another, all the way up until training returns to both of your minds.

somehow, it’s become a ritual for you. every time chamber is to leave for an important mission, he ensures that he finds you moments before he leaves, and he asks for a good luck kiss. his track record has gone aptly defeated for months now.

it’s only ever playful, of course. your first month in the protocol was spent deftly dodging his attempts to take you out for dinner or drinks. not that you weren’t appreciative of the offers, nor were resolute in your decision to deny his offers. at another time, maybe you would have accepted it, but this is a battlefield, not a place for romantic dinner dates and candlelit flings. you were far too in your head to think of the offers as anything more than nuisances from a man you otherwise found charming and likable, if not quite full of himself.

chamber got the hint too, of course. he’s a gentleman in all regards. when it became clear he wasn’t getting through to you, he ceased his advances almost entirely. they remain only in this strange ritual, a joking reminder of that one time chamber asked you out every other day for an entire month. it’s usually accompanied by your shaking heads and chamber chuckling while snapping his fingers as if cursing his luck. then he leaves without consequence, up and away into the sky.

tonight, though, the protocol is up in arms. there’s something in the air—danger? fear? this mission is the most dangerous in weeks. next to no intel, an unknown amount of enemies, and a dangerous, irradiated environment. the agents going on this mission are only to get in and get out with enough intel to inform further actions, but nearly every member of the protocol is intimately aware of the fact that so many things can go wrong so quickly, and these mistakes could cost lives. standing in a small, darkened alcove nearby the lockers, you’ve watched friends hug each other and bid ‘good luck’ to each other for half an hour now. it’s only on the tail-end of this grim vigil that your favorite frenchman approaches you. this time, instead of a smile, he’s stoic. you know this to be a bad sign. you’re familiar enough with chamber at this point to know that if he’s not without his signature cocky smirk, something is terribly wrong.

“a good luck kiss for the road, mon ami?”

you gaze into his eyes. it occurs to you quite suddenly that this could be the last time you ever see his stupid face if things go wrong.

what is that adage? you miss all the shots you never take? you don’t want to live a life with any regrets. even if he never does come back, at least you could come back from the situation knowing that you cherished every small moment you had with him.

“I think you need every bit of luck you can get, so…”

chamber tilts his head to the side and quirks a brow. this is a break from tradition, a second away from the strict ritual he’s set, a ritual he had hoped would keep him stable in a situation such as this. he’s cocky and ambitious, certainly, but not even he can defend against the curling tendril of doubt that encompasses the entire protocol. however, as you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, featherlight and terribly gentle, he suddenly feels invincible. it shows in how his stoic expression grows into the slightest hint of a smile as you pull away. as you fade from his warmth, he draws your hand into his own, and with the gentlest brush of his lips against the back of your palm, he smiles.

“I will ensure I do not squander it.”

before you can respond, he takes his leave. you’re left staring at his back, recalling how his lips felt against the back of your hand, how gently he held it, how firm stoicism melted away into tenderness as soon as he saw your face. and as he leaves, you’re left only with a terrible fluttering in your stomach.

you might actually be into him, after all these months. if there’s anything good about this mission, it’s that chamber’s time away will give you a few precious moments to sort out your newfound emotions.

[cherryrainn]

Hi, i have a request! Could you write a funny lil bit with onceler x reader with a scenario where reader and onceler (or greedler) are having dinner with reader's parents. Cue the iconic "daddy can you pass me the salt?" from reader and both reader's dad and onceler reach out for it - how will he squirm out of that????

HAHA YES THIS IS GONNA BE SO FUN. im gonna do greedler because i feel like he just fits more with the whole "daddy" thing.

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— a dinner to forget

onceler (greedler) x reader

the dining room exuded an air of warmth and elegance, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows upon the polished wooden table. you sat nervously next to onceler, your boyfriend, who exuded a certain enigmatic charm with his distinctive attire. his black top hat, coupled with his long green tailcoat, made him stand out in the refined setting. his light-blue eyes gleamed mischievously behind his sunglasses as he leaned back, exuding an air of confidence.

across from you sat your parents, eagerly engaged in conversation, their eyes filled with curiosity and excitement. it was the first time they were meeting onceler, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and a tinge of anxiety about how the evening would unfold.

the clinking of silverware against fine china echoed through the room as the dinner conversation flowed effortlessly. laughter filled the air as stories were shared, and onceler's witty banter intertwined with your parents' anecdotes.

in the midst of the lively exchange, you felt a sudden craving for an extra sprinkle of salt on your dish. without missing a beat, you turned to your father, who was seated next to you, and pointed to the salt shaker resting in the center of the table.

"daddy, can you pass me the salt?" you asked, unaware of the comedic mishap that was about to unfold.

in an almost synchronized manner, both your father and onceler reached out for the salt shaker, their hands meeting halfway. the room fell into a momentary silence as everyone realized the hilariously awkward situation that had transpired. your father's eyes widened in shock, and a stunned expression crossed his face.

onceler, usually a master of quick thinking, found himself at a loss for words. the confident facade he had carefully cultivated cracked, revealing a touch of embarrassment. his cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink as he withdrew his hand.

onceler's light freckles seemed to stand out more prominently against his blushing cheeks as he tried to gather his composure. he exchanged a sheepish glance with your father, who couldn't hide his bewildered expression. your dads eyebrows shot up as he processed the unexpected response from onceler.

sensing the need to address the confusion, onceler cleared his throat, his voice carrying a mix of embarrassment and nervousness. "o, um, i apologize if that caught you off guard. it's just a term of... something... we use between us, a playful nickname," he explained, hoping to provide some clarity.

your father's shock transformed into a mixture of surprise and awkwardness, his face turning a shade of pink. he stuttered slightly as he tried to compose himself. "oh, i... i see. i wasn't expecting that," he muttered, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and discomfort.

your mother then but in, "right, well, i suppose every couple has their own unique dynamics. we might not fully understand it, but if it works for you both..." she trailed off, a hint of resignation in her voice.

a brief pause followed, the silence punctuated by the clinking of silverware on plates. onceler shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting between you, your father, and your mother. sensing the need to break the tension, you decided to lighten the mood with a touch of humor.

"looks like we've accidentally created a 'who gets to pass the salt' dilemma," you quipped, offering a lighthearted smile.

your father chuckled nervously, a small smile forming on his face. "yup, seems that way. well, someone's going to have to make the first move," he replied, a playful glint in his eye.

onceler, taking the cue, let out a self-conscious chuckle and extended his hand towards the salt shaker, offering it to you. "after you, my dear. i wouldn't dare to come between you and your seasoning," he said with a hint of amusement, his embarrassment dissipating.

you gladly accepted the salt shaker from onceler, your hand brushing against his in the exchange. a sense of relief washed over the room as laughter filled the air once more, dispelling the awkwardness that had momentarily enveloped the dinner table.

[sp0o0kylights]

 armed your words with explosive devices and put the trigger on your tongue.

I never know if a kiss will kill me. 

It's a joke. 

Or at least, Eddie meant it as one. 

He was flicking his hand out with the intention of pretending to "push" the weight off Steve's shoulders, following a joke about how he looks like he's carrying the whole world on his back.

Beyond the general air of a frazzled single mother, Harrington had been down to clown. He'd laughed at Eddie's first few jokes, even made a poor attempt at making one back.

So it surprised both of them when Steve flinches back, hard, sucking in a noisy breath.

For a moment he holds it in and Eddie mimics him, hand frozen midair. 

They breathe out almost together as Eddie slowly lowers his hand.

"Steve." Eddie starts off, voice soft. 

Steve jams his hand in his hair, face flushing red. "Sorry man, jock reflexes."

He catches the second Steve forces a smile back on his face, the way his desperate attempt at tugging on his own hair changes into a move designed to fluff it up. A laugh makes its way out of Steve’s mouth and to his credit, it sounds natural. 

This, Eddie realizes with an abrupt clarity, is Steve caught wrong-footed in public. This is Steve being off and fixing it before he breaks down. 

It’s a good cover, excellent even, and if Eddie hadn’t been watching for the signs, if he hadn’t started looking closer and closer at Harrington after finding him drunk and bloody in Tina’s bathtub, he might have brushed it off. 

Thought of it as Steve being a jerk, a jock, a guy who didn’t want to touch the filth that was Eddie Munson and was now trying to hide it.The same way so many others did, because they’d learned the hard way that a pissed off dealer won’t sell you any drugs. 

Eddie could even see him spinning this as having an off day. Maybe Steve was sore, maybe he was annoyed, maybe he was six other million things that he’d lead you to believe. 

Worse than knowing that he’d have bought Steve’s cover though, is that Eddie recognizes this. 

Has seen it before. 

Or micro versions of it. 

In class, when Steve’s asked a question he doesn’t know. In the hallways when someone tells a joke about his parents. In the parking lot when those kids snap at him, rolling their eyes and throwing their hands around.

Even the one basketball game Eddie attended, during his ill-fated attempt at joining the yearbook club before he finally started Hellfire. 

There had been a moment where Tommy had briefly turned on Steve, got some of the other boys to snap and snarl at the King in the face of a bad score. 

Called him stupid. 

Spineless and gutless. 

(Steve hadn’t even been the captain, back then.

 They held him responsible anyway.)

Eddie had thought it well deserved--even funny at the time-- considering what made up a man like Steve Harrington. 

Get big movie star hair, combine with no parents, and add tons of money. Shaken and stirred with little bits of never-ending popularity and girls swooning left and right over him, and you got Hawkin High’s most popular guy.

 Good to buy you whatever you needed, with a famously sharp tongue that he used in place of his fists. 

Grant still had nightmares over some of the names Steve had nailed him with. 

He was the school’s most desired bachelor until Nancy Wheeler took him down, proved even kings could be cheated out of their kingdoms. 

(One of the teenagers at the famed Starcourt fire, a hero in the papers for saving half a dozen kids. The pictures the news still occasionally shows often pin up those pictures of Steve, wearing this exact smile. 

It’s the same one he’s wearing now, as Starcourt burns in the background of each and every photo..)

The realization comes with a flood of knowledge--that Steve knows how to hide his issues, that he’s had issues for far longer than whatever--or whoever--is beating him up. 

Longer than Eddie himself had caught onto too--and Eddie had prided himself on seeing through people’s bullshit. 

If he does what Steve wants, let’s this drop, Steve will go on acting like everything’s fine. 

Just like everyone else does.

Eddie can’t do that. Has never been able to do that. 

"We both know that's bullshit." Eddie says, and he knew calling it out would get a reaction, but he’s not expecting the sheer strength of it. 

How Steve looks like he’s taken a punch, mask breaking fast on his face to reveal the hurt underneath. 

"Don't--" He tries to start, tries to breathe again and Eddie's not sure what caused it, but he knows the beginning of a panic attack when he sees one. “Don’t, please--” 

It’s the please that gets Eddie, the word sounding bruised. Like it hurts Steve to say it, that he only uses it as a hail mary that it may somehow help ward off whatever is coming. 

Eddie fights not to put his arms around Steve.

Protect him from whatever the hell is happening. 

"Hey." Eddie says, softly but clearly. "I’m sorry. Tell me what I did and I won’t do it again.” 

They’re in the middle of the school parking lot and neither of them can afford to misstep here. Not in a town like Hawkins. Eddie has a choice to make--to sweep Steve to somewhere safer, or to give space, back off so the younger man can regain control of himself and pick this up later. 

Steve takes a shuddering breath, hugs himself and bows his head. 

Eddie wants to go to him, to touch and comfort, but instead just hovers ever so slightly closer. “I’m here.” He whispers, just loud enough for Steve to hear. 

Steve takes the moment he needs, and Eddie knows he can at least give him that. Shield him from any onlookers with his own body. Use himself as a distraction if anyone comes up. 

His cheeks are wet when Steve raises his head. He wipes his face, bites his lip. 

It takes far less time for him to return to normal than Eddie would have ever thought, but then Steve Harrington keeps surprising him. 

“Shit.” He says, voice in a sort of croak. He clears his throat once, harshly. “Sorry.”

“I set you off, this ones on me.” Eddie says, keeping his voice smooth and calm. “I don’t want to push you, but I need to know what I said to upset you, so I can prevent it from happening again as best I can.” 

Steve looks up for a moment, away from him. Eddie allows it, acknowledges the move as Steve gathers the strength to face whatever hurt him enough to send him spiraling. This isn’t an easy thing he’s asking, and they’re in the worst place to do it--a potential audience can appear at any time. 

Eddie doesn’t want to lose this thread, though. Knows instinctively, how important it is. 

“It’s stupid.” Steve’s struggling to sound more normal, but the real surprise is that he’s starting to manage it. “It’s so stupid, but it’s--the word.” 

Short-term memory recall isn’t exactly a talent of his, but Eddie’s had plenty of practice with D&D. He runs the conversation back, and there’s really only one option that makes any sense. He almost says it again, but catches himself.

Thinks quickly on his feet. 

“Adult male cow crap?” He says, and tries to make his tone a little light. This is a calculated risk, Steve may very well believe he’s being mocked or teased.

The younger man snorts a laugh and thankfully doesn’t appear to take offense. “Yeah.” He drawls out, a tinge of embarrassment flushing across his nose.

It’s fucking adorable, and Eddie has to bite his lip to keep interrupting, inappropriate thoughts at bay. 

“Nance--when we--” Steve huffs an annoyed sigh, arms having shifted long ago to more of a defensive cross, nails digging into his sleeves while he taps his foot, aggravated. “It’s fucking stupid man, but that word got tossed around.” 

“Got it.” Eddie nods his head. “It’s gone.” 

“You shouldn’t have to do that.” Steve says, and it's got an angry undertone to it. “I need to get over it anyway. It’s been long enough.” 

The anger, Eddie decides, is self directed. 

He cocks his head. “Do people tell you to do that a lot? To just get over it?” 

Steve finally looks at him and to his credit the guy’s managed to go from actively falling apart to merely appearing cold and annoyed, as if the redness in his face itself is trying to help hide his emotions. 

That hurt thing flickers in and out of his eyes though, covered by an edge of something else, something stubborn. 

Yet again, Eddie finds himself wondering if he’s found Steve’s limit. If this is when he finally gets pushed away and threatened over all the things that have been revealed to him. Steve hasn’t made that move yet, but Eddie thinks that's mostly because Eddie keeps catching him off guard. 

To be fair, his own reactions are, at times, catching him off guard. This defensiveness of Steve, the way he wants to go slam whoever has hurt the younger man into a wall, to try and make everything better for a guy he previously hated…

Eddie knows what’s gotten into him. It’s his own personality, combined with his own inner sense of someone lost and hurting. Someone who needs to be rescued. 

He just never expected to have it pointed at Harrington. 

“Maybe.” Steve admits finally. “Doesn’t mean they’re wrong though.” 

Eddie can’t help himself. It’s a puzzle in front of him, dangled in the form of Steve and his weird injuries. Steve and his odd reactions. 

Beautiful, gorgeous, straight Steve Harrington, who once pressed his cheek into Eddie’s hands and closed his eyes like he’d found a slice of heaven. 

“Why?” Eddie challenges. He’s still close. Close enough that they’re going to have to pretend to be fighting if anyone else starts making noise. Eddie’s lost track of time entirely, can’t recall what period this is. Where he’s even supposed to be.

Hell, he never even asked why Steve was here. 

Steve’s mouth opens and closes, like he had an answer but suddenly thought better of it. 

He’s still tapping his foot. 

“Why would they be wrong? ” And at first Eddie thinks Steve is turning the challenge back on him, until he clocks the confused crinkle in his forehead, right between his eyebrows. 

Like a dog who just wants to be a good boy, and doesn’t understand why he’s being shouted at. 

‘Eddie, for once in your fucking life, focus!’ He thinks furiously at himself. 

“Because it hurts you. Because all of us “get over” things in different ways, at different paces.” He makes the quotes with his fingers, putting on a fun voice just to try and make even a small smile appear on Steve’s face.

It works, and Eddie grins despite himself and the seriousness of the moment. 

“Doesn’t matter how stupid it is, Steve-O. Our brains don’t care.” He knocks on his own to make his point. 

“I guess.” Steve says, and it’s not an agreement but Eddie will take it. 

Will take anything Steve will give him, which just shows how badly he’s screwing himself.

Straight boys, even ones wrapped up in some kind of mystery and sprinkled with dozens of other things that catch Eddie’s attention like Steve’s his own personal brand of crack, typically don’t mean anything good for him.

This time, he just hopes it can mean something good for Steve.

Eddie might not know much, but he knows Steve deserves something good.

[snailstrailz]

Ok so I SUCK at comics and post-sleep clarity compels me to just outline my alternative ending for OATD. I'm kinda on the fence about the ending, but whatever AU where the night entities are real or whatever.

This is kinda long so it's below the cut!

After Dark fades away Orion gets like super pissed at Light and yells at him for not stopping. Light weakly defends himself and flies off, leaving Orion alone to break down on the beach.

Cut back to present Orion and Hypatia, who's like "wow bummer ending dad" and Orion is like"I'm not finished tho!!"

The scene with the night entities realizing they fucked up plays out basically the same, but they all come together and have an argument about what to do. They all really regret just leaving dark but nobody has any ideas on how to fix things.

Finally, they listen to quiet, who suggests they go back for Orion, because maybe they can get Dark back though his memory.

The entities go find Orion, who's still hopeless. The entities all pitch in and talk about how he's helped, but it's not working. Finally dreams appeals to him by just stating the truth. "We need to get him back, or there will be nothing left for anyone."

Orion finally agrees and the whole crew goes into Orion's head this time, but searching through everything they can't find Dark.

This causes Orion to start having a panic attack and then the whole thing with the black hole happens pretty much the same with Orion deciding to face his fears. This dissipates the black hole and Dark is left behind in its wake.

He too, though is completely hopeless. He's reading the list again, crying.

Everyone tries to convince him to come back but Dark won't budge. Completely given up.

Then light shows up. He's like "dude, if you don't come back nobody will ever feel the cool, calm, dark again bro. It kinda blows when it's just me."

Dark turns around. "People have been terrified of me from day one." He turns to Orion, "you're still pretty afraid of me too. But... Maybe that's ok."

Dark gets up and declares that they're going to go fix the world and again the scene plays out pretty much the same.

Dark brings Orion home and they hug one last time. Orion goes inside and it fades to Orion on the field trip. He gathers his courage and talks to Sarah, and even though his voice cracks, he tells Ricchi Panichi to leave him alone.

In the present Orion and Hypatia are going back home. Hypatia doubts the story, thinking it's just made up. Orion knowingly smiles, before something for the poorly lit park from before catches his attention. Beyond the flickering street light, is Dark.

Hypatia is stunned and Dark is like, "long time no see!" Orion is elated to see Dark again, giving him a hug.

"I guess you're here to convince me you're not so bad now?" Hypatia says but Dark says "nah, I don't really mind." Sleep pops in alongside the others and saying, "it's past your bedtime anyway."

Boom title comes on screen credits roll yippee yay

[doctorpandorica]

So Fanfiction, Deadpool and Wolverine, and Logan, made have a fucking epiphany about my mental health. Seeing it sky rocket at the box office, gives me hope that A, I am not alone and B, the world can be a better place. And I have to say, I really do believe both Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman deserve the world.

For the first time in my life yesterday, I looked at myself and thought I look pretty. The FUCKING kicker is I did again this morning and I felt the same way. Maybe just a baby step, but it's a step in the right fucking direction mother fuckers. But, How did I get here (Yes, I'm pulling this shit on you).....

I have horrendous fear of endings and I finally learned....or accepted it's because it's symptomatic of my misery. Things like desperation, depression and anxiety can trick you into the allure of mistaking familiarity as comforting, even when it's hurting you. That you are far less that what you are actually and are deserving of far less than you actually do, that the consequences of our choices are proof that our pessimistic view is the whole of reality.

But, it's only half of the truth and that is the majesty of realism, seeing the glass is both half full and half empty. The best understanding of Pessimism, Optimism and realism can be explained in a quote by William Arthur Ward. Where the three are stuck out at sea on a sail boat,

"The Pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails."

To make the best choices in life you need to see every possibility and my heart goes out to those that are so blinded by pessimism, hope seems like fairy tale. I mean it's hard enough even if you can see things are possible but, it's still a bitch of an up road battle.

Which brings me to one of the most devastating ones in my life, the death of my dad. I always wondered how someone who seemed so sure of himself, could understand my pain so well. In hindsight I knew he had very hard life, it shouldn't have surprised me that he not only had crippling OCD, Anxiety but, depressions that at times reached suicidal ideations.

I was more my father's daughter than I realized, and took those fucking movie, to really appreciate what that meant.

Don't blindly accept things, ask questions.

If I had, I would've realized it's not that I don't care what others think, I'm really fucking depressed. And that's why I don't put effort in what I wear, or personal hygiene or wear make up. Never assume to know who you are, that's part of the majesty of life, that not knowing.

You never truly fail, until you give up.

For more clarity , I would like to add, some words of wisdom from a beloved science teacher,

"If at first you don't succeed, find out why"

Treat people fairly, across the board "Give people a chance"

To be sparingly coupled with, both

Trust your gut

This requires a lot of hard work, with self regulation and introspection. I've found DBT or Dialectical Behavioral Therapy to be very helpful. Which I must add the following because, I was wrongfully diagnosed with Autism (feeds into the dangers of acceptance). My therapist who diagnosed me ironically introduced to me the saving grace that is DBT. But, told me it wouldn't help me because I am autistic which she came to the conclusion based on ...

Flat Effect

Only developed when I hit puberty, the same time I developed depression and anxiety. People don't develop autism later on in their life, they are born with it.

Black and white thinking

If anything I think this is the problem with society and for anyone to say this about me, has obviously never heard me talk about anything. I found this utterly insulting

Anger prone

Repressed emotions and didn't start happening until 20's

Lack of Eye contact

I get really nervous around meeting new people, particularly if they stand really close to me for some fucking reason.  Once I get to know people I have no problem looking them in the eye.

Lack of Socialization

Low self-esteem brought on by my Depression

Social Anxiety and general Anxiety (fear of doing something wrong)

I actually do have a desire to socialize, but mistook relief after social based anxious episodes as me not liking it.

The same was done with someone very close to me, who was told they were Bipolar even though it didn't fit. They chose to trust they 're doctor, and was proven insanely wrong by they're new Doctor who aptly diagnosed them as having Borderline Personality and they are doing so much better.

Anyway I participated in a DBT group for about 16 weeks or so, one of which was diagnosed late in life with a form of autism. And the difference by the end of those weeks only strengthened my faith in DBT.

Don't start anything, but always finish

Don't go looking for a fight but, stand up for yourself when necessary, emphasis on necessary.

As long as people aren't hurting others or themselves, mind your own business

For some people this can be tricky, especially for those guided by their idealized narratives of the world. Again DBT can help with this in the grand scheme of things.

I mistakenly thought, that because I didn't seem to react how I would expect (bad assumptions) that I was fine. Even though, I was able to acknowledge that I was deeply depressed, which I was able to trace back to age 11, which for clarity was 20 years ago. Which fun fact I only discovered in my senior year of high school, followed by my anxiety a year later my first year of college. IT IS NEVER TOO LATE !!! EVEN IF YOU ARE GOING TO DIE TOMORROW!!! HAPPYNESS MAY NOT BE A CHOICE BUT THE PATH TO IT IS!!!

More In-depth analysis of how Hugh Jackman, Ryan Reynolds and Marvel factor into follow in follow up post. Because This post is too damn long, already. Thank you to those who read it all the way through , I wish you contentment.

[colonelpancakes]

Watching the dragon prince season six episode four: The Starscraper. Under the cut as usual.

I love Callum but how is he not frozen solid. Those fingerless gloves may be stylish but they are NOT insulating. Give my boy a coat.

Ooh that’s a beautiful building. It does look a tad like a Minecraft beacon but, it's a very pretty Minecraft beacon

Callum, why would you just stick your hand in? For all you know it’s like a forcefield or something and it zaps you!

Okay, my question is what is the benefit of an elevator partially activating once you’ve read half the runes? That seems like a real safety hazard, like that seems like a magic bug that needs to be fixed.

Woah, wait a minute! Interesting, some of the Celestial Elves seem to have wings that aren’t bird wings. That one in the back looks like they have bug wings. Can that happen with skywing elves? I guess bugs are also flying creatures that inhabit the sky so that would make sense. Hmm… I wonder if you can get Mage Wing bug wings…

Aww. The leaflynx kitten is adorable but also the music is giving major flashbacks to the baby deer at the end of season two. Claudia. Claudia don’t you dare.

Also, glowing butterfly motif!

CLAUDIA NO.

Okay good. It seemed like her hand was almost acting out of her control, I wonder if this much dark magic is starting to like, impact her reflexes? Like she instinctively reaches for things even if she doesn’t consciously want to? Or maybe she’s just snapping herself out of it who knows.

“Are you feeling alright?” “No, I’m not. I’m so messed up, Terry. I’ve been stuck, just staring, for over an hour now.” Oughhh Claudia, honey. Its good that she’s at least able to admit she’s not okay, that’s a good start.

Oh, hey is Claudia starting to lean away from dark magic? Or, like, recognize that it’s not a good thing? That’s interesting, previously she’s been very adamant that dark magic is a good and useful invention, but now she seems to be realizing the negative effects it’s had on her? …Claudia redemption arc? 👀

Skjslkajfdkl that is the exact same face that she made at Zym when she first met him. Some things never change.

I love the little pose Callum does when he’s introducing him and Rayla, he’s so dorky I love him.

Oh my God that escalated quickly. Not a friendly lot got it.

No! Gosh dangit pearl stop rolling around!

CLAUDIA REDEMPTION ARC?! Let’s GO! YES GIRL! SELF-IMPROVEMENT!

I find it interesting how after losing her dad, Claudia turns to Terry, her only present loved one, for instruction. She needs someone to tell her what to do, she needs someone to do things FOR. She went from following her dad's orders to working to save his life and now she doesn't have him to give her direction, she looks to Terry. When was the last time she did something for herself without someone's instructions?

“Only you can decide the path you’re going to walk. You won’t be alone. I’ll clear out the thorny brambles if I see them, I’ll hold your hand as we trudge through wet, mucky leaves. But… you have to choose the way.” I love Terry so much he’s such a sweetheart. He clearly loves Claudia so much and he’s willing to stick with her through everything and anything, whatever happens.

Claudia... Again, it's interesting, how, because she doesn’t know what she wants for herself, she defaults back to finding what her dad wants, thinking that if she looks at him, she’ll find some clarity and she’ll suddenly know what to do. She doesn't know what to do without her family because she's been doing things for them for her whole life.

Aww. Okay, the leaflynx kitten is adorable but. Was I the only one alarmed by how big it is? Something about the perspective in earlier shots made me think it was a lot smaller somehow.

Also, I love the butterfly landing in Claudia's hair in the previous shot.

No, I think Callum has a point here. They did just drop you from the top of the tower.

Oh, hey! Kosmo has vitiligo! That’s cool, yay representation!

Also, I haven’t mentioned it yet but I love Sneezle’s hanging out in Callum’s scarf it’s so cute.

I love Sol Regem’s design he’s so big and menacing. Plus the lighting in this location is so beautiful, the way it illuminates him from behind like a dusky backlight is *mwah*

Sooo, what are we thinking Sunseeds smell like? ‘Cause personally, I’m thinking freshly popped popcorn.

Karim, man, he literally told you that his sight was unrelated to his lack of hope. I don’t know how you are surprised by this.

Sksjlfakj poor Rayla.

Ohh wow. This episode is really going off with the gorgeous scenery and lighting. The Starlooms are so beautiful and I love the name "starweaver spider".

Oh! So that’s what the bug wings are! That’s really cool and such neat worldbuilding.

Hey! It's the intro galaxy!

Okay, that sounds cool in theory but I feel like in practice being Timeblind would kinda suck. I feel like that would just be like. Too much information at any given time it’d be hard to make connections with other people or like, enjoy day to day life.

Continued in reblogs as per usual!

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 21}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader) ; brief OMC x Reader

Summary: Memories and feelings overwhelm you, conversations need to be had about how things crumbled between you and Din, but the wedding is only a few days away and a plan of escape needs to be made despite it all.

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, noncon touching and physical affection, reader initiates sexual advances even if she does not want to, reader is complicit in an uncomfortable situation, sexual situations, adult content, talk of past arguments, talk of past miscommunication, din raises his voice one (1) time, argumentative language, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, reader is being held captive against her will, talk of self-harm, references to past self-harm, mentions of IV ports and shots, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, um i think those are all the major ones?

A/N: been struggling with inspiration lately, this fic means so much to me and i didn't want to force the writing when it wasn't working. but here's the next chapter and i hope it holds up to the rest of the fic. we do get a pretty big moment in this one though, so i hope that makes up for the absurd amount of angst

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

His voice is low, reverent as he asks if you’re okay, only for another current to overtake your body. The harsh sound of the pain stealing the words away from you as your voice distorts into something sharp and loud. It’s too much, you think, too strong a sensation for your already weak mind and body, for all the months of stress and manipulation. Convulsions shake you in his hold, his large hands cradling you close and trying to take what he could from you.

The power of the Force flares, trying to combat the currents, and you feel completely helpless as you try to fight something that seems to be happening in the very synapses of your brain. And then it’s waning, as suddenly as it had begun, the only evidence of the storm raging inside your body is the one that mirrors the intensity outside in the howling of wind, of too many lightning strikes, of booming thunder and pouring rain.

You’re barely able to get half-breaths in, panting at too high a staccato to really ease the dizziness setting in as you pry your eyes open and see Din staring down at you with his brows furrowed. Maker, his eyes are so beautiful and his shaky chuckle tells you the words had managed to slip from your trembling lips.

He whispers your name, calling you back to him as your focus blurs and your eyes begin to slip closed again.

“She…put something…in me.” You try to explain your scattered thoughts, the memories of the last time you had been in the same room with him knowing it was him trying their best to resurface. But you push them down as each interaction since then vies for your attention, and it hurts to think he had been beside you this whole time and you hadn’t the faintest clue. The man who you felt so connected to had been at your side, waiting, helping, learning how to interact with the version of yourself that feels so flat all of sudden for all that you hadn’t been able to recall. The emotions of the past few months dousing you tenfold, assaulting your nerves and capacity to handle the realization. “She’s…she’s controlling the currents…somehow.”

“I’ll fix it,” His voice is low, noticing how each deafening clap of thunder is making you wince, like it had so long ago back on Tatooine. “I’ve been trying…I’ll make it right, mesh’la, I swear to you.”

“O-okay,” Is all you can manage before you feel consciousness slip from you, drained from those few moments of pure clarity and everything that had come with it. You’re reaching up a shaking hand, caressing your fingers along the side of his face. His eyes flutter shut at the first touch to his furrowed brow, his breath hitching as they gently glide trail over his eyelids. His skin is warm to the touch, even though the fabric of his mask and cowl you know is beneath as you lay your palm on the side of his face, attempting to cup the glimpse of him he’s allowing you to see.

“Din, I’m…I’m so tired.”

“I know, mesh’la, but you’ve been so strong, you’ve been so unbelievably strong. I’m so proud of you for remembering, you did such a good job, mesh’la.”

“Ad’ika, is he…where…can we…?” But you never get to finish your sentence as another current strikes through you, making your hand fall from his face and your consciousness slip from you completely.

Footsteps are loud as they race through the palace hallways, heard over the rain pelting down from the angry sky. Din is running as fast as he can, being mindful of the unconscious form of you in his arms. He has to get you somewhere safe, he has to get you to the quarters he shares with Cara. He uses all of his senses to try and ensure no one catches a glimpse of either of you as he enters the quiet servant’s quarters.

Cara isn’t asleep when he carefully opens the door and she jumps up from where she had been sitting atop her bed with a halo net tablet in her lap. The volume was low on the video she had been watching, a map of the city of Maldovan disappearing as she presses it off and throws it onto the blanket. She’s up and watching silently as Din carefully lays your unconscious form down on his own cot. He’s so careful, so tender as he pulls the blanket up around your body, ensuring the flowing nightgown you were in, lined with lace and silk, is covering you up.

“Mando…”

“She remembered. She was running down the hall and collapsed, something…some kind of current was assaulting her. But she remembered.”

He trails bare fingers over the track marks in your arm from where you had been injected, a line hooked up to you obvious in the indented line it left along your inner forearm, the port still in place and clamped shut by a piece of plastic. There’s a mark on your neck that concerns him, a tear in your skin that hadn’t healed yet though he smells the bacta thick on your skin.

He’s not talking, not explaining further, too enamored with having you back beside him, he’s sitting on the edge of the cot and leaning over you. His breathing is even despite how hard his heart is beating in his ribcage.

“She remembered.”

“That’s…that’s great, but we’ve got to get her back to the infirmary wing. If her mother or the prince go in the morning, and she’s gone…they’ll trace her down until they find her.”

“Just…a moment, just give me a moment.” He doesn’t voice his pleading, but it’s the closest he had been to you in months, the time apart as he searched for you, the time we was nearby but still just a stranger to you as he tried to help cultivate a rapport with you. He can’t help keep the vulnerability out of his voice as his eyes rove over your unconscious face. Cara remains quiet, knowing that this means so much to him. She keeps her steps quiet as she goes into the common room for the quarters.

An hour goes by and you begin to rouse, your eyes flutter open slowly and the first thing realize is that you’re laying down in a small bed. But it isn’t the one in the infirmary you had fallen asleep in, it’s one in a room you don’t recognize. There’s a shadowed form hovering close and you feel panic spike, before you see brown eyes glittering in the dim light of the lantern on the bedside table.

“It’s just me, mesh’la.” Din’s voice is deep, unmodulated and smooth. It’s jarring, to hear it so close, to feel his bare hands tracing up and down your arms again. It feels so good to be by his side, to know who he is once again, but your heart is heavy, and your head is swimming.

“Din…”

“We can’t just run, the prince would send endless hunters after you until you were returned to him. Your mother too, would stop at nothing to keep you under her control.” His words are true, you know in the very core of them both, they are children who wish to not lose what it theirs. They would stop at nothing to have you under their control should you slip away or disappear from the palace. They would surely target Din once again, track him down, rightfully thinking you returned to him or he came and stole you away. He had been here, for nearly two months now, beside them without them knowing. He had…he had removed his armor, his helmet to be by your side without suspicion. He had given up part of his identity to ensure your safety in the midst of a den where you were surrounded by nothing but striking snakes and constricting regulations.

But the thought of spending one more second within the stone walls of the palace, within the large, imposing walls of the palace grounds. One more insipid conversation about details of a wedding you did not want even when you could not recall who you were, one more touch of your mother’s hands to your skin, you couldn’t bare the thought. It made your stomach roil, nausea rising and you take in a deep breath to keep it at bay.

“We didn’t before, we were worried about you lashing out, of running from us because you didn’t know who we were or believe us.” You see the struggle reflected in his eyes, their glittering brown in the dim light, the way he’s keeping them on you so intently. You feel your stomach flutter, his eyes. You’re looking into his eyes, the eyes of the man who you had never anticipated feeling so intensely for in the way that you do. That he returns, despite the circumstances of your connection of your lives.

You feel so strongly for him and your fingers itch to reach for him. To caress the exposed part of his face and find out if it’s as soft as it looks despite the wrinkles you see set into his skin. If the hairs of his brow are soft to the touch, would he even let you run your fingers over them? You don’t deliberate long as you watch your hand cup the side of his face. His eyes flutter close, and he leans into the touch, the fabric of his mask like liquid against your palm. Holding your breath, bottom lip between your teeth, you raise your hand and trace the tip of your pointer finger over the arch of his brow, first one and then the other.

The moment is still, everything in the room fading around you as you focus on the man in front of you.

His hair is soft, his skin is soft. He’s as still as a statue but he’s not as stoic. His brows furrow and give away his trepidation and worry as you greedily take in every detail of the exposed part of his face. A crease forms in his forehead as he keeps his eyes closed, long dark lashes fanning out over the barest top of his cheeks revealed for your eyes to see. The outline of his nose is just below and you lean in to press your lips to it without thinking, as if you’re allowed to.

“We’ve dealt with it before…with ad’ika.” You lean back a little, propped up slightly, but at the flare of pain in your temples, you’re leaning back onto the pillows with a small gasp. He’s standing suddenly, his hands coming up to cup your face, his eyes focused on your own as you try to keep them open. “Where-?”

“He’s safe, he’s with Cara. You’ll see him soon enough, I promise.” You weren’t sure if you were ready to see him, if you were completely honest with yourself. The small child would be all you needed to give into the urge to run, your instincts telling you that he didn’t need to be anywhere near the people who were doing this to you, because they could do the same to him. Endless threats hidden in the shadows of your life growing and expanding, looming over not just you but the child and Din as well.

Your words feel flat, the sentiment behind them lost in the worries that plague you, that had become a reality once again. He was right, just disappearing wouldn’t resolve the situation, it would only amp it up to a degree in which would rain down continuously on your little trio.

Turning your face into his palm more, you feel warmth bloom in your chest. His skin is so soft, the middle of his palm especially, while the pointer and middle fingers of each are a little more callous from years of triggers and weapons. His hooded eyes are wide, holding so much emotion as he looks down at you, brows furrowed and small wrinkles taking on shadows in the dim light. He looks so vulnerable, so unlike the demeanor he puts on underneath the helmet. You see the movement of his lips beneath the fabric of his mask, faintly, the barely there motion telling you that he has his cowl securely in place underneath it.

“I don’t want to have to worry every time we land on a new planet, take a new job and think that it’s a trap, feel…fear that you’ll walk down the boarding ramp and I’d never get to see you again. Should you want to travel with me, with us still. I would do it, if you wanted to just go now…but mesh’la, I don’t want that for you. To be constantly on the lookout like you’ve been your whole life. You deserve to be free, truly free.”

You’re quiet, reaching for his hand and tangling your fingers with his. You see his eyes close, the deep breath he takes as his chest expands beneath the black flowing robes he dons. He’s sitting back down on the edge of the cot, his body angled toward you as he leans forward to touch his forehead to yours.

The door is opening and Cara is peeking in with a hardened expression. Her own flowing robes are a cerulean blue, complimenting the light tone of her skin. Pulling the dusting of pink over her cheeks and of her lips. You recall the pull you had felt toward her, days before.

“Guards just got sent out on a search, I think someone got paranoid with the storm. They’re sure to check the infirmary during their sweep to secure the palace.” She’s trying her best to keep on a hard gaze, but her eyes soften and her lips twitch when your eyes meet hers. “It’s so good to see you again, cya’rika.”

“We can say I asked you to walk me to the greenhouse room to watch the storm, I did that…when I was first here quite a bit, it’s believable I would stray away once again.” Din is helping you to sit up, the sleeve of your sleeping gown falling at the action but his bare fingers are fixing it back into place. You feel embarrassment flare, recalling the way you had nearly screamed at him, accused him of wanting you all to yourself after that incident in the bathhouse.

He's strong but gentle as he helps you to stand, your legs are weak but thankfully not aching or sore from whatever your mother had ordered done to you this latest visit to the infirmary. Your head throbs with the shift, hand flying up to rub at your temples.

“Just…really quick, are there…marks in my forehead or anything here?”

Din is quick to step in front of you, an arm around your middle to help keep you balanced. His eyes, scan your face, the skin above and around your eyes that you motion to, keeping rubbing at.

“Mesh’la, I don’t see anything. But they could’ve used bacta or surgery to cover what they did, you said that you felt like she put something in you?” He’s gently tracing over your face with the pads of his fingertips, searching for anything that could indicate work being done or implants being put in. But there’s nothing; no protrusions, no bruising, no marks of bacta patches being removed, nor scalpels having touched you.

“My head just…it keeps throbbing, the thunder and lighting- it kept almost coursing through me. A current of energy, nothing like the Force. More like…electricity.”

“I’ll look over the records tomorrow, once things calm down, I promise you.”

When you approach the door, you’re shifting on your feet to balance a bit better before you throw your arms around the woman’s shoulders, stunning her. Her arms slowly come up around you to return the embrace. Her body flush against yours and making you feel a little better about having to return to your role of the obedient wife-to-be and daughter.

“Thank you, for helping me.”

“Anything for you, you know that.”

The hallways are quiet despite lights that had been turned on outside to illuminate the grounds. Thunder and lightning still flashing over the sky. Din is silent beside you, a hand on the small of your back and one of his outer robes draped over your shoulders to help cover you up. The sleeping gown and bare feet might be a bit of a giveaway that you had quite literally run from the infirmary, but your lie of wanting to watch the storm would work.

There’s a tension between you now, as you walk alone down the halls, unasked questions and worries about how this is all going to play out from this moment on. If…if you were to return to the Razor Crest with Din and ad’ika. If you were going to be…together in the way you two had begun to speak of and express to each other. You can almost sense the questions forming on his tongue, pushing against his teeth as he remains quiet. You’re sure he can sense the ones you have for him too.

How long did it take for him to look for you, to realize you hadn’t run off. Had he thought you ran off, had he even cared about the damage his stumbling and ill-thought-out words had caused. Did he come to save you out of some obligation to your freedom, a verbal promise made all those months ago now on Sorgan. Did he…did he still care about you even if he had no desire to be with you the way you had made it obvious you wanted to be with him. It was all so much, too much, to handle in the moment.

“San-“

“Not right now, please. It’s…it’s too much right now.” You’re unable to look over at him, to see the emotions clearly in his eyes. It’s still, it still hurts a little, to know that he had removed his armor and helmet to blend into the planet’s population, into the palace. You had never wanted him to do something he did not want, even at the core of your affection and need to feel close to him. The thought of skirting his Creed, of feeling him instead of seeing him under the cover of darkness had crossed your mind. But his…rather immediate lack of words and agreement to even talk about that had made you feel far worse for speaking it when you had all those days ago now. “We can talk once this is all over. I think- I think we need to.”

“Yes, mesh’la.”

The hall that holds the infirmary, the entirety of the medical wing is only guarded by a few soldiers. The ones you had skirted around still at their posts, but the one who had left from in front of the door to your room was back in front of it. A frown on his features as you and Din round the corner and begin to approach him. The furrow of his brow and the narrowing of his eyes above a similar mask and head cover as Din sparks an idea in your mind. One you hadn’t used in a very long time because it felt far too morally grey to implement. But if the people controlling you weren’t going to play fair, then you weren’t either.

“Princess, I thought you were safely in your room.” Din visibly tenses, as he senses this interaction may not work in favor of hiding your true whereabouts. “I didn’t know you snuck out.”

“I was in my room the entire night.” You pull on the power of the Force, harnessing it and sending it over the guard with a smooth wave of an open palm across your chest.

“Of course, you were in your room the entire night.”

“You didn’t see me or Aliit this morning, returning to the infirmary.”

“Of course, Princess. I never saw you or Aliit this morning.”

“Please step aside for me.”

“Of course, Princess. Stepping aside.”

Din is pinning you with a curious look, a glint in his eyes as you both step through the door and back into the room you had been put in by your mother. Whatever she had ordered to be done to you had required around the clock supervision and check ins, at least until you had shown signs of rousing. The scent of her perfume had lingered in the room when you woke, telling you she had left just moments before.

“I’ve never done that to you, I swear.” You look to him as you sit on the side of your bed. The silk sheets cold and the beads of the tapestry above it glittering. When he nods his understanding, you turn to read the Basic inscription on the programmed screen of your intravenous line. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, just fluids to keep you hydrated and a low-grade pain preventative serum.

“Why didn’t you? When I first found you.”

“Because I was weak.” Is your simple answer. The real one heavy on your tongue as you reattach the line to the port still embedded in the crook of your right elbow. “And because you didn’t deserve your head to be messed with. You showed your true colors in saving the child. Even if you had tried to turn in him.”

“Back on Sorgan, you didn’t do it either. Even when you ran.”

“I almost did. But something…a feeling told me it would be a huge betrayal of trust. An invasion of your mind and since you did not show your face, it was an even worse offense. Mandalorian’s are pure at their core. Religion and culture a reflection of exactly that.”

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes watching as you settle into the extravagant bed. His fingers twitch and his knees creak just the slightest as he goes to take a step but second guesses it.

“I like the code name. Very on the nose.” You muse as you begin to pull the covers atop the bed back. A crack of your own knees and a throb of your temple cause you to slowly settle in the sheets and pull them over your body.

“Native language seemed best, to help with your memory.”

“Smart.” You offer him a small smile, feeling warmth in your cheeks as you realize how self-conscious you’re beginning to feel around him the longer you’re both alone. It’s far different from before, when there was an understanding. But now…now you just feel completely and utterly self-conscious and all too aware of his denial of your advances. It didn’t seem to matter that he had scoured the galaxy for you, came to your side as soon as he undoubtedly could and had stuck by you even when you couldn’t recall who he was. There was something passing between you, unspoken and far too fragile to begin to dissect.

“I’ll see you tonight, Aliit.” Leaning back, you feel the material of his cloak bunch around you. Leaning up, you’re unfastening it from around your collarbone but one of his hands rests over yours to stop you.

“Keep it.” He’s leaning down over the bed, his warm forehead touching yours and that same flutter erupts in your middle. Your eyes flutter shut, unable to meet his gaze and when you open them back up he’s gone from the room completely. Snuggling down further into the blankets, you can’t help but take a deep breath of the bunched up fabric and a small smile pulls at your lips as the familiar scent of him calming your frazzled nerves.

“Darling, it’s time to wake up now.” The cloyingly sweet voice and scent of your mother is hovering over you, the weight of her body pressed against your side causing your breath to rush in and your eyes to fly open. Body tensing at the feeling of someone beside you, of being trapped underneath the covers that laid over your body. “Oh, oh, oh, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

Glancing around, you notice that you’re no longer in the infirmary but the gilded cage of a cell. The bars are thick only a few feet from the edge of the bed, pushed to the center of the wall that backs the space.

You can hear the faint hum of electricity despite there being no obvious source for it down in this dim basement of a floor. Most likely from a programmed door shielding you away doubly so from the little freedom you had when your memories were suppressed. But you had them, them and the power of the Force. You spy the slight curve of the wall just outside the bars, a staircase leading up rather steeply.

Hands are smoothing your hair, caressing your arms. And you turn to see your mother watching you, a glint of something in her dark eyes.

“I had to protect you, there was a scare late last night of intruders. One of the New Republic politicians was sure he spotted two people running about the palace hallways. You’re safe down here, my love.”

“But mother-“

“No arguments. Your safety is the most important thing, especially after that little fit you had the other day. I bet you don’t even recall having one, do you?”

You don’t, because you hadn’t had a fit. You had forced her hands off of you, power surging through your hands as you guided it to your advantage. But Din’s words, Cara’s reassurances that they had been doing everything in their power to prevent the routine use of the mind flayer to eradicate your memories and keep you in the dark. You feel a flash of fear should they have not been able to track you down, how much of yourself would you have lost, how much was still lost at the hands of your mother.

No, mother. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” You feign innocence, playing into the palm of her hand the way she expects you to. You have no idea what she did to you for the currents of shocking electricity to assault your body, but it hadn’t happened since last night when the storm was raging outside.

“No, my love, you didn’t.” She’s kissing your forehead as she stands, hovering over you as she fusses with the covers, ensuring you’re completely tucked in. Her hands are wringing together in front of her as you go to sit up, but the motion is halted by the clanging of metal and a weight around all four of your limbs.

Cuffs. You were cuffed to the bed by short chains, attached to the wrought iron foot and head rests of the bedframe.

“It’s for your own safety, please understand. I don’t want you fussing about in your sleep or hurting yourself by moving around too much. Please don’t be upset with me, my darling.” You don’t even get to respond before you feel the prick of a needle in your arm, too distracted by the cuffs. You should’ve known, you had been to unawares around her despite the history, despite the game she played, the dirty moves she made. The easy way she did it over and over again, You hadn’t even noticed anywhere on her body for her to hide the syringe, she’s dressed in her simple sleep clothes.

“Mother-“

“Shh, it’s okay, my love. Everything is going to be okay. It’s just until the festivities of the marriage, and then you’ll be free to move about the palace once again. I swear to you.” The back of her hand is soft as it traces the curve of your cheek.

“Mesh’la…I have an idea but it’s going to have to be set up for the last possible minute before the ceremony.” Din’s voice jostles as he takes the steps descending into your new ‘room’, his boots silent on the stone that makes them up. His robes billow out behind him, his head cover and mask securely in place. You don’t doubt he had known where you were moved to the second it had happened, the access card needed to open the door atop the stairs already swiped from someone. The guard surely relieved of their post in a ruse of him taking over.

You had roused from the dose of sedative just hours ago, the effects of it not seeming to last as long as the previous one. Whatever the reason, you were glad. The time alone down here allowing for your to click the locks of the cuff open and explore the space in relative peace. There was no easy way for anyone to escape, but you weren’t just anyone. You had the Force on your side and a few flicks of your wrist would promise your freedom. If only it were that simple.

“Consummation occurs the night before the ceremony, it’s Maldovan tradition. That would be too late, I…I haven’t had to lay with him yet and I…I don’t-“ The words tumble from you, the thought of laying with someone against your will again unsettling in your stomach, churning it up into unpleasant waves.

“I promise you that will not happen.” There’s an edge to his velvet voice, weight that grounds you even as the glaring nature of the conversation is not lost on either of you. He doesn’t ask about the time you have spent with the prince after dark nor do you supply an answer for him.

Cara’s form appears at the top of the stairs just as Din stands in front of the thick bars and you’re grateful for her presence. Being alone with Din feels tumultuous. Too many words on the tip of your tongue, on his.

“I want to use poison, something native to this world. But…”

“But what?” Din is looking between you both, his eyes sparkling in the light from the lanterns along the wall, the rays of the sun that sneak down the steps that lead down into your new cage.

“She’d have to take it too, to really sell the political angle. It would be seen as a disagreement with the union should the prince, the soon to be princess, and her mother all be poisoned the night of the first traditional ceremony.” Cara explains, hoping the extent of what needs to be done is understood, is taken with great caution and thought. She wants you to be on board with whatever decision is made, whatever plan is decided on. You would be the one to take great risk to your wellbeing in order to get your freedom back. You’re the one who would have to make it seem as if you had nothing to do with the murder of your own mother and the prince.

“I would need to take enough for the effects to show, for it to be recorded. I would need to be found at the scene…in the same bed as the prince, in his quarters. My mother, it wouldn’t matter much where she was found but she keeps to herself during the evening after dinner.”

“We can slip it into the glasses of wine served at dinner.” Cara suggests, though you and Din both shake your head. It’s too open-ended. The glass could get served to someone else, could get spilled, could heighten the effects of the poison or dull them alternatively. It was too risky, too many factors that could go wrong with extra servants, cooks, and guests. Too many hands it would have to go through before it landed in the one’s of its intended target.

“That’s too risky. San could overdose that way, intake just enough to make it harder to reserve the effects.”

“I could administer it to Cala, just before anything happens and then take it myself. One of you could slip it into my mother’s evening tea.”

“I’ll do it.” Cara volunteers, knowing that should Din be left alone with your mother, the potential for emotions would be a concern. Even if the goal is to kill her, the thought is to do it quietly. One wrong or derogatory word from her and the plan could be ruined. He was a professional, but he was also human, especially where you were concerned.

“No…I want, I want Din to do it. I would just…I would feel better knowing he’s as far away from me and Cala should he insist something were to happen and I can’t-“

“You’re to use a blade, we’ll ensure the poison is bonded to the blade. No chance of it not taking that way. Either the poison will take him out or the blade will.”

“The same should be done for your mother then too.”

“It’s a backup plan and cathartic relief all in one.” Huffing, you feel the effects of the last dose of sedative begin to wane, your head feels a little more clear, your mind a little more sharp. “But then I’d need to stab myself too, for it to all be cohesive.”

Din is watching you closely, his eyes trailing over your legs hidden beneath layers of sheer tulle and silk, picturing clearly the scars of blades you had dug into your skin before. He doesn’t mention them and you shake your head ever so slightly to get him to shift his heavy gaze. You know he knows they’re there, but you don’t want to talk about them. To reveal how close you had been to ending your life before, the thoughts of Akiz banishing the notion, of making you feel ashamed for it even crossing your mind. He had sacrificed his life to ensure yours, and you wouldn’t betray him in that way, betray his memory.

“No blades.” Din crosses his arms, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his robes. His mass is…impressive even without the armor. He’s tall, he’s broad, he’s every bit of Din as he is when he’s hidden underneath the armor. Though you can sense that he feels exposed and not just physically. His hands keep resting on the tops of his thighs, as if holding fast to a blaster that is no longer holstered there. He keeps his steps even, as if he is still not used to being without the great weight of his beskar, of the weapons he’s normally laden down with. His brows raise with his questions, which makes you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. Or the furrowing of them if he doesn’t agree or like a statement.

“It’s the most convincing way, even if I’m not too fond of digging a blade into my torso.”

“You’ll bleed out before they find you in the morning.” He’s firm with his words, his body language displaying every bit of strength his armor does, even as it sits in a protected trunk somewhere else.

“Just the poison then. I can track some down in the market after dark, I’m sure it won’t be too hard a task.”

“Just the poison then.” You agree, unable to tear your gaze away as his eyes bore into your own. “Cara, instruct the kitchen to get truffles from one of the higher end places in the tourism sector. We can inject it into those. Cala favors dark chocolate and walnut.”

“Copy that. I’ll go do that to ensure they have them in time.”

“Thank you. Oh, and perhaps just a small trio of white chocolate and fruit ones. So we know which one is for me and which ones are for him.”

As soon as she’s gone, you’re alone with Din once again. Tension siphoning into the air as her footsteps sound on the stone ground and up the tall stairs that lead up to the main level of the palace.

“He makes me feed them to him, when he requests me in the evenings.” You whisper into the silence, unable to handle the way it’s no longer comfortable between you two. But how could it, with you back in a cage, no matter how gilded and extravagant, and him on the other side looking between the bars that hold an electric charge. It’s rather basic, the high tech, sleek look of so much technology at a cultural clash with the desert planet who pays homage to simpler architecture and aesthetics.

“He doesn’t ever touch me, it’s as if he’s afraid to.”

“But he does order you to remain until late.”

“Yes, his requests are…personal.”

“Stop.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say. You’re not saying anything and I see your eyes trained on me. It’s- it’s more intense than the visor. I’m sorry.” Looking down, you stare at your hands in your lap, the way they tremble slightly. Body stressed and mind restless. The roundabout mention of his missing armor and helmet the only thing you could think of to change the subject without asking directly. The feeling of being seen, of being perceived is too intense, Maker, his eyes are looking at you, watching you, reading you. The thought of them behind the darkness of his visor a little less intimidating, but it’s gone now.

“I removed it, yes.”

“You shouldn’t have, if you didn’t want to.”

“I had to.”

“Oh. That makes sense, to get onto the planet, I saw the wanted posters for you depicting the beskar.”

“I had to, but…I also wanted to.”

“Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?” He doesn’t sound mad or upset, no disbelief in his tone. It’s as flat as your own, the words to heavy to implement emotion into them. They carry entire conversations in them, entire sets of intention, of arguments, of resolve.

“It’s not my place.” You mumble, not wanting to close in on yourself but it’s happening anyway. Mind protecting you against the vulnerability of the conversation, of the way the words had been stuck in your ribs since the moment you realized you had asked for too much.

“San-“

“You know the Creed. I know the Creed. How you choose to follow it is not my place. It’s a very personal thing for each individual. You practice, I do not. It’s not my place to question or think on the reasons why you chose to do things regarding it.”

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“Forget it-“

“I can’t! I can’t just forget it, any of it! The look on your face, the hurt and disappointment, it will haunt me until my last breath!” His words are booming, catching you completely off guard and you flinch, pain searing across your forehead and down the back of your neck. But you freeze once it passes, aware of the heat of his gaze locked on you.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean-“ Breaking his gaze, you look down to the stone tiles of the ground. The lines separating them dance back and forth as your vision swims, as your mind tilts and you feel your center of gravity suddenly gone. Your knees knock into each other as you reach out for something to grab onto, but you’re down among the dancing lines before you can even take a breath to try and recenter yourself.

“Gev bic! Si gev bic, San! Bic ru'banar te ara bic ru'banar.  Vi linibar at cuyir able at jorhaa'ir a bic.  Ni liser't am bic bal gar liser't am bic.  Jorhaa'ir be bic cuyir jaon'yc par mhi at nari bat. I am living the consequences of my actions each day and I no longer want to.”

Stop it! Just stop it, San! It happened the way it happened. We need to be able to speak about it. I can't change it and you can't change it! Talking about it is important for us to move forward.

“P-please stop yelling.” You shudder as pain ripples down your body, you feel tears well up hot and sticky behind your eyes and you blink them away as best you can as you try to get back up. His hand is there, reaching through the bars. He’s deflated, his anger gone and in it’s place is the same man who had fetched you from the shower when you collapsed, the same man who had cradled you to him when thunder shook the skies overhead, the same man who holds your heart. He’s gentle as he supports your weight, a silent buoy for you to stand on as you gather yourself. An apology, two float in the air as you remain quiet, he knows he shouldn’t have raised his voice, emotion getting the better of him. You feel the remorse coming off of him in waves, reaching and curling around you as he tries to speak again.

“Ni cuy' olar, ni kelir ratiin cuyir olar.  A staabi jii, at tengaanar gar ner troan cuyir te shi kebi o'r ner kov'nyn.  Ni ru'kel tengaanar gar, ru'kir gar tionir tug'yc.”

I am here. I will always be here. But right now, showing you my face is the only thing on my mind. I would show you, should you ask again.

“Ni liser't.”

I can’t.

“Vaabir gar copad at haa'taylir? Vaabir gar ganar nayc copikla?”

Do you not want to see? Do you have no desire for me any more?

“Ni vaabir, a ibac cuyir  jorbe luubid.”

 I do but that is not reason enough.

“Bic cuyir par ni. Tionir ni.”

It is for me. Ask me.

He’s desperate, for you to understand, for you to grasp the depth of his words. But you can’t, unable to accept that he means them with everything he is. He’s done so much for you already, he’s set you free, he’s allowed you to travel by his side, to feel joy in caring for the child, to be wholly and completely yourself in a safe and protected environment. He’s already removed his armor and shown part of his face, he’s already done so much. Continues to do so even when you had no idea who he was, he could’ve taken the situation for what it was. A fresh start, a blank slate to move on without your presence in his life. The complications and miscommunication you had parted on only a blip in his time line, but he hadn’t.

“Din, nayc.”

Din, no.

“San, tionir ni. Gedet'ye. Duumir ni dinuir ibic at gar.” His voice is barely above a whisper, a quiet plea for you to ask something of him. To allow him to give a part of himself to you, but his need for your prompting is what complicates your desire for just that. He could just remove it, of his own autonomy and desire. He could, but he never would. He needs your words, your encouragement and you would not be the reason his creed is broken, shattered after a lifetime of upholding it to every degree. Shaping the core of his very person, allowing him to develop into the man he is today, standing on the other side of the bars.

San, ask me. Please. Let me give this to you.

But the words do not follow his pleading, they get stuck in your throat. A deep sigh from him brings your eyes up, mirroring the movement of his hands up to his face. He’s unfastening the loose mask; the fabric falls to the side to reveal his cowl in place underneath. As his fingers hook into the fabric, you clench your eyes shut and bow your head.

It’s only a moment before you feel his hands reaching through the bars, cradling your face and gently guiding your face back up. His forehead gently touches yours, warm skin where there’s normally cool metal. You feel your resolve begin to thaw, the want for it to be skin each and every time you do this to replace the feeling of his helmet. But it’s a dangerous though, it’s a deadly thought.

“San, please.”

“I-I can’t, Din. I can’t do that to you.”

“You are not doing anything, mesh’la. I want to, I want to give this piece of myself to you.”

“You can’t take it back.”

“I wouldn’t want to, everything I have to give, it’s yours. San, I am yours.”

“Din, please, I don’t- I want to, so much, but I can’t.”

“Then just- let me feel you, please? Will you let me give you a kiss, mesh’la?” Your body hums, blood pumping and chest aching at the desperation in his voice, his desire to give you something, anything. Just as you’re about to breathe out your answer, a resounding ‘yes, please, of course’ you feel the press of soft, plush lips to your own. It’s chaste, it’s gentle, it’s reverent. He’s so warm, his nose bumps yours and you feel the brush of facial hair for the barest second until he’s pulling away.

“Din?” You don’t dare open your eyes, heart in your throat, fingers reaching up to wrap around his wrists. His breath is puffed out against your lips, still so close, his nose is still touching yours, his forehead pressed to yours, and you feel your weightlessness in your chest. He hums a response and you feel it more than hear it, everything shared between you both so quiet now, completely at odds with how you had just been hollering at each other. “Was that your first kiss?”

“It was always yours, mesh’la.”

You’re surging forward, the cool metal of the bars pressed against your ears as you share his second, his third, his fourth. His lips are so soft, so full as they meet yours again and again. Slick bottom lip taken between yours as you breathe deep and tighten your hold on him. Your body is alight with tingles, with the feeling of being exactly where you belonged as you feel his skin against yours. He feels like home, even as you still remain separated by metal and circumstance.

The woman looking back at you from the mirror is beautiful. She fills out the dark green silk and black lace as if it was painted on. The top revealing and the bottoms even more so. Her hair is perfectly blown out and full, waves falling delicately around her face. Everything you’ve ever wanted to look like, but yet, you can’t connect to the eyes staring back at you. Because staring back at you is a slave, a pawn in a game you don’t want to be playing. The victim of endless manipulation and conflict, someone who you swore you would never be again the second your kyber crystal glowed white after purifying it.

You lean back from the counter, your hands splayed atop the white marble of it, shoulders sagging as your head hangs between them.

“Adan.” You call out sweetly, pitching your voice a little higher than it’s normal octave. The box of truffles given to you on the counter. Your eyes rove over the gold of the box, how shiny and frivolous it looks in your hands as you reach for it and leave the privacy of the bathroom.

He’s atop the bed, leaning back onto the pile of pillows he prefers to keep even while asleep. He’s bare from the waist up, his chest and arms on display as he has them lifted behind his head. His eyes trace the curves of your body on display for him in much the same way, robe forgotten on the counter. The second you’re close enough to the side of the bed, he’s reaching for you, pulling him over his lap as a giggle sounds into the air.

“Here, taste this for me, my sweet prince.” You reach for one of the truffles from underneath the flipped top, pressing it to his full lips with a coy smile gracing your own. He’s more than happy to part them and bite into the delicacy, the outer coating melting and smearing on his bottom lip. His hands tighten on your hips, teeth nipping at your fingers as he takes the second half of the dessert into his mouth.

Another giggle sounds into the air, from deep in your chest and you can’t help the giddiness that takes over you as you reach for another one from the box. One would be enough, more than enough. But you feel anger and betrayal flare hot in your middle, consuming you from the inside out. He willingly takes a bite of the second dessert offered to him, his body beginning to move beneath you, his hands guiding your hips down into him in a suggestive motion.

“Remove your set for me, my heart.” He leans up and presses a kiss to the side of your face, to your temple, to your nose. His lips are about to connect with yours when you hear it, the rasp in his chest. The wheeze of his next breath as he leans back against the pillows. His eyes are dilated, blown wide and there is no brown in them, the brown you now associated with another man. He’s gasping, hands tightening almost painfully on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he struggles to catch his breath.

A haunting rattling in his chest replaces air, his body tensing as it begins to realize something is horribly, terribly wrong. Nails dig into your skin, tearing the flesh and blood beads up before they loosen and fall to his sides. His chest is still expanded, his last breath fighting to keep him alive even as no more is let into his lungs. You keep your eyes open, watching the color drain from his tan complexion. Tilting your head just slightly, you swear you can hear the pops and bubbles of his lungs tearing, the flesh far too delicate and vulnerable to the poison hidden inside the truffles.

You watch as the light goes out of his eyes, as his body adjusts to the lower heart rate its adapted to try and keep things running, keep blood pumping despite the trauma occurring internally. The poison is fatal by nature, causing the lungs to burn, the heart to slow. But if only ingested in small quantities, the slowing of your heart to nearly nothing would be the only effect.

You hope the research had been accurate as you reach over for one last truffle. You hope Din had done right and only injected a half dose into the white chocolate and fruit one you had insisted on adding to the box of Cala’s preferred flavor. You hope that Din is going to be by your side when you wake as you take half of the truffle between your teeth and bite into it. You hope this will be the last thing you have to do to get your freedom back.  The intention of only eating half of it seems too hopeful as a current of electricity shocks through you and the entire thing falls into your open mouth. The silent scream from the intensity of the charge sealing your fate. You try to gulp down fresh air the second it passes, the chocolate melting far too fast in the heat of your mouth. Spitting, you try to get some of it out, staining the covers as you hack and cough in panic.

Another current courses through your body and you’re keeling over, body tensing and convulsing with the intensity, consciousness gone before you land on the plush carpet of the floor.

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