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coffeeshades · 4 months ago

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credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VIII

— i love you, it’s ruining my life

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.3k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and depression. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello besties, here's the next part!! happy reading <3

masterlist!

Pedro hadn’t expected his career to take another sharp turn so soon after The Mandalorian. The call he received that night in January, while lying in a dimly lit hotel room in London, still felt unreal. Hazy, thanks to the Ambien coursing through him, but real enough to make him sit up in bed after the line went dead.

Something big was coming, and he could feel it in his bones. It would change everything—if things weren’t already good enough as they were.

A few weeks later, he was back in London to film The Bubble. Everything seemed to blur by—filming, meetings, and the quiet rhythm of his life with Julia. He hadn't expected to fall into a relationship so effortlessly, but here he was.

She was a producer he’d met during a project in Budapest, though nothing had happened between them until months later.

Late November, to be exact. By then, things had shifted.

Pedro was never good at deciphering if someone liked him or not, and maybe that was why, when she suggested coffee, he didn’t think twice. She was lovely—kind in a way that didn't feel overwhelming, and he liked the way it felt safe, uncomplicated. When she reached for his hand, the world didn’t spin beneath his feet, and that was comforting. It was normal, and maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

After that first coffee, there were more—turning into casual dinners, casual sex, easy conversations, and eventually, a steady progression toward something more.

By December, things had gotten serious, though Pedro still sometimes woke up disoriented, feeling as if he was living in someone else’s life. Julia kept him grounded. And though it wasn’t the kind of love that made him lose his breath, it was steady.

One morning, in early December, he woke to find a message from you. You’d mentioned him in an upcoming Vogue interview, a brief nod to his help in keeping you sane during those first chaotic months of the pandemic. Your publicist thought it might make a fuss for a while, and you didn’t want him to wake up and think someone had died or something.

Nothing too big, P, just the usual storm. Call when you’re back in the States. Miss you.

Pedro stared at the message for a long time, debating. You’d always known everything about him. Every high, every low. But now? There was Julia to consider. He sat on the edge of the bed, Julia still asleep next to him, the London sky a dull gray through the curtains. He’d thought about telling you about her for weeks—maybe he should’ve before New Year’s—but it was easier to let the conversation slip away.

Until it didn’t.

That night, at Oscar’s New Year’s party, when you found out about Julia, he could see it in your eyes—the hurt, the shock, the confusion. You didn’t say much after that. Just told him you hoped he was happy, and if he was, that would be enough.

But it didn’t feel enough.

Not then, not now.

•••

Back in London, the routine of it all began to suffocate him. He spent his mornings reading lines, drinking bitter coffee, and answering the inevitable buzz of questions about his relationship status. He didn’t care to comment. He didn’t want to make it official in a way that felt like another announcement to the world. His job was to act, not live his life on a stage. Still, the headlines rolled out, and his relationship with Julia became another topic of conversation.

The days passed in a blur, but something bothered him. You had gone silent. Completely. Not only from his life but from social media, from the public eye, from everywhere. He called on your birthday. Oscar had mentioned you hadn't planned anything for the day, not that he knew off, and Pedro found himself standing on the cold balcony of his hotel room, dialing your number with a strange urgency.

You picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

Your voice sounded far away, thin and almost unfamiliar, like a melody he had forgotten.

“Hey.”

There was a beat of silence, a pause where recognition should have clicked into place. Instead, you sounded distant, hesitant.

“Oh. It’s you.”

His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s me. Did you delete my number?”

A soft shuffle on the other end, like you were shifting in place, caught off guard. “No, uh, I just picked it up without looking who it was.”

He leaned against the railing, gripping the phone tighter as if it could bridge the distance between you. The cold metal beneath his fingers bit into his skin, grounding him, though your absence felt like it was growing by the second. "Happy birthday, mi amor."

“Thank you, Pedro.”

The way you said his name, the clipped tone, made something stir in his gut, but he shook it off.

“You doing anything? I heard you didn’t have plans.”

“Nothing really, maybe over the weekend,” you replied, but there was a softness in your voice that didn't match the words, like you were choosing them carefully, holding something back. “I know you’re in London; that’s why I didn’t—”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call,” he interrupted, leaning against the cold railing. His free hand found his hair, fingers tugging at the strands, trying to steady the unease creeping in. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been... You know how it is.”

Another long pause. For a moment, all he heard was the faint rustling on the other end, like you were curled up somewhere small, the space between you both stretching impossibly wide. He didn’t notice the silence for what it was—didn’t notice the way it wrapped around your words, cloaking the pain underneath.

“I do,” you whispered. It wasn’t an agreement; it was resignation. "Listen, I have to go. Say hi to Julia for me."

You hung up quickly, the words leaving him cold. The last part stung in a way he wasn’t expecting.

Days turned into weeks, and though you stayed in touch here and there, your conversations felt different. Lighter. Less personal. He tried not to let it bother him, but it did. The less he tried to think about you, the more you occupied his thoughts, living in the corners of his mind where you had always been. It felt like torture, the way your presence always lingered even in your absence.

When Pedro finally posted about landing the role of Joel Miller, the flood of congratulations came pouring in, but only one comment left him reeling.

So happy for you!!! You’re gonna kill it.

It was from you. Simple, encouraging, and yet it twisted something inside him.

His birthday arrived not long after, and he found himself back in LA, where his friends greeted him with a backyard party under the stars. Sarah held a cake with a single candle, and as everyone cheered, Pedro smiled, but there was an immovable weight in his chest.

Later that night, after the crowd had dispersed, he and Julia escaped upstairs to his room. They ended up half-dressed, tangled on his unmade bed. She smiled at him afterward, her gaze hazy with affection. “Happy birthday,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest.

Pedro wanted to stay in that moment, to let it be enough, but his mind wandered. He had that feeling of wanting to be trapped in one place, wanting to dig his heels in. It didn’t need to matter that that reality was waiting for him outside the door. It didn’t need to matter that you hadn’t called.

April 11, 2021

London, England

Pedro’s mood had been darkening for weeks now, but if Julia had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

She’d taken on a slew of new projects, coming home late most nights, leaving him to his thoughts and the silence that clung to their flat like fog. Pedro found himself pacing the empty rooms when she was gone, unsure where to place himself in her absence. He felt the weight of insomnia closing in again, the recognizable ache behind his eyes making the hours stretch painfully long.

That day, however, his focus had shifted. He was set to present Best Foreign Film at the BAFTAs, and his stylist had dressed him in a Prada tuxedo coat, a crisp white shirt, and skinny-fitting suit trousers. He looked sharp, elegant even, and for the first time in days, Pedro felt something close to confidence.

He and Julia arrived at the event together, but they didn’t pose for pictures side by side. Still, photographers captured fleeting moments—Julia holding his hand as they stepped out of the car, a quiet laugh between them under the canopy of flashing cameras. By the next morning, their images were all over social media, sparking the inevitable buzz about their relationship.

Pedro ignored most of it.

Two days later, while sharing a quiet breakfast in a cafe with Julia, he opened Instagram out of habit, and your face appeared.

There you were, standing in the middle of some forest, your expression serene. The caption read: Surprise. A new album drops at midnight. In isolation, my imagination ran wild, and this is the result—stories and songs that flowed like rivers. I hope you love it.

The post had already gathered thousands of likes and comments, and Pedro’s chest tightened as he stared at the screen. The timing of it all was almost cruel, but it was the impact of your sudden reappearance that left him reeling. You had vanished from the public eye for so long, and now, with no warning, you were back.

That night, Pedro lay awake next to Julia, the persistent itch of insomnia dragging him out of bed. He moved quietly so as not to disturb her, slipping his earbuds in as he stepped onto the hotel balcony. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled up your new album. He hesitated for a moment, but he pressed play anyway.

For ten songs, Pedro was transfixed. Your voice wrapped around him, haunting and familiar, weaving tales of heartache and isolation. There was a rawness to your words, an unflinching honesty that pierced through the midnight air. He listened intently, picking apart the lyrics, wondering if they were about him, if the pain you sang about was shared between you. It felt like an open wound, and yet he couldn’t stop listening.

Each song was a confession. Each melody a letter never sent.

When it ended, Pedro sat in the dark, overwhelmed. The emptiness gnawed at him, and all he wanted was to call you, to talk, to hear your voice. But he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, he found himself shamelessly googling you again, hoping for something—an interview, a post, anything—but there was nothing. You had gone silent after the album drop.

No promo, no press. Just the music and then nothing. He congratulated you once, a brief message saying how beautiful the album was. You replied with a simple, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

That was it.

July 10, 2021

Alberta, Canada

Pedro arrived in Alberta at dawn, the skies painted in soft hues of pink and orange. The cab ride to the hotel was quiet, his agent and hairstylist riding with him as they prepared for the long months ahead. Filming for The Last of Us was finally starting, and though Pedro was eager to begin, a deep nervousness tugged at him.

Julia hadn’t come with him this time, staying back in London for her own work. She promised to visit, but Pedro wasn’t sure how often. In her absence, he felt that familiar loneliness creeping in, the kind that terrified him, mostly because it left him alone with thoughts of you.

He checked into his room and sat heavily on the sofa, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes until his vision blurred. He needed to eat, to call his family, to ground himself in something, but instead, he grabbed a beer from the mini fridge and settled back into the couch. His fingers hovered over his phone again, the compulsion to check your Instagram pulling at him like a bad habit.

But, like always, there was nothing.

Your only other post had been a month ago, thanking your fans for the love on the album. He had messaged you a couple of times—small, inconsequential exchanges that left him unsatisfied. He didn’t know what he was searching for in those brief interactions, but whatever it was, it felt futile.

Then, ten minutes later, like a sign from the universe, you shared an interview. A video with you talking about your creative process. Pedro couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his laptop, another beer, and settled in.

As he watched, he couldn’t help but stare at you. You looked radiant, sitting across from the interviewer in the backyard of your California home. The conversation was easy at first, touching on the album’s success, but then it turned more personal.

"The pandemic was really rough, and also life in general, I guess," you said, your voice quiet. "I found myself post-breakup, isolated in a cabin in Calgary, and writing was all I had. But the inspiration wasn’t just from that breakup. It came from years of… things."

The interviewer asked gently, "You mean the breakup with your most recent ex specifically?"

"Yeah," you replied, your eyes dropping for a second. "It wasn’t entirely about that. I pulled a lot from my imagination, I guess. The lines between fantasy and reality blurred, and I found myself writing from perspectives that weren’t always mine."

Pedro’s heart clenched.

"There’s a song on the album," he continued, "the final track. It’s haunting. You sing about being hurt by someone you love but being unable to let them go. Can you talk about that?"

You paused, taking a breath before you spoke. "It’s a quiet resignation," you said. "That person and I, we hurt each other, but I love them. So, I guess that’s it. It felt like the right way to end the album."

Pedro’s world stilled. He realized, in that moment, what he had been searching for all this time. He had wanted confirmation, a sign that you still loved him. And with every word you spoke, you gave it to him.

Filming for The Last of Us began a couple of days later, and though Pedro threw himself into the work, your voice lingered, ghost-like, at the back of his mind. Days turned to weeks, and as production moved into September, the physical toll started to wear on him. He spent long hours on set; the Canadian cold started biting into his bones. Bella, his co-star, became a bright spot, their energy infectious, and though they bonded quickly, Pedro felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.

In the early mornings, when the world was still asleep, he would take walks to clear his head, the cold sunlight grounding him. Julia came to visit now and then, joining him on these walks, but they often ran out of things to say. He could feel the quiet disintegration of their relationship, like watching ice slowly melt into water. He didn’t know what they were holding onto anymore.

•••

When October rolled around, Pedro’s schedule clashed with the start of The Mandalorian’s third season, and it became clear that he wouldn’t be able to join the production on time. His agents scrambled to find a solution, but when Pedro’s stunt double was suggested as a replacement for the early scenes, he was left with an odd sense of detachment. And when his agent told him it had been your suggestion, something in him cracked.

The anger simmered for weeks. He felt foolish and abandoned, wondering if you had pushed him away to keep your distance. But then, just as the resentment began to harden, you showed up on set with two coffees in hand, flashing him a smile. "One iced caramel macchiato for me and one large quad over ice for you," you teased.

Pedro blinked, startled. He hadn’t expected your warmth. "Thanks," he managed, taking the coffee.

"You’re welcome," you replied brightly. "We missed you here."

"Did you?" he said, a hint of sarcasm slipping into his tone. "Because I heard it was your idea to keep me away."

Your expression twisted into confusion before you laughed. "I was just trying to make things easier. You were still filming, and I figured rushing back here would be a nightmare for you. I wasn’t plotting anything."

Pedro felt a wave of relief wash over him, mixed with the faintest trace of regret. "Well, in that case, I missed you too."

•••

For two seasons, your character hadn't seen his without the helmet. Today you were shooting the scene where, out of necessity, he reveals his face to you. It was written as a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship.

The moment the director called action, the air on set felt different. It wasn’t the usual hum of crew members shuffling in the background or the low murmur of cameras whirring. Instead, a heavy, almost sacred quiet descended, blanketing everyone as the scene unfolded. Pedro’s mind mirrored that stillness, a sudden and unnerving hush. It felt like everything outside of this moment ceased to exist, like time itself had bent inward.

And then—nothing. No words. No script. Just you, standing so close to him, your face inches from his, hands cradling his jaw.

You widened your eyes, a silent prompt, urging him to speak, to remember his lines. But all he could do was stare. He hadn’t been this close to you in months, hadn’t felt the warmth of your touch or the soft presence of your breath in what felt like a lifetime. His throat tightened, his words trapped somewhere deep inside. He knew the scene needed to move forward, but for one fragile moment, all he wanted was to keep you there, locked in this pocket of stillness, as if holding onto you would stop everything else from slipping away.

You read him, like you always did. You settled in, your hands still on his face, fingers pressing gently into his skin as if anchoring him. Then, softly, you filled the silence with a line—one that Pedro was sure wasn’t in the script, but it was perfect. You carried the scene, leading him back into it, your voice becoming the tether that pulled him out of the stillness and into motion. Pedro blinked, refocusing, forcing his body and mind to follow your lead as he finally delivered his line.

The scene moved on, but something lingered, thick and unsaid.

When filming wrapped for the day, the tension still simmered. You caught him at the edge of the lot, your expression unreadable as you approached him. Maybe you'll ask him why he froze like an idiot during that scene, or maybe you'll just walk past him without a word.

Instead, you simply asked, "Dinner?"

Pedro couldn’t say no. He never could when it came to you.

You ended up at a small sushi restaurant tucked away from the chaos of the city. The space was warm, softly lit, a sanctuary from the noise of the outside world. Pedro sat across from you, picking at a piece of sashimi, trying to focus on the conversation but finding it hard. You talked about the year you’d spent away from the spotlight and how you’d pulled back from everything.

"I mean, I’m doing this because I signed a contract," you said, lightly joking, but your eyes flickered with something that gave you away. "Disney has snipers; you know how it is."

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Pedro chuckled, though he could hear the sadness in your voice, the weight behind your words.

"If I could’ve gotten out of it too, I would have," you added, your tone quieter, more reflective. "I guess I just needed to slow down. I’m tired of it all."

"You even skipped the Oscars," Pedro replied, taking a sip of his drink. "That's how you know it's serious."

"Yeah, I love the Oscars. Excellent champagne."

Pedro watched you closely, wanting to dig into your words to pull apart the layers of exhaustion and sadness you were burying beneath the surface. He wanted to offer you some kind of comfort, to tell you that he understood—that he, too, had been feeling the weight of it all. But the words caught in his throat. Instead, the two of you ate in silence, the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but spoke volumes.

There was something about being with you, even without words, that felt…right.

Later, as he lay in bed, his mind kept returning to you, to your confession. He wondered what you weren’t telling him, what you were holding back. But as much as he wanted to reach out to ask, he couldn't.

The next morning, Pedro was on a flight back to Canada. The weeks that followed blurred into a rhythm of cold, grueling days on set and long, sleepless nights. He threw himself into The Last of Us, trying to lose himself in the work, but no matter how hard he tried, thoughts of you crept back in. You were there, always, lingering in the corners of his mind, and Julia could sense it.

She didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro could feel it—the slow unraveling of their relationship. It wasn’t sudden, like a crash or an explosion; it was quiet, a gradual dissolution. Every day, a little more slipped away. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from this relationship, from this life they had built together. Did he think they would buy a house, start a family? Had he ever really seen himself in this life with her, or was it just easier to disappear into hers?

Finally, Julia said it. Brightly, almost too casually. "I think maybe we’re done."

Pedro didn’t fight it. He didn’t have the energy. "Yeah," he murmured. "I think that was my fault."

•••

Christmas and New Year’s came and went in a blur. Pedro went to Chile for a few weeks, seeking the comfort of home, of family. There, surrounded by his siblings and nephews, he found a brief pause, a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a while. But even in the warmth of his childhood home, memories of you still haunted him. He saw you in every corner, heard your laughter in the echo of the hallways.

One night, after too many glasses of wine, he called you on a whim. It wasn’t about anything important—just small talk, catching up. You sounded good, better than the last time you spoke, but there was a distance in your voice, a kind of finality that made Pedro’s heart sink. For some reason, he didn’t tell you about his breakup. He kept that part of his life hidden, not out of secrecy but because it felt irrelevant at that moment.

What would it change? What did it matter?

You didn’t talk much after that. Your silence felt deliberate, not like a missed connection but a closed door. It was as if you were telling him, without saying it outright, that this was where it ended.

In the days that followed, Pedro did his best to push you out of his mind, but it didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep back in. They always did. Anger. Sadness. Regret. They whispered in his ear, insidious and unrelenting, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he could never quite hold on to.

February 7, 2022

Los Angeles, California

The suitcase lay open on the bed, half-packed, with clothes spilling over the edges like an unspoken reflection of your mind. Each item you folded and placed inside felt heavy, as if carrying pieces of the last year with you. Taylor sat cross-legged in the chair by the window, scrolling through her phone while talking, but her words barely reached you over the noise in your head.

“I’m surprised you said yes, that’s all,” she said, her voice light with curiosity. “You’ve basically been a hermit for a year now.”

You laughed softly, your hands smoothing over the fabric of a sweater. “I needed the break, you know that. ”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push yet. You were grateful for the acceptance, even if you knew she was waiting to bring it up again, the same way she always did.

“One day, you’ll tell me what really happened,” Taylor continued, her voice taking on a familiar teasing edge. “You'll tell me what had you sulking at home like a sad Victorian poet for a whole year.”

You folded another shirt and placed it in the suitcase before responding, “I’ve told you countless times. Nothing happened other than…he got a girlfriend, and I stayed out of the way. That’s it.”

Taylor squinted at you as if she didn’t quite believe it, her eyes narrowing with the kind of suspicion only a close friend could afford to show. “Aha,” she said slowly, drawing out the sound.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“I wasn't sulking,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light. “I was…relaxing. It was my year of rest and relaxation.”

She chuckled at that. “Good one, smarty pants."

Outside, a breeze rustled through the palm trees, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of LA traffic. You imagined the street below, the shuffling of photographers leaning against their cars, lighting cigarettes, and murmuring to each other. They had become a permanent fixture, appearing gradually over the months, staking out your house like ghosts waiting for you to return to life.

It never ceased to surprise you how much people cared about what you did off-screen. You couldn’t just let your work stand for itself. No, you had to prove yourself over and over again, reminding the world that you were still an asset, still someone worth admiring.

You shrugged, half-smiling, but there was something sad in it. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m only doing this because I've been dying to work with this director, and it’s a closed set. Once those eight weeks are up, it’s back to my hermit status.”

Taylor shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “So we’re missing the Oscars again this year?”

You threw a pair of socks at her, chuckling. “Seems like it.”

But inside, everything wasn’t as lighthearted as your words. Last year, you’d taken a step back from the spotlight, and while you didn’t want to attribute it to the hurt you were feeling over Pedro, the truth was, it had everything to do with him. Well, at least a huge chunk of it. It hurt not to have him. It hurt to see someone else kiss him, hold his hand so freely, so easily. The pain wrapped itself around you like a second skin.

The world expected you to bounce back, to emerge from this self-imposed exile with a smile and a perfect soundbite. But the truth was messier. You had spent a year nursing a heart that hadn’t fully healed. You loved Pedro in a way that still hurt, in a way that sometimes made you feel like a child who didn’t understand why they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted most. You wanted to be the bigger person, the one who could let him go gracefully, but instead, you had hidden.

You were blue all the time. Some days were okay; some days you barely got out of bed.

There were moments it felt paralyzing. The weight of the world outside your window, the expectations, the love you still felt for him—all of it crushed you. Some days, you simply couldn’t move. You stayed curled up in the safety of your blankets, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It wasn’t long before someone intervened. Your PA was that someone.

She didn’t push you at first. She’d just knock on your door, leave food outside, and ask if you needed anything. You’d spent three weeks in your room, moving only to get water or occasionally sit by the window.

One afternoon, Renata came in and found you in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. She placed a sandwich she brought on the counter and looked at you, her voice careful, but firm. “You need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you,” you replied simply, taking a sip of water.

“No, you know what I mean. A professional. It’s okay if you don’t feel…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” you said, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“You’re not going to eat?” she called after you.

“Not hungry, but thanks,” you mumbled, disappearing into your room again.

But Renata didn’t let it go. She pushed gently, week after week, until finally, you let her schedule an appointment. She promised not to say anything to anyone, especially Taylor. You didn’t want to worry her.

The word depression had seemed too big to say aloud, too heavy, but that’s exactly the word your psychiatrist had used.

“You’ll need to take these every morning,” he said, handing you a small prescription bottle. “And it would be good to write how you feel. Keep track of things.”

You sat there, legs crossed in an oversized chair, staring at the prescription bottle in your hand.

•••

You watched from the sidelines as Pedro continued to rise, landing roles in The Last of Us, becoming the face everyone adored. You were thrilled for him, of course, but the distance between you felt insurmountable.

The only interaction you had was through a comment on his Instagram post, and even then, you weren’t sure if it meant anything. You didn't dare to call him on his birthday; you didn't want to stain his day with sadness. Every time you looked at your phone, tears threatened to spill. You felt as if the moment he spoke into the phone, you might collapse.

He's better off; he might not even notice.

The album you dropped in the spring had been a release of every emotion you hadn’t been able to speak aloud. Each song was laced with love and loss, heartbreak and longing; every note was a confession you’d never let yourself voice. You wondered if he listened to it—if the lyrics registered with him, if he knew they were about him.

That same week, you saw photos of him in London, holding her hand. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

The months passed in a blur of avoidance. You busied yourself at home with anything you could find that didn’t involve thinking about him. You did the one interview your publicist insisted on. It was with Zane Lowe; you liked him, so it was mostly okay. You found yourself talking about the songs you wrote during that time. As you listened to your own words, you realized that the music had given you a voice when you felt silenced by heartache.

It was a bittersweet realization.

By October, filming for The Mandalorian had loomed on the horizon, and when you found out Pedro was still tied up in Canada, you suggested beginning production without him. It felt easier that way, like a reprieve. But when he finally arrived on set, the connection between you two still crackled beneath the surface. There was an unspoken understanding in the way he looked at you during that intense scene—the one where your character saw his face for the first time. He froze, and you wondered what was running through his mind—what thoughts had stopped him from continuing.

You hesitated, but after the scene wrapped, you found yourself asking him to dinner. It was a slippery slope. You could pretend you were okay all you wanted in the brief moments between takes, offering coffee and smiles, but no one saw right through you like him.

Still, you asked. It was a small gesture, just a way to extend the fragile thread of connection between you, to hold onto him for a little longer before he left again.

But you’d learned how to stay in your lane. You’d learned how to love him from a distance, how to let him be happy with someone else. It was an act of love, really—letting him go, stepping aside to give him the space to live a life that didn’t include you. At least that’s what you told yourself.

Taylor’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “Do you think you could be a hermit in Greece next? I could use a vacation.”

May 29, 2022

Los Angeles, California

Between promoting The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent and wrapping up the final scenes of The Last of Us in Canada, he had little time to do, well, anything else really.

It was late May, just after the Star Wars Celebration. He’d worn a blue two-piece set that felt more like pajamas than anything formal, which was fine by him. Comfort was the priority these days.

But something was missing. You. You hadn’t been there. Out of everyone from the cast, you were the only one absent, and that absence settled like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"She’s just taking time off," he’d tell himself, repeating the words like a mantra. “She’s probably busy; she's okay.” But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave him alone.

Pedro had even caved one evening, calling Taylor. It had been late, after a full day of press, his voice rough from interviews and late-night whiskey. He had only meant for it to be one drink. But then he thinks back to the fact that you've plagued his dreams every night this week and that there was a song he kept hearing repeatedly that reminded him of you, and one drink had turned to three, and now here he is.

“Taylor?” He had sounded more vulnerable than he intended. “Is she... I mean, everything’s okay, right?”

Taylor had reassured him, of course, her voice patient, telling him you were fine, that you just were busy. Pedro wanted to believe her, but it gnawed at him. Something felt off.

He still woke up some mornings with the urge to tell you something, a joke he heard or a weird dream he had.

•••

By August he found himself in Spain, the arid heat of the desert sinking into his skin as filming for Strange Way of Life began. The project felt like a strange departure—something raw and gritty, something that required his full attention—but even then, in quiet moments between takes, his mind wandered. He’d sit in his trailer, his phone in hand, thumb hovering over your contact name, but the messages stayed unsent.

The days passed in a blur of rehearsals, early morning call times, and late-night script revisions. He spent his downtime with Ethan, exchanging stories over beers. But there was a quietness to Pedro that hadn’t been there before—a missing piece of him he couldn’t quite place.

•••

November 22, 2022

Miami, Florida

The night was sweltering; even by late fall standards, the air was thick and humid. Pedro was grinning, wearing a loose-fitting animal print shirt that made him feel playful, like he was stepping into some exaggerated version of himself for the evening. Lux was by his side, vibrant as always, their laughter mingling with the clink of glasses as they arrived at a wine event.

But it didn’t take long for Lux to notice the shadow that hung over him.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, side-eyeing him as they sipped their drinks by the bar.

“I’ve been busy,” Pedro answered vaguely, swirling his glass and watching the amber liquid catch the light.

“Sure,” Lux replied, smirking. “And when are you both going to stop being idiots? It’s getting tiresome, hermanito.”

Pedro nearly choked on his drink, laughing in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Lux’s voice was matter-of-fact, cutting through his defenses with that typical bluntness only siblings could pull off. “You and her. It’s obvious. To everyone.”

Pedro sighed, leaning back against the bar, the Miami night buzzing around them. “It’s not that simple.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re both so afraid of what might happen that you’re stuck in this limbo. It’s ridiculous. Why let it get this bad?”

Pedro stared into his glass, her words echoing in his head.

"Because I love her," Pedro finally admitted, his voice quieter, weighed down by the truth. He stared down at his drink, swirling the ice around the glass. "I love her so much I’m willing to let her go."

Lux didn’t say anything.

Pedro shook his head, a bitter smile playing at his lips. "I would only hold her back. I know her so well. She’d sacrifice things just to be with me, and I can’t let her do that. I would only hold her back. She deserves so much better."

Lux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “And what if what she wants is you? What if she’s out there feeling the same way, thinking she’s the one who isn’t good enough for you? Do you ever think about that?”

Pedro let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of it all. "Of course I’ve thought about it. Every day. But what if I’m wrong? What if she gives up things she shouldn’t for me? I can’t let her do that, Lux."

Lux leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Maybe it’s not your decision to make. Maybe she deserves the choice. Don’t you think it’s a bit arrogant to assume what’s best for her without even asking?"

Pedro met her gaze, feeling exposed. “I just... I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to ruin her life.”

Lux smiled, but it wasn’t pitying. It was knowing, soft around the edges. "You’re not ruining anything by loving her. But keeping it to yourself? That’s where the damage is, hermanito. You think you’re protecting her, but all you’re doing is pushing her away. And trust me, that hurts more than anything else."

He had always been so afraid of losing you, so terrified of not being enough, that he hadn’t even realized how much distance he had created.

Lux’s voice softened again, the words cutting through the noise in his mind. "She deserves better, Pedro? Maybe. But who says you don’t deserve her, too?"

a/n: please like, reblog and comment! i love reading your thoughts!! next part will be posted in a bit ;) aaaand something might be happening ;)

#pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal angst #my writing #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #love is complicated fic

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sacredfire44 · 1 year ago

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Kinda wanna read/write a post-canon Bingqiu fic set years later, where during some routine, silly wife plot, Binghe somehow finds out that the soul attached to his husband’s body is not, in fact, the original soul.

Like any person, his first assumption isn’t that his husband had replaced the original SQQ. It’s that an imposter has replaced his husband.

A skilled imposter. One who knows all of his husband’s little quirks, who slipped under even Binghe’s watchful eye.

Binghe takes care to not indicate that he’s noticed. His blood parasites confirm this is still his husband’s body, and he refuses to scare them into running before he can get the imposter out.

Binghe spends weeks researching and practicing, until he’s finally certain he can tear the imposter’s soul apart without hurting his husband. Praying, desperately, that it’s a powerful possession instead of a replacement. Praying his husband is still alive in there.

Finally, he slips into the imposter’s dreamscape, clinging to threads and forcing his way as close to the soul as possible, for the surface-level dreams show him in SQQ’s body. Inside, he finds a small man, with big eyes and stick-thin arms, features far too similar to his Shizun. A cheap, pathetic mockery of Shen Qingqiu, he makes sure to tell them.

They are weak outside of Shen qingqiu’s powerful body. It is all too easy to restrain them, to rage and revile them for their crimes, to question what they’ve done, to tear them apart, limb from limb-

“How long?,”He’d snarled, furious, claws digging into the pathetic parasite’s left arm, yanking it just far enough for the strain to burn.

“Years,”The imposter says, eyes wide and wet. Crying.

Years. Years with his husband that this imposter has taken, has stolen from them. Nights spent entangled, lazy mornings spent curled into each other’s embrace, soft evenings spent watching the sunset.

Binghe yanks the arm the rest of the way out, relishing in the way the parasite screams. It will know pain for what it’s taken from him, for what it’s taken from his Shizun.

XXXX

At first, Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, didn’t know what was happening. He’d thought of himself as Shen Qingqiu for years now, so waking up in his original body had been confusing and disorienting.

When Binghe appeared as well, he knew immediately it was a nightmare. It couldn’t be anything but that. Binghe, his Binghe as he was now, would never look at him like this, like he was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe, the scum of the earth.

It was rare to have nightmares nowadays. Binghe was always watching his dreams too closely to let something like that slip by. But the last few weeks, he’d been absorbed in his newest little pet project, exhausted and stressed by whatever it was he refused to talk about. Shen Qingqiu didn’t blame him for having one night of sleep without constant vigilance.

“So the imposter shows himself,”Dream-Binghe said, and ah, what an odd thing to dream up! Shen Qingqiu was just as good as the original goods, and he knew it! There was no way at all he had such insecurities, and certainly not any strong enough to appear as dreams! If he’d had such dreams before, that was simply a coincidence, a trick of the mind repeating the scenario it’d already created to avoid making a new one.

But Binghe doesn’t rant and rave at him for lying, doesn’t call out his betrayal. Instead, his eyes hard and cold, his claws tight where they dig into his wrists, he questions him.

Why?

I don’t know, Shen Qingqiu has to answer. I woke up in this body.

Where is he?

I don’t know, he answers again.

How long?

Here, Shen Qingqiu bites down a cry of pain as his left arm his yanked painfully out, a loud pop as it tugs out of his socket. The pain is real, he realizes deliriously. It’s real the way the Punishment Protocol had been. The thought makes ice pool in his chest.

What had he done to deserve a punishment from the System?

The hand tightens, the bones in his wrist creaking ominously at the strength of the hold.

The look in Binghe’s eyes hurts far more, though. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t even notice the tears in his eyes until they’re spilling over, until his voice comes out as a broken warble.

“Years,”He whispers at last, aware he’s hammering the final nail into his coffin.

It’s only as his arm is yanked away, as muscle and sinew tears with a sickening squelch, that it occurs to him. The punishment protocol had worked by sharing his dreamscape with the original Bingge. It hadn’t summoned nightmares out of no where.

This wasn’t Bingge. He’d known it on sight. Had recognized it in the curlier hair, the taller build.

This wasn’t Bingge. This was his husband.

And this wasn’t a dream.

XXX

Binghe watches as the pathetic worm scrambles away from him, gasping and hiccuping through his tears. His remaining arm shakes against the jagged edge of his stump, trying to stem the flow of blood. It won’t do a damn thing. This is a dream world, and that form is just a representation of his soul.

“I’m sorry,”It begs, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Binghe forgive me- “

“Do not call me that,” He hisses. This parasite had squirmed its way in, had settled in and gotten comfortable in its place as his husband, but that spot would only ever belong to his Shizun, his rightful Shizun. Everything else… everything else had been a lie!

“No!,”The imposter gasped. Had Binghe spoken out loud? “No, it wasn’t! I really- I really tried to be honest, I- I-“

It gulped, face pale and wan, tears spilling over its cheeks. Its voice dropped to a whimper.

“I loved you. I thought you loved me too.”

Luo Binghe let out a harsh laugh. So that was the plan? Replace his husband and try and make him grow attached? Try to squirm into his heart, when it was already spoken for?

“I could never love a pathetic fake!,”He snarled. “I’ve been planning your death from the moment I learned!”

The imposter sucked in a sharp breath. They stopped scrambling away, simply sitting before him, shaking and curled into themselves.

It didn’t try to run again as he stepped forward. Not even as he grabbed its leg and tore it from its body. It screamed, and thrashed, but made no effort to pull itself away again.

Instead, the insolent wretch began muttering under his breath, a plea and a prayer in one. Begging for forgiveness, for the dream to end, for Binghe to wake him up. Pathetic. Had the imposter really fallen in love with him over the course of its tenure?

He dug his claws into the stump at its shoulder to stop it. The muttering broke into muffled cries, biting their lip as they struggled to hold them back. A habit he recognized from his husband. Disgusting, he thought, holding to the illusion for pity until the very last second.

“You’re just a cowardly weakling, leeching off of Shen Qingqiu. You fell in love with me? Then know this in your heart.”

Binghe dug his fingers in harder, harder, until his claws scrapped against the shattered bone of the socket and dug in. The parasite’s eyes nearly rolled back into its head as it jerked. Binghe lifted it off the ground by the bone, then held still until the worm caught its breath.

“I could never love the man before me. I would never have even looked at you twice had I known.”

Binghe expands his awareness to the dream world around him. From a greater distance, the soul of the imposter is more like a small flickering flame, a little glow between his hands, than a man.

It takes almost no effort at all, to close his fist around it and smother the flame.

XXX

Binghe wakes up in the morning, ecstatic to finally be done with this journey and desperate for love from his husband who he’s apparently not seen in years.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wake up with him.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wake up at all.

XXX

Anyway now that I’ve officially written a short version of it I want y’all to know that Shang Qinghua would be the one to tell him, after rushing over when he gets an alert that the account of User 002 was deactivated.

Binghe gets to metaphorically self-destruct, realizing everything he said and did was to his own husband and not an assumed imposter. The world shapes itself to Binghe’s wishes, and he still has access to the holy mausoleum, so he manages to bring back Shen Qingqiu. I debated having him bring back Shen Jiu instead but I love the protagonist of any book I read, and that includes Shen Yuan, so instead he brings back his husband whose heartbroken and runs off, with a new level of instinctive terror to go along with it. Binghe really does try to give him room, but that does neither of them good because Binghe drowns in his guilt and the confirmation of his husband’s fear, and Shen Yuan drowns in his heartbreak and confirmation of his husband’s rejection.

The happy ending comes after a slowburn of binghe groveling and breaking himself down(a la Lost and Found in Limitless Clarity) with a side of both being left with new insecurities to add to the existing ones post-canon.

(And if Binghe now dreams of the delicate flicker of a soul between his hands, now jolts awake to the reminder of how small it was, how easy to smother, well-

-it’s the least he deserves, isn’t it?)

#I really did mean to only type a synopsis #but it got away from me lol #at least it’s out now #considering cleaning it up and posting to AO3 #svsss #scum villain self saving system #scum villain #bingyuan #Bingqiu #luo binghe #Shen yuan #Shen Qingqiu #mxtx #writing #edit:#Tw torture #can’t believe I forgot that lol

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maskedbyghost · 23 days ago

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Shadows of Obsession (part 12)

part 1 last chapter, full of fluff and smut, so MDNI, +18 content, that's it. they are just fucking and loving each other.... ok bye.

Simon’s eyes were fixed on her, wide awake long before the sun began to filter through the curtains. His body lay beside hers, close enough that their legs tangled beneath the blanket. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rise and fall of her chest a calming rhythm beneath his hand, which gently stroked her hair. He couldn't bring himself to move, to even blink too quickly.

He could hardly believe she was there, with him, in his arms. It felt like a dream, the aftermath of everything that happened between them, the words they’d both said in the heat of the moment, all fading into the background.

Everything about her was perfect—the curve of her lips as they relaxed into a smile even while asleep, the gentle way she nuzzled closer as though she too had nowhere else to be. He never thought he’d deserve something like this, but here she was, tangled in his arms like she was meant to be there forever.

She shifted slightly, stirring in her sleep, and Simon’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyelashes fluttered, her nose crinkling in the way it always did when she woke, and for a split second, his mind was filled with nothing but the instinct to pull her even closer, to make sure this reality stayed unbroken. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. Not again.

Slowly, he let his thumb brush against her cheek, the motion gentle, as if she might disappear if he touched her too hard. Her breath hitched, and her eyes opened, blinking in the soft morning light. For a brief moment, she looked disoriented, but then she lifted her head just slightly, meeting his gaze.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Mhmm,” Simon murmured against her head. There was no mistaking the soft obsession in the way his gaze drank her in. “I can't believe you're really here.”

She chuckled softly, her hand sliding across his chest, fingertips grazing the place where his heart beat fiercely beneath his shirt. “Of course I’m here," she said sleepily. “Where else would I be?”

Simon's hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, guiding her back to his chest. “Don’t ever leave,” he said, as he kissed the top of her head, then pressed his lips there a second time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, the sleepiness fading slightly as she settled into him.

And for a moment, as they lay there together, the outside world didn’t exist—just the two of them in their little bubble, wrapped up in their version of love. Simon couldn’t stop looking at her, still unable to fully believe this was his reality. That she was his. That she hadn’t walked away, that she was here, and he could hold her forever if he wanted to.

For once, he felt nothing but peace. And as long as she stayed there, in his arms, the rest of the world could wait for a bit.

A few hours later, the kitchen smelled of coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet—maybe pancakes, maybe waffles. But all that really mattered to her was the sight of Simon, standing at the stove in nothing but some gray sweatpants. The way his broad shoulders moved as he flipped the bacon, the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he added just the right amount of batter to the pan—it was domestic in a way that still caught her off guard.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him, arms crossed over her chest, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She knew what he was like now. She’d seen the cracks in him, the parts of him that still bled even after he tried to heal them. Simon’s love was never going to be gentle; it would never be neat, wrapped in clean little bows with easy promises.

He had fought, broken, and rebuilt himself piece by piece, and in that wreckage, he had found a love that wasn’t pure, but real. His love was possessive and obsessive, a deep craving that would burn through anything standing between him and what he desired.

But even in his darkness, in the parts that still unsettled her—she saw how desperately he needed her, how much he cared in ways that words could never explain.

It was a love she hadn’t expected to survive—hell, sometimes she didn’t think she could survive it. But when she looked at him now, doing something as simple as cooking breakfast like it was just another day, she knew that she had made the right decision.

He looked over at her, catching her watching him as he set the bacon on a paper towel to drain. His lips curled softly, his eyes twinkling. “You gonna stand there all morning, or are you going to come get some?”

Her eyes flicked to his, noticing how that small smirk lit up his entire face. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she took a step closer, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched him.

Her arms shifted, slowly uncrossing, just a little more open, and in a heartbeat, she found herself leaning into him. Her fingertips brushed the side of his arm as she passed, the warmth of his skin heating her own.

When she got close enough, Simon reached out, a firm hand capturing her waist and pulling her in until their bodies were close enough that there was no denying the tension between them.

The scent of bacon was still thick in the air, but all she could focus on was Simon. The heat of him, the way his thumb gently traced along her skin, as though he had to touch her constantly. His fingers curled to the back of her neck, tugging her closer until their breath mingled.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” she murmured, her voice hushed, teasing him the way he so often teased her. Her hands slid up his chest, lingering there like she could memorize the way he felt with every inch she touched.

He chuckled, low and rough. “Not when it comes to you.”

He moved his hand, cupping her chin and tilting her face upward just enough for him to lean in, his lips hovered an inch away.

"You were staring," he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against hers with each word, so close, so close that it sent a flicker of heat sparking through her body. "You want me that bad, huh?"

A spark of challenge ignited inside her as she lifted one hand, brushing the edge of his lips before sliding it lower, slowly, tracing the edge of his jaw. “Just as much as you want me,” she replied.

His lips caught hers then, in a kiss so deep and consuming that she forgot about the warmth of the stove and the plate of breakfast still waiting for them. His body was tight against hers, and the kiss was hungry and insistent. His hands roamed, greedy, pulling her in like he couldn’t keep away from her. His touch was like fire—his palm on the small of her back, the other sliding through the hair at her neck, keeping her locked to him.

She didn’t pull back. Not even when his breath hitched against her cheek, when his lips trailed down her neck, desperate, marking. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer until she felt his heart beating rapidly, just as out of control as hers.

“You’re trouble,” she muttered, her hand slipping into his hair.

A grin tugged at his lips. “And you love it.”

She pulled him back to her lips again, everything else fading out entirely. What mattered now were the hands that always seemed to find their way back to each other, the burning pull of their connection, and the way Simon always found a way to make her crave him more.

Simon’s boots thudded heavily against the floor as he made his way back toward his office, his thoughts preoccupied with the mission ahead. He needed to focus, to get into the right headspace. But when he rounded the corner, his eyes automatically locked on her. She was standing in the hallway, talking with one of the younger soldiers, a man Simon didn’t recognize.

At first, Simon just watched from a distance, waiting. But then the guy's laugh carried across the hallway. And that was it.

The soldier—probably some rookie, trying to make himself look good in front of her—was clearly making an attempt to flirt, leaning in just a little too close for Simon’s liking. It wasn’t the usual professional interaction Simon was used to seeing. No, this was different. This guy was pushing the limits.

“I don’t know, you’re a pretty cool girl. We should grab a drink sometime, just the two of us. What do you think?” The soldier grinned, his hand casually brushing along her arm. He was way too touchy, and it sent a violent surge of possessiveness through Simon’s veins.

He was already heading toward them, but when he saw the soldier reach out to touch her arm—his fucking hand on her—his heart raced. Every instinct in him screamed to act. To remind this guy exactly where his place was.

By the time he was near enough, Simon’s expression was cold. “You want to do what?”

The soldier whipped around, startled by Simon’s low voice. His face turned pale the moment he recognized Simon—the imposing figure of his lieutenant, fury practically emanating from his every movement.

"Uh, sir, I—" the soldier stammered, clearly caught off guard. He stood rigid, but Simon didn’t care. His eyes bore into the man, the unspoken warning clear: Leave. Now.

The soldier managed a nervous laugh. "I didn't realize—"

Simon stepped forward, towering over him in an instant, his fist clenched at his side, his glare more threatening than anything the soldier had ever seen. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Simon growled. His voice was like a snarl, a sound that promised nothing but pain. The soldier instantly stiffened and, without another word, backed away, his face pale as he turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Simon didn’t spare him another glance. His focus was solely on her now.

She stood still, her lips slightly parted, watching him with wide eyes. She wasn’t scared—no, that wasn’t it. There was amusement dancing in her gaze, maybe even a little surprise, but Simon didn't care about any of that. His possessive need surged again, filling him to the brim.

Without any words, he strode over to her, grabbed her wrist with his, and pulled her toward him. “We’re done here. Come with me.”

She didn't resist—she never did. Instead, she only gave him a teasing smile. “You really scared him off that easily, huh?”

He didn’t respond at first, just kept pulling her toward his office. But as soon as they reached the door, he spun her around, pushing it open with his shoulder, and slammed it shut behind them. His pulse was pounding, his body rock hard with need, and it only grew when he saw the way she raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole thing.

“You,” Simon gritted out, his voice low, barely controlled, “are mine. No one’s gonna touch you but me. Ever. You don’t let anyone think they can come close.”

Her smile softened, almost teasing. She stepped closer, her breath hitching as he backed her up toward the desk. She didn’t argue, didn’t even say a word. Simon could see it in her eyes—she loved the fire, the way he wanted her, needed her in a way that no one else ever could. And honestly, neither of them had a problem with that.

He pressed his body into hers, his breath hot against her ear, one hand snaking around to grip her waist possessively.

“Are you mad?” she murmured, unable to hide her amused smile.

“Mad?” He leaned in to whisper against her neck, his lips brushing against her skin. His voice was rough. “You think I’m mad?” His fingers tightened on her waist, lifting her effortlessly. “No. I’m fucking pissed. At him. And you...” His lips pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “You know what you do to me.”

She gasped, her back arching as he walked the rest of the way toward his desk with her in his arms, both of them already too tangled up in each other to care about anything but the moment. As he sat on the desk, pulling her between his legs, the world around them vanished.

“No one’s taking what’s mine.”

Her body pressed even closer to him, and she chuckled breathlessly. “And what is yours, Simon? Everything?”

“You’re fucking right it is.” His mouth was on her neck again, his hands moving urgently to unbutton her shirt, his fingers grazing along her skin as he pulled it open. “Don’t even think about trying to pull away. I’m not done with you yet.”

With her hands still on his shoulders, she smirked, her fingers brushing his neck with a soft touch. “I think I’m beginning to like this possessive side of you.”

Simon grinned fiercely, his eyes dark with need. “Good. You don’t have another choice.”

In an instant, their clothes were scattered haphazardly on the floor as their bodies became tangled in desperate need. Simon’s hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, urging her closer, hungry for the feel of her skin beneath his. Every inch of her seemed to ignite under his touch, and she shivered, caught in the overwhelming intensity of him.

With one powerful motion, Simon shifted their position, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the table. His eyes darkened as he stood between her legs, his hands tracing the lines of her body as though committing her to memory as if there was no possible way he could ever get enough. His lips found the curve of her neck first, hot and needy, his mouth trailing over the sensitive skin there, kissing his way down to her collarbone. Each kiss was slow, savoring every inch of her.

She moaned softly, tilting her head back to allow him better access, her breath hitching as he continued his slow journey. His lips moved lower, brushing over her breast, teasing the sensitive skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that had her body trembling with anticipation. His fingers grazed over her side, gently tugging her closer, his lips curling into a smile against her skin when she gasped at the sensation.

Simon’s hands drifted further, cupping the curve of her waist before he kissed lower, pressing his lips against her stomach, the heat of his breath making her stomach tighten. His kisses were like fire, licking at her skin, worshipping her in a way that left her breathless.

“God, I need you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough. His hands gently pried her thighs apart, his gaze dark and filled with need, devouring every inch of her as though she was all he could see.

He went lower still, his mouth trailing along the top of her thigh, the slow, sensual path towards what he craved. His lips brushed against her skin like a promise of what was to come. She gasped at the touch, feeling every part of her body tighten in anticipation, her fingers gripping the edge of the table for something to hold onto as Simon’s movements became more urgent, more possessive.

Everything about the way he kissed her—every stroke of his tongue, every teasing nip—was a declaration. The depth of his need for her came in waves, and she wanted nothing more than to surrender to him completely.

He leaned in, his lips teasing along her most sensitive spot, his tongue slowly drawing circles against her, savoring the feel of her trembling beneath him.

Every movement was purposeful, dragging out her moans as he focused on the area that made her arch toward him.

"Simon, please…" Her breath was shallow and desperate, and her words made him lose control, feeding into the hunger he couldn't suppress.

His hands gripped her hips tighter as he deepened his attention, coaxing her closer to the edge.

She whimpered, her body unable to hold back, and as the overwhelming sensation crashed over her, she tried to muffle her scream of his name, clenching the table beneath her. He didn’t stop, not until she was trembling in his grasp, completely undone.

He stood up, kissing her with such intensity that it stole her breath away.

"I’ve got you," Simon muttered between kisses, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ll always have you.”

Every kiss was a promise. Every touch was a statement that there was no turning back from this. Not for either of them.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more. And he gave her all of it until the whole world seemed to disappear outside of that office. Just the feel of his skin against hers, the thundering rhythm of their heartbeats tangled together, a symphony of emotions they couldn’t untangle.

Simon lifted his head, his fingers brushing against her skin, watching the way she responded to him, eyes darker than usual, pupils blown with desire. “You have no idea how much I want you," he whispered, each word dripping with emotion.

“Then show me,” she said, pulling him back into the kiss, her voice soft.

And this time, Simon didn’t hold back. In one swift motion, he filled her up, making her gasp and grab onto his arms for support.

“Fuck, baby.” He whispered, eyes closed for a moment before he quickly opened them again. He didn't want to miss even a tiny bit of an expression on her face.

Ever since their first time together, he had been utterly captivated by the sight of her face in those intimate moments—every subtle change in her expression, every soft breath escaping her lips, the way her eyes fluttered closed as pleasure overtook her.

It was as if he couldn’t get enough, drinking in every detail with a hunger that felt almost possessive. And now, in this moment, nothing had changed. She was still his greatest obsession, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, his heart racing in sync with each soft gasp she gave.

He moved slowly, savoring each delicate expression that flickered across her face as his hands gently roamed over her. Every moan, every breathless whisper of his name made him feel like he was losing himself in her, as though she was a world he could never fully possess, yet desperately needed.

His eyes never left hers, his gaze growing darker as he took in every detail, studying her body as though trying to memorize it, to make it his in a way words never could.

His hands slid beneath her, gripping her in an intoxicating way. She didn’t know if she was still on the desk or if she’d been lifted into the air—Simon’s touch was enough to make everything feel weightless, his fingers finding her, teasing and stroking until she was helpless to do anything but arch into him, chasing the release he promised with every shift of his body.

“Si—” Her voice barely formed, as if she couldn’t piece together coherent words.

He kissed her roughly, a taste of urgency seeping through him as he stole her breath, his body pressed into hers, too much, everything spinning. His lips moved to her ear, voice a guttural growl. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice almost cruel in the way it twisted something inside her. “Every inch of you is mine.”

Her fingers clutched at his hair, trying to ground herself, but it was no use—Simon was making sure she didn’t have an ounce of composure left. He was in a frenzy, and so was she. Her thoughts were slipping further, spiraling down into a dizzying haze where all that mattered was his hands, his mouth, his scent invading every space of her mind.

She could barely hear herself, too consumed by the ache between her legs, by the way his fingertips drew magic across her skin. “God, Simon, please...”

He grinned against her skin, drawing back slightly to look her in the eyes—dark and intent on her. “You want more of me, baby?” His hand gripped her even harder.

Her mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t think past him as he took what he needed from her.

They were both close and it took only a few more deep thrusts from Simon to get them over that beautiful edge. He groaned as her eyes rolled back, screaming his name one last time.

Simon’s grip tightened around her as they held each other, their breath ragged, but the connection between them unbreakable. She held his gaze, eyes locked with his, unable to look away as they both hung in that moment of shared release.

He pulled her even closer, his large hand gently cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair. She smiled softly, a satisfied curve of her lips that made him feel like he had all the world’s treasures right there in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, pressing his lips against her hair as if sealing their moment with a promise.

“Mine, always,” he whispered into the soft strands, his words barely audible.

She smiled again, more radiant now, her head leaning into his touch, the last remnants of their shared passion still buzzing between them. “I’m yours,” she murmured, her voice sweet, the words weaving into the air between them like a gentle melody. “Only yours.”

He tightened his arms around her, breathing in deeply as if grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. Every inch of her felt perfect, every part of this moment carved into him. “Good,” he muttered, “because I’m not letting go.”

She was content and happy in the most beautiful way. As she nestled against his chest, feeling his heart slow and steady beneath her ear, her smile lingered, a feeling of home settling over her.

In his arms, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

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

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter @ghost-haunts-me @lostmypopsicle @tired-writers-world

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley smut #ghost cod #cod simon ghost riley #cod smut #simon riley

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

Note

May I be so bold to ask for a fic?

PLATONIC Modern day reader gets sent back in time/ universe to the avengers.

Life is going as expected now that they have taken her in, yes even though she’s 21 in a Time were she supposed to be 10 years old is weird, you get used to it.

Imagine though it’s the middle of the battle of New York, all of a sudden JARVIS says you appear to be having a panic attack based on your vitals, and he cant see you due to the cameras on the floor being down.

Now everyone thinks this is a Tony kind of panic attack, so imagine the surprise when they see reader flying down in a half put together Ironman suit (boots chest gloves and helmet) swinging a metal baseball bat at some aliens with thunderstruck playing in the back.

Tony- “that’s my girl!!!”

Bonus if Tony from the future (when they all went back in time) sees the reader and just cry’s a little bit an still cheering goes “that’s my little girl”

I never see fics with people that are used to getting random panic attacks and are pretty good at handling it.

TIME TRAVELER

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, fluff, a little angst

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 8.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): time traveling, panic attack but well handled

ᯓ★ I really hope you like the story because I had some troubles understanding what you meant in your ask, but I tried my best and hope you like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You know something is wrong the moment you open your eyes.

You’re lying on your back, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, one that’s definitely not yours. Gone are the grey metal slabs and dusty air filters of the Avengers compound. In their place is something sleek, futuristic even, a ceiling lined with recessed lights and small silver vents, like it’s from a science fiction movie. The air smells new—no, it smells like money. It’s a rich, clean scent, faintly mixed with the lingering aroma of coffee and a trace of cologne.

You sit up, groggy, disoriented, the faint ache of too many sleepless nights reminding you that, yes, everything that happened—the Snap, the losses, the grief—all of that was real.

Or… was it?

No. You refuse to entertain the thought that you might’ve dreamed up a whole nightmare. But something is definitely wrong, because the last thing you remember is… being in the lab. You and the others had been there, going over the latest quantum research to get everyone back. And then—nothing. Just a sudden, blinding light and then… this place.

Panic grips you as you swing your legs off the bed and take a look around. The room itself is lavish. Glass walls line one side, letting sunlight stream in with an almost blinding intensity. Beyond the glass, you can make out the towering skyline of New York City in the daylight. Which, given the circumstances, feels strange enough—when’s the last time you saw anything but darkness or emergency lights back at the compound?

Trying to gather your thoughts, you push yourself to your feet, glancing down at your clothing. You’re dressed… strangely. Not in the clothes you put on yesterday, but a loose-fitting T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that don’t belong to you. You reach up, patting your hair, finding it slightly mussed, like you just woke up from a long, unplanned nap.

Your pulse quickens. Nothing about this makes sense.

A soft click behind you sends you whirling around, only to see the glass door to the room slide open. In strides Tony Stark—unmistakable with his confident swagger, his trademark Iron Man T-shirt, and a curious gleam in his eye. But it’s not the Tony Stark you’ve come to know in these last few years of grief and recovery, the one who’d been almost completely worn down by the fight to fix the world. No—this Tony looks younger, brighter, with sharper edges and that familiar arrogant smirk that makes your breath hitch.

He stops in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he gives you an appraising look. “So,” he says, drawing out the word, “you gonna explain why you were taking an unscheduled nap in one of my guest rooms?”

There’s no warmth, no familiarity in his tone. And why would there be? You realize, heart pounding, that this isn’t just any Tony Stark. This is 2012 Tony Stark.

You swallow, trying to keep the panic from spilling over. This is impossible. You’d read up on every theory, every bizarre scenario Doctor Strange and Bruce had briefed you on, but none of them involved anything like this.

“I… I think there’s been a mistake,” you manage to stammer, knowing just how lame it sounds, and yet not knowing what else to say.

“A mistake?” Tony raises an eyebrow, stepping fully into the room, hands on his hips. “Right. A mistake. So, just to clarify, you, a complete stranger, just happened to show up in my guest room, dressed in pajamas I definitely didn’t provide, as part of some cosmic mistake?”

You nod slowly, your throat dry as you search for words. “Yes,” you say quietly. “I mean, no. I mean… I don’t know.” You close your eyes, willing your brain to function. “The last thing I remember, I was in the Avengers compound, in 2023.”

“2023?” he repeats, his eyebrows shooting up. “Okay, so now we’re time traveling. Makes total sense.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, but his eyes are sharper than ever, scrutinizing every detail of you. “All right, let’s go with that. What’s your name, Miss 2023?”

You blink, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. You hadn’t expected the encounter to go this way—hadn’t even expected to have an encounter like this at all. “(Y/N),” you say finally. “My name is (Y/N).”

He gives a thoughtful nod. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N) from the future. I’m Tony Stark, but you already knew that.” He pauses, giving you a look that’s equal parts amused and wary. “So, mind telling me how you got here?”

“That’s… the thing,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know. I was working on some experiments with quantum mechanics, and there was this… flash of light, and then I was just here.” You glance around, realizing that it feels just as bizarre to you as it probably does to him. “And I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t think I’d end up here. Or end up… meeting you.”

The smirk fades from his face, replaced by something more guarded. “Quantum mechanics, huh?” He crosses his arms again, his expression growing serious. “Let’s pretend, just for fun, that what you’re saying is possible. That you somehow popped out of 2023, dodging all kinds of laws of physics, and ended up here. Which, by the way, happens to be 2012. Care to explain why?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, feeling more and more vulnerable with each word. “All I know is that something went wrong. The tech we were working with… it’s not fully stable yet. It could have triggered something, maybe even pulled me into some kind of anomaly.” You stop, trying to read his reaction, but he’s impossible to read, his face completely inscrutable.

“An anomaly,” he echoes, almost thoughtfully. For a second, his expression softens, like he’s trying to imagine what you’re describing, before he snaps back to his usual, unflappable self. “Well, (Y/N), welcome to the past. I’d offer you a drink, but something tells me you might not be in the mood.”

You exhale sharply, trying to resist the urge to pace. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t belong here. This is years before… before everything. Before the Battle of New York, before the Avengers Initiative really took off.” You pause, your eyes widening. “Wait, you haven’t… You haven’t even gone through that yet?”

“Not sure how much of my life you think you know,” he says, quirking an eyebrow, “but yeah, the big alien invasion hasn’t exactly been penciled into my calendar yet.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of your situation settle even heavier around you. This isn’t just a strange turn of events. You’re in a different reality, back in the days when the Avengers barely knew each other. Tony hasn’t even faced Loki yet; the wounds from that invasion haven’t left their mark on him.

“Tony, I… I think I’ve gone back in time,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Congratulations,” he says with a humorless chuckle. “Now, that’s a party trick I’d actually like to know about.”

As he studies you, his gaze sharpens, like he’s considering what to do with you. But then his phone buzzes, and he glances down at the screen, momentarily distracted. It’s just enough for you to get your bearings.

Taking a deep breath, you try to focus, to think of what Doctor Strange would say, what he might suggest in a situation like this. He always had a contingency plan—always had a way of approaching the impossible with a methodical mind.

“So,” Tony says, tucking his phone away and turning his attention back to you. “I take it you’ve got a rough idea of what happens next in my life?”

Your hesitation must be clear, because he holds up a hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking for spoilers. Just… let’s say, hypothetically, I’m not as skeptical as I’m letting on.”

It’s clear he’s testing you, trying to see if you’ll slip up, if you’ll give away some hidden detail about the future. You can almost see the wheels turning behind those dark, piercing eyes, and you’re caught between two urges—to convince him of the truth and to protect him from it. How much can you tell him? How much should you tell him?

“I know enough,” you answer cautiously. “Enough to know that this could be dangerous. And that I need to get back. I don’t belong here.”

“Well,” he says, gesturing around the room, “you’re here now. And if you’re really from the future, then there’s a reason for that. If you’ve got even a single thread of an idea of how to reverse this little slip through time, I’d suggest you hold onto it, because as far as I know, I don’t have any quick fixes for ‘accidental time travel.’”

He’s right, of course. No matter how much you might wish it, there’s no easy answer. And for the first time, you realize that you’re truly, utterly out of your depth. You’re in 2012. The Tony Stark you know isn’t quite this Tony Stark, and the Avengers are far from the team they eventually become.

But as you meet Tony’s gaze, you can’t help but feel a strange, almost unexplainable reassurance. This is Tony Stark, after all. The same man who built a suit of armor in a cave, who can adapt to anything life throws his way. If anyone’s going to help you figure this out, it’s him.

“All right, then,” you say softly, a hint of determination in your voice. “Let’s figure this out.”

And just like that, Tony Stark—the 2012 version, at least—gives you a faint, approving smirk.

“Well, time traveler,” he says, almost affectionately, “welcome to the club.”

Absolutely! Let’s continue this and dig deeper into the tension and awe of meeting the Avengers in their early days. Here’s the next section for you:

It doesn’t take long for Tony to inform Nick Fury of your strange arrival, though you’re not sure if he’s calling it in as an “emergency” or just sheer curiosity. By the next morning, Tony’s guiding you down a hallway of Stark Tower toward a conference room, giving you little more than a reassuring nod and a devilish smirk as he leads the way.

"Just be yourself,” he says with mock encouragement. “They’re all a bit paranoid, but we’ll work with it.”

The thought of meeting them—the Avengers, as they were in 2012—stirs something inside you, both excitement and dread. It’s impossible not to feel overwhelmed at the prospect of facing the familiar faces you know from the world after the Snap, but now stripped of the experiences and battles that hardened them. You remind yourself not to expect too much, to remember they’re different versions of themselves here—strangers, almost. As you take a deep breath to steady yourself, you can already hear Fury’s voice from down the hall, smooth and commanding.

Tony holds the door open for you, a smirk lingering on his lips. “After you, time traveler.”

You step inside, and Nick Fury’s one good eye pins you with a look so intense you feel almost frozen in place. Dressed in his black trench coat, with his signature eyepatch, Fury’s gaze alone is enough to confirm that he’s as imposing as ever. Standing around the room, waiting with a mix of skepticism and curiosity, are the other original Avengers: Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Fury begins without preamble. “I don’t know who you are, where you came from, or what kind of science experiment brought you here. But Stark seems to think you’re worth our time, so I’ll give you a chance to explain yourself.”

Every gaze is trained on you, and suddenly, all the things you had been preparing to say feel like sand slipping through your fingers. You glance at Tony, who only offers you a shrug and a faintly amused smile. He’s enjoying this, clearly.

You clear your throat. “My name is (Y/N). And I’m… Well, I’m not exactly from here. I’m from a different time. The year 2023, to be exact.”

There’s a palpable tension in the room as you speak, each Avenger processing your words in their own way. You can feel Steve Rogers watching you, eyes sharp and calculating as he assesses you, while Natasha leans back in her chair, a faint smirk playing on her lips, more curious than suspicious.

Bruce steps forward cautiously. “You’re from the future?”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of their disbelief. “It wasn’t intentional, believe me. I was working on a project with… well, with Tony and some of the others. Something must have gone wrong, because the next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Time travel,” Clint scoffs, crossing his arms as he narrows his eyes at you. “Sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.”

“It does,” you agree. “Believe me, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to start my week either.”

Fury’s brow furrows as he studies you intently. “If what you’re saying is true, you know things about the future. Events. People.”

There’s a pause. You know the answer he’s looking for, and you’re prepared to give it. But the thought of revealing too much, of saying the wrong thing… You don’t know what kind of impact it could have, and even in 2023, people warned against messing with the timeline. Doctor Strange had made it clear that even the smallest shifts could ripple outwards in unpredictable ways.

“I… I can’t say too much,” you admit, feeling the weight of everyone’s scrutiny. “I know things, yes, but if I start talking about specifics, I don’t know what kind of consequences that might have. I don’t want to risk changing anything important.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, arms folded, her expression skeptical. “So you’re from the future, you can’t tell us anything about it, and we’re supposed to just… believe you?”

Tony, watching the exchange with keen interest, cuts in, “Hey, I’m the skeptic in the room here, and even I think there’s something to this. She knows about things she shouldn’t. Things no one outside of SHIELD should even have access to.”

Fury nods, turning back to you. “So why don’t you give us something harmless? Something to prove you’re telling the truth that won’t mess with the timeline.”

You pause, your mind racing. There’s one thing that comes to mind—a detail that should be inconsequential enough, but that would be enough to convince them of your legitimacy.

“All right,” you say slowly, looking at Fury. “You have a hidden eye scanner behind the painting in your office that only recognizes you, Maria Hill, and Director Pierce.”

Fury’s face hardens, a flicker of surprise passing over his expression. For the first time, he seems truly convinced. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen it,” you say quietly. “I’ve been in your office more times than I can count.”

Silence settles over the room as they process this revelation. Natasha exchanges a glance with Clint, while Bruce looks at you with newfound curiosity, the scientist in him piqued.

Steve steps forward, his voice softer, more open than the others. “If you’re from the future, then… that means you know what’s coming. Are we in danger?”

It’s a loaded question, one that instantly makes your throat tighten. The instinct to tell him everything—the invasion, the battles, the losses—is overwhelming. But you’ve been trained for situations like this, for protecting information even if it’s difficult.

“Yes,” you say carefully, meeting his gaze. “But you’re strong enough to face it. All of you.”

Steve nods, his jaw set, seeming satisfied with your answer even if it’s not as detailed as he might like. There’s a resilience in him, even at this early stage, that feels like a warm thread connecting this version of Steve to the man you know from the future.

Fury, however, doesn’t seem quite as content. He steps closer, crossing his arms as he looks you over. “I hope you understand the situation you’re in, Miss…?”

“(Y/N),” you repeat, your tone respectful but firm. “And yes, I do.”

“Good. Because as long as you’re here, you’re going to be under SHIELD’s supervision. You’re a risk, whether you mean to be or not.”

“Understood.”

“Then we’ll get you set up with temporary accommodations,” he says, his tone all business. He nods to the group. “Everyone, I want you to keep an eye on our visitor. See what you can learn. And if she can help, even better.”

The meeting disperses, the Avengers filing out one by one. You can feel their eyes on you, some friendly, others more reserved. Bruce, though cautious, gives you a faint nod before leaving. Steve, always the gentleman, offers a polite smile, though you can see the curiosity and concern in his gaze. Natasha and Clint exchange a look before walking out, their silent communication something you recognize instantly; you’ve seen them do this a thousand times in the future.

As the last of them leave, Tony’s still lingering by the door, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed as he watches you with a mixture of intrigue and something else—an awareness, maybe, that he knows more about you than the others.

When the room finally empties, you let out a long breath, shoulders slumping as the tension eases. Tony steps back inside, glancing around before giving you a lopsided grin. “Well, you survived your first interrogation. Not bad for a time traveler.”

You manage a weak smile. “It could’ve gone worse, I guess.”

“Could’ve gone a lot worse,” he agrees. “For what it’s worth, you did pretty well back there. Kept things vague enough to avoid causing a paradox or whatever, but gave them just enough to work with.”

You nod, biting back the urge to spill everything right then and there. The urge to confide in him—to tell him everything you know about the future, about how he changes, how he sacrifices so much—is almost unbearable. But the thought of how much damage you could cause keeps you silent.

Tony seems to sense the turmoil behind your eyes, because he rests a hand on your shoulder, the touch surprisingly grounding. “Look, I’m no expert in whatever quantum mechanics or time travel theory you’ve got going on, but I can tell when someone’s carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.”

You glance up at him, startled by the gentleness in his voice. “I just… I don’t want to mess anything up,” you confess. “You all have so much ahead of you. So much you’re going to accomplish, and I don’t want to take that from you.”

He gives you a long, searching look, the cocky demeanor fading as he considers your words. “Then don’t. Just take it one day at a time. Hell, take it one minute at a time. You don’t have to carry the whole future on your shoulders, okay?”

There’s something about the way he says it that fills you with a small, fragile hope. You nod, finding strength in his words. For now, you’ll follow his advice—take it

slow, one minute at a time. Because the Avengers here in 2012 are still in their early days, still unscarred by the battles that lie ahead. And as long as you’re here, you’ll do everything in your power to protect that future without changing it.

Together, you and Tony leave the conference room, each step carrying you deeper into a past you know too well yet can’t afford to let yourself alter. It’s a delicate balancing act, but one thing is clear: with Tony by your side, you just might have a chance to figure this out.

Over the next few days, you start to settle in among the 2012 Avengers, trying to adjust to the surreal reality of getting to know them as strangers. They’re cautious, skeptical, yet undeniably intrigued by you and your claim to be from the future. You try to be as helpful as you can without tipping off the events that lie ahead, slowly building their trust by sharing bits of innocuous information—small things that don’t seem significant enough to impact the timeline but reveal just enough to confirm you’re telling the truth.

Steve is the first to approach you, polite but with his guard up, as he invites you to join him in the gym. You recognize the familiar tension in his shoulders as he goes through his training routine, movements precise and controlled.

“So,” he starts, without looking at you. “You seem to know quite a lot about us. Or, at least, about who we’ll become.” He catches the punching bag on its swing back, steadying it with a quick, efficient grip. “Care to share a few details?”

You think carefully, picking a memory you know won’t alter his future. “You and I fought together a lot, actually,” you say, smiling. “And it was an honor. You’re one of the best fighters I know.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, surprised, but there’s a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “Coming from someone trained by Stark, that means something.”

“Actually,” you correct, a hint of laughter escaping, “you trained me, too. When I joined the team in the future, you helped me with my technique. You insisted on it.”

He seems pleased by this, nodding thoughtfully. “Guess that makes sense.” He pauses, looking down. “Good to know I’m still around in the future.”

The words catch you off guard, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. You’re… very important to all of us.”

He gives a small, appreciative nod, not pressing for more. Trust forms slowly between you two as he begins to open up, sharing some of his own hesitations about being part of the Avengers. It’s subtle, almost shy—the beginning of a mutual understanding that grows from small gestures and quiet support.

It’s Natasha who finds you next, joining you in the kitchen as you’re grabbing a snack. Clint follows soon after, leaning casually against the counter with an appraising look.

“So, future girl,” Clint says, popping a grape in his mouth. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Natasha, sitting across from you, is more direct. “If you can’t tell us everything, then tell us one harmless thing about me and Clint. Something that won’t change anything.”

You think about it, wondering what would be safe to share. Then you recall something small, a tiny detail from the future that has no bearing on any grand event but makes you smile.

“All right. You two like to compete over who can pull off the crazier stunt in the field,” you say, grinning. “It’s… kind of legendary, actually.”

Clint chuckles, leaning back. “Legendary? You hear that, Nat? We’re legends.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint hint of a smile on her lips. “Legendary, huh? So, who usually wins?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you do, of course.”

Clint throws his hands up, feigning outrage. “What? I’m pretty sure I would win that fight.”

Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, but you can see the amusement flickering in her eyes as she watches you. For the first time, there’s a hint of trust and warmth there, a softness that she usually keeps hidden. It’s a small moment, but one that feels like progress.

Bruce is one of the quieter members of the team, and for days he keeps his distance, observing you with a mix of curiosity and wariness. He’s naturally cautious, and you can tell he’s wrestling with a thousand questions.

It’s not until you’re alone in the lab, tinkering with some outdated equipment, that he finally approaches.

“I wanted to ask you something,” he begins, pushing his glasses up as he studies you. “In the future, do I… do I get a handle on things? On myself?”

You hesitate, knowing exactly what he means. In 2023, Bruce has indeed found balance, integrating his two selves into what he calls “Professor Hulk.” But you’re not sure if it��s wise to tell him something so significant. You decide to keep it vague, focusing on the reassurance he seems to need.

“You make peace with yourself, Bruce,” you say softly, offering him a warm smile. “You become… someone incredible. And the world is better for it.”

His shoulders relax, and he seems to breathe a little easier. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes it’s… hard to imagine things ever being different.”

“They will be,” you assure him, your voice filled with certainty. “Trust me.”

From that day on, Bruce seems more at ease around you, and he even starts inviting you to join him in the lab, talking to you about theories and experiments in ways that remind you of the future you left behind.

After a week of cautiously earning the team’s trust, Tony decides to host an impromptu “team bonding” night in his penthouse—a sort of welcome-to-the-past celebration for you. The others show up, mingling and relaxing, and as you watch them, the differences between these younger Avengers and the versions you know in the future become all the more apparent.

Steve still holds himself a little apart from the group, clearly unused to being surrounded by people who look to him for leadership. Natasha’s edges are sharper, her eyes always watchful, as if she’s waiting for the next mission. Clint is easygoing but guarded, wary of anyone outside his tight circle. Bruce is quieter, more reserved, his mind constantly turning over unspoken questions, while Tony… Tony is, in some ways, exactly the same, though his arrogance feels almost untested, his confidence still untempered by the battles that await him.

At some point in the evening, Clint challenges you to a game of darts, while Natasha observes from the side with her usual unshakable calm. Clint’s sharp eyes and steady hand give him the advantage, but you manage to keep up, hitting the bullseye once or twice.

“Not bad,” Clint says, grudgingly impressed. “Maybe you’re not all talk.”

“Oh, I’m definitely all talk,” you joke, smiling as Natasha chuckles softly beside you.

Steve and Bruce, seated across the room, are deep in conversation, and Tony—well, he’s regaling the group with his latest plans for Stark Tower, gesturing wildly as he describes his latest tech upgrade ideas.

Seeing them all together like this, young and full of potential, is a strange experience. It’s almost bittersweet, knowing what lies ahead for each of them and yet realizing they have no idea. You hold back the memories, keeping your face neutral, not wanting to give anything away.

But at some point, Steve catches your eye from across the room, and he gestures for you to join him. As you approach, he shifts uncomfortably, clearly thinking through something serious.

“You seem to know us… really well,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “But we hardly know anything about you.”

The others fall silent, turning their attention to you. The question isn’t exactly unexpected, but it catches you off guard nonetheless. What can you say to them that won’t give away too much, that won’t ruin the innocence they have here?

“Well,” you begin, choosing your words carefully, “I joined the Avengers because I wanted to help. You all inspired me. You made me feel like… like the world was worth saving.”

Steve seems touched by this, and you can see a faint sense of pride and surprise in his expression.

“It’s strange,” Bruce says, smiling faintly. “Thinking of ourselves as… inspirations.”

“You are,” you assure them. “All of you. I can’t say much, but… the Avengers become something big. You make a difference. And even when things get hard, you never give up. None of you.”

Tony raises his glass, flashing you that familiar, playful grin. “Here’s to being legendary, then,” he declares, and the others lift their glasses in a quiet toast.

As they take their sips, you feel the weight of your secret settle back on your shoulders. You know you’ll need to leave someday, that the version of you who fought beside the Avengers in 2023 belongs to a different time. But for now, here in this moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can make things a little better.

Trust builds gradually, each Avenger letting you in a little more each day. Clint eventually invites you to join him and Natasha for target practice, jokingly betting on whether you can keep up. Bruce starts consulting you on his experiments, asking for your advice with a respect you never thought possible from the reticent scientist. Steve includes you in his training routines, guiding you with gentle patience, his easy confidence growing every day. And Tony—well, Tony becomes a constant companion, checking in on you, teasing you, always eager to draw out your knowledge of the future without pushing too far.

The team is becoming something more than just an assignment or a mission. They’re becoming your friends.

One day, when the group gathers in the common room, Steve suggests sparring matches as a team-bonding exercise. Clint and Natasha go first, their movements sharp and perfectly

in sync, and the others watch, laughing and cheering as the pair battle it out. As you join in the fun, you catch Tony’s eye, and he gives you an approving nod.

Thor arrives with all the grandeur you remember: the flash of lightning, the distant rumble of thunder, and his booming voice filling Stark Tower as he greets the team. The others seem mostly unfazed, having grown accustomed to their Asgardian ally’s dramatic entrances, but you can’t help the flood of memories that come rushing back. Here he is—the same Thor you know from 2023, yet younger, less tempered by the losses and battles he’ll face. The unshakeable pride, the wide-eyed enthusiasm for Midgard—it’s all there, untouched by the trials that lie ahead.

He strides into the room, his golden armor gleaming, the red cape flaring behind him, and, of course, Mjolnir in his grip. Thor’s blue eyes twinkle with mischief and curiosity as they land on you, and his deep voice carries an unmistakable warmth.

“And who might you be?” he booms, glancing at Tony and raising an eyebrow.

“This,” Tony says, stepping forward with a half-smile, “is our new resident time traveler. She’s from the future, knows a few things, but she’s under strict instructions not to mess with any timelines.”

You manage a smile, offering Thor a small wave. “Hi, Thor. It’s… nice to see you.”

He steps closer, giving you a curious look. “You know me, then?”

“Oh, yes,” you say, trying not to give too much away. “I know you very well. You’re… quite the hero where I come from.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “A hero, indeed! Well, I am glad to hear that even in the future, the people of Midgard recognize greatness!” His laugh echoes through the room, and he claps Tony on the shoulder. “And Stark, I trust you are as impressive in the future as you are now?”

“Oh, I’m impressive,” Tony replies, flashing a grin, though you catch a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. You know Tony doesn’t like to talk about the future, especially when it comes to his own destiny.

It doesn’t take long for the team to settle back into their routines with Thor joining them, and that night, Tony and Thor chat quietly in the common area. Tony seems relaxed, yet there’s a quiet intensity to his gaze whenever he glances at you. You’ve noticed it more and more over the past few days—the way Tony’s curiosity has shifted into something more protective, like he’s trying to read between the lines of everything you say, preparing himself for the worst, even if he’s pretending not to.

Later, after most of the team has dispersed, Tony approaches you, hands in his pockets, his expression pensive.

“You know,” he says softly, “Thor’s arrival means that Loki isn’t far behind. The whole reason he comes to Earth right now is… well, because of the Tesseract.” He leans in, his voice low. “The Battle of New York, right? That’s coming up?”

You nod, feeling the familiar pang of helplessness. “Yeah. It’s… it’s coming soon.”

He watches you carefully, something searching in his gaze. “And you can’t say anything that would help us?”

The question hangs in the air, both of you understanding the weight of it. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tony. I wish I could. But if I do, I risk changing everything that’s supposed to happen.”

Tony’s face is unreadable, but there’s a hint of frustration there, a simmering anger he’s clearly holding back. “So, what are you supposed to do then? Just… stand by and watch us walk into a war without warning?”

You feel his words like a punch to the gut. You hate this part—the helplessness, the burden of knowing exactly how things are going to unfold and being powerless to stop it. But you also know what’s at stake if you interfere.

“Yes,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t change anything, Tony. Even if it hurts to stand by and watch, even if I wish I could do more.”

His expression softens slightly, and he steps closer. “I get it,” he says quietly. “And I know this whole ‘not changing the future’ thing is supposed to be important. But I’m telling you now, if you ever need to tell me something, I’ll listen. No questions, no judgment.”

You nod, managing a weak smile. “Thanks, Tony. That… that means a lot.”

He hesitates, then places a hand on your shoulder, a rare moment of gentleness that sends warmth through you. “Look, I don’t know who I am in the future, but here, now, I’m gonna do whatever it takes to keep us alive.” He drops his hand, giving you a small smirk. “That includes you, time traveler.”

You smile back, heart pounding. “I’ll do what I can to keep you safe too, Tony. Even if I can’t change things.”

The Night Before the Battle

As the days pass, tension begins to settle over the team. The warnings they’ve received from SHIELD, the unusual activity around the Tesseract—all of it points to something big on the horizon. You can feel the weight of the coming battle pressing down on you like a storm cloud, and while the others prepare, you feel like a ghost, wandering the Tower’s halls, struggling with the knowledge you carry.

That night, Tony finds you on the rooftop, staring out over the New York skyline. The city lights twinkle beneath the stars, oblivious to the danger that’s soon to come. Tony approaches quietly, his presence grounding.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he says, his tone light but his eyes serious. “You know, you spend a lot of time up here, brooding.”

You smile weakly. “It’s hard not to when… I know what’s coming.”

He leans against the railing beside you, crossing his arms. “I don’t blame you. But I’ll let you in on a secret,” he says, his voice softening. “Even though you can’t say anything, you’ve helped us. You’ve helped me. Just knowing you’re here… it gives me this weird feeling that we’re gonna make it through this.”

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I wish I could do more. But… knowing you’re here, Tony—it helps me too. You’ve always found a way to keep everyone together, to find solutions, even when things seemed hopeless.”

He looks at you, surprise flickering across his face, followed by something softer. “You really believe that?”

“Yeah, I do,” you reply, voice steady. “More than you know.”

For a moment, the two of you stand there in silence, the distant hum of the city below filling the night air. Then, Tony turns to face you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, if this is our last night before everything goes sideways, I say we make it count.” He offers his hand. “Come on. Let’s go raid the stash of champagne in my suite. I may be a genius, but I’m also a pretty decent bartender.”

You laugh, taking his hand as he leads you inside. Together, you head up to his penthouse, and soon, you’re seated on his plush couch, sipping champagne and trading stories. He talks about his early years at Stark Industries, the crazy nights and the high-stakes projects, and you share some of the most lighthearted moments you’ve had with the team in the future—moments that won’t give anything away but capture the heart of what the Avengers are.

“Sounds like we’re not half-bad in the future,” Tony says, grinning as he refills your glass.

“You’re more than not half-bad,” you reply, laughing. “You’re legends.”

He shakes his head, looking down at his drink. “You know, I never thought I’d have a legacy. Not really. I figured I’d make a bunch of tech, sell it off, and that’d be it. But hearing you talk about the future… it’s weird, but for the first time, I kind of want to be there to see it.”

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re going to do incredible things, Tony. You have no idea how much you’ll mean to all of us.”

He meets your gaze, his expression softening, and for a moment, there’s a quiet intensity between you—a feeling of connection that goes beyond time, beyond the secrets you’re forced to keep. You don’t have to tell him everything to let him know how much he matters, not just to the future, but to you.

“Guess I’ll have to stick around then,” he says, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. “For you, and for… whoever I become.”

You smile, heart pounding, and you squeeze his arm gently. “I’m glad.”

In the quiet that follows, he reaches over, clinking his glass against yours. “To the future,” he says softly, his voice filled with a determination that’s almost heartbreaking.

You raise your glass, fighting the emotions rising in your chest. “To the future.”

The morning dawns heavy, and as the team gathers, the tension is palpable. You stand on the sidelines, watching each of them prepare, the reality of what’s about to happen pressing down on you. Tony catches your eye before he puts on the suit, his gaze steady and reassuring. He doesn’t have to say anything—you already know.

“See you on the other side,” he says, voice muffled by the suit’s mask as he flashes you a confident grin.

You watch him go, your heart aching with a strange mix of pride and fear. There’s no guarantee that things will unfold exactly as you remember, but for now, you have faith. The Avengers are ready. And so are you.

The dust of the battle hasn’t even settled, but after capturing Loki, the team allows themselves a small moment of relief. As the Avengers regroup, Thor stands guard over Loki with a mixture of grim satisfaction and frustration, while Natasha and Clint exchange relieved nods. Steve is already eyeing the damaged buildings, making plans for containment and crowd control.

Tony, however, is still pacing, his gaze flicking to the holographic interface in front of him. He watches JARVIS’s live feed, examining damage reports, crowd dispersal, and tracking the few remaining Chitauri soldiers scattered through the city.

That’s when JARVIS’s calm voice cuts through. “Sir, I must alert you that Y/N’s vitals are highly irregular. Her heart rate and breathing pattern suggest she may be experiencing a panic attack.”

Tony’s brow furrows, worry creeping onto his face. “Where is she?”

“She was last located on the floor directly below you, but the security cameras on that floor are currently offline due to structural damage. I’m unable to locate her visually.”

A pang of alarm runs through Tony, and it catches the attention of the rest of the team. Natasha and Steve share a concerned look, Clint straightens, and even Thor’s expression shifts from watchful to worried.

“A panic attack?” Clint asks, confused. “I thought panic attacks were Tony’s thing.”

“Hey!” Tony snaps, but it lacks his usual edge. There’s a flicker of anxiety in his expression, and he’s already reaching for his comm. “Y/N? Can you hear me? If you’re there, talk to me.”

Silence.

He feels a sinking dread building in his stomach, and he exchanges a glance with Steve, who nods, immediately stepping forward. “Tony, do you want backup?” Steve asks.

Tony shakes his head. “No, I’ll find her. Just… keep Loki locked down, all right? We don’t want him getting any ideas while we’re distracted.”

With that, Tony heads down a damaged stairwell, calling JARVIS’s name and reactivating every broken camera he can find. After what feels like an agonizingly long few seconds, he finally picks up a faint, distorted signal from one of the lower floors.

And then he hears it—a deep, mechanical thud that echoes through the empty floor below. He rushes down the last few steps and stops dead in his tracks when he reaches the corridor.

At the far end of the hall, there’s Y/N… only she’s barely recognizable. She’s suited up in what looks like Tony’s Iron Man armor, or rather, parts of the armor—a strange, improvised mix of boots, a chest plate, gauntlets, and a helmet. Her arms and legs are half-exposed in her torn battle gear, and in one hand, she’s gripping a metal baseball bat, the metal shining under the harsh emergency lights.

Tony takes a stunned step forward as Y/N raises the bat with all her might, swinging it into a remaining Chitauri soldier, sending it flying back with a satisfying crash. The alien hits the wall hard, but she doesn’t stop. There’s a ferocity in her movements that he’s never seen before—raw, desperate, and relentless. She stumbles forward, chest heaving, breath heavy and erratic over the helmet’s comm system as she swings again and again, knocking down every remaining Chitauri that crosses her path.

The rest of the team arrives behind Tony, and they all freeze at the sight. Steve’s eyes widen, Clint’s mouth drops open, and Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking impressed.

“Is she… is she wearing your suit?” Steve finally asks, his tone equal parts confusion and awe.

Tony doesn’t answer, too busy staring. She’s moving erratically, swaying slightly, her movements sharper and more frantic than he’s ever seen from her. There’s no precision, no strategy—just sheer, brutal determination as she takes down the last of the Chitauri.

And then, as the dust settles, her chest heaves as she drops the bat to the ground with a clang, her breathing audible even through the helmet. Tony steps forward slowly, cautious, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N,” he calls softly, “you okay in there?”

For a moment, she doesn’t respond. The helmet dips, as if she’s looking down at herself in disbelief. When she finally speaks, her voice crackles through the helmet, shaky and breathless.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna… you wanna take that thing off?”

The silence stretches, and then, with a trembling hand, she reaches up, disengaging the helmet. It slides off, revealing her face, pale and streaked with dirt and sweat. Her eyes are wide, glassy with fear, and there’s a tremor in her hand that she can’t quite control.

“I—I couldn’t find any of you,” she whispers, her voice catching. “And I just… I saw them down here, and I couldn’t—”

Tony steps closer, his expression softening. “Hey, hey. You did good. You took them out. You’re safe, okay?”

Her breaths come fast and shallow, and he realizes she’s still in the grip of panic, her body trembling in the remnants of adrenaline and fear. He reaches out, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “Y/N, you’re okay now. Just breathe with me, all right?”

She nods, her breaths starting to slow, her eyes flicking up to meet his. There’s a vulnerability there, a rawness that cuts right through him. She looks like she’s holding back a flood of emotion, and his heart tightens.

One by one, the others approach, keeping a respectful distance but offering her reassuring nods. Steve steps forward, placing a steady hand on her other shoulder, his gaze warm and reassuring.

“We’re here,” he says, his voice steady. “You didn’t have to do this alone.”

The reassurance seems to break something inside her, and she lets out a shaky laugh, wiping at her face. “Guess I got a little carried away, huh?” she murmurs, trying to steady herself.

Tony raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Just a little. Though I gotta say, you wear that suit well. Never thought I’d see you flying down here with a bat and half my armor.”

Her cheeks flush, and she lets out a self-conscious chuckle. “I just grabbed whatever was closest. I couldn’t… I didn’t want any of you to get hurt. I had to help somehow.”

Clint, watching with a mix of amazement and amusement, crosses his arms, grinning. “If I’d known you had this side in you, I’d have handed you a bat weeks ago.”

Natasha steps up beside Clint, nodding approvingly. “It takes guts to throw yourself into a fight like that. Especially alone.”

Y/N looks at each of them, her expression a mix of gratitude and embarrassment. She shakes her head, glancing back at Tony. “Guess I still have a few things to learn about… not panicking under pressure.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes as he meets her gaze. “Trust me,” he says, “you’re not the only one who freaks out when things get intense. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re not alone here. And next time? You don’t have to handle it by yourself. Got it?”

She nods, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “Got it.”

As the team disperses, Tony stays with her a moment longer, studying her carefully. “You know,” he says quietly, his tone softer than usual, “I can upgrade that baseball bat if you’re thinking of making this a regular thing.”

She laughs, a real, genuine laugh this time. “I’ll keep that in mind. But maybe I’ll leave the suits to you next time.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, grinning. He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “Hey… don’t feel bad about what happened, okay? You stepped up. You saved us a lot of trouble back there.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation, but she nods, a shy smile appearing. “Thanks, Tony. For… everything.”

He gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his gaze soft. “Anytime. Now let’s get you out of that armor before you short-circuit it.”

With a grateful smile, she follows him, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. For the first time since arriving in this unfamiliar past, she feels a sense of belonging, knowing that these people—the Avengers, her friends—will always have her back, just as she has theirs.

Unbeknownst to you, or to the Avengers around you, just a few blocks away, a much older Tony Stark is crouched in the shadows with Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner, their eyes fixed on the commotion unfolding at Stark Tower. They’ve come to 2012 to retrieve the Tesseract—an essential part of their mission to save the future. Their objective is clear: get in, grab the Tesseract, and get out without causing any disruptions. But when Tony’s gaze catches sight of the familiar figure in half of his old suit, wielding a bat and going after stray Chitauri with a fierce determination, he freezes, completely taken off guard.

Steve glances at him. “What’s wrong, Stark?”

Tony’s eyes are glued to you, his expression softening as he watches you clobber a Chitauri, then brace yourself as the helmet’s targeting HUD helps you line up your next swing. “I… didn’t expect this,” he murmurs, voice filled with awe and something closer to pride than Steve has ever heard from him.

Bruce follows Tony’s gaze and frowns in confusion. “Wait—is that… Y/N? But that can’t be right. She wouldn’t be here. This isn’t even her timeline.”

“Oh, it’s her,” Tony whispers, his voice choked with both joy and heartbreak. He can’t help but let a small grin sneak onto his face, one that shows just how much he cares for you and just how proud he is. “That’s my little girl.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he watches Tony’s face, lit up with admiration and bittersweet nostalgia. “Tony, you know the rules. We can’t interfere.”

“I know,” Tony says, the reality settling over him like a lead weight. “But look at her.” He nods toward you, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. “She’s got guts. Always has. I knew she’d be a fighter.”

Steve watches you for a moment, then gives Tony a small, supportive nod. “She’s in good hands. You saw her out there—she’s fighting with the team, and you know this version of you will keep an eye on her.”

“I know,” Tony murmurs, his eyes never leaving you. For a moment, he loses himself in the scene—watching you alongside his younger self, surrounded by the team, all of you laughing and joking after the battle. He swallows hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. It’s like looking through a window into a different time, one where he could just stand there and watch over you, make sure you were safe.

The younger Tony steps forward in the armor, calling out a comment that makes you laugh, a real, bright laugh that reaches even the ears of the time-traveling Tony hidden in the shadows. He can see how his younger self leans forward, his eyes full of quiet care as he reassures you, and Tony’s heart swells with pride and longing.

“She’s tougher than I realized,” Bruce says with a small, approving smile, giving Tony a reassuring nudge. “She’ll be all right, Tony.”

“Yeah, yeah, she will,” Tony says, nodding to himself, though there’s a tightness in his voice that betrays the mix of joy and sorrow swirling inside him. He may not be able to approach you now, to tell you how proud he is, but he can watch you from the shadows just this once, a silent guardian, letting himself soak in the sight of you alive and well, even if it’s in a past that isn’t his.

He clears his throat, steeling himself, reminding himself of the mission. “All right, guys. Let’s get the Tesseract and get out of here,” he says, but his voice is softer, less biting than usual. “I’ll… I’ll be back soon, anyway. To the right timeline.”

As he and the others move to leave, Tony sneaks one last look over his shoulder. You’re taking a deep breath, looking around at your team with a smile that’s just a little shy, a little amazed, as if you’re still surprised that you belong here. His heart aches with pride, and his voice is barely a whisper as he says, “That’s my girl. Stay safe.”

With that, he turns and follows Steve and Bruce, his heart a little heavier but his soul a little lighter, knowing that, even if he can’t protect you directly, he’s left you in good hands: his own hands, in a way. It’s enough, for now.

I don't know if I'm really satisfied with this...I just hope that whoever requested it likes it!

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yandere-paramour · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 2

"Darling, please calm down. You are still disoriented from your medicine and I do not want you to get hurt."

You froze. Did you just hear that? No way you just heard that. Clearly, something had happened earlier. Maybe this was an incredibly real hallucination. You hoped it was a hallucination.

“Hello, love. It is good to see you awake. I was about to be very, very upset with my hired hand,” The voice spoke again.

It took a little longer than you’d ever admit, but soon you successfully turned your head to your right. Even though you knew something was wrong, knew you were somehow in peril, it made you feel better that that voice was female. She was big, though; you couldn’t quite tell because she was sitting with her legs crossed, but you were pretty sure she was tall. Her body was lean, and although it was covered with her expertly tailored blue-grey suit, you suspected she had considerable muscle. Hazel eyes stared back at you with fondness as she tapped a spoon on the edge of her teacup. Her hair was brown, with those effortless curls you always found yourself attracted to. Unintentionally, you blushed. Had you… slept with this goddess?

You opened your mouth to say something, an apology, a question, a request for help, but she held up a hand, gave you a gentle smile with perfectly straight teeth, and set down her empty cup, “I am so sorry, Darling. I know this must be really frightening for you, but I need you to stay calm. I am not going to hurt you. Now, I did this earlier, but I need to check you over. The medicine you had was strong, so I want to make sure you’re okay.”

She crosses the room and leans over you, still whispering soft words to mollify you. She checks your pulse on your limp wrist, timing it to her watch, then softly pushes your hair back to look into your eyes, “Are you feeling dizzy at all? Nauseous?”

“I-I have a headache. And I’m dizzy.” You manage to say. Your tongue feels like it’s made of lead. A million questions run through your head. Were you drugged? How did you get here? Were you at a bar? Did you sleep together? Why can’t you move?

She frowns, the cupid’s bow of her mouth forming a lovely little pout, “That’s not good. I promise, I will give you some pain relief right after we have a talk. I do not like to see you suffer. You’re going to be on this medicine for a few days so I want you to be comfortable.”

A bit of dread rises in you, “What medication am I on?”

“Just something to help you relax, and only for a few days until you get acclimated.”

“Did you… drug me?”

“I did not do it myself per se, but I did arrange for it to happen. Worry not, I consulted with my personal physician about your medical history to make sure you would not have any negative reactions. I would never make you take anything that would hurt you.”

“Who are you and where am I,” You want to sound forceful but the drug still has its claws in you like an angry tiger.

She gives you another adoring smile, “You are right, I should have introduced myself right when you woke. I am Atalanta Montclair.”

“Atalanta Montclair?” It takes a second for your brain to place the name but it hits you like a bolt of lightning, “You mean the heir to Montclair Industries?”

She looks pleased that you’ve heard of her, “Yes, that is I.”

Horror causes stupid words to flow out of your mouth, “I slept with my boss???”

“No, sweetheart. My hired hands gave you a little of your medicine in apple juice, then safely transported you to my penthouse. I changed your clothes myself; I did not want you to sleep in that uncomfortable uniform. I promise, there was nothing untoward in my actions.”

Despite her words, your alarm only grows, “You kidnapped me?”

“I had you safely transported to your new life with me, Darling. This is now our penthouse apartment, your new home. More precisely, this is the master bedroom, our bedroom together.”

“M-My new life with you? What does that mean?” Thoughts of the worst cloud your mind, “In your bedroom, as your… your sex slave?”

“No!” She says sharply, then catches herself and returns to her poised countenance, “You are my precious Darling, the only one I love and the only one I will ever love. I am devoted to you and you alone. You will be my companion, my partner, the most precious person in my life, and, when you’re ready, my lover.”

“Your lover?” You can’t even form words of your own at this point.

“Yes, my love,” She takes and kisses the back of your limp hand, kneeling at the bedside, “You have my word that nothing will harm you here. I will never touch you sexually until you ask for it.

“You fucking kidnapped me?” You jerk your hand away from her.

She looks shocked at your language, “You would not have agreed to come with me otherwise. I had you very safely transported. I spared no expense for your safety.”

You push yourself into sitting up by sheer force of will, “But you fucking kidnapped me? I don’t even know you.” “But I want to,” She tries to grab your hand again, “I want to learn everything about you, my Darling. Just give me the chance.”

“No!” You swing your legs over the side of the bed, narrowly missing kicking her.

You try to push yourself to your feet, but your legs are still wobbly, and you collapse under your own weight, plummeting to the ground. But Atalanta is in the way, and she catches you. You were right; she is tall. She is at least six feet, giving her seven inches over you. She holds you in her arms, not helping you back on the bed or letting you fall, just what feels like… cuddling you.

“Darling, your hair is so soft. I touched it when you were sleeping but now that you’re awake to give me your permission, it feels exponentially better,” She nuzzles her face into your hair.

“I do not give you permission!” you squeak, appalled at the sudden intimacy. You try to push her away from you, but she cuddles you a little longer, then sets your unsteady form on the bed.

“My apologies, Darling, you are just so irresistible. I will be more respecting of your consent in the future,” She at least has the decency to look chastised.

“The future? How long am I staying here?”

She gives you a confused smile, “Forever, sweet girl. I will never, ever let you go. Now, it is approaching dinner time. May I get something for you to eat?”

You look at her like she is insane (which she is). How the fuck are you supposed to sit at a table and eat your vegetables with the hot woman who kidnapped you?

“Atalanta, please let me go. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can give you whatever you want. I don’t want to be stuck in this room forever. Please, please let me go,” You babble, begging her to come to her senses and hear you out.

An anxiety attack starts to overwhelm you until you are trembling. Atalanta lightly shushes you, using one hand to stroke your hair, “Settle down, love. I’ve got you, and you are safe. Take a deep breath.”

This only makes you want to fight harder, trying to push her away with your shaky arms. She grabs your hands, pressing kisses to the backs of them while keeping them firmly in her hold.

“I promise, my princess, you will never want for anything again. I’ll take care of you. I have enough money for the both of us to live comfortably forever,” She gives a quick kiss to your forehead, “And I would never keep you locked away. A beautiful flower like you deserves a chance to grow.”

She kisses your head again and continues, “You can access the top two floors of the building, those I use for my living space, now our living space. No space is off limits to you, my love. For a little while, you will be restricted to the penthouse unless I am with you, but once you’re a little more settled, we can discuss short trips out by yourself. I have been dreaming of taking you to the theatre, and maybe in a year, we will be able to go.”

“A year?” You screech, floored.

To my credit, she does flinch back from my scream, “Careful, Darling girl, I will not discipline you while you are on your medicine, but that does not mean you will escape punishment later.”

This sufficiently scares you into lowering the volume, “Discipline me?”

She looks vaguely uncomfortable, but pats your head, “I have two punishments in mind, but let’s not get into those until necessary, okay? I want our first night together to be pleasant. Now, back to my earlier question, what may I order for you to eat? Anything you like, sweetheart, just ask. Or I can cook for you if you prefer. I am no chef but I can make simple things.”

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mxnaluv · 1 year ago

Note

I need a y/n meeting Kenjaku for the very first time. (Y/n and geto used to date back in high school)

YES OF COURSEE

A Cursed Meeting

Pairing: Geto x GN!reader

Featuring: Geto Suguru/Kenjaku

Genre: Angst (I LOVE ANGST)

Summary: You decide to go to Shibuya on Halloween, resulting in an unexpected reunion

Reader's Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Warnings: Mentions of blood, nasty details, sadness, crying of course, basically if you want to feel hurt then read this

Reblogs, notes, and comments are greatly appreciated!! And My Requests are always open!

Geto was your first true friend, your first real love, and your soulmate. You met in our early teens and had a whirlwind romance. Both were inseparable until one day when you least expected it, he disappeared without a trace. You spent the next few years trying to come to terms with his disappearance, but you eventually accepted that you would never see him again.

---

Years went by without closure until there was news of him massacring a village, and as a result, you've never seen Geto the same since. However, deep down in your heart, you still loved him and were hoping that one day he would return to the person you once knew.

"Shibuya here we come!" you cheered with all of your friends as we walked into the vibrant city of Shibuya, filled with busy streets, neon signs, and lots of people in their Halloween costumes. The air was filled with the intoxicating scent of grilled meat, beer, and music from every corner of the streets, thundering through the air.

You and your friends visited a nearby restaurant to fuel up for the night's festivities, before heading out to celebrate Halloween in the streets. "It's been a while since we've been out like this," one of your friends had said.

"It really has, I don't think I've been out in a crowd partying since maybe high school." you smiled as we all drank and ate, laughing and enjoying the company.

In the midst of all the celebrations, there was a sudden, loud noise that reverberated through the room and shook the whole restaurant, people in the street, and even the buildings themselves. The loud noise was so sudden and unexpected that it shook the whole restaurant and people in the street. It was like a flash of lightning that struck without warning, leaving everyone in shock.

Everyone was stunned into silence for a moment as they processed what had just happened. You could immediately sense something was wrong. It felt like you were in the presence of a curse, a really powerful one. The room was heavy and oppressive, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched.

But before anyone could process or understand anything, there was a big black hole that was rapidly sucking people in from all directions. Your eyes widened at the sight of it while your friends were already running away. People were screaming, the sounds of glass breaking, and car alarms going off.

Despite your efforts to flee, you felt a powerful force from the black hole drawing you in. You grasped onto whatever you could, yet the pull was too powerful and you were sucked into the darkness, becoming unconscious before you could comprehend the situation.

----

You woke up feeling groggy and disoriented, only to find yourself in a subway station, surrounded by other people who were also pulled into the black hole. Standing up, you looked around to see what was going on, but other people were just as confused as you were.

Suddenly, there was a loud scream, followed by the sound of running. Another black hole appeared in front of you, and out came curses who were hungry for people. You immediately ran as you didn’t have any of your cursed tools to fight them, so all you could do was run.

While you were running, you ran into something that felt like a brick wall, a really familiar wall. As you looked up, you gasped in shock, it was your ex who you thought had died years ago, Geto, and he was looking down at you. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Geto spoke.

You were speechless, couldn’t even speak as soft tears ran down your face unexpectedly. You didn't know how to feel about him but there was something about him that just didn't feel right.

He looked different, he had a different vibe, and there was something about him that just didn't sit right with you. It was your ex-boyfriend, but he was someone else now.

Your eyes darted to his forehead and you noticed stitches that hadn’t been there before. Then you realized that it wasn't really him after all, and your guard instantly raised, "You're not Geto."

The fake Geto laughed with a sinister grin, "I almost had you fooled, but now you know my real identity."

His trembling hand went to the stitches in his forehead and slowly pulled on it, then the top of his head opened up, revealing a ghastly brain that had gruesome yellowish-white teeth on it. The putrid juices oozed out and flowed onto his face while both he and the brain smiled menacingly.

You could only freeze at the sight of what you saw. No one could have prepared you for what you would see. Your instincts told you to run, turning around and trying to bolt away from him but were briefly stopped when you felt a force in your stomach.

Your eyes looked down to see blood trickling onto your clothes and the hand of a curse poking right through them. Looking back up, Kenjaku smiled once more. “Now you get to meet your precious Geto.”

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maximotts · 2 years ago

Text

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛: 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

a/n: anddd we're back! I'm loving how this series is going so far and with this chapter posted, we're halfway through unless I decide to add a chapter or two, we'll see. Anyways, welcome to the Beginnings of Smutty Content for smol babie Wanda

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; in which Wanda ponders over her growing feelings for you, tries her hardest to deal with them and, when asked out to a date night at the local Fall Festival, she tests out Agatha's advice ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; fluff, smut; morning after deep thoughts, brief-ish make outs, a lot of kisses bc Wanda said so; masturbation; ice cream debauchery; thigh kisses and our favorite soft, flustered Wands

✎— words: 6.2k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

It was almost noon when you woke up the next morning, groggy and disoriented. As your brain caught up with your body, you registered warmth under your cheek, a gentle hand lazily stroking your hair; Wanda. The gentle rise and fall of her stomach could’ve lulled you back to sleep, might have too, if a traitorous yawn hadn’t given you away. “Look who’s awake.”

You turned over with a groan, hiding your face in Wanda as she giggled at your display. “You could’ve woken me up if you weren’t sleeping.”

Wanda pretended to think it over, not once planning on giving away that she’d be a fool to pass up the chance to commit the sight of you peacefully asleep on top of her to memory. “You needed your rest.”

Quiet moments like these happened to be Wanda’s favorites; where anything was possible and she could pretend that when you finally did awaken, she’d smother you in kisses and the two of you could roll around in bed for a lazy Sunday morning together. Where eventually, when she somehow pries you off of her, she’d stroll to the kitchen on shaky legs and make the apple cinnamon pancakes she remembered you telling her your mother used to make you as a child; the breakfast you missed most. And after a quick shower, you, not wanting to be anywhere else in the world, would sit at her small IKEA kitchen table and tell her all about your alcohol induced dreams.

All of that was possible until you woke up and you, the real you, sat up and stretched with an even louder yawn, casually reaching over her to grab the glass of water she knew last night you’d need right this minute. You drained the cup’s contents in one long gulp, setting it back on the nightstand before perching on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under you while the other dangled.

Wanda wished she could be the type to coax you back to bed, insist you sleep more and if not that, at least lay with her a little while longer, but the words sounded silly in her head and your imagined rejection stung her heart enough not to chance it.

You regarded her properly after a few slow blinks, taking in the sight of Wanda still half propped against her pillows, blankets now askew after you got up and tossed them aside. She looked smaller now, nestled amongst her plush bedding and looking up at you expectantly. The previous night’s events came back to you in a flash; the party, the game, the kiss that ended it, and the other that started something new. You cast a risky glance downwards, spotted perfectly patterned silk shorts and wondered whether the night’s hours alleviated any of that ache Wanda had tried subtly rubbing away with her legs as you fell asleep. Instead when you opened your mouth, a completely different line of questioning came out. “I shouldn’t be surprised you wear matching pajama shorts to bed.”

She knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but you were also blissfully unaware of the skimpier white one-piece she’d originally planned on luring you to bed with. The further away it got, the more Wanda wanted to hit herself for thinking she could ever stage such an after-party for you, on your first night out together no less. “I like to match! I shouldn’t be surprised you wear your street clothes to bed.”

Wanda was referring to your wrinkled t-shirt, the outstretched fabric and your underwear being your chosen sleepwear. Typically you did only wear a shirt, some old things you’d retired from your wardrobe and relegated to being strictly house wear until you officially wore it to shreds, “Well I didn’t have much choice, did I? You’re the one who asked me to stay, or would you rather I sleep naked?”

Laughter erupted from deep in your belly when the brunette’s jaw went slack, eyes wide as saucers, “You know that’s not what I meant! I don’t care what you wear!”

“Hey, your bed, your rules, princess. Just let me know for next time.” Next time, you’d said with a suggestive wink; if Wanda wasn’t already stunned into silence would surely send her rambling on.

Beside her earlier fantasies, she hadn’t factored in clothing, much less the absence of it. That train of thought sent her spiraling; she could see your legs in their entirety, goose pimpled from the cold air, but devilishly soft looking, but she was more curious to what lay under where you were covered— what you felt like, where you were most sensitive, if anywhere else made you shudder like Wanda discovered you did whenever she trailed her short nails over the nape of your neck.

“Think any harder and steam will come out of your ears,” you chuckled, getting up to uncover wherever you’d tossed your jeans. Messing with Wanda never failed to be an impeccably funny start to your day, but here, now, you had to put a stop to it. If you continued, you worried Wanda really would blow a gasket or worse, you’d push her so hard you’d break. “Don’t worry, I’m going off to go shower. I’ll leave you alone in a minute.”

Curious as Wanda was, you were exponentially so, wanting to snatch her up and take her and discover every place that made her tick. But Wanda was still drowsy, evident in the tiny yawns she hid behind her hands and how her head lolled against the headboard once she’d calmed herself down, and you needed her wide awake for everything you wanted.

So, admittedly, you were a little shocked to turn around after slipping on your shoes to find Wanda not only sitting fully upright, but with a very obvious forlorn look across her features. “You’re leaving?”

You shrugged, so casually her frown only deepened, “I know you like to clean on Sundays, don’t want to be in your way.” Not the real reason, but true enough to be believable. Wanda was notorious for her Sunday cleaning, preferring to start her week out as organized as possible. You told yourself to stop, not to tease her anymore, but she looked so akin to a kicked puppy you couldn’t help it, “What’s wrong, miss me already?”

Maybe she hadn’t fully coped with the loss of her fantasy day, or she’d lost her patience altogether, but whatever it was, Wanda wanted to cry. Again. She hated it, despised that instinctive response, and wanted to do anything to deflect that energy. So she picked up an unused pillow and launched it. The fluffy object flew at your face before you could catch it, smacking you with a dull thud. “Not with that attitude, I don’t.”

Her outburst gave Wanda enough time to wipe her eyes, ensuring there weren’t any tears that couldn’t be passed off as sleepiness; by the time your vision returned, she was sitting with her arms folded defiantly over her chest, pointedly avoiding having to look at you. Wanda was strangely huffy, but instead of catching her genuine disappointment, you wrote it off as morning crankiness and tossed the pillow back to her side. “Just for that, you’ve forfeit your goodbye kiss.”

You were joking really, having not even thought about giving her another kiss because she’d had yet to mention the others, but Wanda didn’t know that. She shot up in an instant, shuffling over to where you stood at the end of her bed and flinging her arms around you in an apologetic hug. “No wait, I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me I just-”

One gentle finger pressed against Wanda’s mouth, silencing her until all she could do was gaze up at you with pleading eyes from where she’d planted her chin on your chest. “You don’t want a kiss right now anyways, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Wanda shook her head, brushing off your excuse, “Neither have I…” If you were going to leave, she wouldn’t let you without the one thing she knew she could have. She’d make peace with her boring Sunday cleaning alone in her apartment, the lack of you, all of it, if she could face the day freshly kissed.

“Just one. We’ll make it quick,” You couldn’t deny her, not when you felt envious of her own teeth, biting down on her pink lower lip like you’d briefly done last night. Your thumb pried the flesh away from her grip, promptly replacing it with your mouth. It was meant to be a simple peck, short and sweet, but when the tip of your tongue accidentally brushed Wanda, she gasped— a tiny, quiet thing that sucked you right in.

Wanda parted her lips as you nudged against them once more, let the rough surface of your tongue slide over the straight row of her teeth and surrendered herself to whatever this new blissful feeling was. She could taste the last bits of alcohol on you, much less than the times previous, and having fully sobered up, your lead was more sure, more insistent, and it made Wanda’s legs tremble.

Somewhere in your embrace, the brunette’s arms fell from around your midsection and you pulled away, allowing you both air and her to fall back to her seated position. She touched her fingers to her lips, tried to ignore the tingling in her core that begged her to press just a little bit harder into the mattress for the friction it so desperately craved.

You had to leave Wanda there, her wildly lost expression too much for you to handle. “Text me when you’re free, princess.” You ruffled her already messy hair before leaving, the action coming across way too platonic for the intensity you’d just shared.

She heard her apartment door click, signaling she really was alone, and she planned to get up, honestly. But as her legs parted to move, a thick fold of her comforter dragged over her clothed center and Wanda couldn’t talk herself out of doing it again.. and again… and again until the lace underwear she’d picked to hopefully show off to you when she got home were thoroughly soaked.

It was all too easy to sink back into her fantasy land, the one where you hadn’t left, deciding instead to stay and waste the last half of your weekend kissing her instead. Eyes screwed shut, she imagined it was your bare leg she mounted instead, offering your thigh up to her as long as she let you have your way with her mouth. It was slightly uncomfortable, damp fabric pulled taut against her, but shaky fingers came to tug them to the side, pretending they were yours as her fingertips momentarily played with her clit before she forced her hips down swiftly.

Wanda didn’t know what you’d say, if you’d say anything during her frenzied display, but she hoped you did; something less practiced than the videos she’d seen. You’re so gorgeous all worked up for me, princess, a name you’d called her before and each time her heart latched onto you a fraction more, I want to see you cum now, will you do that for me?

She nodded her head as if you were still right there with her, mouth falling open as she rut her bare cunt over her comforter at just the right angle. If she focused enough Wanda could see your sly grin, that look you gave when you knew you’d gotten her right where you wanted, pretended her fists were balled tight into your shirt instead of her wrinkled sheets, “Yes, yes… I’ll do it! I-I’m gonna…!”

Wanda came with a whimper, weakly jerking her hips until she could no longer hold herself upright and fell forward. Dull aftershocks pulsed pleasantly through her body, but her pussy clenched around nothing, begging for something more Wanda never worked up the confidence to give it. The shame she felt having ruined not only her new undergarments, but also her shorts and sheets, laying limply in the cooling wet spot she’d made in her dalliance, was more than enough to leave her cheeks burning hot and she let out a loud, dramatic groan into her pillow.

Luckily, it was already laundry day.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

That evening, once Wanda showered the last of yesterday’s events away, washed her dirty clothes, and carefully remade her bed with new sheets, she flopped down on her couch in exhaustion. She pondered texting you, but the mere thought made her brain fly back to earlier activities and she wasn’t quite ready to face you yet. Instead she pressed Agatha’s name, thumbs hovering over the keypad as she tried to figure out how to even start the conversation she wanted to have.

So we kissed… three times…

The text barely read as delivered before Wanda’s phone buzzed, Agatha clearly having been on her device already, Three times where?

She fought the urge to toss her phone as she read the message punctuated with a suggestive emoji. Of course Agatha would think the worst. On the mouth, obviously! We’ve only been out once!

Once is more than enough, even nuns like you have to know thatWhat happened?

Wanda detailed the last twenty-four hours as positively as possible, leaving out the game context for what was technically your first shared kiss. She smiled as she recalled your little bedroom fall, your sleepy scramble to rejoin her; maybe she’d be willing to face another party in the future if it meant spending the night with you.

She stayed over and she didn’t try anything? Did you scare her off or something? Wanda sunk deeper into the couch, having convinced herself your restraint was more because you were drunk than her putting you off. But she was well aware you’ve slept with Carol before, much more intoxicated than last night and haven’t spent even half the time together she had with you; it wasn’t the setting or the timing that was the problem. As her thoughts wandered again, Wanda hoped she wasn’t the issue.

Unfortunate turn of conversation aside, it gave Wanda the perfect opening she needed to talk about what she texted her friend about in the first place. I don’t know how to tell her I’m interested in her in.. that way…how we talked about? But I don’t want her to think I’m too forward.

So what if she thinks you’re a bit of a slut, that’s hot!

Aggie! Be serious!

Even as Agatha assured her that she would never joke about something as serious as someone’s awakening, Wanda groaned; maybe she should’ve texted Natasha… she’d tell her roommate anyways. Just tell me what to do.

Take the opportunity when it comes and when it does, go with it.

The advice was easier said than done, Wanda first needing to know what an opportunity looks like to even have a hope of seizing it. Trading her phone for a pillow, she dropped the plush object over her head, squishing it to her face just enough to muffle the anguished sigh she couldn’t hold in one second longer.

The two of you were… terribly normal after that weekend. Still inseparable in your classes, you continued to come over in your free time, flirted with her until she shook— now though, Wanda quickly grew addicted to your kisses. Never as intense as Sunday morning, but whenever there was a quiet moment, walking behind a building or before you went back to your respective rooms, if she tugged at your hand and waited, you’d give her what she was after. Anyone else, you’d call them childish or brush the behavior off after a while, but each time you felt that shy pull on your sweater, you melted. You were falling for her so fast, so hard; if you ever crashed, it’d hurt like a drop from a skyscraper.

It was always private though, Wanda treating each touch or smooch as illegal levels of scandal. You tried not to think about it too much; she wasn’t ashamed of you, just introverted. When you tried to think of a time where you’d been so intent on secrecy, you were thrown back to your first girlfriend; everything was so special that you’d been obsessively possessive with keeping those butterflies between you and your partner, where no one could ruin them. Considering Wanda and what she’s been through, you couldn’t blame her for hoarding her joy. Besides, there’s something undeniably hot about sneaking around.

Nonetheless, however much time you spent with her, you always wanted more. Maybe that was your own greed amidst Wanda’s; as long as she’d have you, you’d keep her. “So Wands,” you whispered to get her attention, not wanting to scare her or disrupt your professor’s impassioned monologue on the global impacts of the evolution of the written world, “do you have any plans this evening?”

Wanda looked up from her detailed notes long enough to let you know she was listening, her pen still writing, “You know I don’t.”

“I’m just checking!” You nudged her gently, winding your arms around her until your head rested on her shoulder. “Since you’re not busy, would you be up for checking out the fall festival with me?”

Wanda stopped writing then, turning to you again as your lips kissed her shoulder. You were looking at her in that peculiar way again, where your eyes got so wide they started to shine, the barest hint of a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth; she doubted you knew how often you gave yourself away like that. “Is this a date? Do I need to dress up?”

“Yes to the date, no to dressing up.” Last weekend, she’d gone so far out of her comfort zone for you; now you wanted to take her somewhere she could hopefully relax and have a more familiar type of fun. Wanda mentioned in passing her dad used to bring her and Pietro to the fair nearly every year and while she hadn’t outright said she wanted to go, you were sure she’d want to go.

“Hm..” When Wanda returned to her notetaking, you figured she was just thinking it over, but she didn’t write anything, held her pen too tight, and chancing another glance at her face, her teeth worried her bottom lip how she did whenever she fell too deep in her head. A few days after Carol’s comment, Wanda dressed differently; it started with her party outfit, black and fitted, and while she’d gone back to her patterns, her dresses now were shorter, thinner. Today’s choice was a dark pink slip dress, adorable but modern, and while you wouldn’t complain or tell her what to wear, her pointed refusal to bring her favorite cardigan to classes made you wonder if Wanda felt like she had to make a change.

You thumbed over the curve of her hip, pulling her close enough to nuzzle into her neck. It was the furthest she’d let you go in class without pushing you away; as long as you could reassure her somehow. “Wear exactly what you are right now. I’m just excited to take you out, silly.”

“You look very pretty today, sunshine.” Wanda sighed long and deep, relaxing her shoulders and trying to absorb your reassurance. She loved the fair, missed not going the past couple of years, and she knew she was bound to have a good time if you were there; her nerves just wanted to eat her alive. “I’ll win you something soft and get you all the fair food you want?”

“It’s really not smart to keep offering me things before I’ve even said no.” She turned quickly, pressing a small peck to your warm forehead before scribbling away yet again, “Now I’ll make you win me the biggest teddy we can find.”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The fair was pretty much how Wanda remembered it, same layout, same variety of vendors, same rigged carnival games. You were happy to let her show you around, not that this small county fair was anything innovative, but Wanda was so thrilled to point out her favorite booths, it was only polite to let her guide the way.

True to your word, after a dozen tries you’d conquered the bean bag toss, winning the brunette a pink bunny rabbit who she immediately dubbed Carrot. You’d paid for that thing at least twice over by the time you won, but Wanda snuggled it so lovingly, cooed over the object so sweetly… money well spent. “He’s going to sit right on my bed all the time so I can remember your perseverance!”

“Oh I’m honored, a coveted bed post for my little thing!” Your gasp was way too dramatic, a few people close by turning their heads to find the source of the sound. Wanda swatted at your arm before pulling you along, but you stopped her as soon as you felt her chilly hand in yours. “Are you cold?”

Wanda shrugged, taking her hand back to fold her arms over her chest as a gust of wind blew by. “A little, but…well…”

“You didn’t bring a jacket.” Wanda’s sweater rejection strangely carried into your date and the further into the afternoon it got, the worse of a choice today’s dress was. Usually she’d pull on a sweatshirt as soon as she settled into her apartment or you could persuade her to bring an outer layer if it wasn’t during school, but tonight she’d insisted three times not to worry about her. “I’m starting to think you’ve stopped wearing sweaters just to steal my jackets.”

“Would you be mad if I did?” A playful grin grew on Wanda’s expression, teeth biting her lower lip as she waited for you to give in. If there was one thing she loved more than her own collection of thick cotton knits, it was your hoodies. None of them braced against the cold as much as hers, but the embedded smell of you kept Wanda plenty warm.

You sighed and shed your jacket, momentarily taking Carrot from Wanda’s arms before helping her into the sleeves. It was a little too big for her small frame, extra material slouching over her shoulders and to her wrists, and as she took her precious stuffed animal back, snuggling it to her chest, your heart leapt. “Not when you look as good as you do in them.”

Wanda didn’t know where to go with the compliment, still painfully lost on how to reciprocate such a comment, but she knew she didn’t want you to spot her blushing from something so small. In a panic, Wanda spun around, darting to the nearest stall and practically leaving you in the dust. “Come on, I want ice cream!”

“Are you sure you want something that’s gonna make you colder right now?” You went after her of course, catching up only when she paused to take a spot in line. Wanda really could run fast when she wanted to.

She nodded, pretending to study the menu that only gave her three different choices of soft serve, “You promised all the fair food I wanted. Right now, it’s ice cream.”

Once she’d gotten it, she only took a few licks, taking much more interest in walking and talking with you than eating. You noticed and, figuring she might be the type that prefers to sit and eat rather than realizing her diversion for what it was, found a set of hay bales just off the beaten path of fair traffic.

Wanda didn’t mind, let you help her onto the middle row of the haystack and tried not to visibly stiffen when you sat below her… between her legs. It’s just a convenient place to sit, she tried reasoning, willing herself to focus on anything besides the warmth of your back on the inside of her calf. Lost in thought, she missed the small drip of ice cream over her fingers until it fell onto her knee, “Great…I forgot napkins.”

Without thinking, you ducked down and licked the melted mess, your tongue making quick work of where she’d spilled it. You should’ve been even a bit more ashamed for the forward action, but in your head it was harmless. An easy and helpful fix for a lack of napkins, was all. “Finish your ice cream quickly, Wands. You’ll make a mess.”

The brunette was stunned at how casually you’d licked her, having gone straight back to mindlessly scrolling your phone without a care in the world. Meanwhile a thin coat of your saliva cooled on her leg, prickling at her skin and daring her to wonder what that same action would feel like elsewhere on her body. You weren’t paying her any extra attention, giving Wanda ample chance to run through her options: act outraged and warn you not to do it again, something that was so big of a lie Wanda wasn’t sure she could believably play it off, or allow herself a stint of not so innocent curiosity.

Her hand tipped before she’d rationalized it any further, a larger drop above her knee this time. Wanda needed to see if you’d do it again; what she would feel if you did it again. “I’m trying, but it’s cold..”

Her whine from above caught your attention, turning around to see Wanda’s once again sticky leg and sighing. “You’ll ruin your dress and then I won’t hear the end of it-” You licked it off, forcing away your suggestive thoughts… until you looked up. Her face gave her away instantly, cheeks pink and eyes alert; she did it on purpose.

The current position wasn’t wasted on you, perched perfectly in between her legs, just above eye level to her bottom half. To what extent Wanda caught on, you didn’t know, but you’d be a fool not to at least try, “Careful…” You shifted enough to place both hands on her legs, sliding the hem of her dress a few inches up as a small test of her comfort. If she pushed you away, you wouldn’t have been surprised, the public setting making this all more scandalous than you ever thought Wanda would agree to.

But she didn’t move a muscle, not one utterance of protest; Wanda kept her eyes locked on you. The hay bales were faced away from any crowds, far enough that nobody walked directly past you; if someone knew the back of Wanda’s head they could spot her, but whatever lust clouded her brain, that was enough security for now. Another set of drops fell, purposeful now that you both were on the same page. Wordlessly, she watched as your tongue made another appearance, licking away her self-made mess.

Each time she spilled the cold treat, you lapped it up with a slow sweep, lingering longer the higher you got. Wanda doubted you noticed you’d begun a series of low groans, fully leant over as you kissed each area you cleaned. Everything she knew taught her to be ashamed of both of your behaviors, overtly passionate and so very inappropriate, but honestly it only turned Wanda on more. If she had to be penitent for the rest of her life over this, so be it.

You had none of the same moral dilemma Wanda had, more than willing to play this little game all night. You’d yet to speak aloud how much her legs lived in your head, every sighting of them driving you just that little bit further into the depths of your growing need for the girl now leaning back to let ice cream fall higher. When you’d slept on her, you’d done so with thoughts running wild of how to touch them again, how sensitive she’d be if she allowed you even five minutes to focus on her impossibly smooth skin; never in your wildest dreams did you think Wanda would offer herself up like she was now.

At mid thigh, she was visibly twitching, either from damp skin exposed to the cold, arousal, or a combination of the two. “You just had to go and get yourself all wet and sticky?” Her ice cream trick, yes, but as you spoke, your eyes were trained under Wanda’s hitched dress, the barest hint of her underwear visible in the dim light of dusk. It was torture to only just be able to see her, restraining your urge to dive closer and confirm what you’d bet money on was a dark spot on the white cotton fabric.

Wanda was breathing so heavily her chest heaved, both mortified and flattered by your shameless ogling. She nearly snapped her legs shut, instinct screaming to hide and deny the effect you had on her; a louder voice remembered Agatha’s go with it advice and she had to admit, this proved a lot more fun. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear…”

It was a fake apology, accented with the largest spill yet, a heavy glob of her near fully melted dessert landing on her inner thigh… right next to where you were already staring. Countless times she’s asked for kisses; same principle, different area. “First my jacket and then wasting my money on something you had no intention of eating properly, what a naughty girl you’ve been.”

She thought sure her eyes would roll back into her head as you cleaned her up again, your tongue making slow, languid strokes Wanda vowed to commit to memory. When the last of the chill was gone, Wanda assumed you’d pull away, but if you had to give something up today, you’d grant yourself the reward of adding your own piece to her game. Lips making noises Wanda would only ever describe as obscene, you sucked a hickey into the sensitive skin of her thigh; a not-so-gentle reminder of what you could do should the other girl let you.

When you backed up, it was to sit straight on your knees, hands glued to Wanda’s hips where you still had her dress pinned. She looked terribly disheveled, poor thing, free hand clutching her stuffed rabbit for dear life while her mouth hung open far enough to let you know she was seconds away from outright panting. “Think you’ll bring napkins next time or will you let me lick you clean forever?”

It was those devious circles your thumbs rubbed into the join of her hips that did her in, so close to where she was scared she was now dripping, an unexpected shudder forcing Wanda to drop the entire cone, the sugary mixture splattering across her dress and your jacket. “Oh! I promise I didn’t want to do that!”

You remained unfazed, one track mind set on kissing lips bit so hard they’re now slightly swollen. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” And you were so close too, less than an inch from the trembling girl in front of you— Carol calling your name was the one thing that ruined it all.

It took you a moment to register you were on the ground, Wanda having shoved you back as hard as she could the instant she heard. You watched from below as she righted her dress, your ass stinging from the heavy fall while Wanda tried looking as normal as possible. She turned to see Carol approaching with barely contained laughter, having witnessed Wanda knocking you off balance. The blonde only wanted to ruin your moment, she had no idea her classmate would actually push you; that just made it all the more funny. “Might be pushing your luck after that one kiss, buddy. Think that was it for a lifetime!”

Wanda shot you an apologetic look as Carol passed, the shock and confusion on your face darkening her mood further. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, I heard her and panicked and I…” She wasn’t ashamed to be with you, not in the slightest; she was forever in awe of you being so willing to be seen with her. Maybe not for much longer, if she kept up her habit of sneaking around and shoving you off, “What if she tells? Oh god, it’ll be awful-”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I get it.” You cut her off before she could spiral out of control, jumping up a little too fast for how much your back hurt and brushing the dust off your pants. Truthfully, you didn’t get it, you’d never had to experience anywhere near what Wanda grew up with, couldn’t imagine the lasting impact that might have on someone. Reminding yourself to be patient was hard but doable, picking up Wanda’s stuffed rabbit and placing it into her shaking hands at the same time you pressed a comforting kiss to the crown of her head. “We should get you home anyways, it’s getting late.”

The sun was nearly completely gone now, far off on the horizon, a deep purple sky replacing its bright light. Wanda wanted to ask you to stay, to try again and see if she could revive the moment she and Carol broke, but large globs of ice cream were soaking into her dress, splattered from when she’d dropped her cone and darkening the pink color; both she and her outfit needed a wash. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry…”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize.” Wanda took your hand when you offered it, let you zip up your hoodie around her to somewhat cover the large stain; no matter how lighthearted your tone was, she couldn’t shake the embarrassment scratching at her, filling her head with now way too familiar thoughts of how stupid she’d been.

You kept your arm around her the whole way to your car, constantly checking over to see if her slumped posture and shy mood improved; it didn’t. Every day you spent around Wanda, each time the two of you danced a little closer, your need for her grew. It was harder and harder not to just take her, especially when she came out of her bathroom freshly showered, shuffling over to her bed in yet another too sweet set of pajamas.

She cuddled up to you wordlessly, choosing not to comment on how presumptively you’d settled into her bed because this time, it fit her needs. Natasha taught her the subtler way of flirting, close contact, small touches, things felt rather than seen. But even after wrapping her arms around your middle, fingering the edge of your shirt, letting her nails graze just barely over your hip, you didn’t make a move. In fact, you were notably less touchy than usual and Wanda hoped to god she hadn’t ruined her last chance back at the fair.

In reality, you were just barely hanging on to the last bits of your restraint, rationalizing to yourself Wanda’s touches meant nothing more than absentminded fidgeting. You hadn’t bargained on how badly she could affect you, not her floral scented shampoo or whatever body wash she used that made her skin heavenly soft, but all of it was dangerous. You’d resolved not to try anything further tonight, wanting to give Wanda ample space to recover from whatever she felt with Carol’s sudden appearance; she made it nearly impossible to do the right thing.

“So..about earlier?” You asked, giving in and pulling one of her legs until it lay over your lap, greedily demanding more closeness from her you didn’t know she was more than willing to give.

“Yeah, I…I liked it.” Liked was a grave understatement, a laughable comparison considering how the mere reminder of it all made her thighs tense up all over again. This was where Wanda expected you to make some kind of move, anything really, some hint that gave her an ounce of reassurance that you wanted to try again.

But your hand stayed still splayed over the curve of her hip, unmoving while a billion thoughts ran through your head. You didn’t even kiss her like she’d come to be accustomed to, what you knew full well she was expecting once you’d gotten her home. Whether she was aware you could feel every squeeze of her legs around your abdomen or not, you refused to speak up about it. If you had to be tormented by her fingers still scraping your warm side, Wanda could handle a little torture herself. No, you’d stay quiet as a mouse, just to see what leaving her wanting more would do. “Right, I’m glad.”

Wanda wanted to shake you, to sit on your lap, push you back, pin you down, and just… yell very explicit words until you understood how much she needed you to fuck her. Maybe it wouldn’t be the sexiest thing in the world to have to ask someone to take her virginity, but she’s never wanted it gone so badly. Something new had washed over Wanda in her time with you, some obsessive need whose intensity might’ve worried her if it didn’t always feel so damn good.

She knew you’d done it plenty of times before, last week you told her you’d have sex with her if she wanted to. Well, Wanda wanted it and she was determined to get it sooner rather than later, preferably before she exploded from sheer frustration.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff series #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel imagine #confessions au.#motts writes.#maximotts

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phantasm-echo · 1 year ago

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Fives undeath real not clickbait???

(disclaimer: I am not a writer, I got bored, i havent edited any of this)

He’s barely registered the fact that he’s reaching for Rex’s discarded blaster before he feels a sharp pain in his chest and suddenly he’s laying on his back, staring at the crossing beams under the decrepit warehouse ceiling. He’s still disoriented from whatever osik Nala Se had injected him with, so he can’t help but flinch when his blurry vision focuses just enough for him to make out blond hair and worried eyes hovering close to him.

Rex, he thinks distantly.

There’s yelling all around him, but it’s drowned out by his ori’vod desperately pleading nononono Fives not you too you were meant to live I was meant to keep you safe how could I let this happen Fives nonono keep your eyes open it’s gonna be alright- and all he can think about is how wrong it is to hear his brother reduced to this mess when he’s meant to be the best of them, the strongest, the one always in control.

Rex is now clutching at his face and shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his attention or something but all it does is jolt him and suddenly the pain in his chest is unbearable and he chokes out a garbled cry as the world sharpens around him and the events of the past few days floods back to him.

Right. Tup. The chips. The plot…

As the pain in his chest numbs over and spreads gradually to the rest of his body, all Fives can think about is how he’d failed. Getting Kix to contact Rex and General Skywalker was meant to fix things, it was meant to free his brothers, it was meant to help-

He’s slowly dying and he knows it.

Well, Fives thinks distantly, I got my message to them, just thought I’d be there with them when they fixed everything.

His vision blurs again and focuses back onto Rex, who looks even more frantic than before and for the life of him Fives can’t figure out why until he feels that sting again and registers that everything sounds as if he’s underwater and then it feels like he’s underwater too as it becomes more and more difficult to take a breath in and darkness starts to creep up the edges of his vision and all part of him can think of is finally.

He can barely see Rex anymore, he’s nothing but a shaking blonde blur but he can still feel the devastation surrounding him and woah those aren’t his own feelings what the fuck but it’s alright because the darkness around him is pulling him closer, deeper, until he feels like he’s wrapped in the warmest, heaviest blanket in existence and it’s so comfortable and oh is this what it’s like to feel home?

All Fives can feel is relief as he whispers “the mission, the nightmares, they’re finally over…” and his last thought as he’s pulled under is hey since the mission is over maybe he could finally see echo and tup and hardcase and HevyDroidbaitCutup and alltherestofhislostbrothers again and and

He’s at peace as he drifts off.

Because everything is over, and he can rest now.

Right?

A gasp is torn from his throat as his eyes snap open only to immediately be blinded by the overhead lights. It feels like his chest has been torn open and he desperately scrabbles at it and looks down, only to see that oh yeah maybe that’s the reason everything hurts.

His hands are covered in blood, and it looks like one of the staples barely holding the deep Y-shaped incision on his chest closed was ripped out by his scratching. Some part of him must register that holding it closed would be optimal for his organs to actually stay in him, but all pressing his hand to the still bleeding would does is make him hyperventilate as he looks around.

For the first time since he woke up, Fives registers that there are people in the room with him. There’s at least three of them, all humanoid and wearing pristine white lab coats. They’re all staring at him in horror, except for the one closest to him, who is holding a scalpel and is leaned up against a tray of surgical tools, who stares at him in utter wonder and an excited look in their eye.

The overhead light buzzes in a way that makes the pounding in his head unbearable, and as he looks down again he registers the bloodied sheet thrown over his legs and the cold metal table he is sat on.

What the fuck.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck

He could have sworn he was d-

But.

Clearly he can’t be.

If he were dead then his chest wouldn’t be heaving like he’d just run a hundred laps with no water, his heart wouldn’t feel like it was trying to tear its way out of his chest through force of will alone and all he can see is red, red that is still flowing from the incisions in his chest, that is leaking through his fingers and further soaking the sheet covering his lower half and-

The humanoid with the scalpel shifts to grab what looks like a hypo and all Fives can think of in the moment is of a different table he was strapped to and the long-neck with a deceptively gentle voice injecting him with something that made his thoughts so sluggish he could barely remember his mission to help Tup and oh god Tup and that made him feel like he was just a skin suit filled with unresponsive flesh-mush and it’s only instinct that he lashes his free arm out at them and suddenly they’re sliding down the far wall in front of him with a trail of blood coming from the back of their head and there’s screaming and he turns to the others in white coats and all he can feel is terror and he’s lashing out again and suddenly blood sprays over him as one’s head implodes and the other is lifted into the air scrabbling at their neck like some invisible force is choking them.

Wait- is there a Jedi? Are they here to get him out? Why is his hand thrust out towards them and and squeezing like he’s the one choking them when wait no that can’t be right what the fuck is happening-

Someone is banging on what sounds like duraglass and yelling for god knows what and it’s making his head feel like someone’s taken a pipe to his brain and lodged it in as deep as it would go but is still pushing so he twists around and watches as they break their head open on the glass and fucking finally shut up.

The yelling doesn’t stop though and he registers that it’s coming from himself but he can’t stop because what the fuck is going on he should be dead he should be seeing all his lost brothers and finally be at peace after the horrors of the joke war he wasted his life on and where is that comforting darkness when he wants it so bad-

He doesn’t realise that the hand still clutching at the wound in his chest has actually gone and ripped into the wound until fire so hot burns through him it feels like he’s being incinerated alive except he can’t be because if he was he would be dead already and fuck but he wants that mercy right now but no he’s still on this metal table, still covered in blood, and he doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but when he opens them again he looks through the blood splattered across the glass and into sickly yellow eyes.

He freezes despite the desperate urge to run as the choking feel of cloying oil surrounds his throat and still heaving lungs, and his head hurts even more and how is that even possible- a darkness overwhelms all his sense except this darkness isn’t comforting at all instead it’s invading his mind and he can’t think anymore of except for the words spoken to him

He hears a muttered “you may yet prove useful” before he is no longer himself and all is Dark.

He wakes up to sickly yellow eyes staring right through him.

He is strapped to a table (again? Nononoonononono) but this time it’s reclined so he’s perpendicular to the ground.

He pauses. This time? He doesn’t seem to remember a previous time, and wonders where the thought came from.

His master (noononononoo not master not ever traitor traitor TRAITOR) is observing him, as if waiting for a reaction of some sort.

He wonders about that. Should he be reacting? Should he say anything? (yes yes YES RIP FREE KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMSITHTRAITORBROTHERKILLERBROTHERABUSER)

He hasn’t been ordered to do anything, so he will do nothing. He stares back neutrally and waits despite the ache in his chest and the feel of something trickling down his skin and the growing pain behind his eyes and the feeling that something is wrong he shouldn’t be here why isn’t he doing anything-

He tries not to frown? Why would anything be wrong? He is just waiting for his orders from master.

(NONONOONONONSNAPOUTOFITWHATTHEFUCKAREYIUDOINGYOUREANARCTROOPERGUTHIM)

His master says something, and all is dark again.

This time (this time?) when he opens his eyes it’s because he feels as if he’s been struck by lightning and oh maybe it’s because he has because why else would he be convulsing in his restraints like that, why else would each of his nerves feel as if it’s been set aflame, why else would he see ice blue electricity dancing across his skin?

It’s too much, and he passes out again.

Master still hasn’t given him any orders, so he still lays perfectly immobile when he is stabbed in the leg with some sort of vibroblade but all he can do is hold his screams because he hasn’t been ordered to say anything and watch in fascinated horror as his muscles stitch back together once the blade is removed.

His master is muttering something about how fascinating this is and how of all the creatures the Force would bestow immortality to of course it had to be a clone and how how howhowhowhowhow is he doing that and he doesn’t realise he’s finally being addressed until he chokes on his breath and oily, cloying darkness feels like it’s seeping down the back of his throat and through his nostrils and ears and right into his brain and all he can think about is how he doesn’t know and oh master will be disappointed if he can’t answer and good soldiers follow orders he needs to ANSWERNONONONONONO-

Air flows into his lungs again as his master is thrown back violently before he catches himself in midair, and he doesn’t even have time to take a second breath in before he’s being electrocuted and his vision goes dark again.

#dmw(s)#back in black au #dead men walking au #star wars the clone wars #sw tcw #the clone wars #star wars #star wars tcw #arc trooper fives #tcw fives #inquisitor fives #force sensitive fives #star wars au #star wars alternate universe #star wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #star wars fic #sw fic

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ametistacollinsworld · 2 years ago

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✰ Uzi,Doll and V x Adopted! Sad! Human child Reader hcs✰

My 18 request! Hope you like!

━━━━━━━━━☓ ━━━━━━━━

> Your backstory:

You were an orphaned child living in a very poor orphanage, until some JCJenson scientists came along and adopted you! But it was all just part of an internal experiment… They wanted to use you as a laboratory rat..and in the end they sent you to Copper 9 to die..humans can be really horrible..luckily someone found you!

• Uzi:

I imagine Uzi found you on one of her weapon parts searches, finding a trail of small footsteps and following them to your hideout. Uzi was reflective for a moment seeing your trembling figure, but after seeing how scared you were her decided to shelter you. Since you still didn't trust her at first, it was quite difficult to take care of you, but Uzi gained your trust after a few weeks, even though her father could be an inconvenience.

If you had a nightmare and woke Uzi up, she would be a little irritated at first until realizing your tearful state and fear-shaking figure, gently pulling you to her chest and starting to rub your back not really knowing what to do. But even so, Uzi tries to make sure you're safe and okay with her, soon falling into a deep sleep with you.

If you called her mom/mommy, I think Uzi would be so shy and proud of it, after all, it means you trusted and thought of her as your real mother.

Basically you get an emo mom who cares about you a lot.

• V:

I imagine V found you on one of her hunts, she ended up hearing a cry and followed thinking you were a worker drone, but when she took a closer look she realized you were human. V was confused by the situation, but she ended up deciding that it would be best to take you to the ship to see the situation with J.

Since you didn't trust her at first, besides very afraid of her, it was really hard to take care of you, but with time and N's help, V finally got your trust.

If you had a nightmare and woke V up, she would give you tired eyes and a few murmurs before pulling you into her lap like a baby, covering you like a burrito and starting to swing you gently singing a lullaby under her breath until you come back to sleep, then also falling asleep with you.

If you called her mom/mommy, I think V would be so proud and happy, as well as showing off to J and N talking about how you liked her as your real mother.

Basically you get a mother who loves violence but takes good care of you.

• Doll:

I guess somehow you sneaked into the colony, so Doll found you in a isolated spot in the colony hiding. Doll didn't quite know what to do in this situation, but she ended up taking you in anyway.

Since at the beginning you still didn't trust her, and also couldn't understand what she was saying it was quite difficult, but Doll quickly had a simple solution for that, communicating with you by notes in [English], thus gaining your trust over time .

If you had a nightmare and woke up Doll, she would be disoriented for a moment, then asking you in Russian if everything was okay even if you didn't understand her, then pulling you into a hug, where she places a kiss on your forehead murmuring sweets things in russian until you sleep feeling safe.

If you called her mom/mommy, I think Doll would be so proud and surprised, she never expected you to reach the level of calling her Mommy! But she is happy that you trust her and see her as your real mother.

Basically you get a Russian mother who takes care of you with great affection.

#md uzi #md v #md doll #murder drones #murder drones uzi #murder drones v #murder drones doll #md x reader #md v x reader #md uzi x reader #md doll x reader

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dragonologist-phd · 11 months ago

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I hesitate to get ahead of one of my favorite fics but I'd love to see this for Cleo and Galfrey:

[ comfort ] a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance

Feel free to ignore the ask if it's too spoilery!

thank you!

this one will be a *little* spoilery in that it's set post-game, but i tried to keep it pretty non-specific!

also on ao3

[ comfort ] a tender kiss to provide comfort or reassurance

Cleo crouches by the fire, stabbing at the low-burning ashes in an effort to force the flames back to life. It takes a few minutes for the heat to build, but finally she’s rewarded with a spray of sparks and a stable flicker of heat, and she settles into the grass to enjoy the fruits of her labor.

It’s quiet out here- the natural kind of quiet, broken by shaking leaves and distant skittering animals. Still feels strange, after so long in the cities. Strange, but familiar. It’s nice. Cleo stares into the flames she created, soaking in the moment. The glaring light against her dark surroundings is a little disorienting, and the smoke makes her eyes water- but it feels good. It feels real.

A rustling from the tent behind her alerts Cleo to the waking of her traveling companion, bringing forth a small spike of guilt. She’d really tried not to wake Galfrey; hells, the woman gets little enough sleep as it is. She thought she’d managed it pretty well, but obviously her absence has been noticed.

Sure enough, Galfrey soon emerges from the tent, her golden hair tied loosely back and Cleo’s thick fur blanket wrapped tightly around her arms. She takes in the sight of Cleo and the fire, and with a stifled yawn makes her way to where the tiefling is positioned in the grass.

“You look cold,” she says by way of greeting, and with a reluctant smile Cleo offers her arm in invitation.

Galfrey takes her hand, and once she’s lowered herself to the ground she shifts closer to wrap one end of the blanket around Cleo. They end up nestled together, Cleo’s arm around Galfrey’s waist and Galfrey’s head resting on Cleo’s shoulder. Despite the guilt over disturbing Galfrey’s rest, Cleo has to admit this is exactly what she was missing this night- close together likes this, she finally feels peaceful.

Then something shifts in the shadowed woods- an owl, or a possum, or something equally harmless– and Cleo’s muscles tense without her permission.

Galfrey notices. Of course she does. Her chin tilts up, her eyes pale and searching as she studies Cleo’s face. “You’ve been having dreams tonight.”

It’s not a question. Maybe she woke even sooner than Cleo realized. “Memories,” Cleo admits, since there’s not much use denying it now, not if Galfrey’s been aware of her tossing and turning all night. “Same thing, I guess.”

It’s nothing new. They both have moments like this, now and then. Galfrey has spent a lifetime at war, and Cleo has sent her soul through hell and back- the memories haven’t faded easily for either of them, and there’s not much to be done for it.

And it’s fine. Compared to the prices they might have paid, it’s actually pretty damn good. Their work is done, and they’re safe, and Cleo can handle a few measly dreams.

It’s just a little more difficult on nights like this, when the memories that come back aren’t of pain and regret, but rather of that heady rush of power that kept her captive for so long.

The fire crackles angrily, and as the wood pops and sends more sparks dancing through the air, Cleo remembers the heat that once filled her so easily. She remembers how she reveled in it, how the blazing strength seeped into her very veins.

“You ever miss it? The way things used to be?” she asks. “I guess it ‘miss it’ ain’t the right way to say it, but-know what I mean? It’s that feeling like…like you know you were worse off before, but you still kinda miss it anyway? You ever feel that way?”

“I know what you mean,” Galfrey says quietly. “And…yes, I suppose I do.”

“I think that’s the worst of it.” Cleo doesn’t elaborate; she doesn’t really have to. Galfrey’s smart enough to figure out what she doesn’t say.

And she’s smart enough that the next thing she says is a question that she obviously knows the answer to. “Would you choose differently, if you could?”

Cleo chuckles. “Nah. I’m not that much of an idiot.”

Galfrey’s hand slides into Cleo’s, their fingers intertwining. Her palms are not soft; they are calloused from a lifetime of swordplay and hard work, and they are firm as she holds Cleo tight. Her thumb traces over the crosswork of scars on Cleo’s knuckle.

“Neither would I,” she says softly. “That, I believe, matters more than whatever your dreams remind you of.”

Cleo smiles, and her head dips down to press a kiss to Galfrey’s temple. Galfrey tilts her head up to meet Cleo with another kiss, this one tender and soft against her lips. It’s a familiar message between the two of them by now, soft and reassuring, and gods be damned if it isn’t something Cleo would trade the whole Abyss and more for.

She kisses Galfrey again, and the two fall once more into peaceful quiet as the fire crackles on and the sun slowly breaks over the horizon, chasing away the darker memories of the night.

#femslash feb 2024 #ch: cleo #galfrey #pwotr #fanfic #ship: love & war

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androidcharles · 1 year ago

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Adjusting to Circumstances

NO BETA WE DIE LIKE CHARLES ANYWAY IT'S TIME TO SET UP THE NEXT ARC, SO HERE'S THAT FIC!

Rupert is having a bit of trouble adjusting to the Toppat Clan. He feels out of place as he tries to go through the motions. Meanwhile, something else is brewing.

No major TWs as far as things are concerned, there might be some swearing. Other then that, enjoy!

Rupert opened his eyes, feeling a bit disoriented as he rose up, almost a little panicked as he suddenly remembered where he was. The dream he had was a little too real. He was back in the government forces, but the details seemed to escape him as he woke up a bit more. He sighed as he threw his legs over the bed, stretching as he started to get dressed.

He should be lucky that he had a room to himself for the time being, but he figured it would be like that for long. The Toppats didn’t seem to be interested in anymore new recruits. Aside from him, of course. He sighed as he opened the door, looking to see a few Toppats grouped up, talking amongst themselves about their days, about the government agents they’ve taken down and what they’ve stolen.

Rupert gently caressed the ring on his finger, one of his steals that he managed to get as he headed out the door, walking down the hall to get some breakfast.

He tried to pretend he didn’t notice the stares as he walked by, heading to the cafeteria upstairs as he spotted his cousin, Carol talking to some of the girl Toppats. She seemed to be in a good mood as Rupert ordered his food and took a seat at a random table.

It didn’t seem all that bad all things considered. It wasn’t any different from being a government agent, to be honest. He would go to training for a few hours and then he usually killed time either by doing something like helping fix up the house or he would be called to take care of a heist. Unfortunately, one of the heists he was called on involved the Triple Threat team and he almost felt guilty fighting Henry and Ellie as he protected some precious uncut emeralds he managed to snag.

He managed to get away with injuring them just enough that they wouldn’t chase, but he still felt bad. He slapped his face a few times as he winced, trying to keep himself from being to cut up about it. Again. It wasn’t the first time he had felt hesitant about hurting someone to get what he wanted.

He figured it would be easy. He would adjust to this just fine without much trouble, but so far he was having a hard time. He heard his name called as he picked up his food and headed back towards his table, getting ready to eat when he saw his mentor slide next to him, his own food on his tray.

“Uh… hello Five Eyes,” Rupert said. Five Eyes smiled at him as he patted his hand.

“You feeling alright, Rupert?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just… I guess I thought I’d be used to the whole fighting police officers and government agents thing, but I guess I was wrong,” Rupert said.

“Something else is bothering you, though. I can tell…” Five Eyes said. Rupert remembered that Five Eyes was magic just like him and one of his talents was reading minds.

“Well, I guess one other thing that’s bothering me is that… a lot people keep comparing me to my uncle and… well it’s kinda starting to get to me. I guess they expected more of me when I joined and I don’t know what to do,” Rupert said, “It’s like I’m trying to live up to an imaginary expectation and it just… it just sucks.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not uncommon for people to make those comparisons. You are his nephew after all,” Five Eyes said, “But I wouldn’t worry too much about what they’re saying. You’re your own person you know. You’re not Jaques or Carol or even The Witch. You’re just Rupert. And you fight the bad guys and do things your own way.”

“I know, I know, but it feels like I have to work fifteen times as hard to prove that!” Rupert said, “I don’t want to constantly be compared to my uncle forever and ever…”

“Like I said, you don’t need to worry about that,” Five Eyes said, “How about we focus on combat these next few weeks. I know that you’re already used to it, but something tells me that’s something you need to work on. Let’s meet up in about an hour after breakfast in the training area, OK?” Five Eyes said. Rupert nodded as he stood up to go meet with some other higher ups as Rupert glanced back at Carol’s table.

Maybe I should go sit with them… Rupert thought before pushing that thought away, eating the rest of his breakfast as quickly as possible before heading out of the cafeteria. The least he could do is talk to Amelia. She was the only other person besides his cousins that he felt comfortable talking to as he headed down the elevator to one of the lounges for all the rookies and new recruits. The grunts as they’re called as he opened the double doors to find that Amelia wasn’t there.

That’s strange, he thought, Shouldn’t she be here by now? He headed to her room to see if she was maybe sick or something (it was very often that she overworked herself to the point of giving herself viruses) only to see the Right Hand Man helping carry a cardboard box out of her room.

“Sir?” Rupert asked.

“Oh, hey Rupert. Maybe you can give me a hand with this. Amelia’s moving out of here after all. Gotta make sure it’s clean for the next person,” the Right Hand Man said.

“Moving out?” Rupert asked.

“Yeah, I’m no longer being punished! As much…” Amelia said.

“Reg, around the beginning of summer, punished this little brat along with some other higher up Toppats and I guess he figured they must have learned their lesson. So she, along with those Toppats are going to be moving up a rank,” the Right Hand Man explained.

“I’m gonna finally get my own room! I mean, I already had my own room to begin with, but now I’m not expected to share it with anyone!” Amelia said.

“Oh… so I guess you won’t be hanging out down here anymore, huh?” Rupert said, trying to hide how disappointed he was.

“No, we can still hang out! I just… won’t be down here as much anymore,” Amelia said, “But in all honesty, you should really get to know your fellow Toppats a little better! It might do you some good!”

“I agree,” the Right Hand Man said, “I know it’s tough, but from what I’ve heard, you barely talked to anyone these past few weeks you’ve been here.” Rupert sighed as he nodded his head. That’s why Carol was so hyped up earlier. She had endured the same punishment as she had told him and was now finally moving up in the ranks.

“Rupert, don’t just stand there, get that box upstairs! I’ll show you my new room!” Amelia said as she beckoned for Rupert to follow her. Rupert let out a small sigh as he followed her, hoping he would be done in time for training.

- - - - -

While he did get scolded a bit for being a few minutes late, Five Eyes didn’t seem to mind too much once he found out he was helping Amelia out.

His training went by as quickly as it could, with him learning a few moves that even he didn’t know and some magic tricks that would come in handy. He had a bit of trouble with one, though, so Five Eyes suggested that he borrow a book from the Witch so he could hone his abilities a bit more.

After he was dismissed, he went to get something to eat before stopping by the Witch’s room, which was as messy as it usually was.

“Hey, Rup,” the Witch said as she looked up from her desk, “Whatcha up too?”

“Um… Five Eyes asked me to borrow a book from you. Something about… magic focus?” Rupert said.

“Hmm… yeah I might have a copy of a book or two lying around somewhere. Lemme take a look and see…” the Witch said as she headed towards her messy bookshelf, “So, how are you adjusting?”

“To magic? Not well. Some spells come easily to me while others are a bit more… well… complicated,” Rupert said.

“Not magic you dumb dumb. I’m talking about being a Toppat,” the Witch said, “I imagine it must be pretty fun, right?” Rupert glanced down as the Witch tipped her head to the side, a book in her hand.

“That doesn’t look like the look of someone who’s having fun…” the Witch said, “Are you sure you wanted to join?”

“I am!” Rupert said, “I did want to join, but, I guess… everyone keeps comparing me to my uncle and… well, it’s kind of discouraging, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess I don’t blame them. But you’re not him at the very least. You’re your own person.”

“I know I’m my own person, but it feels like I have to try harder to impress you guys! Especially considering that I was a government agent,” Rupert said, “I’m not sure what to do…”

“Well, working yourself to death won’t help anything. Just keep trying and prove yourself in little ways. The clan will warm up to you eventually. Once you’ve gotten used to things, they’ll see value in you,” the Witch said, patting his head, “I promise.” Rupert rushed over to hug her as she smiled.

“Now, let’s see about finding that book for you,” the Witch said.

After he got the book from the Witch with the promise to return it, he wandered over to the elevator, before he suddenly realized that he was about one floor from the top floor…

He didn’t really have any reason to go, but it wasn’t like he was forbidden from going up there. In fact, some Toppats often went up there to look at the pictures or patrol the halls to protect the leaders. He pushed the button for the top floor and waited for the elevator to stop, walking out into the hall, noticing how quiet it was. He stepped through the hallway, gazing at all the leaders before he saw the portrait he was looking for.

He gazed at Jaques Kensington, getting a funny feeling from it as he walked towards the picture, letting out a small sigh.

“It’s so ridiculous…” Rupert said, “I bet when you were in the clan, you didn’t have to deal with all this. I bet you were a great Toppat. I mean you became the leader for crying out loud! So… what would I have to do to become a great Toppat like you?”

Rupert sighed as he leaned his head against the frame, feeling like bursting into tears as he glanced down the hall and saw a young kid. He regained his composure as he glanced at the kid, sneaking over to see what picture he was looking at, the portrait of Terrence Suave. He was grinning really wide, his hazel eyes almost golden with dusty brown hair that had a bit of gold flecks to it as well. He was holding up what looked to be a golden gun, something he had seen Reginald carry from time to time.

Rupert glanced at the kid, who was staring with this sort of fear in his eyes.

“Hey… you OK?” Rupert asked.

“Huh? Oh, hello,” he said. He actually looked like a spitting image of a younger version of Terrence, almost too much, right down to the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. He glanced at Rupert before he shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just uh… looking at this picture of my dad,” he said, “Sometimes I come up here whenever I’m feeling down. But… in the end it just makes me angrier looking at this PICTURE!” The kid punched the wall, causing the picture to shake slightly as Rupert jumped.

“Do you hate your dad?” Rupert asked, kind of understanding how he felt for a brief second.

“No, not really. My dad was a really great person… up until he became the leader. I don’t know what happened to him, how he changed or why he changed. It just makes me so angry though. Before he became leader, he was the kindest most amazing person in the world. Then we just started growing apart…” he said, “I remember when Uncle Reg told me that he killed himself.”

He let out a small sigh as he leaned his hand against the wall, staring down at the floor as if remembering that awful day.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked.

“I guess I was doing the same thing as you,” Rupert said, “Looking at my uncle's portrait. Although, it’s because I’m being constantly compared to him in regards to my… training.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the new Toppat everyone’s been talking about. Rupert right?” the kid smiled at him, though it looked pretty forced.

“I’m Ace. Ace Williams,” he said.

“Yeah, Rupert Price,” Rupert said, “So, I guess we’re both in the same boat huh?”

“For different reasons. Jaques was a great leader from what I heard. A bit eccentric, but he was an amazing leader before he disappeared. My dad though, he was an awful leader. Apparently he pulled bunches of money from the budget on heists that didn’t make sense, he tried to hurt countless people in his raids when we don’t usually do that kind of stuff and worst of all, he was responsible for a lot of injuries. And when he was being overthrown, he hurt and killed a lot of people. Including someone that my Uncle Danny was close to…

“And it’s awful because when you think about all the people who had to live under his rule, they oftentimes would look at me and think that I’m the same. Like I’m gonna turn into an evil twisted version of my dad for some reason and… I don’t know what to do…” Ace muttered.

“That… that sounds awful,” Rupert muttered, being lucky that most of his comparisons had to do with his shortcomings. Having to be constantly compared to a relative that was completely awful must be much worse.

“Yeah, but I can’t exactly blame them,” Ace muttered, “I’m just scared that I might become like him. Sometimes I get this awful feeling in the back of my mind…”

“I can’t imagine someone as nice as you becoming like that,” Rupert said, “You seem way too nice to be like what you just described…” Ace’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Rupert.

“Thanks. That actually means a lot to me…” Ace said.

“You’re welcome. You know, if you’re ever feeling down, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you,” Rupert said, “Unless that makes you uncomfortable!”

“No, no, I’m glad. I’m just glad that someone understands me, you know,” Ace said, “And don’t worry about the thing with your uncle. I’m pretty sure you’ll be just as great as him one day! You may even be the leader too!”

“Nah…” Rupert chuckled as he glanced down the hall and saw Amelia, Dave, and Charles walking down the hall, talking amongst themselves.

“Amelia, what are you doing up here?” Ace asked.

“Picking up Charles and Dave so we can start practicing,” Amelia said, “Charles wants to write another original song before the end of this month, so we’re meeting three times a week this time.”

“Don’t worry, I think we can manage!” Charles said, “I just wanna write something really good!” He glanced up, jumping for joy as he hugged Rupert tightly.

“And how are you adjusting, RooRoo?” Charles said, “Feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rupert lied, but it was convincing enough to make Charles smiled.

“That’s good to hear! Henry thinks you’re doing just fine. Especially after that injury you gave him. He said he’d hasn’t seen you that serious since your time in the government forces!” Rupert’s eyes twinkled at this as Dave waved at Rupert.

“Say, Rupert, you wanna join us for practice? I know we’re gonna be in the room most of the time, but maybe you can listen in on us while we practice,” Dave asked.

“Can I come too? I’m so bored and I had a fight with Nicole earlier…” Ace said, “I’m kind of scared to go back to the teen’s lounge now because of it.”

“Yeah, totally! Maybe after we practice a bit we can put on an impromptu concert!” Charles said. Amelia giggled.

“Alright, follow me! We can’t keep Accordion and Violin waiting forever,” Amelia said. Rupert felt a bit less confident when he heard those names as he headed to the elevator, following the three to the music room.

- - - - -

Ace and Rupert sat in the chairs around the small stage in front of the music room as they listened to the faint sounds of rock and roll from the practice room. Rupert had to admit, they sounded pretty good, but on occasion Accordion or Violin would interrupt whenever possible to help lead them in the right direction.

“Geez, I knew they were tough, but they seem like a sports coach. Glad I’m not into music,” Ace muttered, absentmindedly playing with a guitar he decided to pull out of storage (with permission of course).

“I can already imagine that they’re used to this kind of thing,” Rupert muttered as he heard Charles talking loudly to Amelia and Dave.

He had taken the time to read the book he had borrowed while he was waiting for Charles and the others to go on break. He had to at least brush up on his magic studies while he waited.

Finally, after some time, the three of them walked out of the room, clearly exhausted as Charles lightly jogged towards Rupert, throwing himself over a the chairs as he sat next to him, hugging him.

“This is the best kind of break time because I get to spend it with you!” Charles said as Amelia and Dave sat next to each other, talking quietly, “Uh, dude, you’re holding that wrong.”

“You’re holding that wrong,” Ace said in a mocking tone as he held the guitar in an even more incorrect position.

“Ace, be nice. Charles knows a lot about music,” Amelia scolded as Dave giggled.

“So, I guess you guys aren’t doing the impromptu concert then?” Rupert asked, a little disappointed.

“Oh no, we still are! We’re just taking a small break before we set up. You’ll help Dave with his drums right?” Charles asked.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Rupert said, nuzzling Charles’ forehead.

“Yuck, love fest… do I have to help set up too?” Ace asked.

“You will if you want to listen in,” Violin piped up, causing the others to jump.

“Unless you wanna go back and face Nicole. Or apologize to her…” Amelia said, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I’ll help, I’ll help! Just let me give this back to Mr. Clef first…” Ace muttered, putting the guitar back in it’s case.

The group began to help set up the stage with the amps, microphones, and of course, Dave’s drum set, which seemed like a bit much for him. Rupert commented that he really didn’t need this much as Dave blushed, saying that Amelia had gotten it for him and he didn’t want to turn it down.

Finally, the band was set up as Charles started to tune his guitar, Amelia working with her bass as Dave checked his drums. The doors were wide open, so anyone who happened to walk by could listen in, but Burt in his office noticed the commotion through the cameras and decided to finally test out the new system he had a couple of the tech Toppats set up. He flicked a couple of switches on his dashboard, causing a bit of screeching sound to play throughout the manor.

“Testing, testing… my that’s loud, isn’t it?” Charles said, not realizing what was going on. Amelia was suddenly steaming up a bit as Ace got up front and center, Violin trying to put some ear protection in his ears. Accordion sat next to his husband, almost looking up expectantly as Charles glanced at Amelia and then Dave.

“Let’s play ‘I’d Do Anything.’ I like singing that song,” Amelia said.

“OK, let’s start with that!” Charles said, “Ready?” Dave nodded his head as he counted them off, Charles already playing with vigor and feeling as Amelia began to sing the song. Rupert smiled, feeling sort of happy as he glanced up at his boyfriend playing on stage, singing that backup vocals as the song echoed through the Toppat manor.

A couple of Toppats passing by ended up growing curious, walking in to listen in on the song.

But while that was happening, the Toppats of the manor bobbing along to the music as they worked or talked amongst themselves, a shadow slipped through the halls, stepping carefully to make sure it wasn’t noticed.

It quietly flitted from wall to wall until it finally managed to reach the top floor of the manor, where the hall of leaders was. It stopped briefly in front of the portrait of Jaques as his form became a bit more corporeal.

He was wearing a pink top hat with a very loud feather in it, bright pink clothes that glittered and sparkled, his eyes hiding behind ladder shades as he listened to the song echoing through the halls.

“Not bad… but not what I’m here for…” he muttered quietly to himself as he clapped his hands in front of him, a magic symbol appearing below his feet as he concentrated. He saw a faint yellow glow from the painting and smiled, knowing exactly what was going on.

“C’mon Jaques, baby, we can make this work…” he muttered as he concentrated even more, feeling a splitting headache coming on. Maybe it was the music that was playing, or the pure determination in his heart, but finally, a hand popped out from the portrait. Not a ghostly hand, but a human one. The man grinned, but he knew he couldn’t stop there as he continued to concentrate as the hand grabbed the edge of the frame, as if Jaques was trying to pull himself out.

Finally, after a bit of struggle, he managed to surface his head, gasping as he looked to see who it was.

“Randy?” he whispered.

“Long time no see,” Randy said through gritted teeth.

“Grab my hand!” Jaques shouted. Randy grabbed one of Jaques’ hands as he pulled him, still concentrating on the spell as he successfully pulled him from the painting. Jaques suddenly shouted as the painting suddenly exploded, shaking the hall as Randy held onto Jaques tightly, feeling tears in his eyes.

It was just as the song ended too. Charles played the last bar and just as the Toppats in the room were about to cheer, the explosion occurred. Everyone was suddenly talking as Burt panicked, turning off the intercom system in the music room and scanning the security cameras. He had to admit, it was partially his fault this had happened.

Reginald and the Right Hand Man burst out of their office meanwhile as a couple of Toppats made their way upstairs to see Randy and Jaques, looking at each other as Jaques felt his magic strength regaining once again.

“Welcome back, Jaques,” Randy said softly as he nuzzled him.

“Randy?!” They jumped when the suddenly realized what was going on. They looked up to see Reginald, a look of malice in his eyes as he approached him.

“You dare show your face here again after everything you’ve done!?” Reginald shouted, “I can’t believe you!”

“Randy, what’s he-?” Jaques started as Randy grabbed Jaques’ hand a pulled him to the end of the hall.

“Forget that! Just teleport us out of here!”

“WHERE?!”

“ANYWHERE!?”

“You’re not going to escape!!” Reginald shouted as Jaques concentrated his magic and decided the safest bet was to teleport them at least 10 miles from their location. He clapped his hands and in a puff of red smoke, Randy and Jaques vanished.

“DAD!!” Amelia shouted as she ran down the hall, “Is everything OK?”

Reginald stared blankly at the empty spot where Randy and Jaques had been as he turned to the now growing crowd of Toppats.

“Amelia, tell Charles and Dave it’s time for them to go home. Everyone else, I need you to fan out and find those two! They can’t have gone far!” Reginald shouted.

“What!? But we haven’t-!” Charles started as Amelia started to push him and Dave towards the roof.

“No point arguing dude. He’s in one of his moods!” Amelia said as Charles tried to object and Dave meekly followed behind her.

Rupert finally managed to get to the top floor as Ace followed closely behind, clearly excited.

“What’s going on, what happened?!” Ace shouted.

“I’ll tell you what happened! Randy decided to show his ugly mug here again after everything he’s done!” Five Eyes shouted, “C’mon Rupert, we’ve gotta study the magic aura of the spell they used. Maybe it can help us figure out where they went!” Rupert nodded his head as he followed his mentor to the end of the hall.

“Hey, Jaques’ painting is gone!” Ace shouted. Rupert gasped as he glanced down the hall, running towards where the painting was and saw the frame completely destroyed, the canvas missing as a burned scorch mark was right in front of the place where his uncle’s portrait was.

“...Uncle Jaques?” Rupert whispered, feeling the magic aura in the air.

- - - - -

Jaques, meanwhile, was hiding in an alleyway in West Mesa, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as he clutched a cube with a glowing yellow aura. He clutched his other hand as he glanced back at Randy, who was laying back against the wall, seemingly exhausted as he looked up at Jaques.

“Jaques, baby… you have no idea how much I missed you…” Randy said softly.

“Of course, but what you did was dangerous! You should have just taken my painting and ran!” Jaques scolded as Randy sighed.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was in such a rush, I didn’t really think straight. I wanted to see you again so badly…” Randy said, “I hope they can forgive me for that much.”

“Speaking of which, they seemed to be pretty upset with you for another reason. What happened while I was gone?!” Jaques shouted. Randy winced as he glanced up at the sky, gulping as he looked down before shaking his head.

“I was just… so miserable. I thought… if I just partied my way through my troubles, it wouldn’t hurt as bad. Losing you, I mean. I know you were just trapped in the painting, but I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t communicate with you. I missed you so badly, you have no idea, I’m sorry, I was a disappointment to you in the clan and I was a disappointment to you as a right hand, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-” he was suddenly interrupted as Jaques locked his lips to Randy’s, feeling a wave of comfort and relief going through his body.

“I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t gone after my sister, but the Masquerade… they wanted to hurt her,” Jaques said, “I feel awful for disappearing the way I did. I shouldn’t have left you behind… I’m sorry…”

“Jaques…”

“Randy…”

They held each other tightly, sobbing and crying as they felt warmer then before, almost safe and comfortable in the dark alley they were in. They stayed like that for a few minutes before they finally let go of each other.

“So, what should we do now?” Jaques asked.

“I have a hideout in Stickopolis we can crash at. However, I need to my magic strength back up. After all, you don’t know where it is,” Randy said.

“Well, I have my magic power. And thankfully, I can keep us hidden until you regain your strength,” Jaques said, already summoning forth his magic, “Concentrate on getting your strength back. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

As a small shield went over them, a pillow and some blankets being summon under and above Randy, he walked over to caress his cheek.

Randy smiled, feeling happier then he had ever been in the past twenty years.

#the henry stickmin collection #rupert price #stickmin oc #fan fic #fan fiction #the narrators stories

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btr-rewatch · 11 months ago

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I had a dream last night that I was watching the news, and they said that Kendall Schmidt had his right arm bitten off by a shark, and I was devastated. Instead of being happy that he was, ya know, still alive, my initial reaction was, "How is he going to PLAY his GUITAR?? How?? How is he going to be able to continue to be in a band when he is MISSING his ARM?" Rational thinking did not come into play for Dream Me.

Can't stress to you all how upset I was, as well as worried about how this would impact his overall life and mental state. I immediately started trying to form an organization that could help invent a device that would allow him to play guitar one-armed. Frantically making phone calls and such.

At one point during the dream, I stopped and had the thought of, "This is weird because it's just like that fanfic I read when I was younger, except it was Logan who had his arm eaten by a shark." (real fanfic, btw)

Halfway through the dream, the details suddenly changed so that he wasn't missing his whole arm anymore—just his right hand. This was wonderful news to me. "We'll just buy him a prosthetic hand that can hold guitar picks!" I declared. Problem solved.

So, anyway, that was the dream I had last night while in a Nyquil-induced fog (I'm sick). When I woke up from it, I was disoriented for a bit and wasn't sure if Kendall had actually been attacked by a shark, and I got upset all over again for a few minutes until I managed to pull the hazy pieces of reality back together.

#big time rush #btr #miscellaneous #Kendall if you ever lose your arm in a shark attack don't worry I got u

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

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Part 22 - A Reprieve

Pero Tovar and Female Reader (nicknamed Bee) Modern AU

Finally able to go back home, you and Pero have to navigate your way past the strong emotions that you're both plagued by, each for your own reasons, to find your way back to love and understanding. (Dual perspectives)

Author's note: @bilibiche I swear I wrote the title before getting your message!

Creator chooses not to use Warnings! This is 18+ONLY!

Word Count: 7265 Masterlist(this story) Author’s Masterlist

Link to Part 23

<><><><><><><><><><>

“Bee, wake up, sweetie,” you heard your father’s voice gently urge as you slowly came around.

You’d cried yourself to sleep yet again, and your dreams had been horrible and woken you often, so you were exhausted. While you’d been trapped in lethargy, you hadn’t slept well or much at all, but at least you hadn’t dreamed, or been emotionally affected by anything. Contrarily, this constant heartache was wearing you down much faster.

But as you opened your eyes and looked at Dean, he was smiling.

“It’s time to go, kiddo. Pero sent the signal this morning,” he explained, and for a moment, you were certain that you were hallucinating.

“Are you-… Dad, if this is some cruel joke…” you grumbled, having already almost convinced yourself that if not a hallucination, then it had to be a dream.

“No, I promise you, this is happening. Abby and I have already packed everything, so you’d get to sleep longer, but as soon as you get up, we’re going home.”

Home. That word woke you up for real because you’d almost forgotten what home looked like. How it smelled in the mornings and creaked when it settled in the evenings, how soft your bed was and how much you loved hearing Pero’s soft little snores. You sat up and stared at your father’s softly gleaming eyes.

“He’s okay?” you asked, barely even getting the two little words out, because suddenly you were overwhelmed with the idea that you might get to see him that same day.

“Yes, he is. Come on, let’s go see him,” Dean smiled, offering a hand to help you up.

As always, Groot was right by your side, and quickly moved out of the way when you started clambering to your feet, but then instantly fell in beside your left leg again. You were so disoriented by your own disbelief that you almost forgot to do your morning toilet before getting on the chopper, where Abby was waiting with a big smile on her face and a bowl of oatmeal that she handed to you once you’d strapped yourself in.

They’d even torn down the tent while you were sleeping, so all that was left to pick up was your sleeping bag, and then your dad closed the side door of the craft and climbed into the cockpit. It was still so early that the sky was mostly dark, only just starting to shift into a lighter blue to the east, so the signal must’ve come through in the middle of the night, which worried you.

Because what could’ve happened in the small hours of the morning that would’ve suddenly made everything safe again? Obviously, Pero had to be alive to send the signal, but if he’d been forced to kill William then there was no telling what you’d be coming home to. Still, just the thought of seeing him again was making your heart race.

The flight back somehow seemed twice as long, and even though the sunrise was beautiful and helped you to stay calm, every minute that brought you closer to your other half, made you that much more nervous. Until finally, your father’s ranch came into view beneath you as he flew over it, and you could see that the horses were fine and everything looked just the same.

It made a ton of tension slip away from you, which made you realize that you’d unknowingly been expecting a warzone, much like what Pero had done in the next town over. But there was no sign of the man himself anywhere around the buildings, so when Dean landed in one of his own grass fields, a few hundred yards from the house, you were still terribly uneasy.

<><><><><><><>

He waited crouched under a large tree for the helicopter to land. The dual rotors created such a powerful wind that standing out in the open, even at a good distance, would’ve knocked him over. But once it was down, your father immediately shut the engines off, so the pressure quickly diminished, and he could start slowly making his way towards it.

The side door opened before he’d even gotten to it, and Groot dove out of the craft and came at him with a wildly wagging tail, almost knocking him over with his exuberance. It was impossible not to smile at the happy energy that the animal radiated, despite the weight of the darkness that he carried. But then he looked up, and his heart stopped.

Because in the door to the craft, you were standing, watching him with tear-filled eyes and a tremble in your lower lip, and you looked so scared. The reasons for that could be any of a dozen that he could think of, but as soon as he saw you, none of that mattered anymore. All that mattered was that you were alive and back home, where he could see and touch you, know that you were alive and unharmed.

He forgot all about the dog and almost stumbled over him in his sudden hurry to get to you, unable to wait another second to remind himself of the feel of your skin and the reassuring pressure of your body securely trapped between his arms. He all but lifted you down so that he could hold you close, nuzzling your neck and breathing you in.

But your response was colder, more distant than he would’ve imagined, and after just a few seconds, he pulled back to meet your eyes. And only then did he see it. Five months of fear and uncertainty had not only frayed your nerves, but quite clearly taken a toll on every part of you.

Your skin was colourless, your nails had cracked, you were too thin, especially for someone who was now over six months pregnant, and your eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights and haunting dreams. And suddenly his heart was screaming, desperate to make up for all the lost time, but most importantly, to remind you that you weren’t alone. That you never had been, no matter how far apart your circumstances had brought you.

“Lo siento, mi amor. I’m so sorry…” he pleaded, only just now remembering how many reasons you had to be angry and disappointed with him.

How betrayed and abandoned you must’ve felt, all this time. Pero had been struggling with so many battles of his own, in both mind and heart, that there hadn’t been space enough to worry about you too. But now that you were there in front of him, all those other things were no longer important and all he could do, all he could even think about, was how worried he was for you.

“It’s okay, preciosa. If you are angry, you can yell at me,” he whispered, tentatively meeting your eyes, hoping that he would find strong emotions there, because that would still be better than indifference.

But all he found was fear. Deep, soul-crushing fear, and it turned his blood cold. Because even though he knew that you weren’t frightened of him, this feeling had to do with your relationship, your future together, there was nothing else it could be.

“Scream or hit me if you feel like it. Anything you need… Please, tell me what you feel,” he begged, but there was no change in you.

Even Groot tried to provoke a response in you, nudging the side of your leg like he always did when he wanted to call your attention to something, but you ignored him. Then Abby appeared at your side and gently pried Pero’s hands from your rigid body.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s get you inside and make some lunch,” she suggested in an almost maternal way.

And he got the impression that this was habitual for her. That it was how she’d gotten used to handling you while you’d been away. That this had been your “normal” state. As she led you off towards the house, Dean came to his side and pulled him into a hug whether he wanted one or not. But the older man looked grim.

“What happened?” Pero asked through a stocky throat once your father had let him go, and the man sighed deeply before he answered.

“Honestly… I think the pain of realizing that we had both deceived her just broke something inside her heart. She was enraged at first, but once that passed, she kind of… disappeared. She did anything we told her to, but it was like she wasn’t there. I don’t think that she even remembers the first four months.”

Pain ripped a hole through Pero’s entire being, hearing that. Because while he and Dean had worked out the specifics of this plan together, it had been your partner’s idea all along. And it had broken you.

“What have I done…” he breathed, struggling to accept that he could’ve been so wrong.

That he could��ve been stupid enough to assume that you’d just soldier on, no matter how hard things got. His legs suddenly caved under his own weight, and he fell to his hands and knees while fighting a pressure over his chest which was so profound that it blocked everything else out. It was so painful that it became all that he could feel or think about.

“No, no, no… come on, son,” he heard Dean admonish while two large hands settled on his shoulders and pressed him back, forcing his head up so that he met the man’s eyes. “You don’t get to do this right now, do you understand? I know that you’ve been to hell and back, I can see that in your eyes, but this is where the real fight is. Right here, right now.”

He paused then, glaring at his adopted son until he was sure that the younger man heard him, heard the weight of his words, and then he pressed on.

“She is your fight. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve ever done in your entire life, was for her. For the life that you will have with her. She’s locking her heart away to protect you from her pain, because she loves you so much that even the slightest risk that her anger could scare you away, is too much for her to even dare consider. But that pain will destroy her from within, so you need to crack her open. You need to find those words that you know are gonna wake up her heart and no matter how difficult they might be, or how horrible her reaction is, you have to say them.”

<><><><><><><>

Whatever you might’ve imagined that your own reaction would be, the overwhelming fear had caught you completely off guard. You’d expected anger and disappointment and hurt, but not this absolute fear that you might destroy him. That you were probably the only one that could. You’d thought that William was the one who held that card, but seeing Pero again, you suddenly knew that you were wrong.

Because he really was your other half, which meant that his heart was always in your hands, meaning that only you could ever truly break it. And the one thing that you could never live with, was if you did that. So, even though he gave you permission to unleash any feeling you had on him, you couldn’t do it. You locked everything down, shut yourself off and disappeared into the relative safety of numbness.

But it was a false sense of safety, and you knew that, you just couldn’t allow that knowledge to take hold right then. You let Abby lead you away, and the moment that he was no longer before you, no longer touching you, everything stopped. The world became unknown to you.

The warm wind in your face, the soft grass under your shoes, even the familiar scents of your childhood home, were lost to your mind. She sat you down on a chair in the kitchen and got to work on something edible, and Groot rested his head in your lap, whining quietly at your lack of pets, but you didn’t hear him. And you didn’t know that any time had passed at all, when he moved away, and it was suddenly Pero that was sitting next to you.

He was on his knees, taking your hands with trembling fingers, and you worried that you’d somehow already broken him, despite your efforts not to.

“Bee…” he started, and his voice sent a shiver through you. “Don’t do this. If you think that this somehow helps me, you are completely wrong. I will suffer your rage a thousand times over, before I will endure another minute of this.”

You heard him, and you knew what the words meant, but your body didn’t respond. And he didn’t like that. He looked away for a few beats, and when his gaze returned to meet yours, there was anger and hurt in them, and his tone turned dark and pained.

“I burned half a city to protect you. I killed over a hundred people… all of their faces forever trapped behind my eyes,” he said, his voice sharp and full of hurt, and then he paused, and something much worse that you couldn’t immediately identify, filled his entire frame. “I… tortured… my own brother…”

His voice broke completely then, and his head fell forwards, made impossibly heavy by these horrors that plagued his memories. But still, he kept going.

“For you. ……For both of you,” he finally croaked, barely able to get the words out, forcing his head up to set his tormented eyes on your belly.

And seeing that look in his eyes, that parental pain that you’d seen in your father’s eyes whenever you’d gotten hurt as a child, that need to take your child’s pain away from them and carry it yourself, no matter how badly it stung… That was the blade that cut your defences down.

All at once, it came flooding back. From the moment you’d realized that you’d been tricked, to the abuse you’d hurled at your father, to the daunting understanding that you’d lost four months to lethargy, to the hundreds of times since then that you’d had to force yourself not to imagine coming home to finding your partner-…

“How could you?” you whispered, because that was as much as your voice could carry, already buried under so much emotion that it was buckling.

But then his gaze lifted to meet yours, and something inside of you flipped.

“How could you just leave me like that! I didn’t know if you even survived that first day, I didn’t know anything!” you were suddenly screaming and crying louder than any baby ever had, but there was no holding this back, now that it had started. “How was I supposed to just go about my day, like my life wasn’t falling apart! Like I wasn’t terrified every fucking second, that I’d never see you again! You cut me in half and then expect me to just be okay?!”

He sat there, listening to every word, taking it without even flinching, but his eyes were drowning. And that pulled the pain that your anger was trying to mask, up from the depths of your being, pouring it from you as though your veins had been opened and your blood was being drained.

“It hurts so much!” you cried, unable to even see him through the tears anymore. “You left me…… you left me…”

<><><><><><><>

Hearing those words from you, with a whole world of pain somehow encapsulated within every syllable, oddly enough seemed to set him free. Because while they hurt him, they also cleansed him. Through your pain and your sorrow, he knew that he had a chance to earn your forgiveness and redeem himself, and that restored his hope.

But before any of that could happen, he first needed to suffer your emotions. Because you were right. He had left you. Not alone in the world, but certainly alone in your heart, and there was no place more terrifying than that.

So, while you crumbled to pieces before him, he swallowed hard, and resigned himself to the understanding that his only job right then, was to absorb your pain and carry it. To free you from the hurt that he had caused, no matter how hard it might be, or how long it might take. He would load it all into his soul and carry it for the rest of his life, if need be.

Because it wasn’t just that he’d sent you away. It was that he’d come into your life at all, bringing all this danger and baggage that had put you in this place to begin with. There was no escaping it and there never had been, because he could never let you go, so it didn’t matter how this had happened, only that he had to fix it.

Pulling you down into his lap, he met no resistance. Instead, it was as though you’d turned into a doll, no longer controlled by muscles or tendons, just soft stuffing that moved however it was manipulated to. He tugged you into his chest, somehow hating that even with that swollen belly, you were still so small that his arms reached around both your back and your tucked up legs at once.

But as soon as you were cradled into his lap and chest, you seemed to finally allow yourself to break. And the way that you cried, the sheer volume of tears that left you, must’ve meant that your pain was leaving you too. Bit by lightening bit. It didn’t take long before your hands started searching for him. Tentatively exploring the expanse of his chest, twitching with your continued sobs as you reached up towards his shoulders, his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

And once your fingers got to feel the warmth of his skin again, suddenly it was as though you couldn’t get enough. You started with just repeatedly running your hands over his neck and cheeks and tangling in his hair. But within mere moments, you were tugging at his shirt, demanding more skin, more contact between you.

Realizing what you were really after, he took a firmer grip around your body and stood up, carrying you over to the stairs and then up to your room. And once you were moving, you seemed satisfied that he’d understood, and you began to calm. Inside your room, he set you down on your feet, waiting until you’d proven that you could stand on your own before he let go of you to pull the duvet off the bed.

The sheets hadn’t been changed in five months, so there was dust on top of the covers, but the mattress had been shielded and was clean. When he turned back to you, you’d already discarded your shirt and was working on your pants, and he finally got to see just how big the little one had gotten. He stopped you from moving once the trousers were off, so that he could just touch you.

Just let his fingers gently reacquaint themselves with your skin, tracing the new shapes of you that he hadn’t yet gotten to learn. Your breasts had swollen too, much too big now to fit into any of the bras that you owned, since you hadn’t had a chance to go maternity shopping while marooned on a pacific island. They filled his large hands when he cupped them, heavy and full and no doubt tense.

But your collarbones were like little shelves, your ribs much more pronounced than they should be, even though your ankles were puffy and your hips rounder. Pulling his own shirt off, he intended to wrap his arms around you and just hold you for a moment, for the simple comfort of doing that, but you stopped him. Your eyes were trailing his form too, and you weren’t all that pleased with what you saw.

He hadn’t looked in a mirror in a long time, so he hadn’t noticed his own changes. But looking down on himself now, he could see his own ribs much too clearly, and his hipbones were protruding like little hills next to the valley of his abdomen. There were scars on him now that you’d never seen before, including a badly sewn up cut on his lower right arm, which had left an ugly, jagged and still discoloured mark. As well as the remnants of a bullet-wound in his left side.

Fresh tears spilled from your eyes as you tried to absorb the meaning of these new scars, the proof of just how close you’d come to never seeing him alive again, but it was too much to bear. So, instead you closed your eyes and shook your head, before stepping forwards and grabbing him.

Your kiss was tender, but also urgent. Filled with need and fear, but comfort and healing as well, the warring sensations making it clear just how much you were both trying to deal with right now. Your fingers fumbled at the button of his jeans, so he reached down to help you, discarding all of his remaining garments in one sweep, while you shifted your hands to relieve yourself of your own panties instead.

And then finally… finally you were safe beneath him again. He hadn’t longed for it, because he hadn’t allowed himself to think about you to the extent that he’d started thinking of you like that. Those images had made it too difficult to focus, so he’d locked you away, safe in his heart but out of his conscious mind. But feeling your form underneath him, after months of deprivation, it all came back.

He kept his knees pulled up by your hips, so that he could hold his weight off your abdomen without straining himself, and your legs eagerly wrapped around his hips in return. Then he dove into your mouth and heated core at the same time, reclaiming you, all of you, as his and only his once more.

<><><><><><><>

It was as frantic and animalistic as your first time together had been, with the exception that Pero was even more possessive now, his desire so much deeper than it had been back then, the purpose behind each thrust so much more defined. As though he was attempting to remind you both that this was where you belonged, and that everything you’d gone through had all been so that you could have this.

You’d missed him so much that it was impossible to hold the tears back as the sensations flooded and overpowered everything else. He was everything. Your mind, heart and soul, but also your skin and your muscles, even your bones sang to the sounds that he made. But if seeing your tears affected him, they probably only strengthened his determination to assert himself as your partner.

Because for each one that fell, your pleasure only rose. He wasn’t going to leave any space for doubt within you, all but pounding any trace of it out of your frame, with his strong and purposeful pushes into the bedrock of your being. And he didn’t relent for a single moment, not even after you’d crumbled to pieces underneath him.

“Give me everything, pintora,” he whispered, and he wasn’t asking, even though his voice in your ear was sweet and tender.

He was demanding it. Not with the intent of dominating or controlling you, but to force you to open your heart to him completely, to not hide away any lingering fears or try to hold on to any deep dark thoughts about abandonment or betrayal. By using this one most intimate connection with not just your body, but your emotions as well, he was ensuring that no barriers were left standing between you.

And it couldn’t have been more efficient. The course of his unyielding treatment of your being sent you through anger and sorrow, confusion and fear, distrust and desperation… until all that was left was understanding. By then you were so spent and so tired that you had nothing more to give but acceptance, and the appreciation of not being hounded by loneliness anymore.

-=¤=-

When you woke up, it took you a minute to realize that you were back home in your own room, because it had gone dark. But Pero was right there beside you, breathing deeply although you could tell that he wasn’t asleep. He didn’t say anything, but you felt like he was waiting for something. And after another minute, you remembered that you still hadn’t said a word to him since coming back.

“Hi,” you started, turning your head to look at his muted features in the dusk.

You were on your back and he was on his side next to you, with one arm under your pillow and the other resting over your hips, below the swell of your belly. He was relaxed and comfortable, and a loving smile spread across his face at the sound of your voice.

“Welcome home,” he responded, which made you smile too.

“Good to be back.”

There were things you needed to ask him, questions you simply couldn’t leave unanswered, but this was not the time to bring any of that up. This moment was yours, and it needed to be allowed to breathe before it was muted again, which those heavier topics would definitely do to it.

“I love you,” you offered instead, and he responded by pulling you to your side as well so that he could wrap himself around you.

You didn’t need for him to say it too, he’d already shown you with his entire being, and he knew that. He knew that the words wouldn’t say it any clearer, so he just held you, and that was how you spent your first night back together. Awake and silent for most of it, but closer than you’d ever been before.

-=¤=-

“Wake up, preciosa,” was the first thing you heard, and then opened your eyes to a bedroom that was bathing in sunlight.

At this time of year, early summer, the sunrises were at about 4.30 am, and they were always very pink. You opened your eyes to a smiling Spaniard who was tainted by this special light, making him look surreal and ethereal, and even more beautiful.

“Your tummy is rumbling,” he chuckled, while his large warm hand rubbed soothingly at the body-part in question.

“That makes total sense, because I’m fucking starving,” you smiled back, but your voice was gravelly and rough, both from sleep and from the previous day’s workout.

“Then tell me what you’re hungry for and I will go and get it while you finish waking up. There’s no food in the house, because I lived outside while you were gone, so I will need to go and buy some,” he explained, and you understood why he would’ve chosen to live like that.

Because firstly, this wasn’t his house, and he would’ve felt odd using it as such when he’d never tried owning his own home before. And secondly, this was a place where some of the most wonderful things in his life had happened, and he wouldn’t have wanted to corrupt such a place with the terrible mindset that he would’ve been in, all alone and fighting his own brother.

“Claire’s chicken focaccia,” you told him. “I’ve missed it more than I can even describe.”

His smile widened and he leaned over you to kiss you, slow and languid.

“Then you will have it. Rest, mi amor, and I will back before you know it,” he promised, and you didn’t question it, already drifting back to sleep as you felt him leave the bed.

After everything that had happened, it would take an army to keep him away from you for a single second longer than necessary now.

<><><><><><><>

The drive was calming somehow. He hadn’t driven much in the past months, since the Detective had been kind enough to bring him supplies fairly regularly, but now that everything was back in place, the familiar task was soothing to his brain. It was still too early to head straight for the café, so he turned into the nearest Seven Eleven first, to get some things for everyone else.

While he was picking out the essentials, milk, bread, butter and so on, he passed by the aisle that was the children’s section and it made him stop. He turned and walked through it slowly, looking at the rows of diapers and baby food, pacifiers and comfort blankets, before reaching the tiny clothes and then the stuffed animals and toys.

He’d never really had any toys growing up, but he remembered a teddy bear that was so small it could fit into his palm, even as a child, which he had cherished since it had often been his only source of comfort. And there was one just like it on the shelf in front of him.

“You okay, Tovar?” a voice carefully asked from his left, and he was so lost in the memories that it took him a beat to realize that the voice had addressed him.

He looked to his left to find Cody standing there in uniform, clearly on patrol and just checking in at the store since places that were open all night tended to attract mischief.

“Uh… yeah,” he answered the young officer, before turning his attention back to the shelves. “I just… well… I think it just really sunk in for the first time.”

The kid took a few steps closer then, probably emboldened by his apparent confusion, which undoubtedly made him seem less scary than all the other times that the young man had encountered him.

“So, they’re back, then?” he asked quietly, to which Pero nodded, and the kid continued. “Good, I’m glad to hear that. How far along is she now?”

“About six months.”

“Oh, it’s getting close,” Cody mused. “Well, if you want some friendly advice, I’d recommend stocking up on clothes and small towels. Somehow, babies always need clean clothes, and there’s never a clean towel when you need one, no matter how many you buy.”

If Pero was confused before, he was now doubly so, because this kid was not old enough to be a dad. The officer noticed his utterly dumbstruck expression and chuckled.

“I’ve got three younger siblings, one of which is just two years old,” he shrugged, and the Spaniard relaxed.

“Hm. Thank you for the advice,” he said, nodding at the kid. “But I think I’ll leave the actual shopping for a day when Bee and I can go together.”

“Yeah, that’s probably wise. Well, I better get back to work, but tell her that I’m happy she’s home safe.”

The younger man turned to leave, but when he’d gotten to the end of the aisle, Pero called to him.

“Hey, Cody?” he said, and the kid stopped and looked back. “Do you think she would find this… dumb?”

He was holding up a stuffed animal in the form of a chubby little piglet, about the size of a watermelon. There was no specific reason why he’d chosen that one, other than that it looked cute and wasn’t a bear. The bears were obviously cute too, but he was suddenly worried about history repeating itself, or something, so he wanted to get something other than a bear.

“I can guarantee you that she won’t think it’s dumb,” the officer smiled. “In my experience, most moms just wanna know that you care. So, I’m pretty sure she’ll love it.”

That made Pero grin, because it mattered to him to get things right with you, and odd as it might be, the kid had managed to set his mind at ease.

“If there is ever anything you need, Officer, I owe you one,” he told Cody, and watched the boy’s smile fade and turn into genuine shock.

But the look in the older man’s face told him that this wasn’t about what little assistance he’d offered on that day, but rather about his involvement in everything before, which he had still not breathed a word of to anyone. The acknowledgement of being in his debt was a sign of respect, and one which the kid accepted with a humility and grace far beyond his years.

-=¤=-

When Pero eventually left the store, carrying two very full bags of groceries and the piglet under his arm, it was after 7am, meaning the café would now be open, so he headed straight there. He’d never been there first thing in the morning before, and was surprised at how busy it was at that time. There was a queue of nine people before him, and all the tables were full.

But you’d asked for your favourite sandwich, and you were going to get it. So, he sighed and took his place in the line of patiently waiting customers. Thankfully, it seemed like Claire had help in the mornings, because there were two younger people manning the register and carrying out orders, while the owner herself prepared the food, so the wait wasn’t as long as he’d feared.

“Good morning, sir. What can we do for you today?” a cheerful young man greeted him from behind the counter when it was his turn to order.

“One chicken focaccia and a large coffee to go, thank you,” Pero answered, and the boy called the order through a hole in the wall, to Claire, who was toiling away in the kitchen.

“Wait a minute…!” he heard her exclaim back there, and moments later the swivelling door opened and she stepped out, grinning widely once she spotted him.

“Bless my tushy, if it isn’t Pero himself!” she almost shouted as she rounded the counter and came to give him a hug.

He wasn’t aware that his relationship with this woman had reached a hugging stage, and awkwardly patted her back a couple of times until she let him go.

“Now, are you gonna tell me why I haven’t seen you or my favourite girl in here all damned winter or spring?” she demanded, suddenly turned harsh in her demeanour, which caught him off guard.

“Uhh… We’ve had some things to deal with. But she will come and see you soon,” he assured her, while the queue behind him was growing restless.

Claire seemed entirely unbothered by that, though, still focused on interrogating Pero.

“What things could you possibly have had to deal with for almost half a year?” she questioned, and he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose for a second.

He didn’t want to drop the bomb on her, because this was your family and you should get to do that. However, since she was unlikely to drop this unless he gave her some legitimate excuse, and he didn’t know what else he could possibly say without all out lying to her…

“We are having a baby,” he said, moving his hand from his face to his neck, scratching at it for no reason at all.

He couldn’t help the proud smirk that followed those words, though. It was the first time that he’d gotten to announce it to anyone other than William, and that hadn’t exactly been a pleasant experience. But while his brother hadn’t reacted much at all, Claire did the complete opposite.

She wailed so loud that the entire café flinched, probably thinking that she’d been hurt, before the sound morphed into exuberant laughter, followed by some really quite adorable hopping on the spot. Some words attempted to free themselves from her mouth but they were entirely unintelligible, until she suddenly stopped dead.

“OH! Food! She needs food, for heaven’s sake, what the hell am I doing!?” she scolded herself and darted back behind the counter. “Eli, throw some of everything into a bag and give it to him, free of charge, my girl is making a baby!” she added as she ran past the kid at the register, and then disappeared back into the kitchen.

-=¤=-

Once back at the house, it was well past 8am and he had too much stuff to be able to carry it all inside in one go, so he grabbed the groceries first. But before he’d even lifted them out of the car, Dean came out to help him.

“Bee’s in the shower, so no rush,” he said as he came to the trunk, and then stopped when he saw the stuffed animal. “Did you get this for her or the baby?”

“Ay, I don’t know…” he admitted, feeling silly about it again, looking down on his own shoes as if they could help him feel less uncomfortable.

“I only ask because Bee’s gonna love this, so you might wanna tell her that it’s for her, either way,” his father hummed, instantly bringing a smile back into his frame.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely,” the older man confirmed, and they both chuckled a little.

But then Dean turned serious again.

“Are you two okay? I mean, is this a peace-offering?” he asked, picking up the toy and handing it to his son.

“We’re good,” he answered with conviction, but then added the one thing that he was still worried about. “We have not discussed… what’s happened in between yet. But our relationship is safe, which is the only reason why I am able to smile.”

The older man decided not to press him concerning what he’d meant by that, and together they brought everything inside. Abby was in the living room, on the phone, when they walked in, and she was arguing with someone so loudly that it carried over into the kitchen. All four dogs were in there, listening closely, just in case there was cause for concern.

So, when she hung up and then came storming into the kitchen, fuming, they all stood up in alert, but she was so riled up that she never even noticed how Dean called for them to stand down.

“I’m fucking homeless!” she yelled once she was inside the room. “They sold my apartment, just like that! Threw all my stuff out and just welcomed another tenant, even though my payments were automated and I haven’t missed one fucking rent in ten years! I can’t fucking believe this shit!”

“It was probably Mrs. Nosy,” Pero offered, which stopped her in her tracks.

“Who??”

“The old lady across the hall,” he explained, recalling Kate’s description from the time she’d investigated Abby’s disappearance. “She doesn’t like you and always spies on you, so she probably noticed that you hadn’t been there for months and used that as grounds to have your contract broken.”

“Wh-… How is my not being there grounds for anything?” she countered.

“If a tenant stops showing up at their apartment, the owner of the building can be asked to do a welfare check. That means going into the apartment and making sure that no one is lying dead there. And if, during one of these checks, they come across anything illegal, they can use that as grounds for eviction.”

“Oh, fuck…” she groaned, causing a magnificently raised eyebrow on Dean, which instantly made her feel obligated to justify herself. “It was just a little self-defence paraphernalia!” she hurriedly tried to brush it off.

But then Pero paused unpacking the groceries and turned to her while he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Really? That might work for the pepper-spray, but the unregistered tasers? And what use would you have of four of them, anyway?”

“How the hell do you know about that?!” she demanded after a moment of stunned silence, but he just shrugged.

And before she could press the matter, Groot came down the stairs with a wagging tail, closely followed by you. The dog never left your side these days, and he wondered if it was because he knew about the baby and wanted to protect it, or if it had something to do with how bad your mental state had been while you’d been away. You were smiling now, though, easily picking up on the mood of the room.

“Was that you I heard screaming just now, Abs?” you wondered, and your friend soured even more.

“Yeah, due to the fact that apparently, I’m now homeless, because of a few little tasers that nobody knew about…” she finished through gritted teeth, glaring at Pero, who smiled crookedly in return.

“I wasn’t the one who left them on the kitchen table,” he countered, to which she sucked in a breath and prepared to launch some form of abuse at him, but then changed her mind.

“No. No, you’re right… it’s my own fault,” she sighed unhappily.

“You know that you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want or need to, sweetie,” Dean offered, and she give him a bleak smile.

“I know. Thank you. I’m mostly pissed about my stuff, I can’t believe they just dumped everything.”

“As though any landlord was gonna pay to move your stuff into storage…” you said, walking up to her and nudging her elbow. “Feel free to raid my closet. It’s not like I can fit into any of it anymore.”

That made Pero remember what he’d gone shopping for in the first place, and he quickly reached for the smaller of the two bags from the café, before sneaking over to you and opening it right behind you. The smell washed over you with the slight breeze of his movements, and suddenly you whirled around with flared nostrils and without even seeing your partner, snagged the bag and ripped it open in your ravenous search for the deliciousness inside.

“Wow…” Pero huffed a little laugh at the sight of your passionate response to the treat. “Claire sends her love and congratulations. And a whole bag full of goodies from the café.”

But you were completely lost in the flavours by then, devouring the sandwich without much delicacy, but with a lot of appreciation. The others were intrigued by the promised goodies, though, and started rummaging through the other bag to see what was on offer, while the Spaniard just lowered himself onto the chair next to you.

It was so good to see you so vibrant and energetic again. He needed that. He needed you to help him stay strong for what he had to share with you next. But not yet. Not until you’d filled your stomach and rested. Not until he was sure that you were ready, that you could handle the mess that he would once again be reduced to.

So, he just sat there and smiled, happy that he could see you and touch you again. And since you were safe for the time being, Groot picked that moment to reacquaint himself with your other half. Suddenly his head came to rest on Pero’s thigh, and he looked down to see those big brown eyes staring up at him expectantly, being so pleased when he got the pets and scratches that he was clearly after.

Feeling his heart lighten at the canine’s effortless affection, he soon slipped off the chair and sat down on the floor to let the dog have at him, finding himself giggling like a little boy at the animal’s immediate playfulness. It was freeing and fun and easy, and he tried to soak up as much of that energy as he possibly could.

He really was gonna need it.

===============

Link to Part 23

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#pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #sirowsky stories

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