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watevermelon · 4 years ago

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Same Old Love | Kaeya (Genshin) x Traveler!Reader

✧ Summary: Kaeya was mysterious in every way that made you wary. From the gleam in his eye to how easy it was for him to flirt, it made you wonder how much he was presenting was truly real. Not wanting to get sucked in, you swore not to fall for the Cavalry Captain. At least, that was the plan, right? ➳ Notes: Angst with a happy ending ➳ A/N: Thank you so much for the ask!! This was fun to write ((I feel like I write so much angsty/jealousy fics haha)) I’m just getting into genshin and so please feel free to send in requests for these cuties <3 @breathings-of-the-heart

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You had some worries about Kaeya, dubbed “The Handsome Mr. Kaeya” by Paimon.

There was no doubt that he was attractive, his ever present smirk and exposed chest was enough to signify to anyone that even Kaeya was well aware of his looks. But he tended to wield his words like a double edged sword - using his words for an express purpose.

It was admirable, in a way. He was the loyal Cavalry Captain who looked out for Mondstadt’s best interest. And while he had misled you on this pirate treasure adventure, there was no harm really done. In fact, from the way he prattled about haircuts and eyepatches inherited from his parents, you were already sure that it was simply a tale being spun for Paimon to latch onto.

At the end of the day, Kaeya still compensated you for your time and provided you with a higher-level weapon. The criminals were caught and the Knights were credited for another arrest of an infamous Treasure Hunter. It was a win-win situation that you very quickly put behind you as another job done.

The entire quest had not really bothered you - it was not like you had not withheld anything either. You ran from clue to clue without updating Kaeya on your progress, with the express intent of snagging some of this treasure yourself.

It was a really smart move on his part and, for whatever reason, it had the inverse effect on you - it made you want to get closer to Kaeya.

Paimon grumbled for all of a day before she prattled onto something new, complaining about the returning ruin guard by the temple or the way Venti sassed her. But you often found yourself hanging around Good Hunter or Angel’s Share, wondering if you would be able to run into him again.

It was no surprise that Kaeya was always busy, Jean had mentioned before that Kaeya was the one who often wrapped up every physical incident that occurred in both the city and outer plains of Mondstadt.

And so it was easy to lose track of him, the image of Kaeya still present in your mind, just pushed back in the further recess as you continued in your struggle to find clues about your brother. When whispers on the street spoke of a Dark Knight hero, you were pleasantly surprised to see Diluc patrolling the streets from the shadows.

The last thing you had expected was to team-up with the very man who ran opposite to the Knights, but you learned how oddly sweet Diluc was in that short amount of time. His double life of fighting off the abyss army single-handedly to running the largest Winery on the continent - Diluc’s workload was no easy feat.

You were just out of the clear, Huffman gone to deal with the slimes when a resounding clap started from the dining area of the bar. Kaeya stood and approached you both, you turned to Diluc and he had the flattest, most unimpressed expression on.

You stood mostly silent in that conversation, Diluc with his arms and chin held high. Kaeya had reassured him that the secret was best kept that way, eyes glinting mischievously as they went from the winery owner to you.

You only stared right back, as if Kaeya’s face would give off exactly what he was looking for. Instead, he simply smiled at the both of you and left when Diluc said he was closing the bar. Diluc thanked you for your assistance, reassuring you that in case you need help, he was a willing hand.

When you walked out the bar then, Kaeya was still right outside, chatting casually with some of the late bar-goers that sat at the picnic table. Just as he made eye-contact with you, he bid himself goodbye from the group and fell into step with you.

“Paimon doesn’t trust blue-haired, eye-patched men anymore.” She started next to you.

“That’s good I’m a blue-haired, eye-patched handsome young man.” Kaeya shot back, to which she rolled her eyes. He then turned to you with the same open smirk as usual, “And here I was thinking I could make you my assistant.”

Was he flirting with you?

It took you a second to question this internally before Paimon scoffed, “Ugh, I’m going ahead to the inn. I don’t think I can stand watching you make kissy-faces at each other after the day we had.”

You waved a hand in her direction to smack her, but she was already flying away up and out of reach.

Turning back to the Captain, you were surprised to see that Kaeya was still looking at you, not even toward Paimon as she fled into the night.

Remembering his last statement, you shot back, “Think you could handle me?”

“Confidence, it looks very good on you.” Kaeya replied as his smile widened. He took a single step closer, lowering his voice next to your ear and continuing. “But the real question is if you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

You stood your ground, ignoring the shiver that ran up your spine, “I always like to try new things.”

“I look forward to it.” Kaeya straightened, lightly grabbing your hand in one of his own and raising it to his lips. “Until then, traveler.”

To think that such a simple action, hardly anything scandalous, had lingered on your skin the entire night. You remembered the way his lips felt against your hand, how striking his blue eyes bore into your own. Kaeya was extremely dangerous, able to catch your attention and keep it for hours on end.

The next day you had a commission about dismantling a rising Hilichurl camp, a perfect distraction away from the eye-patched hunk that kept plaguing your thoughts. The last thing you expected was for Kaeya to see you.

“Looks like our honorary knight continues their do-good streak.”

“It’s the least I can do.” You replied back, a sassy hand on your waist.

“Why don’t I accompany you?”

You wanted to scream.

Paimon actually did groan before stating she was going to stay in the city.

And suddenly, your distraction was running exactly opposite to your intention. With Kaeya joining your party, the Cavalry Captain was making himself decidedly known you.

He led you around a cliff, showing you a higher area where you could survey the camp before bursting in guns blazing. There were six Hilichurls, some slimes scattered about and two towers already set-up in this enemy campsite.

You decided to stick together, coming in from the high ground and slamming your weapon into the ground at unsuspecting enemies. It felt nice to fight alongside someone again, oftentimes you were alone in your adventures. Paimon would yell words of encouragement, but never would she actually lift a finger to fight. But Kaeya was reliable, freezing enemies into place and shattering them where they stood.

Taking down some of the outer-rim electro Hilichurls equipped with bows, you were nearly finished with clearing the entire camp. You grabbed the pyro slimes and exploded them near the towers, taking down the camp with them. With the camp almost completely disassembled, you heard the tell-tale electronic power-up that only signified one enemy.

A ruin guard.

Hunched over, you watched as multiple missiles took aim on the nearby unsuspecting Cavalry Captain. Running the best you could, you threw decorum out the window as you all but tackled the poor man out of harm's way.

Rolling a few times, there was no surprised yelp from the man beneath you. He simply allowed you to take the wheel until you came to a stop, hovering over his body. Kaeya was undoubtedly taller than you, but you were face-to-face as he smirked beneath you.

“Wow, not that I’m against this.” Kaeya started, a quip ready. “But ask me out to dinner first.”

You flushed and stood up immediately, “I was saving you!”

“I’ll let you save me any day of the week.” Kaeya replied, earning a half-assed scowl on your behalf. He only laughed at you, calling your attempted look of intimidation only served to make a cute pout instead.

You huffed and considered leaving him with the ruin guard.

From then on there was no doubt about it - Kaeya was flirting with you.

And you were openly flirting back, if of course he decided a less obnoxious moment. In between commissions and nights at Angel’s Share, Kaeya flirtations were growing more and more brazen. It was one thing to kiss the top of your hand in greeting and another entirely for Kaeya to throw his hand across your hair, leaning in to openly bury his nose in your hair.

Diluc called you both disgusting.

Tonight, you entered Cat Tail’s semi-inconspicuously to get a drink. Paimon had long caught onto your game, saying that she surprisingly approved of Kaeya, since after all he was still a good guy in some ways.

But, she still was not exactly a fan of you too making “kissy-faces” at each other, her words. And so tonight you were flying solo, Paimon opting to annoy Amber instead tonight as they tracked down some abyss mage or other.

You tried your best to hang around the bar, looking around the tavern to see if the object of your desire was anywhere around. You meandered for a few minutes, saying greetings to other bargoers that had recognized you, before approaching the bartender if Kaeya has been around

The bartender recognized you immediately. It was hard not to place one of the few new people in Mondstadt, especially one that was crushing much of the country's enemies. Diona had mentioned before that you were a friend of Diluc’s, often more than just a customer at the rival tavern. No, you were seen running around the city with the red-head at random times.

She said the worst thing you could have ever suspected.

“I think Kaeya has a hot date tonight.”

You felt a lump in your throat form, but tried to keep your response guarded. “Oh?”

The bartender continued, “Yeah, I’m not sure if it was Paula? Or Maggie tonight? But you know the captain - always changing up his escapades.”

“Right, of course.” You replied back, words coming out before you could even register it. Instead, you kept on nursing your drink, spiteful words from the bartender marinating in your mind.

Kaeya was mysterious, yes. But was he leading you on?

… Was it right of you to trust him?

The first red flag should have been the fact that you knew nearly nothing about him personally. To think that you had spent all this time together talking and fighting alongside one another, but you could not even recall basic facts about him, let alone anything deep. You were unaware of his family history - Diluc was his brother, but it was the red-head who ended up confiding that fact to you.

Kaeya was so charming that you hadn’t even noticed he shut you out of his world.

And so there was no point in actively keeping a one-sided friendship like that. From then forth, you resolved to avoid the Cavalry Captain for the time being. You knew you had to free Dvalin together, but that did not mean you had to swoon for him in your free time.

It was almost expected of you to join him on Friday nights at Angel’s Share, but tonight you were missing. Neither Charles nor Diluc had seen you the entire day. There were probably a hundred different things you were doing - gathering resources, fighting slimes - and so Kaeya thought little of it.

But he was still disappointed not to see your face that night.

And so he thought nothing was wrong the next day when he saw you in the city square, talking to someone at the general store. He approached you and offered to join your party again, take down some enemies somewhere out in the country.

You didn’t even smile at him.

Not this time.

Just a curt no before you were leaving out the city gates.

The second time Kaeya already had enough and confronted you before you could even attempt to walk away.

He grabbed at your elbow, “Have you finally grown tired of me?”

You pulled it back, no real strength behind it as Kaeya still held you under his grip. “Kaeya, why is it that you keep reaching out to me? I have nothing of my own to offer - no money, no family - there is nothing left I can give you.”

He frowned in response but grabbed at your other hand, “I haven’t asked you for anything, have I?”

You looked away, “You don’t have to! It’s inherent, after all. Isn’t that why you asked me to team-up in the first place, to use me to find your criminals?”

Kaeya mentally recoiled, “Woah, back up. I may have guided you regarding the treasure but never have I maliciously led you on.”

You pulled at your hands to no avail, this time the captain actively trying to keep your attention on him.

“I just! I thought I meant something more to you, Kaeya.”

He smiled and tried to pull you into his chest, but you shoved off his touch this time fully.

“No! You can’t just hug me and think everything is okay. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys, one of the handful of people I can trust in Mondstadt and I know nothing about you.”

Kaeya did not reach for your hands, instead moving to stand in front of you. “I’m sorry that I hold my secrets close to my chest, but that’s what I’m used to.”

Frustrated, you replied. “Don’t you get tired? Holding the people that love you at an arm's length?”

“I’m sorry.” He repeated, this time reaching for you. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t special. Trust me, you’re the only one I’ve had eyes on ever since you landed here in Mondstadt.”

You shook your head, “But the bartender, she said -”

“Who cares what she said?” Kaeya interrupted, “They know village gossip, but they don’t know me or you.”

“I don’t really know you.” You replied.

Kaeya caressed the side of your cheek before lightly gently grabbing your hand again, “Then let’s start.”

With a hesitant smile, you closed your eyes and nodded.

“Okay.”

You had your doubts then and it’s not like an issue of trust was fixed overnight. But, to his credit, Kaeya tried as best he could. Instead of meeting randomly at the bar, he would approach you sometime during the day and set-up a date. How he knew where you were was a mystery, but a man with that many connections surely had a way.

He had no qualms about holding your hand or openly kissing your cheek in the presence of others - proclaiming loudly to one and all in Mondstadt that you were his and he was yours.

Taking your first argument to heart, Kaeya was very keen on communication. Anything you were unsure of, he expressed that he was by no means rushing you. And when you finally shared your first kiss, for once not a single soul in front of the Lord Barbatos statue, you leaned into his touch to get many more.

Kaeya made good on his promise, slowly letting you into his world in kind. You remembered one night as the both of you sat on the edge of Mondstadt, nothing but ocean for miles in front of you. You had your head on his shoulder, describing your adventures with your brother and how you missed having family.

Kaeya had a gentle hand in your hair, rubbing soothing circles as you recalled a time long ago. Once your story finished, you two continued to stare out, wondering what the future could hold as your minds swam in an endless sea of thoughts.

He broke the silence.

“I miss my brother also.”

Diluc was not always his estranged brother, but once a friend, supporter, and sounding board. Some even mistook them as truly twins in heart and mind, defending Mondstadt and having each other’s backs for years. The Diluc you had come to know was a shell of his old self, close friends and past hidden behind years of repressed feelings.

There was no doubt wistfulness in Kaeya’s eyes as he recalled the past to you, but you continued to listen quietly.

Your relationship with the Cavalry Captain was hardly easy. Often responsibilities called you both - Kaeya was highly stationed in Mondstadt while you still had seven other countries to visit. But that did not mean the end for you both. Even when you were thousands of miles away or sat atop the highest mountain without a clue to where he was, you cherished the thought that you still shared the same sky with the love of your life.

No matter where you were in Teyvat, you had Kaeya to return to.

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capricorn-stark · 4 years ago

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Unexpected Encounters Pt 2

pairing: dick grayson x reader, reader doesn’t know he’s nighwing yet

warning: nothing

a/n: this fic is for the lovely @daintykeith who requested this from me literally like a month ago - i didn’t expect to get as busy as i did, but thank you so much for your patience and i hope you enjoy it!!

part 1

There was a new hero in town. And he went by the name Nightwing.

It wasn’t surprising to you in the least, you had practically predicted a hero sauntering into Bludhaven since the very first day you moved there. In a city as messed up as it was, there was no chance some latex-clad figure with a hero-complex could pass it up—after all, Bludhaven gave Gotham a run for its money.

What was surprising to you was the fact that you had run into this new hero on more than one occasion, and by this point, it was starting to seem less and less like a mere coincidence.

“I’m serious—I’ve been seeing this guy everywhere,” you began in disbelief as the blurry image of a man in a blue and black suit flashed across the TV screen, some blonde news anchor discussing the subject with notable interest while Dick Grayson laughed beside you on your couch. “It’s been, what, a month? And every other time I turn on GBS, they’re still talking about him.”

“It’s that bad?” the man grinned as he watched you fall back down onto the couch beside him, following your rather baleful gaze back to the screen. “I didn’t even notice it that much, honestly.”

“It’s not even just the news! I’ve run into him like a dozen times in the past few weeks in person,” you insisted, shifting to face him as he continued to chuckle disbelievingly.

“You sure you’re talking about this guy? ‘Cus even the BCPD’s had a hard time tracking him down.” Dick nodded towards the photograph on the TV. “They can’t even get us a good picture.”

“I didn’t know we had other guys dressed up in black and blue spandex and jumping off of buildings,” you deadpanned, causing him to laugh again. “I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy, Detective Grayson.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“Hey, fair enough-” His phone went off and he paused, shooting you an apologetic look after glancing at the caller ID. “Sorry - one sec.” You nodded and he picked it up, rising from the couch to head over to the hallway to speak. It didn’t bother you - you figured it was his typical phone call about detectives needing to do what detectives had to do. So, you turned your attention back to the TV where they were discussing Bludhaven’s new vigilante. “Addad wants me down to the station to look over a few case files,” Dick announced when he finally returned to view, pocketing his phone and hurriedly adding more after catching sight of your expression. “It should be really quick, it’s just—it’s really important.”

“Right,” you started with an air of mild awkwardness, standing up as he moved to slide on his jacket. “Yeah, totally. Don’t worry about it.” He hesitated before reaching for the door, shooting you another glance and a little grin that induced a few stray butterflies in your stomach. Irrationally, of course.

"I'll call you."

He let that hover in the air before closing the door behind him, leaving you still standing by the couch.

Whatever it was that was going on between you and Dick Grayson was—well, you didn’t actually have a name for it yet. But it was definitely something.

It was later that very night when you received not one but two unexpected visitors via your apartment window.

The broken window was the least of your worries when the black-and-blue clad vigilante began to rise to his feet, groaning as he straightened and freezing when he met your eyes.

His face was rigid as he looked at you. You were still frozen on your couch, eyes flickering between him and the seemingly unconscious person on the floor. You would’ve reached for your gun, but unfortunately, you didn’t keep guns with you during Friday night TV marathons. Apparently, that was another bad idea in Bludhaven.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man blurted out before you could break out of your stupor and attempt to chuck something at his head. “I was just dealing with this guy, that was an accident.” You both glanced at the shards on the floor and then back at each other. He winced. “And sorry about your window, that was...also an accident.”

Your landlord was not going to be happy about this one.

“Nightwing,” you finally managed, still glancing between the two figures. “You’re Nightwing.” The blue symbol on his chest (a bird? Crossed with a bat?) made that much clear.

“The one and only.” There might’ve been a hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned over to grab the man on the floor single handedly. “You know who I am?”

“Who doesn’t?” you deadpanned, still eyeing him somewhat warily as he dragged him back towards your balcony. You wondered how exactly he was planning on heading out from there while carrying- “Is that Scarecrow?” you gaped, taking a few steps back as soon as you finally caught sight of the potato sack-like sheet obscuring the other man’s face. You could tell he was probably the real deal by the shitty stitched up mouth and the excessive usage of string around the neck. You still had no idea as to why he chose to wear his elementary arts-and-crafts project as his villain costume. “Isn’t he supposed to—why isn’t he in Gotham?”

You did not move over to Bludhaven just to have the Gotham baddies decide to relocate with you. Nightwing’s off-handed shrug wasn’t helpful.

“Maybe he wanted a change of scenery. Maybe he wanted to poison another city’s water system with hallucinogens.” He smirked at your expression. “Bad guys get bored too, y’know.”

“That’s cute,” was your response as you pointed back to the broken window. Out of all the apartments he could crash into, he had to crash into this one. “What am I supposed to-”

“Don’t worry about the window, I can take care of it,” he interjected somewhat hurriedly before you could finish, already seeming embarrassed enough. “Sorry.”

More staring.

“Are you going to fix my window…?”

“...no.” A pause. “Not personally, I can’t—I’ll send people over here. Later.” The silence ensued and you finally raised a brow at him, to which he gave you a rather sheepish grin. “We’ve seen each other a lot, huh?”

Aside from this incident, there had been the time where you had been stopping by the corner store and he had shown up chasing after some of Tony Zucco’s men, sending a cocky grin your way before he took them down.

There had been the time you had been at work and he somehow managed to take his fight with Blockbuster right outside your window, shooting you a wave mid-kick and barely avoiding a fist to the face because of it.

Then there was the time at your local cafe when he had literally just stepped in, suit and all, to get a cup of coffee at the same time you had gone in.

There were so many instances where you had seen him around, fighting crime, stopping villains, and even just relaxing, that it had started seeming less and less like coincidences and more like he was, in fact, sticking around your area a little more than he needed to.

“Yeah,” you finally answered, still eyeing him in mild disbelief, “we really have. A lot.”

“Coincidences, am I right?” The teasing tone of his voice was unmistakable.

“Once or twice? Sure.” Seeing Batman during a night at Gotham could be considered a coincidence (and bad luck, according to urban lore and statistics concerning the likelihood of also encountering the Joker). Running into a person you knew in public could be considered a coincidence. Meeting the same vigilante about six different times when the rest of the city barely even had good, non-blurry pictures of him? Not a coincidence. “I’m pretty sure it’s more than a coincidence at this point. Do I know you?”

“Do you?” His playfulness hadn’t been reduced by a shred, and you moved to grab the broom to clear up the broken glass with a sigh. “I get asked that a lot - here, let me take care of that-” You brushed him off with a shake of your head, already having started yourself.

“It’s fine. And if I don’t know you, this is even weirder.”

“I wish I knew you better.”

“Seriously?” He shrugged again, still grinning.

“Seriously.” You gave him another look before finally clearing away the glass. Nightwing had brought the still-out Scarecrow onto your balcony. You were surprised the guy was still knocked out. He must’ve taken a pretty solid hit.

“I really hope you were serious about fixing this-”

“I was, trust me,” he assured, watching you walk outside as well before he picked the man up again. He had the decency to at least look rather sheepish about the entire ordeal. “You won’t have to worry about it, I promise.” You shrugged at his words, but you somehow felt like he was actually being genuine about it. So you decided to wait and find out if you were right about him.

“Then I guess I’ll see you around, Nightwing,” you finally said after catching his gaze through his cowl, shooting him a little grin he returned easily.

“I’ll see you around too, Y/N.”

It sounded so off-handed and normal that you hadn’t even realized what he had said until he had swung right out of your view, leaving you standing at your balcony in complete disbelief.

How had he known your name?

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apocalypseornaw · 3 years ago

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Never Doubt Us

For @girl-next-door-writes make me feel bingo square "fairytale AU"

Sometimes the man isn't the knight in shining armor

How had you allowed your life to come to the point it had? With your commoner bloodline you never should have even known the Princes beyond their names. Thanks to the fact that your parents had been killed and left you in the care of their closest friend Sir Robert you’d been raised in the castle.

As children you’d played with Dean’s younger brother Sam. Dean didn’t play as much. He was stoic even at a young age especially when King John was around. It confused you as to why he would care if his son was to be allowed the simple privilege of being a child before he would have a kingdom placed on his shoulders but when you’d questioned it you’d been told to stay in a child’s place. Your friendship with both boys grew throughout your younger years.

As all of you grew and the Princes started to learn their own responsibilities you started to train with the other knights' sons despite being the other female in the bunch. Your prowess with a sword matched or outshone them by far, even gaining the attention of King John when he’d observe the training. You had no admiration for the king like the boys you trained with, you’d seen how cold he was towards his sons and knew that a measure of a king was how he was as a simple man as well.

When he one day approached during training to question if you really thought a woman would be welcomed onto the royal guard you’d squared your shoulders and met his questioning gaze head on “King John would you rather someone on your guard who can deflect an arrow with her sword or would you prefer getting shot because you had a man at your side?” He’d laughed and had offered you a spot on Dean’s guard. You’d told him respectfully that you would only accept the offer if Dean was in agreement as well. You’d known he would you were friends with him as well as Sam even if you could never admit that to the king.

------

When you’d first been appointed on Dean’s guard there was of course some fallout. Men doubted a woman naturally. The first time King John had ordered Dean to go to a neighboring kingdom as an ambassador in an attempt to gain an ally he’d suggested leaving you behind. Dean had told him he would do no such thing.

On that trip you’d saved the princess of the neighboring kingdom from an assasitantion attempt, getting wounded in the process. It was also the first time you’d realized your feelings for your prince went so much deeper than friendship or even that of being his guard. Your only thought had been his safety even when the healers were patching your skin you’d asked of him. The moment the question fell from your lips it was as if those words summoned him.

The doors leading into the room you were in burst open and Dean walked through followed by your fellow guardsmen Benjamin and Steven. When he saw you sitting up the anger in his bright green eyes quickly faded to concern “Are you well?” he asked and the healers quickly went over your injury then excused themselves Benjamin and Steven following suit.

You stood to dress considering you’d been forced to strip down to your underthings for your injuries to be treated. “The sword didn’t go very deep thankfully” you replied turning your back to him so you could slip your shirt over your head but when you flinched trying to get it on his hands had come to cover yours “We swam together as children. You’ve stood guard outside my baths I think it wouldn’t be indecent for me to help you dress”

You turned to face him holding the shirt out. He took it but not before he let his fingertips trace the bandages on your side. “You secured the allyship single handedly” You forced a smile trying to look anywhere besides directly into his eyes. They were a shade of green that outshined any gem you’d even seen “At least my death would have held meaning had I met that fate” his hand moved from your side to cup your face forcing you to look him in the eye as he spoke “You being alive holds more meaning than any allyship ever would” you swallowed hard trying to push the feelings you’d developed for him down.

“Thank you” you whispered and he nodded then slowly moved his hand from your face “Let’s get you dressed then you’re off guard duty for the journey home” “Dean..” you started but he silenced you with a look “Are you arguing with your Prince?” the slight smirk that graced his face pulled a smile onto yours “Of course not” he nodded then gently slipped the shirt over your head tying it where it needed to be.

The night after you were cleared by the healers to go back on full guard duty you were preparing to go to bed when a knock at your chamber door drew your attention.

You crossed over to it and were surprised when Dean was standing on the other side. "Dean..I know you can out fight most of the royal guard but for my peace of mind I'd prefer you not wander the grounds alone especially after one of your guards thwarted an assassination attempt so recently" he smiled gently and looked almost sheepish which was by far not his usual demeanour "then would it be appropriate to ask that guard to accompany me for a walk under the moonlight?"

You quickly schooled your features so your surprise wouldn't be as apparent "Of course. Let me pull my boots back on and we'll go" he stood just inside your chambers watching as you retrieved your boots and jacket. When you slid your arms into the sleeves of the coat he smiled "I see you are healing well" you laughed "Ask Benjamin. I flipped him onto his back multiple times while we were sparring today" a flash of some emotion went through his eyes but it was gone as fast as it had appeared.

He motioned to the door so you walked out first and waited until he closed the door behind himself to ask "Is there a reason for this walk or did you simply crave some fresh air?" He shrugged one shoulder "I think I craved the company more than anything" you tried to push down the flush of heat spreading through your face at his words.

You walked in silence next to him until the two of you were far out side the castle listening to the sound of a lone whippoorwill cutting through the night.

"You seem to favor training with Benjamin" Dean spoke finally breaking the silence as the two of you neared the pond at the edge of the property. It was here Robert had taught the two of you and Sam how to swim.

You walked over to sit at the base of the large tree that overlooked the water and Dean joined you his shoulder brushing against yours. Normally you would squabble over anyone being that close to you but this proximity with Dean was familiar enough to make your heart ache when you were reminded it would always simply be friendship. After a moment of thinking you replied "I suppose I do yes. I prefer being on duty with him as well. He's easy to talk to and was one of the first on the guard to welcome me instead of questioning me due to my being a woman"

"He seems to favor you as well" you turned to look at Dean in the dim light of the moon and was shocked when you saw the twinge of jealousy his eyes held "Dean what are you saying?" "Do you have feelings for him?"

You laughed more self deprecatingly than anything before responding "He's my friend and I trust him at my side in a fight but beyond friendship no I have no romantic feelings for him" Dean turned to look at you and you almost looked away due to the fact that this close a mere movement would have your lips touching "When you were hurt. I had no concern for the assassin or the princess. I wanted to be at your side. Steven and Benjamin both had to stop me and I still very nearly laid down pretenses of being a prince to get to you" you swallowed the emotions threatening to spill out so that you could ask "What do you mean?"

You had a feeling but needed to hear the words for yourself, to know the way you felt about Dean was reciprocated. "I've fallen in love with you. Is there a chance you could feel the same" you were unaware you were crying until Dean gently wiped the tears from your cheeks as you spoke "I've loved you for years but you're destined to be king.." Your words were cut short by his lips finding yours. You gave into the kiss immediately melting against him. His hands moved to your waist pulling you into his lap as the two of you attempted to put every emotion you were feeling and had hidden into that one kiss.

When you finally broke away he rested his forehead against your neck "I have years before I have to become king. We can change things before then. If you want me, if you want this I would move the heavens for you" you laughed and gently touched his face pulling back so he'd be forced to look you in your eyes "I do not need the heavens and while I don't want to think about the future I do know that I've never felt as complete as I do right now"

That first night you spent in Dean’s arms as he told you and showed you the love he had for you felt like heaven itself or the closest you’d ever get. Months passed and you were so close to being happy but then King John had taken ill.

You’d known the day of King John's funeral that no matter how you felt about Dean that you couldn’t continue being with him. You stood at attention with Benjamin and Steven watching Dean welcome other royalty and noblemen and women. He was born for this, to be an extraordinary leader. You were born to be anything but. Had your parents survived you would've been married off in your teen years to whatever man asked your father first.

Dean would need to take a wife, a queen to rule by his side and you could never fill that. You’d break your own heart before you’d risk him being hurt by loving you in any way.

------

That night Dean had come to your chamber. You knew he expected to be welcomed with open arms. You wanted nothing more than to spend the night wrapped up in him but knew it was up to you. He'd never accept you pulling away all at once but if you started slowly pulling away perhaps he'd lose some of the love he held for you then when the princesses from neighboring kingdoms started to come he'd give one of them an actual chance then your kingdom would have a ruler better than it had seen in years with him as king.

You answered the door in your dressing gown and saw the way his eyes ran across your body. It wasn't merely sexual. He looked relieved to see you and his eyes held so much love in them you nearly started crying from the task at hand. "I'm sorry Dean I just don't think it's proper for you to not be in your own chambers at this time. We have guests here in the castle and what if one of them comes looking for you?"

“Then come with me, please? It’s been a long day and I’d much rather fall asleep with you in my arms” “I am too tired to dress Dean and there’s too many prying eyes for you to be escorted to your chambers by one of your guards in a mere dressing gown” “I am not concerned what they see, I love you and I want to be with you tonight” you closed your eyes and took a deep breath feeling your resolve waver but knowing it was for the best.

“I promise to join you tomorrow night my love” at your words a small smile slipped onto his face “I love you” you could feel yourself threatening to break even as you said in nearly a whisper “I love you” then watched him turn and walk away before shutting the door. You slid down it and it wasn’t until your legs hit the cool hard floor that reality hit you.

The man you’d grown up alongside, one of your best friends, the man you were in love with and wanted a future with was no longer yours to have. You allowed yourself a few moments to fall apart before pushing yourself to your feet. You needed rest and to plan how to get through the following weeks with your mental state intact.

You could feel eyes on you even as you spun out of Benjamin’s reach. Even when you sidestepped to dodge his next blow you knew he was watching. Dean had a way of making your body feel like it was on fire with just a look. You glanced up and spotted him standing with Sam, Robert and Queen Adelia who was no doubt visiting in an attempt to secure Dean choosing her daughter Princess Lysa.

You felt your feet go out from under you as Benjamin swept your legs out and when your back hit the dirt you flipped to catch him bringing him down as well. When you and Benjamin helped each other to your feet you realized Robert and Adelia were walking over with Dean and Sam trailing not too far behind.

Robert introduced you and Benjamin by your name and rank you both held. You didn’t miss the look in Adelia’s eyes when she realized you held the same rank as the man standing next to you. “I heard about your woman guard, seems she made quite the impression amongst our allies” you smiled “Saving Princess Joanna from an assasination attempt did help” you saw a slight smirk grace both Dean and Sam’s faces as Adelia tried to rephrase her wording

“Oh dear that’s what I meant of course. Though why a girl as pretty as you would choose such a trade is beyond me” you brushed your legs off then shrugged one shoulder “It’s noble work. I’m protecting people I care about and my kingdom. Is that not much different than your position as a queen?”

“I suppose not dear” she smiled then winked at Benjamin “Who knows perhaps one of your fellow guardsmen will decide they want to make an honest woman of you” you had to remind yourself of your standing so instead of saying what you wanted you simply replied “I am quite honest enough all on my own. Now if you’ll excuse me Benjamin and I are due to the archery range to continue our training for the day”

You walked past Dean and saw the way his eyes tracked your movement. It had been a few weeks since King John’s passing and the pressure was getting more intense daily on him to choose a wife. You’d kept your word and had gone to him the night after John’s funeral but since then had nearly exhausted your list of reasons as to why you had gone from sharing a bed nightly with him to perhaps once a week if that.

You knew he was getting suspicious as to why and that it would eventually lead to him questioning you. You only hoped he had chosen a suitable wife by then.

------

Another week passed and you were walking with Benjamin and Steven across the grounds when you heard a noise that made your heart fall to your feet. It was Dean laughing.

Normally that would bring you joy but when you looked towards the sound to see him walking with Sam and Princess Lysa you felt sick. You knew she’d arrived the day before but this was your first time seeing her. She was beautiful. Her dress was made of the finest material,her dark hair styled perfectly. You watched the way she looked at Dean and had to suppress your anger. He belonged with someone like her, not you.

Unfortunately while Steven was oblivious to your actions Benjamin leaned closer and whispered “She’s not the type of queen he needs” you raised an eyebrow in question as to what he meant.

He waved a hand around himself ignoring the fact that Steven had continued walking while the two of you were stopped “This kingdom needs a queen that matches Dean. Someone who will fight for the people, someone who is capable and has strength and warmth. Someone who can spill blood but comfort within moments of the other"

“And who might you have in mind because I’ve yet to meet a noblewoman like that” you questioned and he shook his head and continued walking leaving you to ponder if you were that obvious or if Benjamin was just that attuned to you and Dean.

------

You were headed to your chambers after a tiring day. You’d hear from too many of the castle staff that Lysa was extending her stay. There would be only one reason for that, a betrothal. You wanted to cry, scream or fight someone but this was what you’d wanted wasn’t it?

You were stuck inside your own head; you did not hear Benjamin calling your name until he touched your shoulder. You flinched despite yourself and he smiled warmly “Dean asked if you could come to his chambers, something of the journey to the northern isles?” That journey was still months away but instead of questioning it further you simply nodded “Yes I’ll stop by him”

Benjamin walked away so you took a shortcut that would get you across the castle without going by the guest area where Lysa would be staying. You doubted your ability to hold your tongue this late.

When you finally made it to Dean’s chambers you hesitated before knocking. The moment your knuckles hit the hard wood he opened the door and his smile made your heart skip. “If only I knew all it took was getting Benjamin to ask you here I would’ve done that two weeks ago” he stepped back to let you in so you took a few steps forward not going all the way into the room purposely giving a wide berth to the four poster bed that took up over half the room. You’d spent countless nights in it and now would be the last time your eyes graced it.

He stepped closer and despite knowing you shouldn’t you allowed him to pull you into his arms. You’d give yourself the memory of being held by him this last time. “I have to announce who I am choosing as queen within the week” you felt tears sting your eyes threatening to spill but you swallowed them down.

“Just know I hold no hard feelings Dean and I will cherish the time we had together” he pulled back from you and his face fell the moment he looked you in the eyes “What?” You smiled sadly “Dean we both know you have to choose a princess” “Says who?” “Tradition” your voice cracked on the word but you knew it was true, felt it to your core.

“I do not care about tradition, I care about you” he spoke, pulling you back into his arms. His mouth was warm on your neck when he spoke your name just above a whisper. His rough hands smoothing across your back sliding under the shirt you wore begging for access to more skin. “Please we will figure this out. I refuse to marry another when I know where my heart belongs” you closed your eyes to stow the flow of tears.

You owed it to him and to your kingdom to be strong. You loved him beyond anything that was why you had to stop this now he deserved a noblewoman, someone who came from a pure bloodline. Not someone like you who’d grown from a child being more familiar with a sword or a bow than a dress. “I will always love and I will protect you with my final breath but I’m not suited to be a queen. I’d never be accepted” you pulled away from him despite everything in you screaming to fall into his arms, into his bed.

You turned and quickly crossed the floor not looking back even as he called your name. As soon as you shut the heavy door to his chambers behind you that was when the tears started.

You stood at attention with the rest of the royal guard. You had not spoken a single word to anyone since the night in Dean’s chambers. You felt as if you had no words left within you. Today Dean would be announcing who he’d chosen as a wife. Princess Lysa was still staying in the castle so it appeared his decision was made.

When the bell sounded to gather all in attendance’s attention you looked up to see Robert standing at the raised part of the room which held the thrones during ceremonies. He met your eyes and his held nothing but sorrow. He knew your true heart and knew it was breaking but he also knew your strength. You would stand stoic while the man you loved announced his betrothal to another because it needed to happen.

You watched as Dean and Sam joined Robert. Dean held your eyes for several moments before saying “I am expected to choose a wife, a queen for this kingdom. I am of two minds. One is the way my father raised me. He told me to put my duties first. My father would have chosen Princess Lysa for my bride” you swallowed hard when she stepped onto the platform next to him.

Benjamin looked towards you and you knew that was his silent way of asking if you would be alright. You gave a tight nod refusing to break even as Lysa moved to kiss Dean. He stepped away from her after whispering something that made her shoot a deadly glare your direction.

He cleared his throat to settle the room when everyone started to speculate as to what was going on. “My father would have chosen Lysa for my bride but his father Henry my grandfather would have told me to listen to my heart. Sir Robert who’s watched me and my brother grow from small boys has always advised me that a strong king is a strong man. A strong man needs a strong woman in his life. I have long since given my heart to another and I do not intend to ever ask for it to be returned” he looked over at you and held his hand out. You took a deep breath but felt Benjamin's hand on your shoulder giving a gentle push.

Sam stepped off the platform to meet you halfway and held his arm out. You slipped your arm through it and allowed him to escort you despite the near deafening whispers being tossed about. Once you made it to the platform he gently put your hand into Dean’s who pulled you up next to him.

You watched Lysa storm off before turning your attention to Dean. He looked around the room then back at you “Tradition says I pick a noblewoman or princess. Before you, tradition says only men served the royal guard yet Princess Joanna is alive because of you. You came to live here at the castle when Sam and I were mere children, I’ve seen you stand your ground with my father. I’ve seen you go against enemies and do anything to protect those lucky enough to be loved by you. Over the years we formed a friendship and from there something so much more. I’m here today to ask will you do me the honor of being my queen?”

The entire room faded away. In that moment it was only you and him “Are you certain I’m who you want?” you asked and he nodded, taking the ring from Robert who held it out. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life” “Then yes” he slipped the ring onto your finger and pulled you into a kiss. Most of the room voiced their approval at his choice and when he pulled back he whispered “Never doubt us again please” “Never” you whispered then pulled him back for another kiss.

@girl-next-door-writes

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #girl next doors make me feel bingo

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light-yaers · 4 years ago

Text

No Saints: Chapter One

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

A/N: Hey everyone! So, after some consideration, I’ve also decided to post each No Saints chapter on individual Tumblr posts, as well as Ao3. I know some people like reading things on Tumblr and it must just seem easier if there are actual chapters uploaded to here as well. I’ll be posting them all over the next few days and then we’ll be all caught up!

This also means that I can now have a TAG LIST, so if you’d like to be notified for when Chapter Nine comes out, then please tell me and I’ll tag you when I update next.

Once again please excuse any small spelling or grammar mistakes. No beta we die like men.

Word Count - 7.3k

Chapter One

Working as a mechanic on Nevarro didn’t often gift you the visual of friendly faces, and that was no different with the Mandalorian—he never showed his face. You wouldn’t know his smile even if he decided to wake up one day without slotting Beskar all over his body.

But you knew his stance, the broadness of his shoulders, his preference for short range blasters with the safety close enough for his index finger to reach before firing at will. You didn’t really know people on Nevarro, but you knew their weapon of choice.

It was knowledge that had ended up being valuable, both to your survival, and to that of the Mandalorian.

“I’ll pay you for this information,” He offered bluntly. He never begged, nor did he show his true emotions within his modulated voice very often. The only vague emotion you’d seen him give off was anger—seething and insatiable— the first time he’d ever approached you for a repair.

“What good will this information give you?” You asked, genuinely. “I don’t know their names, this is hunter country. No one ever gives away their identity,”

“A weapon needs someone doing the firing,” He replied simply.

You agreed to his terms, partly from the initial fear that he would harm you, think you to be working against the Guild, but also from the generous sum he was willing to give you for every piece of information you passed onto him.

And thus, began a sort-of partnership that you’d never expected.

You were no saint. You knew the damage done by the goods you willingly sold to trained killers, assassins, Guild members. You saw the bodies dragged from their ships to the Guild, you saw the bounties that went out, kicking and screaming and spitting at their captors—

You saw the blood and dirt and flakes of flesh with every weapon upgrade or repair, but now, you didn’t bat an eye. It was business, it was your livelihood, and it was good money, thanks this this agreement with the Mandalorian that you’d made a while back.

Mando arrived back on Nevarro every few weeks. His condition was always subject to review; sometimes he flowed through your doors, ready for a quick exchange; other times, he took his time with it, sitting opposite you as you went through the recent repair logs, discussing the types of people that came through your doors.

Over the months, however, he always ended up sticking around for longer periods of time. Whether it was from earlier exhaustion, or the normalcy of having a conversation that didn’t end in bloodshed, you didn’t mind. He was the only constant in your life, splitting up your weeks and months when, before, honest interaction had basically been at zero.

“Are you not worried?” He asked one evening. It was late, and your shop was technically closed. You’d awoken to the subtle clicks of your entrance being lockpicked, hoisting yourself out of bed in nothing but your nightwear and grabbing the blaster you kept by your pillow.

You’d rushed to the shop front, aiming your blaster right at his chrome covered head. He’d raised his hands immediately, not once going for his own weapon. The feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lowered your weapon hadn’t been one of anxiety, but of warmth—he trusted you enough not to grab his weapon, not to even incline that he was going to shoot you.

“Worried about what?” You replied, flicking through the logbook.

“A bounty escaping, knowing that you shared this information,” You stopped flicking through the pages, freezing slightly where you sat opposite him. You sensed his sudden unease, deciding to look up directly into his visor.

“Tell me this, Mando,” You began. “What’s my name?”

He looked at you blankly, but you liked to imagine what facial expression he pulled beneath his helmet. In this moment, you imagined he was almost panicking, trying desperately to think back at what your name could be. It’d been over six months, yet names were never properly discussed. His silence proved that he’d just realised this.

“See? You don’t know it. My face is somewhat known here, sure, but my name? I try not to share it as much as you try not to show your face,” You sent him a raised brow smirk. Innately, you felt you had a responsibility to come across stronger than you looked, which is why you shoved down those subtle flickers of anxiety that arose from his question.

Sure, you had those doubts, anyone would. But living on Nevarro, doing what you did, it was an element of the job that you simply had to expect. You suspected Mando also knew that feeling well.

“You’re single-handedly keeping me in business, Mando,” You chuffed, almost sadly, but kept up an unbothered attitude. “I wasn’t going to turn this down and all these months down the line, no matter the danger, wouldn’t change that.” You ended, and you could have sworn you heard him breathe out, almost as if he was relieved that you knew these conditions from the beginning.

You kept flicking through the logbook, until you finally stumbled across a repair. “Here it is,” You perked up, shuffling yourself round so Mando could see the book over your shoulder. Your index finger grazed the page, just underneath the line he was looking for. “Repaired his blaster pistol last month. He didn’t look like a hunter, more like a scared blurrg, from what I can recall,”

“Young? Old?” Mando questioned.

“On the young side, definitely. Looked more like a runaway than anything else,” You added, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. Usually, you divulged the weapon information of other hunters gone rogue, wanted by the Guild; assassins and thieves, or whatever other dirt washed up on Nevarro and in your shop.

This, however—you remembered him. He was young, he was scared, shaking like a newly born calf when he’d bumbled into your shop.

“That fits the bill,” Mando stated, before rising from his seat. You followed suit, making your way back round your front work desk and slotting the logbook beneath it. You tried to keep your expression blunt when you turned back to him, but you couldn’t help the wave of overthinking that landed in your brain.

You stared at him, leaning against the desk until your shoulders rose to cover your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a sigh, but evidently that was enough for you to get the Mandalorian’s attention.

“What?” He spoke harshly, in the same old modulated boom you were used to hearing. You forced yourself to stay still, trying desperately to find his eyes beneath the abyss of his dark visor, but of course it was no use.

“Don’t break into my shop next time,” You diverted your emotions. “Just knock if it’s after hours,”

Mando nodded once, the moonlight gleaming off the chrome that surrounded his face for just a second, before disappearing once more. He shuffled a leather gloved hand through his satchel for just a few seconds, before approaching you at the work desk.

Unceremoniously, he placed your pay in front of you, each credit dropping with a small ping against the metal surface.

“See you,” Mando said bluntly. You nodded in return, before the Beskar covered man left your shop swiftly, shutting your door gently on his way out. You stared at the credits disapprovingly, before going to relock the door behind him.

You forced yourself to shuffle through your pay, counting the credits so you could note them in your budget, but you furrowed your brows as you finished rounding them up. You must have counted them wrong—there were an extra five hundred credits than what you’d agreed with the Mandalorian all those months ago.

Shaking your head, you went about recounting them, only to get to the same exact outcome. Was it an honest mistake in his counting, or had he overpaid you? Tipped you, helped you, heard the way your voice had almost faltered when you’d told him he was keeping you afloat?

You were awash with a new type of conflict—somewhere between thanks and extreme anger. The thanks were certain; he’d listened, and he hadn’t needed to do that, but he’d done it anyway. The anger; this implied you owed him now. As much as you’d come to enjoy his occasional visits every few weeks, the man was still an utter mystery to you. You didn’t want him to have the option of springing up in here and asking for a favour, knowing that he’d done one for you prior.

But there was still a warmth—it came subtly and out of the blue often, when you were around him. You could have slapped yourself at how fast it came this time round, taking you by surprise and speeding your heart rate up beneath your ribs.

He’s a bounty hunter. Get over it.

You placed your usual cut in your savings bundle, in the safe by your bed, but the extra five hundred stayed out of that bag. You shuffled back into bed with no indication of tiredness flooding over you again. All you saw in the static darkness of your grimy bedroom was the outline of that damn helmet—

And the wonder of what lay beneath.

The next week and a half was long and soul-crushingly slow. You’d had about three repair requests total, completing them all in a matter of hours, not making more than a few thousand credits from the sales. Nevarro had seemed restless recently, with less hunters returning to the Guild for more pucks. Maybe it was just a slow week.

Mando arrived back in the evening again, after you closed your doors early for the weekend. The sunlight trickled over Nevarro sparsely, but that evening was particularly warm, so you decided to have some fun.

Your shop had a back courtyard, nothing major, but you’d transformed it into a mini-firing range a year or so back. You were firing a classic blaster when you heard him approach from behind you—you jumped out of your skin at the sight of him, blaster raised, defensive stance donned.

“I told you to knock, Mando,” You boomed out, clutching your heart and switching the safety on your blaster immediately. Mando raised his arms in subtle apology, but you could have sworn you saw the subtle shake of his shoulders beneath the Beskar.

“You sounded... busy,” He spoke, and you squinted at him, feeling your cheeks flushing. The bastard was laughing. He was silently giggling beneath his helmet, the only indication of his lapse of stoicism being from the tiniest movement of his chest and shoulders, almost indecipherable.

You shot him an amused scowl. “Did you—,”

“I locked it,” He replied, already knowing what you were asking. You gulped down surprise at his immediate response, turning back to your makeshift firing range and trying desperately to calm yourself down.

Now, you were a strong woman, that was no question. But the constant mystery of the last six months in Mando’s presence had provided you with more than you’d bargained for. Was it a reflex to suddenly feel invested in this guy’s life after a while? To want to know his backstory, his missions, his favourite breakfast food or blaster style?

The extra credits from your previous trade had only increased these feelings. What was it about a man in a mask? Or, more specifically, what was it about Mando?

And now, as you awkwardly struggled with the safety on a blaster you’d been firing since you were twelve fucking years old, all you could think about was the tone of his voice as he’d said I locked it.

“You shoot?” Mando questioned, moving round to stand next to you. You shot him a smirk, trying to conceal the thoughts within your head.

“I don’t just repair blasters, if that’s what you mean,” You could have cringed at how cocky you’d sounded, but it was too late.

“Show me,” He spoke. He didn’t demand it, but the way his voice arched it was as if he could make anyone do anything he said, just from the steadiness of that modulated drawl.

You did as you were told. You shook off your limbs subtly, before flicking off the safety and aiming at the targets you’d made. In flashes of green, you hit one, two, three targets with ease, right in the centre of their bullseye.

You changed it up, feeling a surge of confidence, or perhaps the want to impress this stoic man. Skilfully, you flipped the blaster in your hands until it had transferred to your other hand, firing another three times on the same targets and hitting them dead centre once more.

Your index finger clicked the safety on, before you stood in place, admiring the shots you’d fired.

“Try this one,” He said beside you, before he plucked the blaster from your hand and replaced it with this own weapon. You looked it over as it slotted into your grasp. It was heavier than yours, bigger, with a more distanced safety, probably because of the hand width that the Mandalorian possessed.

You furrowed your brows at his blaster, smiling at the way the steel glinted. It was well cared for, polished and gleaming, but slightly worn away around the trigger. Well-used. His own personalised weapon.

You raised the blaster towards the targets, all too aware of the way that chrome helmet was tilted towards you. You steadied your arm, applying just the right amount of pressure against the trigger, before it fired in quick succession—

You analysed the blast fire, the weight, the wind, fixing your trajectory upon impact with the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. When you stopped firing, overseeing the new collection of burning holes in the targets, you realised you’d hit them all dead centre again.

To your delight, or to your utter amazement, Mando let out a low, long whistle from beneath his Beskar.

“That’s a custom weapon,” He spoke afterwards, moving to stand before you. “Not many people could change their shooting style like that to fit the blast radius,” It was the closest thing to a compliment that you’d ever heard him offer.

You stayed silent as he replaced his blaster with your own once more, sheathing his weapon before his visor looked straight into your soul. It was shameful, how you realised you could probably stand there and analyse the chiselled and curved edges of his helmet for hours, how if you focused strongly, you could see him breathing beneath his heavy armour.

You forced yourself to step back, looking back towards the shop. “Right—business,” You said, heading inside immediately with Mando following on your tail.

You dropped your blaster on your work desk, grabbing the logbook and getting ready to flick through it once more, before Mando spoke up.

“I seek no information today,” He revealed. You froze, before slotting the logbook back beneath the desk slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his reason for visiting you.

“Okay,” You said, upon rising from beneath the desk once more. All of a sudden, you remembered his money—burning a hole in the safe in your room. You perked up, slapping your hands on the desk for lack of what the fuck to even do before getting round to almost scolding this man. “Then, I have a bone to pick with you,”

Mando dropped himself onto his usual stool, flicking his cape behind him and leaning back in subtle comfort. You swallowed, trying not to interpret anything from his clearly at ease behaviour, before heading to your bedroom quickly.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” He spoke up from the shop floor, and your heart skipped. Was that an attempt at a joke? At some comedy? You had to stop yourself, as you got to the floor and riffled through your safe for his overpaid credits, from allowing a warmth to spread through your gut.

You wanted to curse, as loud as you could. Had it really been that long that you were getting flustered over words from a Mandalorian? Undoubtedly the most hostile and unwelcoming people the galaxy had?

Or, was it just Mando himself that had you overthinking every sentence, every visit?

Credits secured in your fist, you made your way back out to the shop, dropping yourself opposite him and grabbing his arm suddenly, not stopping to think that this man could probably break you in half with his bare hands.

You dropped the credits in his gloved hand, sitting back as he stared at the pellets he now cradled in his palm.

“Not what we agreed,” Is all you said in explanation, picking up a tankard of water and sipping some down your throat, for lack of knowing how to cover up your neon cheeks after the exchange. The weather. It’s just the heat.

“I upped your pay,” He retorted.

“Bullshit, Mando,” You retaliated, allowing a few chuckles to escape your lips. Your face softened then, as you looked over to him, sitting awkwardly, still not knowing what to do with the returned credits. “Your money is your money, Mando. I’m fine with what we agreed,”

His fingers finally clasped around the credits, as his body went back to relax against the wall once more.

“Your shop,” Mando began. “You said I keep you in business,”

“That doesn’t mean I want more of your credits. Owning a washed-up weapons repair shop on kriffing Nevarro isn’t ideal, but neither is being a bounty hunter,”

“You’d earn more as a hunter with the way you shoot,” Mando replied instantly. You perked your brow, sending him a small smile.

“Are you saying I’m not a good weapons mechanic?”

You almost burst out laughing with the way Mando straightened himself, immediately being on edge. His fists tightened, almost as if he was suddenly overthinking if he’d insulted you or not.

“N-no,” He partially stuttered out, but you couldn’t keep your laughter contained. You burst out in giggles, overseeing his complete lack of sarcastic understanding. It was endearing; it made him appear more human.

“Joke, Mando. It was a joke,”

He relaxed after that once more, albeit more hesitantly. He went to slot the credits back in his bag placed on the floor, and as he did so, you allowed yourself to indulge. Beskar gleamed as he leant down, showing the twist of his torso and outlining strong triceps on the small amount of him that was unarmoured.

His neck was slender, compared to the size of his helmet. You wondered how the hell he wore that thing constantly. It didn’t look light, nor did you expect it to be all that comfortable.

If he saw you gawking when he rose once more, he didn’t make any indication of noticing. To avoid revealing what you’d been doing, you moved to cross your legs as a save. “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.

Mando tensed up slightly at your question, but not enough to come across as surprised. He’d already admitted to not needing information from you today.

“Habit,” He replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that warmth one again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in your home, hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind once more.

You wanted to know him, but you also knew that asking him these things would result in nothing good.

You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”

All effort to force those feelings away dissolved, as soon as you heard the low, modulated chuckles from beneath his helmet. They floated through the room, along with the image of his shaking shoulders and tight chest as his laughter tumbled to the floor.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately, knowing that it would be a noticeable blush. You grabbed your tankard, bringing it to your lips as you continued to indulge in looking at him, as he calmed down from the small burst of laughter that he allowed himself to show you.

There was something pulsing within you that you simply couldn’t contain; that want; that desire, after so long without knowing anyone on this godforsaken planet. Before you could stop yourself, words were already tumbling from your mouth.

“I don’t see many people on this planet, besides you,” You admitted. Mando slowly turned his visor to you, making it known that you had his full attention.

You immediately felt too vulnerable, resulting in you standing from your seat and heading round to your work desk, slamming the tankard down on the top. “It’s... well, it’s nice. I hope that, even if you don’t need information, you continue to come by,”

You held your breath as soon as you stopped talking, too afraid that you’d overstepped a line. Not that this transaction with him had ever been professional, but you knew Mandalorian’s were inherently focused on their job, and their job only.

When he didn’t reply, or move, or do anything, you started to panic. You played it off as best as you could, by downing the rest of the water in your tankard and averting your gaze to beneath your work desk, like you had the immediate need to start taking inventory.

Mando rose a few moments later, grabbing his satchel and placing it over his shoulder. The breath caught in your throat as he approached your desk. You almost gasped as a gloved hand reached for your forearm, dragging it out to hover in front of him.

He dropped the five hundred credits into your palm as your eyes flicked over his helmet at light speed. He stepped back, removing his grip from you and placing his visor upon your face one last time, before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

He unlocked it, but didn’t open it. You felt your pounding heartbeat as he cleared his throat.

“It is,” He let out lowly. “Nice.”

The door swooped open and shut behind him gently before you could say anything in return.

He didn’t come back the next week. You wondered if you’d scared him off, if your tiny confession of enjoying his company was too much.

You thought back to the way he’d said the word— Nice— as if it wasn’t something that was often spoken in his vocabulary. For a man of little words, you were increasingly amazed at how he managed to convey things with his body alone, being weighed down and covered up by Beskar at all times.

The credits still weighed on you. You’d given them back to him, you’d made yourself clear, but then he’d given them back and left without a trace.

You prayed to some god out there that it wasn’t a Mandalorian way of saying goodbye. From what you knew of Mandalore, which was very little, you knew they weren’t the gift giving types, but it still made you think.

Yet all that he’d done, despite the deal, the trade of information and the abrupt middle of the night awakenings, those small attempts at light-hearted banter and void visits had given you just a shred of hope.

People on Nevarro were cut-throat, you knew that better than most after making your home there for so long. That’s why this shook you to your core, sparking this unlikely partnership with someone such as Mando.

Stars, you missed him. It sounded ridiculous when you said it in your head, but you did. Contact was little to none on this planet.

You didn’t speak more than a sentence to people needing repairs. You didn’t sit down and talk, and fuck, the loneliness was something you were used to— yet six months of regular meetings, even just to trade information, had offered you a warmth you hadn’t realised you’d missed—

Until he was gone.

It wasn’t until three weeks later that you ventured out of the shop, certain that you were going mad. You hardly frequented the bar at the entrance of the city, choosing to stay safe and locked away in your small isolation inside the shop, but the absence of people was sucking you dry.

You entered the bar, making sure not to seem out of place. It was still an odd feeling, seeing people sitting around and drinking. You knew a lot of the locals— returning customers for repairs, all of which were hunters.

Perhaps there was some unspoken understanding that you weren’t to be touched, as the small nods of hunters hit you when you accidentally met their eyes. It almost made you feel known, but at the same time you hadn’t felt much since that last conversation with the Beskar clad hunter.

You were heading towards the bar when a voice rang out behind you. “Miss!” You swivelled on your heels, hitting his eyes.

It was Greef Karga. You knew him, everyone on Nevarro did. He was the Guild contact here, the one that most hunters got their pucks from for the next job.

“Karga, hello,” You replied, not politely, but not harshly. Being polite got you nowhere on Nevarro, and you knew that despite his smiles and willingness to be friendly, Karga was a snake in the grass.

“Drink?” He questioned, and you found yourself accepting his offer. You made your way to his booth, slotting yourself in opposite him. He grabbed a bottle of blue liquor from the floor by his feet, clicking at the droid behind the bar for glasses. “What brings you here? You don’t usually venture from your establishment,”

You regarded him, all too aware of the blaster on your hip for safety.

“Slow few weeks. Fancied a change of scenery,” You replied bluntly.

“Ah yes, business is slower than usual currently,” He admitted. A droid placed two shot glasses on your table, scuttling back to the bar. Karga swiped them towards him, uncorking the bottle and filling up both glasses. “But your repairs are stellar, and I hear your custom blasters are best sellers,”

He dragged a glass towards you, which you took once he’d taken his hand away. You swilled the liquid around, trying not to look too despondent.

“Parts are sparse,” You admitted. “Fewer hunters need new gear. I’m starting to think there’s someone better than me on Nevarro,”

Karga let out a coarse laugh, which you first mistook for a chesty cough. His smile was indication enough, however, of the funniness he obviously though that required.

“No, my dear, there’s no one better,” He replied. You chose to ignore him calling you dear. Opposite you he raised his glass to the sky, prompting you to do the same. “To good business in future,”

You nodded at him in response, before downing the blue liquor in one gulp. It burned as it slinked down your throat, hitting your stomach and causing a warmth to spread through your gut. Nothing like the small conversations the Mandalorian gave you, but it made you feel something— and that was in short supply around here.

Karga sighed in refreshment after slamming his glass back on the table, but his gaze fixed on something behind you as you deposited your glass back down. “Ah, Mando!” He exclaimed.

Your heart stopped.

You stayed utterly frozen in place, feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline surge through you.

“That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days at least,” Karga continued.

You tried not to let the hurt surge through you. So, he had been back since your last meeting. He’d been back, and he hadn’t come to visit. You tried to rationalise your hurt— he held no obligation to stop by the shop, he held no responsibility, yet— you wished—

You wished he would have.

“I trust you know our resident weapons mechanic,” Karga continued, gesturing to you. You forced yourself to turn round and look at him— face to face. His helmet stared at you blankly in response, and you wondered what expression he held beneath.

Maybe it was annoyance, thinking he was finally rid of a nobody mechanic from the inner city.

Maybe it was surprise, or hurt, or pain. You knew that despite the immense effort you were putting in to keep your stare blunt, he’d see right through you.

“Yes,” Mando replied after what seemed like hours. You turned back to Karga, pushing your glass to the middle of the table in dismissal.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going,” You got up swiftly, standing in front of Mando after leaving the booth. He looked down at you, chrome visor focusing on your eyeline. You found yourself flicking your eyes from the left and right, as if you could see the placement of his eyes beneath the helmet—

Then you looked away.

You sauntered out of the bar, ignoring exclaimed farewells from Karga as you booked it out of the bar, heading straight back to the shop. Your strides were fierce, your heart pounded painfully beneath your ribs and you couldn’t stop yourself from balling your fists.

You felt like screaming, but you kept your mouth shut and your jaw tense. You felt like punching, kicking, pounding something, but you didn’t, instead opting to breathe it out as you entered your shop and slammed the door shut behind you.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You yelled at yourself to calm down, to accept that it was nothing. God forbid, you’d gotten worked up over the smallest indication of human interaction, from a man whose face you’d never fucking seen, no less.

It was stupid. You’d long grown out of enjoying fairy tales, and this wasn’t one. You were a grown woman, hyper-fixating over a six-month long dodgy deal with a bounty hunter that you didn’t fucking know— not really, anyway.

In a frenzy, you unsheathed your blaster, heading out to your courtyard. You fired at will, not stopping to aim your blaster or even try to hit the targets. When that got dull, you actually started to try—you positioned your feet parallel to your shoulders, straightening your spine and extending your neck—

You fired, hitting the targets dead centre every time, just like normal.

You fired until your trigger finger began to ache, until the incessant anger and hurt in your chest had dissipated to a low roar that you could manage in other ways—with the bottle of Coruscant whiskey that you only saved for special occasions; big deals, good months, and, evidently, to feel something other than red, hot and seething anger.

You went to sheath your blaster, when the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up—

You turned swiftly, raising your gun and keeping your eyes wide open. You faltered when you saw the familiar glint of moon rays on chrome. Mando stood in the courtyard doorway, just as he’d done the last time you’d seen him.

Your elbow buckled, dropping the blaster to your side as you kept yourself composed. You stared him down like you were unbothered to see him. You had a feeling he knew that wasn’t the case, though, and if he’d been there for a few minutes before then your incessant firing would have proven otherwise.

“Mando,” You spoke first, keeping your voice steady. “What information do you need this time?” You kept it professional, not wanting to think back about the way you’d been so blatantly vulnerable to him before. He probably thought you to be childish, over-emotional, idiotic.

You’d rather he thought you to be that, than weak.

“What were you doing with Karga?” He demanded it this time. His voice was low, lower than usual, despite the modulator. You sheathed your pistol, stepping towards him once. He didn’t move aside.

“Drinking,” You stated the obvious. You made a move to try and get past him, but a Beskar covered forearm leant up against the doorframe, stopping you even more so.

“He’s bad news,” He continued. You let out an annoyed scoff.

“I know who Karga is. Kriff—I live here,” You accidentally let your annoyance travel through your words, making it exceptionally clear that you were pissed, if it hadn’t been obvious before.

You grabbed his forearm, tugging it away from the doorframe and pushing your way inside. He let you pass eventually, watching as you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from beneath your work desk. You jumped up onto the desk, letting your legs droop over the side as you uncorked the bottle.

It was silent. You could tell he was trying to find something to say, to bring up the obvious tension, but you also got the sense that Mando didn’t often apologise.

Why should he? He didn’t promise to come back.

He hadn’t promised. You had no idea why you were so ticked off, yet there you were—seething, angry, hurt, perhaps on the brink of tears, but possibly relishing in the fact he’d come to the shop after your little encounter. You felt sick at your own feelings.

“Are you... mad at me?” He spoke finally. The breath caught in the back of your throat. His hesitation made it clear; he didn’t often delve into the workings of others. He was being kind by even asking you about this.

You felt like a dick. All of a sudden, you could see even more so that you were being incredibly irrational. Weeks of zero contact had turned you into a moron. A lonely, overthinking moron.

You glanced up at him, holding the whiskey between your thighs. You let out a sigh.

“No,” You let out. “I’m sorry. It’s been... a strange, few weeks,” You chuckled slightly after speaking, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a small gulp. “Loneliness is a disease, Mandalorian,” You added, taking another sip and slotting the bottle back between your thighs.

Mando moved from the doorway, striding towards you slowly. You stayed in place, focusing on the warmth that the whiskey provided you with. You finally looked up when he stood before you, not close enough to slot between your hips, but close enough for your knees to graze against Beskar.

He reached out for the bottle, grabbing it from between your thighs and making his way around to the main shop. You went to turn, but the leather of his gloved hand slotted itself between your jaw and your neck, pushing your gaze to the back of the shop.

“Don’t look,” He told you, warningly.

You did as you were told, all the while counting your shallow breaths as they quietly shook from within your body. You heard the subtle glug of the bottle, the drip as the liquid sloshed around within the glass, and then the bottle was being slotted back between your thighs from behind.

Mando’s arm wrapped itself around you as he made sure it was back in place, his glove grazing over the top of your thigh and skimming your waist as he retracted his arm back. You’d be lying if you didn’t relish in those small touches.

They set your skin alight, despite there being no skin-to-skin contact involved. It was the closest he’d ever come to you, allowing the gentler side of himself to appear. You’d never see him this way; guard down, a softness to his voice and his unknowing gaze.

You knew that he’d just raised his helmet to take a sip of whiskey—that was enough to make you gulp back the desires within your gut. You couldn’t believe he’d felt comfortable enough to do that around you. You hesitantly turned, waiting to see if it was allowed, but fully turned to him when he didn’t push your gaze away like before.

You swivelled on the top of the desk, bringing your legs round to droop over the other side, while Mando grabbed his usual stool and dragged it closer to you.

He sat, sighing slightly as he did so, before looking up at you sat before him.

“Solitude,” He spoke. “I prefer that word,” His voice was soft. You knew he was tired just from the way he spoke; he was exhausted.

“Solitude implies a sense of peace,” You replied, stepping carefully over your words. “Do you feel peace in your ship, all alone?”

“Do you feel peace in this shop?” He hit back with, avoiding your question completely. You were about to say no, but you stopped yourself. This shop was all you had, all you knew. Your choice of loneliness, over solitude, was an obvious indication of the way it made you feel, and you wanted to bet that Mando knew that, but—

Without this life, you didn’t know where you’d be.

“It’s all I have,” You admitted, finally. He nodded subtly, not moving his visor from your face.

“And this,” He said, gesturing to the Beskar he donned. “Is all I know. This is the Way,”

You looked down, swinging your legs back and forth for lack of what to do. You wanted to know more—you always wanted to know more about Mando, that was a given. But right now, you wanted to ask him everything.

“Is that why you stopped coming here?” The words trickled from your lips pitifully, but you had no choice but to accept that you’d spoken them.

Mando was silent for a few moments, but he made no indication of looking away from you. You wondered if, beneath the helmet, he was actually looking at you. Maybe he was zoning out, or was focused on the wall behind your head instead.

“I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break,”

There it was—that warmth. It erupted within your gut, winding its way up your spine and neck, circling down your limbs and to the spot between your legs that you always chose to ignore. You tensed up immediately, forgetting about the whiskey bottle between your thighs as the sensation only increased the wobble of your upper thighs.

“Like you said,” Mando continued, and you could have sworn that his voice sounded strained. Like he was holding back, like his body was almost forcing him to stay quiet. He stood suddenly, causing a small gasp to leave your lips involuntarily, as he strode forward to slot himself partially between your legs. “Loneliness is a disease,”

You went jelloid when a hesitant hand was placed on your thigh—

Stars, it’s been a while.

You were slowly beginning to unwind, as Mando placed his other hand on the opposing thigh, slotting himself further between your legs. As much as you wanted to speed this up, to feel skin touch skin, you didn’t know if that was actually possible for the Mandalorian.

“M-Mando,” You stuttered out, but it only made his grip tighten around your plump skin. You instinctively raised your hands to his chest, feeling the smoothness of his Beskar. “Just— wait,” You managed out, despite all of your senses not wanting him to stop what he was doing. His visor shot to your face quickly and his hands fluttered away from your thighs.

You wanted to cry— that’s not what you’d meant—

You swiped your hands across his Beskar chest plate, reaching down for his large forearms. You heard the breath hitch in the back of his throat, as a small moan escaped his modulator.

You placed his arms back on your legs slowly, but he still looked on his guard, wondering what you had to say.

“Loneliness is a disease,” You spluttered out. Your cheeks were flushed a neon red, and you could feel the rapid heartbeat erupting from beneath your ribs. “It’s— overwhelming,”

When he didn’t move or speak, you wanted to kick yourself. Had you done it again? Revealed something that was too much and reduced yourself to a vulnerable mess? For a moment, you thought Mando could smell the weakness within you, but even you didn’t realise you’d unwind this fast at the most subtle of touches from the Mandalorian.

You froze when he raised a gloved hand to pinch your chin. His thumb was firm but gentle, his other fingers curled just beneath your jaw, and his stare was unwavering.

Stars, your whole body throbbed at his touch. You wanted more, but you also didn’t want it to end as quickly as it had started, and you’d meant what you’d said— overwhelming. It was a red, hot heat that you hadn’t felt in years, it was something that you’d have to get used to again, and from the fumbling touches that Mando gave you, you felt he might be in the same boat.

His thumb slowly made its way to your mouth, gliding back and forth over your bottom lip. You were positively glowing, feeling the intimate touch of the hunter for the first time after what seemed like months of fantasy—

You’d had dreams of him, falling asleep to the image of his helmet or the way he slumped on your stool every so often, so desperate to see what lay beneath his armour.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He needlessly questioned. The way his voice trickled all over you was enough to make your body surge towards his once more. You had to stop yourself from reaching for his waistband, overcome with a hunger that you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s okay. We have time,”

With five simple words you could have collapsed to the floor right there. All too soon, his touch vanished from your skin. You leant forward has he removed himself from you, stepping back while you tried desperately to get his touch back.

The whiskey bottle between your legs slipped suddenly, toppling from its place between your thighs as you realised you’d started to open your legs wider where he’d stood between your hips. You grappled at air to try and stop it falling, but it fell from the desk—

Right into a skilful gloved hand. Mando gripped the bottle with a ferocity that you knew he’d wanted to grip you with, before stepping forward once more. He slotted the bottle between your thighs once more, but right in the nook of your upper thighs—

You shivered uncontrollably as both hands came to cradle your thighs, pushing them together to keep the bottle in place.

You watched, defeated, as he picked up his satchel from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, staring at you atop the desk when he was ready to leave.

“If I see you drinking with Karga again, I won’t be as gentle,” Despite his efforts to keep his voice strong, you heard the breathy way he spoke.

It filled you with a confidence that had disappeared as soon as he’d first placed the bottle back between your legs.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” You challenged. You couldn’t stop yourself from sending a smirk his way, and it had the desired effect—

Mando dropped his helmet to the floor as the most subtle of groans escaped his lips. He swivelled and turned, heading for the door immediately afterwards.

He opened it, letting in the cold Nevarro air. You watched as he slinked out of the door, pulling it shut from the outside—

And then there was silence. You breathed out a shaky breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding, grabbing the whiskey and taking a large gulp as you tried to regain your composure fully.

You went to bed that night utterly elated, his chrome visor appearing behind your eyes all the same.

Feel free to send things to my ask box or message me!

#din djarin x reader #no saints #no saints fic #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #smut and fluff #smut and angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad

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pitch-pearl-void · 4 years ago

Text

The Consort’s Circlet

Danny set the heel of his palms beneath the circlet and pushed upward at the same time he lowered his head. He made a low hissing noise when, instead of sliding cleanly off his head, the circlet glowed, burned, and squeezed his head all the tighter. The jewel nestled in the center of his forehead burned hotter than it had previously, becoming less like a warmed washcloth and more like a sun heated rock. He gasped in pain.

Princess Dorethea grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Stop this, my lord!"

"You stop it," Danny snapped back, tearing his wrists free. He backed away from the ghost until his back crashed against a wall. His hand went to his hip, reaching for a blaster that wasn't there. Instead his hand grasped uselessly at the rope they had tied around his waist to pull his new tunic against his sides. He gritted his teeth, feeling his face flush. "And give me back my clothes. Guys don't wear tights anymore, you can't just dress me up whatever way you please."

Dorathea sniffed and smoothed her hands down her dress. "I assure you, in this kingdom men do wear 'tights,' as you put it. Are they uncomfortable, my lord?"

Mulishly, Danny muttered, "No..."

"Then stop whining!"

Danny stuck his tongue out. Dorathea bristled, teeth bared, and Danny quickly dropped into a fighting stance he had practiced and used against ghosts for a little over two years, legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the floor, his arms raised in front of his chest. Annoyingly, the tights were as easy to move in as the jumpsuit his parents had made him. He almost welcomed the incoming fight, but unfortunately, Dorathea calmed herself, once more smoothing her hands down her dress.

"This is getting us nowhere," she said, her eyes closed. "You are to shortly become my brother's consort--"

"As if!" Danny shouted, not for the first time. "I'm not marrying a ghost, damn it! Just because you spooks have some sort of ghost hunter fetish--"

"You do not have a choice in the matter!" For a moment, it looked as if Dorathea's eyes were changing, but the moment passed as she once again began petting her dress. "My brother has chosen you as his consort. It is an honor and you should treat it as such." Danny snorted and she glared at him. "This...barbaric behavior is most unbecoming, my lord."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't know what you expected after kidnapping someone. Especially someone who fights ghosts every day. I'm not in the habit of rolling over."

Dorathea sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead, brushing against her own circlet. A smaller one, Danny noted, and one without a garish, creepy eye-like stone in the center. Danny moved cautiously away from her, toward a window in the stonework.

"I told him this was a bad idea," she moaned, sounding as though she was speaking more to herself, "I told him humans had moved beyond our rules and would not obey simply because he commanded it. I especially warned him about you and your kin. Foolish. Humans who can fight ghosts are the most dangerous of them all, but the moment my brother saw you defeat the warriors he had sent to distract your town's defender, he would not be swayed. I have lost count of the number of times he has demanded to watch the recording I took of you in battle."

Danny shuddered, his skin crawling. "I had help. It wasn't just me. Phantom was there too." He rubbed at the circlet, wincing as the stone burned. "We work together most of the time. Why isn't he here? Why me?"

Not that Danny wanted Phantom trapped in this predicament in his stead--

He hissed in pain and pushed at the circlet to no avail. "Phantom defeated the Ghost King almost single-handedly. He's powerful, brave, funny--" Tears sprang to his eyes as it felt like the stone was trying to burn its way to his brain. "--Damn it! Look, I just do what my parents taught me! If you ghosts are really infatuated with power over beauty, why is Prince Asshole trying to force this crap on me instead of marrying, like, Ember or something?"

"You have defeated Miss Ember in the past," Dorathea pointed out. "Numerous times."

"Yeah, with help! Phantom's!"

"Yes, and you regularly compete with Phantom in what you apparently regard as..." She raised an eyebrow. "Sparring?"

Danny felt his cheeks warming and hoped it was in response to the circlet's burning touch and not the fluttering sensation in his stomach. "It's practice," he muttered. "He's helping me get better."

"It is flirting, my lord," Dorathea corrected, "borderline foreplay. If strength is such a huge factor in how we ghosts find each other attractive, then what do you suppose it means when Phantom challenges you in mock battle so that you might test his strength while he witnesses yours?"

Danny's face was definitely flushing now. He spluttered and saw Dorathea's expression soften into something more girlish and, dare he think it, affectionate, before Danny had to slap his hands over his face in a weak attempt to hide. "Don't tell me that," he whined. "Oh my god, he's been flirting?"

"For some years it would seem," Dorathea agreed, amused. She sighed. "Not that it matters, now, of course. He waited too long, and now my brother has snatched you from beneath his nose."

Danny pushed his hands upward, tugged at the burning circlet once more before he moved his hands into his hair, pushing his bangs off his sweating forehead. It felt like his scalp was on fire. "Just because you guys caught me," he growled, irritated as pain traveled down his neck and along his spine, "doesn't mean you can keep me. Just wait. I'll get out of here yet."

Dorathea looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid it is not that simple. Your circlet...it is..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. More specifically, at his now visible forehead. "My lord, is your circlet burning?"

"Uh, yeah?" Danny taped a finger against the graceful, silver wires twining in a circle around his head, winced, and jerked his hand away. "It started a little while ago. I figured it was a 'ghost and human can't mix' thing."

Dorathea's eyes widened. "No," she said. "The circlet was made with a human in mind, it is perfectly safe, but it should not be activating. Not so soon."

"Oh wow." Danny braced his back against the wall again. He was almost to the window--Dorathea didn't seem concerned about that for whatever reason--but the fire was spreading from his spine to his limbs and the cool stones offered some small relief. "You guys are trying to kill me, aren't you?"

"Not kill," Dorathea huffed, sounding disgusted by the idea. "What use is claiming a human bride only to kill him? No, my lord, it is meant to bring you closer to my brother."

Danny squinted at her, suspicious. "Closer?"

"Emotionally. Like a true consort."

"That's never going to happen," Danny growled. Actually growled. He blinked and touched his throat where the rumbling noise was still coming from.

Danny's skin crawled with revulsion. He had met Aragon, briefly. When he had spoken to Danny it was as if he thought Danny was already his possession, a mute servant who would obey his command. He had sounded so smug. If Danny hadn't been so dazed and on the edge of unconsciousness from whatever warping portal they had used to transport him deep into the Ghost Zone, he would have decked the so-called prince just on principle.

Dorathea smiled sadly. "And yet it is working already if the circlet is activating."

Danny swore violently. He tried to push the circlet off again, but it was hot. He barely felt it on his forehead anymore, but it burned his hands. He hissed, frustrated, and the noise sounded as beastial as the growl.

"It is strange, though," Dorathea said thoughtfully.

"What is?" Danny spat, his voice like gravel.

"You only recently met my brother. In theory, the circlet should keep you bound to the castle until you learn to love him, at which point the circlet would activate and allow you to assume our second form yourself. It's responding far too soon."

Danny squinted an eye open to glare at her. "Your circlet thing must be broken then because the only thing I feel toward him is the desire to rip his damn throat out!" He shouted the last part, the words barely discernible over the growl shaking his chest.

A roar.

Dorathea's eyes widened, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm. Danny was pleased to finally see her take his anger seriously, even if he was losing his humanity to do it.

However, before he could feel too smug, Dora's lips curled into a smug smile of her own. "Would you now..." she whispered.

Alarm bells began clanging in the towers above them. Human and ghost rushed to the window, but Danny was closer and reached the sill before Dorathea. He searched the odd, cloud-filled skies for whatever had spooked the sentries until Dorathea slid beneath his arm and shoved her shoulder against his ribs, forcing him to retreat to the left side of the windowsill.

"Not very lady-like," he grunted.

She sniffed. "As if you have grounds to criticize me."

A black shape shot past their window, cutting their bickering short. It flew farther up and then away from their tower. Danny sucked in a breath. A dragon. A gigantic black dragon. It roared, spewing bright blue flames, and Danny mentally amended, A gigantic black ghost dragon that breathes fire.

It didn't bother flapping its wings but it soared upward all the same, flashing a purple belly and a spiked tail at those below. Was it attacking the kingdom? It was flying the wrong way if it was.

"What kind of kingdom keeps a dragon as a pet?" Danny asked, incredulous.

Dorathea choked beside him.

"You dare challenge ME?" Aragon's voice boomed from above them. From the dragon's throat, specifically.

"Oh..." Danny said weakly. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Aragon is the--He turns into a dragon?!"

"There is a reason he has ruled our realm for so long," Dorathea agreed sadly. "In this form, his second form, he is much too powerful for anyone to challenge. Even me." She touched her necklace. "Though I too have a dragon form..."

Danny eyed her warily. He inched closer to the wall, allowing Dorathea more space at the window. "Makes sense," he said archly. "You being a dragon..."

She favored him with a cool glance.

If she meant to reply--and Danny really hoped she did because he had a snarky quip lined up--the door to Danny's new room banged open. Two voices yelled out in sync, and Danny spun around, recognition already splitting his face into a grin. Sam and Tucker burst into the room. Sam, dressed as a knight, pointed her drawn sword at Dorathea while Tucker pulled back on a bow, an arrow primed and aimed at the princess as well.

"Unhand our friend, you fiend!" Sam ordered. "And stop looking so cute while you're at it!"

"Yeah!" Tucker chorused. Then, "Wait..."

"Sam! Tucker!" Danny took a step toward them, but Dorathea suddenly grabbed his wrist. It was the first time she had touched him, and he gawked at her a couple seconds before trying to yank his arm away. "What are you doing, let--ow, ow, ow! Gees!"

For such a dainty-looking girl, her grip was hard enough to bruise.

Or break, Danny thought, wincing one eye shut.

"Let him go!" Sam charged at them, sword raised.

Dorathea jerked on Danny's wrist, and he stumbled to the side, inbetween her and Sam. Dorathea's arm latched around his shoulders, pinning him to her chest. She raised a hand to his throat and five pinpricks dug into the skin around his windpipe. Danny swallowed. He couldn't see it, but he had a bad feeling Dorathea's hand had just grown some talons.

Sam lowered her sword and held up her free hand.

"Oh shit," Tucker said.

Beside Danny's ear, Dorathea leaned in to whisper, "If those two are here then who do you think my brother is chasing outside?"

A cold sense of dread pooled in Danny's stomach. "What are you--"

"Think, my lord. These two humans couldn't have arrived here, in the Ghost Zone, without assistance. Not when my brother posted sentries at the gate, not when our kingdom is so well hidden. So who did Aragon change into a dragon to chase into the skies?"

Danny's eyes widened. He barely managed to breathe, "Phantom..." before the circlet began sending fire down his spine again. He cried out and tried to reach for his head, but Dorathea's arm obstructed his own and the hand at his throat warned him against struggling.

"What are you doing to him?!" Tucker yelled.

Dorathea ignored him and brought her lips to the cartilage of Danny's ear. "Phantom has come to rescue you, my lord. He is using himself as bait while these two free you from the castle."

"No," Danny groaned, the word more a guttural growl than spoken.

"Yes. See for yourself."

Dorathea released Danny's neck and grabbed his chin instead, her claws digging into the sensitive skin of his face. She forced his head to turn toward the window, and Danny pried his eyes open despite the pain urging him to shut the world out. It was difficult to focus at first, but a bright green beam caught his eyes and stole every one of his thoughts. Small as Phantom was from this distance, his brilliant glow, the brightness of his white hair, stood out starkly against the angry gray-green clouds.

The sight of him made Danny's breath catch, his skin burn.

"My brother will destroy him," Dorathea continued, her tone cold, merciless. "He will burn his body to ash."

"No!"

"There is nothing you can do, locked in this tower." Dorathea taped a claw to his chin. "As so many before, your only duty now is to watch two men fight over you. Galling, isn't it? To feel so helpless while the one you love is slaughtered before your eyes."

"Sam!" Tucker cried. "His eyes--"

"I can see it, Tucker!" Sam snapped.

Danny struggled in Dorathea's iron grip, but as before her strength kept him from breaking free. "Let go of me!" he snarled. His gaze never left the two ghosts battling in the sky above. Phantom was quicker, more agile, but a lucky strike from Aragon knocked him to the ground, and Danny growled, teeth clenched.

"Phantom is no match for my brother," Dorathea continued. "He has defeated many enemies this way. Now that he has him on the ground, he will crush him, burn him. He will--"

Aragon pinned Phantom to the ground and reared back his head.

Phantom could feel his form condensing beneath Aragon's limb--never a good sign. Ghost bodies were incredibly adaptable, but Aragon had Phantom's core trapped beneath his oversized paw, and the bastard knew it. Phantom could see it in the way Aragon had pulled back his lips in a parody of a human smile.

"No!" Danny roared.

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

He means to kill me, Phantom thought somewhat frantically.

It was such an extreme reaction to a little bit of trespassing, especially from a ruler of a kingdom. Those sorts usually encouraged trespassing so they could steal the unwary into their realm and never let them leave. Even Phantom's attack--such as it was--should have been more of a nuisance than something Aragon took personally.

But Aragon was crushing Phantom beneath his foot. He was rearing back his head. Flames were gathering around his maw.

What had Phantom done?

Phantom was the one who should be angry enough to kill, not Aragon. Aragon had stolen his friend, dang it.

Phantom struggled uselessly beneath the dragon's paw. He couldn't even make a sarcastic comment with his chest crushed. He couldn't yell for help from Sam or Tucker either, of course, but priorities were priorities, and he wanted to go out having wounded Aragon's pride badly enough that the bastard would feel it for years.

At least Sam and Tucker made it into the castle...

Something crashed into Aragon. The prince, fully as big as Fenton Works, stumbled to the side, each step he took sending tremors through the ground, but none so much as the shake that shook the ground as a second set of clawed paws landed on either side of Phantom.

Phantom turned onto his side and curled inward, pulling his knees to his chest as ribs and organs reformed into the familiar shape Phantom had learned via the portal accident. It wasn't agony, he didn't register any pain, but it was...discomforting. As soon as his lungs finished reshaping, Phantom gasped in a breath, expanding his chest in a sudden burst. His lungs inflated and shoved the other still forming organs and bones to slot into their proper alignment.

He hated that feeling...

"What is the meaning of this?" Aragon shouted, outraged. "Why would you--"

The second dragon--Phantom was fairly sure it was a dragon--roared at Aragon, interrupting the prince in a rude manner Phantom would have highly approved of had he not screamed and clamped his hands over his suddenly ringing ears. He rolled onto his back and stared up--up--up--at the dragon above him.

Like Aragon, its scales were predominately black, but unlike the prince the underbelly was a bright blue, and the black-scaled arms on either side of Phantom shone an iridescent blue, highlighted by Phantom's glow. It had poised its front arms, its chest, directly over Phantom, making it nearly impossible for Aragon to reach Phantom without crossing those bared teeth first. Phantom assumed it simply a coincidence of the way the dragon had landed after shoving Aragon aside, but then he saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. A tail, tipped with black hair--fur?--wavered up and down, ready to strike a blow on their left side if Aragon tried to strike from the flank.

Even that could have been a coincidence had Phantom not seen the tip of a wing, its underside colored a bright blue, dip down before rising again, proving that the dragon's wings were outstretched, mantled over them like a bird protecting its kill.

Phantom tilted his head further back, scraping the crown of his skull along the dirt until he could see the dragon's head on the end of a long, sinuous neck as it swayed left to right, fangs bared at Aragon.

The new dragon growled, and a voice Phantom never expected to come from the dragon's throat yelled, "I won't let you hurt him!"

Phantom's jaw dropped. "Danny?" he croaked. He rolled onto his stomach, wincing only slightly, and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. "Danny, you can't just turn into a dragon--it took me weeks just to get this form right! Do you realize how long it will take me to match a dragon?"

Humans were just so insistent on their shapes matching. Danny was never going to consider Phantom mate material if he couldn't become a dragon. Personally, Phantom didn't have a problem with it. If Danny wanted to be a dragon, so be it. Phantom would love him no matter what shape or size.

But would Danny accept Phantom? It was already hard enough convincing him to look past the ghost/human thing, how was Phantom going to convince a gorgeous, overly large and powerful dragon to give him a fair chance?

Maybe...if Phantom could get the shape right...it would take some time...and he couldn't attain the correct size immediately, but Phantom could replicate Danny's shape again--with his own coloring, of course--so that he became a dragon the size of a human. Then, if he could convince Danny to stay in the Ghost Zone, he could steadily grow until he matched Danny in size again. It would take a while...but if Danny wanted a dragon as a mate then, hell, Phantom would become a dragon.

... Oh.

Phantom floated onto his feet and glared at the prince who had stolen Danny from him. Aragon was already a dragon. He could be a humanoid ghost or a dragon at will, but there had to be a trick to it. After all, Danny had only become a dragon after being taken by Aragon. And now Aragon was a dragon, Danny was a dragon, and Phantom, who had spent two amazing years as Danny's friend with little hope of becoming more due to the whole "enemies" thing, was the one on the outside.

Phantom willed ecto-energy to his hands. "That is so not on." He floated up to Danny's draconic head and whispered, "You attack, I'll defend?" It was a strategy they had used before on difficult opponents, guarding one another's backs. Phantom was especially good at it.

Aragon hadn't taken Danny to spite Phantom or to convince Danny to become his knight. He had taken Danny in order to make Danny his, uncaring about Danny's feelings on the matter.

Danny growled.

"I hope that means you agree," Phantom said. "I'm not sure how much control a human has over a ghost form like this. Can you even understand me...?"

Danny's large head swung over to Phantom and nudged against him. At first Phantom squawked, swaying, but then he braced himself against Danny's pushing and realized Danny was rubbing his cheek against him. Nuzzling?

Phantom cancelled the ecto-energy in his hands and laid a hesitant palm against Danny's scaled hide. Even through the gloves of the jumpsuit Phantom had copied and inverted from Danny's hunter suit, he could feel the pebbled scales, the heat radiating from Danny, so much stronger and hotter than Danny's normal body heat. Phantom scratched his fingers over the scales and looked up at Danny's eye.

There was a faint white-blue glow that hadn't been there before, an oval pupil expanding into a more familiar circle as Danny stared back at him, but it looked like Danny's eye--felt like Danny's eye. The same dusty blue iris, the same responding burn in Phantom's chest whenever he met that gaze.

The eye half closed and Danny nudged Phantom a little harder. The growl softened into a soft rumble. Phantom grinned. He still wasn't sure if Danny understood him or not, but he seemed to recognize him at least.

"No," Aragon hissed. Phantom and Danny swung their attention back to their enemy. Danny's growl sharpened, matched by a responding growl in Aragon. The dragon prince roared, "I will not be bested by him."

Phantom willed energy into his hands again. "Gee, Danny, what did you do to him?"

Aragon's burning red eyes shifted to him, ferocity and hatred clear in that gaze.

"What did I do to him?" Phantom corrected, uncertain.

Instead of answering, Danny lunged at Aragon. It was a foolish, bullheaded, very Danny-like thing of him to do, charge in without a thought like that, but Phantom sighed and flew after him. Phantom would fight as he always had, at Danny's side, following his lead.

But hopefully this fight would end with Danny returning to his true human form. Dragon Danny was awe-inspiring to look at, but Phantom had gotten more than a little attached to the one that smiled...

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #pitch pearl #pitchpearl #Dragon Danny #Listen; there was a Need

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misterewrites · 3 years ago

Text

Inhuman Interrogation (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound! Here’s the next chapter of the Underground! A special thank you to everyone who reads my stories. I know they’re not everyone’s speed and I get wordy but I really do appreciate it! I really hope you are having some fun with it. Okay stay safe, sound, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear masks and get yourself vaccinated, push for vaccines worldwide. Here's the next chapter, enjoy! Feel free to leave likes, tell your friends, reblog and leave feedback I love it all! have a good week and I'll see you later! E is out byeeeeee!

If you want an easier way to read my story here’s the newest chapter at ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79942294

Curious what this about? Here’s the first chapter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

Want an overview of my works, you can find me right over here! Fun fact I do, on a occasion, write stuff for fandoms! Shocking I know :D

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Summary: Oliver's been caught red handed and there's only one thing to do: Claw and lie his way out of the situation. However, the bard might be a little over his head from this stranger who watches all.

-----

Oliver could feel a chill run down his spine, fear gripping him tightly as he scrambled to keep himself calm. Being found out was always a possibility he’d calculated in his plans, he just hadn’t wanted to deal with it tonight. Well you know what they say: When life gives you lemons, squirt lemon juice in life’s eyes and run like hell.

He’d been caught so the next step was to determine by who.

Oliver blew cool air onto his face as he pivoted around to see which person had been acute enough to catch onto his antics.

He had been expected to looking at an unhappy Lea with his sword drawn.

What found waiting for him was worse.

It was good looking man though Oliver couldn’t hazard a guess to his age. His hair was short wispy dark brown like the color of copper. His face was scratched by dozens of tiny whites line, healed scars that somehow did not detract away from his handsomeness. He wore a plain white tunic with black leggings, a large bronze hued cape hung over his unusually thin frame. The most striking feature were his golden eyes. Not golden in shade but actual gold, metallic shimmering and shining like metal caught in the glow of the sun.

He was a sight to behold, perfection made flesh and blessed by the gods.

And Oliver knew he was utterly and terribly inhuman. He was not a mortal being for no human could ever been so perfect.

The Stranger tilted his head quizzically, his eyes dilated into pupil-less orbs.

“You” He spoke in a raspy, low voice “You’ve been busy.”

Oliver coughed, trying to get his dry throat working again.

The Stranger took a step closer, his gaze unflinching “Yes, very busy.”

Oliver chuckled nervously “I haven’t the slightest clue what you mean increasingly creepy man. If you excuse me.”

As Oliver turned to leave, his blood turned cold when the stranger harshly whispered, his words booming in Oliver’s ears.

“How’s Death I wonder? He’s an old friend for you, right?”

Oliver whirled around, fist clenched but the Stranger hadn’t taken a step forward. In fact he had taken a step away, furthering the distance between them.

Oliver gulped nervously, trying his best to stop his racing heart.

“And you” he murmured quietly, trying to hold onto his fleeting courage “Smell of it.”

It was true: Even this far away, Oliver could smell the stench of decay, of death and blood wafting off the Stranger as if he’d come straight from a bloody battle.

The Stranger made no indication he heard Oliver’s comment, just stared with golden eyes unblinking.

Oliver let out a tense breath before closing his eyes. He centered his will, he reached out into the universe and drew in the power of his magic.

He could hear the scrawling of a pen across the scratchy surface of parchment, the squishy wet sounds of paint drying, the tuning of a lute among excited laughter and cheers.

‘I need to escape.’ Oliver spoke in his mind.

Knowledge filled his mind: Spells and their uses. The hand gestures necessary to tug at the weave to make his will, his need a reality.

An unknown force guided his hand, raising it high and surging with magical power. Oliver’s eyes snapped open with a fierce determination. He took a deep breath, his fingers at the ready as he prepared to recite the incantation.

“I…” Oliver began when the Stranger struck. There was a blink and there was the stranger in front of him, his hand wrapped tightly around Oliver’s wrist.

“So.” the Stranger spoke in an oddly smooth voice “You ready to tell me what you were doing squirreling about?”

Oliver was strained against the Stranger but his grip was as strong as iron. Unless he could complete the hand gestures and motions along with the incantation, the spell was incomplete and he was as helpless as a kitten in Stranger’s grasp.

Oliver grimaced in pain “Now you’re remembering to be human? No creepy staring or awkward conversations about death?”

“Sorry, sometimes my lady speaks through me. I am her will incarnate on this plane.” The Stranger gave a sheepish grin

Oliver smiled uneasily “Right mysterious lady sure. That’s totally normal. How about you let me go and I won’t take the psychotic act personally?”

“But it is personal.” The Stranger’s smirk widen, his teeth too sharp to be mortal “You’re up to something and I’d like to know what.”

‘Great.’ Oliver thought to himself, his eyes darting about for a sign of assistance: a cloaked figure nearby fidgeted awkwardly but ultimately did nothing, a few nobles conveniently glanced the opposite direction of their altercation. Even the guards were nowhere in sight. Whoever this person was, he was the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

Oliver pursed his lips, his mind desperately grasping at ideas to escape this situation.

“Party planner” Oliver offered helpfully “My job is to keep track of everything, make sure the party is moving smoothly and ensure there is no issues. You know how Mr. Brambleoak dislikes unnecessary distractions.”

The Stranger nodded in understanding “Party planner? That’s a good one. Feasible. If were I shade dumber, I might actually believe you. However…”

Oliver winced in pain as his grip tightened. The bard had been manhandled once or twice before but never this single handedly.

“Now” The Stranger’s golden eyes narrowed threateningly “Let’s try this one more time before you really anger my lady. What were you doing?”

Oliver opened his mouth.

“There you are!”

For one nerve wracking moment Oliver thought the Stranger had backup but he seemed just as confused as he was.

Maria cut in between two men gracefully and forced the Stranger to release his grip. He backed away as she linked herself arm in arm with Oliver.

“Sweetie!” She spoke with honeyed words, patting his arm lovingly “You ran off so quickly. I was worried I’d upset you.”

“Umm.” Oliver eyed the Stranger carefully, wary at any sudden movements “Sorry honey. This person thought I was someone he knew.”

Maria peered closer, getting a good look at the man.

The Stranger smiled cheekily “Fraid I got the wrong person.”

“You should really be careful, the guards here dislike any disturbance to the festivities.”

Almost as if magically summoned by her words, the guards began to approach with hands on their blades.

“Of course. Of course. Wouldn’t want trouble.” the Stranger bowed mockingly “Besides, I don’t think he’s the one I want.”

“That’s certainly ominous.” Oliver murmured under his breath.

Maria jabbed him with her elbow though her gaze never left the Stranger’s golden eyes.

“We should go.” Oliver offered helpfully “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Maria beamed cheerfully “No worries, I was feeling a bit tired myself. Good night good sir.”

“Bye.”

“Good night miss” the Stranger tilted his head “Bard.”

Maria hurriedly dragged Oliver away.

“Thanks for the save.” Oliver said gratefully.

Maria blew a strain of hair from her face “You’re welcome.”

“Not mad about using you as a distraction?”

“Normally I would be” Maria admitted “But that little stunt you pull got the harpies off my back for the rest of night.”

Oliver chuckled “Basking in the admiration of their adoring fans?”

“You have no idea.” she replied wearily “I’m just happy for a moment of peace. So thank you for that.”

“You are welcome then.”

The two made their way outside and straight into quite the scene: a massive cheering crowd formed around a handful of people. Most of the combatants were faced down, sprawled across the cobbled streets though Oliver spotted two familiar faces standing tall and victorious over their fallen foes.

“ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!?” Terri screamed into the roaring masses, arms flexed. Tyrell looked like he was about to pass out from exhaustion.

Oliver spotted Lea among the thundering crowd, his eyes alive with excitement and joy.

Terri caught Oliver’s eye and gave a proud smile. Oliver offered a subtle thumbs up as Maria led him away from the bank.

“I take it you can’t go far.” Maria stated simply.

“No” Oliver spoke honestly “I’m afraid my business is not yet concluded.”

“Is it alright if I stay with you for now?”

Oliver bit his lip nervously “Sure. Of course. I have a moment. Not curious about what I was up to?”

Maria gave a cheeky smirk “Naturally but I have a feeling secrecy is important here. Better to not ask than force you to lie to me."

“Thank you. I don’t like lying to you.”

The two stood side by side, arms intertwined together in a quiet comfortable near silence.

Maria smiled softly “You know my father used to warn me about my sentimentality for people. About they would use it against me.”

“People like me?”

She smirked mischievously as she puffed out her chest, speaking in a mocking tone “There will come poet whose weapon is his word. He will slay you with his tongue.”

Oliver snorted loudly, trying to hide his flushing skin “Oh lei oh lai oh lord?”

“Oh quiet you.” Maria scolded with a chuckle “Surprise you didn’t take the set up.”

“Too easy.”

“Should I be offend?”

“I mean those are pretty good lyrics” Oliver replied, hand high in surrender “Surprised they came out of your father’s bitter lips.”

“I suppose everyone has their moments. However rare.”

“I suppose so.”

Maria’s hazel eyes met Oliver’s brown, curious yet expecting “Do you remember what you said to me two months ago? At the last competition?”

“Umm…” Oliver scratched his chin thoughtfully “I say a lot of things. You need to be specific.”

“That my voice was utterly angelic?”

“Ah, I didn’t think you actually heard me.” Oliver’s cheeks blushed a bright red.

Maria giggled sweetly “Did you mean it? What you said inside?”

“Yes” Oliver answered without hesitation “You don’t need them. You would be amazing by yourself.”

Maria’s smile was sad. She sighed tiredly as she threw a glance towards the bank “My father won’t let me but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Oliver nodded in confirmation.

“I feel like I am a disappointment. A puppet controlled by a father who craves nothing but influence and status.”

“You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

Oliver shifted uneasily.

“That’s what I thought bard. Nice try though.”

Oliver caught sight of Flora and Sel making their way outside, signaling the others the mission was complete. Terri and Tyrell broke free from the fight circle and began making their way towards the rendezvous point.

Maria slipped her arm out of his “It is time I suppose.”

“Enjoy your night off.” Oliver took her hand in his own and softly kissed it. Maria flushed a pink hue but still curtsy in response.

Oliver turned to face her, his eyes gentle and understanding “You aren’t a disappointment.”

Maria rolled her eyes “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not.” Oliver firmly stated.

Maria’s eyes stared quizzically into his “Certain, are you?”

Oliver cleared his throat “You aren’t a disappointment to me.”

“That’s sweet but I’m afraid I barely know you. Besides you’ve been a thorn in my father’s plans consistently. Technically, I shouldn’t be talking to you let alone assisting.”

Oliver gave an impish grin “Yet you are.”

“You are far too charming for your own good.” Maria frowned mockingly

“Nothing compared to you.”

“Sweet words are nothing without meaning beyond them bard.”

Oliver took a deep calming breath, struggling to get the words out before he lost his nerve “The boy who used to climb your fence still loves you.”

Maria’s eyes widen with confusion before realization dawned upon her hazel eyes “How did you…?”

but Oliver ran, bravery failing. He disappeared into the crowded streets without another word. He ducked and weaved through the people in case Maria decided to chase him though he doubt she would. Perhaps those words didn’t have the same weight as they once did. Oliver really did not want to stick around to find out. He shouldn’t have said anything but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

-----

It hadn’t taken long for Oliver to meet up with the rest of the crew. Everyone managed to gather in a nearby alley, their chatter excited and cheerful.

“Boss man!” Terri boomed, arms opened wide “WE DID IT! See the pile? Do I get results or do I get results?”

Oliver gave a weak chuckle “Yes you do. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“Damn straight.” Terri flexed unnecessarily once more. Flora gave a playful wink towards her girlfriend which turned Terri a lovely bright pink.

Tyrell looked haggard and sick “I never want to do that again. Ever.”

“You did amazingly Ty! You can be First Chair in no time if you keep this up!” Terri patted his back approvingly, Tyrell nearly went sprawling to the floor below.

Oliver gave a sharp whistle, grabbing the attention of everyone “We did great team and it was an honor to work with you. If you require my assistance, I’ll be in town for a few days at the Right Hook. Ask for Ollie.”

Terri slipped her hand into Flora’s “We won’t be in town much longer. We have business up north but we wish you well! Permission to leave?”

“Granted.” Oliver waved them off “No making out until you leave our sights.”

It was impossible to know who was a redder shade: Terri or Flora.

The pair bowed respectfully before taking their leave, Flora’s head resting lovingly on Terri’s shoulder. Oliver couldn’t help chuckle at Terri’s proud “And you didn’t poison anyone! Great work sweetheart!”

Oliver turned to the remaining two “Sel, destroy the paper and report back to the local Conductor. If there’s any more trouble come get me.”

Sel gave a single nod before disappearing into the crowded streets without another word.

“And me?” Tyrell whispered anxiously “What about me?”

“You.” Oliver stretched his neck, trying to relive the tension of the night “You’re gonna tell me how to get into the Clifftop Distract.”

“E-excuse me?”

Oliver waved his question off “Don’t even. I know you’re a noble born. Your clothes are way too nice to be a simple baker or blacksmith’s son. And barely frayed means you ran away from home recently.”

Tyrell glanced away, fidgeting nervously “You noticed?”

Oliver nodded.

“And you don’t care?”

“Not in the least” Oliver admitted honestly “You got into the Choir. That means you’re good in my book.”

“Thank you.” Tyrell smiled softly “I appreciate it. May I ask why you need to get into the Clifftop Distract?”

Oliver scratched the back of his neck sheepishly “Someone I know has business up there. Figured I might as well ask you to make our lives easier.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I’m really not.” Oliver murmured quietly, unable to stare Tyrell in the eyes.

Tyrell shook his head is disagreement but didn’t press further “Every month they change the password. This month’s is Knightly Valor.”

“Knightly Valor, thank you.”

“No, thank you for not telling the others. May I go now?”

Oliver ruffled Tyrell’s hair playfully “Go on scamp.”

Tyrell bowed and with a skip in his step, made his way out of the alleyway.

Oliver stood there alone for a moment before turning towards the shadows.

“You gonna keep follow me or we’re finally going to talk?”

The figure did not break the silence of the night as they stepped out seemingly from darkness itself.

“You knew I was following you? Impressive given not many can sense my presence” the cloaked figured spoke. unable to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“Mhm.” Oliver grunted “Ever since West End. You were in the bar the night Abigail and I hired Archie. I heard you moving about when we camped for the night, just down the tunnel out of sight. I assume you lost us when we went down the side tunnels and decided to stake out West Haven for us to pass through. You’ve been tailing me all night since I left the Right Hook.

The figure said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” Oliver sighed tiredly “Alright, we gonna have a problem? I've had a long night and I've been threaten one times too many today.”

“No problem.” The figure muttered.

Oliver narrowed his eyes suspiciously “Then why show yourself?”

“You need to know my presence.”

Oliver sighed “You are being very cryptic.”

“Now you know how everyone else feels.”

Oliver smirked mockingly, unable to hide the sarcasm from his voice “Thanks, I hate it!”

“Be careful bard.” the figured glanced about, worried “Something is coming.”

“Nice and vague, thanks for the tip ninja.”

The figure shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

“Fine, go on then if you're not gonna be any more helpful.” Oliver shook his head before closing his eyes. When he opened them, the figure was gone, upped and vanished into nothingness.

Oliver ran his hand through hair tiredly as he began making his way back to the Right Hook.

“And I still have to climb two stories. Fucking hell, what a night.”

#My work #Original Work #original story #welcome to the underground #Welcome to the underground!

36 notes · View notes

wakaoujisenhime · 3 years ago

Text

Reference material

Synopsis: While in Hyougo, looking for inspiration for your company’s upcoming fashion chain, you end up meeting some of the former Karasuno and Inarizaki volleyball team members with whom you sit together and recollect.

So how did this seemingly innocent get-together end up with you having former captain Kita and former Libero Nishinoya try out some thigh-flattering clothes?

tags/warnings: suggested Kita x reader x Nishinoya ✅ thigh appreciation/marking/biting ✅ some Kita in a skirt towards the end ✅

A/N: my first and slightly delayed contribution to The Church of Meian’s Thigh July collab! I originally planned to do this scenario for one of the boys but got swayed by the church’s babes to do both, so here it is! (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ Hope you enjoy and please make sure to check everyone else’s delicious works out as well! ♥️

.wc 4.6k

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Your heart was thumping hard against your chest as you nervously fiddled with your fingers and looked around your living room. You were so skittish that even the smallest sound made you jump and fixate your vision towards the door of your guest room. After taking a deep breath you tried to let your thoughts wander away from the two men that were just beyond the door you were facing.

How did we even end up in this situation…?

Just this morning you’d arrived in Hyougo per your boss’ request to look for inspiration for your new fashion collection. You wandered for hours, observing farmers, workers, students, and whatnot until you decided to take a much-deserved lunch break, and since you were in the home country of the renowned Miya twins, what place was best suited for a short break than Onigiri Miya?

The moment you’d entered the small and humbly decorated shop, you were greeted by the owner himself and his former volleyball team’s captain Kita. While you exchanged the typical greetings with both men, the blond twin came down from the upper floor and, much to Osamu’s chagrin, joined in on your conversation. Just as you and Kita were about to leave and go back to your respective plans the front door was practically kicked open by a short young man and his two companions.

“Well, I’ll be damned…if it ain’t Karasuno’s libero, ace, and moral cheerleader, what’s got ya so far away from Tokyo?” asked Atsumu in a slightly condescending tone. But before anyone could even comment on that, Nishinoya, who most likely didn’t even hear what the man before him said, spread his arms out and happily suggested that you all stay together and recollect over some delicious onigiri.

Thanks to everyone’s enthusiasm, you got roped into it as well and ended up being surrounded by several young men who happily jugged one beer after the other and argued about who gets to eat the last piece of meat.

Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one that had decided to keep their hands off of alcohol. Nishinoya and Kita had both preferred to stay sober in case something were to happen.

The time flew by and before you’d noticed the group had started to disperse. Asahi, who was surprisingly sober enough to support Sugawara, had gotten up first, excusing himself and his friend, saying that they had to get up early tomorrow in order to catch their flight back to Tokyo. Minutes later Osamu decided to single-handedly put a stop to Atsumu’s flirtatious behavior to which you’d fallen prey to, so he simply threw his brother over his shoulder, apologized to you three, and asked you to simply turn the “OPEN” sign around when you left as he carried the wiggling man back upstairs.

“Alright then…I think it’s time for me to leave as well” announced Kita with a small smile as he started preparing himself. With a firm nod, the young man next to him followed suit and you were about to do the same when an idea popped into your head.

“You two live quite far away, right?” you asked as you pointed your finger to Noya who nodded, telling you that the motel he stayed at was almost an hour away, then you directed your finger to the captain who confirmed that his house was situated at a very remote part of Hyougo.

“Then how about you guys stay over at my hotel room? It’s just a walk away from here and thanks to my boss it’s big enough to accommodate an entire volleyball team and its substitutes.”

Both boys couldn’t help but giggle at the metaphor you’d used and despite the small fear of inconveniencing you, they yielded eventually.

Everything was going smoothly at first, you brought them over, showed them around, discussed where they wanted to sleep, and even had some time to sit down and continue your chat from before, but then Kita, as conscious as he was, just couldn’t let your generosity go unpaid.

“(Y/N), I appreciate ya going to such lengths to help us out, but I can’t let this sit on me like that. Please tell me what ya’d like us to do as compensation.”

From the exaggerated way he talked, one would think that you had done some kind of heroic act and his words were unfortunately inspiring enough for Nishinoya to start demanding the same.

And just like that the two of them had backed you into a corner. You were so overwhelmed that you didn’t know what to tell them so that they were satisfied, but then your eyes caught a glimpse of a red suitcase you had tucked away under the sofa.

“I…I think I know how you can repay me” you silently announced as your hand reached for the object. Both men remained silent as they waited for your terms.

“You see…the reason I’m here is that I was asked to look for inspiration for our company’s upcoming fashion collection and uh…how should I put this…?” Your internal struggle was obvious and the fact that your cheeks were flushed told the men that whatever you were about to ask wasn’t easy for you, so to take some of your nervousness away, Noya placed one of his hands on top of your and with his other one he gave you a thumbs up.

“W-Would you two be willing to try on some of these clothing pieces and model for me?”

The silence that followed made you anxious and you immediately regretted uttering that question, preparing yourself for a rejection, but before you could take it back Kita giggled, followed by a heart-warming laugh from the former Libero.

“So that’s all? Why are you even hesitating on asking us to model for you?” The nonchalance with which both of them reacted to your request was truly unexpected. While you still tried to process this turn of events, the suitcase was taken from your grasp and the men retreated to the guest room to change into the clothes you’d prepared for them…

And here you were, waiting for them for almost 15 minutes. Your nervousness was partially to blame because you couldn’t quite tell them what kind of clothes you’d tucked away in that red rectangular container and the fact that they were in that room for an unnatural amount of time made you wonder whether they’d given it up.

N-No, calm down! They most likely h-have some difficulties with fitting into the garments, si–

…no wait…didn’t boss give me the medium ones…?

While you panicked internally, you failed to notice the two men that slowly exited the room in front of you and with slow steps closed in on you.

“(Y/N)?”

“W-We finished changin’.”

Their soft voices finally caught your attention, making you instinctively look up and the first thing that you noticed was their legs.

Kita had chosen the pair of black latex jeans while Noya had settled for the leather ones. With wide eyes, you take in the view before you. The two defense specialists, whose thighs were so well-toned, were wearing such tight and figure-enhancing pants that you just couldn’t help but stare at their lower bodies.

Being stared at was nothing new for these two, but the way your beautiful and big eyes were fixated on them just because of some unnatural wear, made their cheeks heat up and redden ever so slightly.

“Sooo should we turn or strike some kind of pose?” asked the brown-haired young man with his usual big grin. Before answering him you had to swallow first and then proceeded by affirming his question.

”I need to design something that brings out the wearer’s thighs, s-so if you could…bend forward, kneel or something of that sort, i-it might help.“

A word and a blow, not even a second passed and you watched as the men before you started to arrange themselves in rather compromising positions. The libero went back a few steps, now facing the couch, raised his left knee, and placed it on the armrest. Kita, on the other hand, moved closer to the soft rug next to you, got on his knees, and though a little challenged by the tightness of his jeans, he stretched his left leg back, while he bent his right one at a 90-degree angle before him.

When they were ready, their eyes darted to you, eagerly awaiting your comment or reaction. You cleared your throat and nodded a few times before praising them for the fitting poses.

Having two men dressed in these rather kinky garments excited you more than initially expected. The urge to go up to them and get more touchy-feely than necessary grew with each passing second you stared at them, until you decided to blame whatever you were about to do on that one glass of alcohol you had drunk some hours ago.

You walked towards the captain and intentionally circled him a few times at a slow pace. You knew fully well that this pose was difficult to maintain for a long time, but the moment you saw the slight tremble of his legs, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Kita-san, please try to stand still.”

“Forgive me (Y/N), it’s just–”

“Give me your hands” you suddenly ordered, interrupting whatever he was about to say. He did as told and placed both of his hands in yours, slightly squeezing them for additional support. With a small smile, you explained what you were about to do and asked him whether he could manage to hold his balance for at least a couple more minutes. It took the young man a few seconds to answer, but he was set on repaying you so a little strain was a small price for your kindness.

You took a deep breath and slowly lifted your hands, causing Kita to raise his own and with them the fabric of his white shirt, revealing the high waist of the latex jeans.

Oh god…I knew it

“Please hold this position for a little and try to move as little as possible, I’ll have to touch you a couple of times to…to get a better grasp of the material and its effects on your body, ok?”

“G-Got it” answered the captain in a silent voice and closed his eyes. You unobtrusively bit your lower lip as you squat down and gently placed your hands on the man’s waist, an unexpected gesture that managed to educe a surprised gasp from the young man. This trousers’ waist, which was covering the entire abdominal area until it stopped a little over the navel, was designed the same way as a corset, meaning it had ribbons on both sides where your hands now were and an entire row of beautifully designed buttons running down to where his underwear probably began.

You slowly moved his shirt up and savored the sight of his slightly trembling abdominal muscles, then continued down to his thighs, his delicious thighs. If you thought the tremble of his tummy was satisfying to look at then ready yourself for something even better. The way he tensed his muscles up every time your fingers trailed his body, combined with his reddened cheeks and slightly heavy breathing made you want to tease him even more and you did.

“Ok Kita-san I want you to let yourself fall back as slowly as you can and when you’re lying on your back, please stretch out both of your legs so that your soles point to the ceiling” you commanded while you hooked your arm behind his back for the additional support he needed to perform the thing you asked of him. If it weren’t for your hand that didn’t let up even once from his left thigh, his movements might have been a tad more elegant.

After almost a minute you had the young man on his back with his legs outstretched, just as you wanted…but was this enough?

“Please don’t be surprised, but I have to…step on you”

“Wha–”

Kita’s wide brown eyes looked up at you in embarrassment as he felt your foot gently push against the back of his thigh. His hand immediately darted to both his mouth and your leg, but before his trembling fingers could reach you, you began moving your foot ever so slightly from one side to the other, enjoying how pleasant the plush skin beneath your sole felt. You’d lost yourself for a second and failed to notice just how close your foot was to the man’s most sensitive area and if it weren’t for the silent mewl that reached your ear, you most likely would’ve stepped on it as well.

In a slight panic, you set down the former captain’s legs and helped him sit upright.

“I-Is that enough (Y/N)..?” he then asked in a silent voice as he tried to look away from both you and Nishinoya, attempting to hide his flushed cheeks and the small tears in the corner of his eyes. You would’ve loved to go even further but seeing him that disheveled forced you to give him a break, at least while you were busy with the other boy behind you.

The two of you watched as the young man retreated into the guest room on wobbly legs. You sighed to yourself, your conscience nagging you with questions such as why you had to go so far and what you were even thinking, and just as you were about to sit back down on the floor Noya’s cheerful voice chirped in: “And, what am I supposed to do?”

When your eyes focused on the shorter man you saw him strike his earlier pose once again with a satisfied grin on his face. Looking at him genuinely enjoying himself made you smile and you wondered whether he’d be able to hold out more than the man before him.

“Could you…step on me?”

He was quite taken aback by your question and his slightly flushed cheeks let on that he was more embarrassed by your request than he might’ve expected. It didn’t take him long to agree though, which in turn caught you off guard.

As he slowly closed the distance between you two, you used this opportunity to take a better look at the pair of jeans he’d picked out. In contrast to Kita’s, Nishinoya’s were made out of leather. They seemed looser and if it weren’t for the laces that were tied around his thighs, up until they reached the area a little above his knees, you were sure that they wouldn’t have fit him. Additionally to this little perk, the designer had chosen to cut from the leg opening up to the middle of the wearer’s shins and then cord it, similarly as most sneakers, making this particular set of trousers more skin-revealing than the former one you “inspected”.

The moment the man was finally in front of you, he didn’t lose any more time than necessary and immediately asked where he should put his foot. With a satisfied smile, you explained that your shoulder was the main goal, but if the laces were too tightly bound then he could set his foot down lower, on your chest for example.

You watched as the young man slowly raised his left leg and as carefully as he could positioned it right between your neck and shoulder. Thanks to the slight tremble of his foot it was easy for you to tell that he didn’t put his entire weight on you, most likely out of fear of injuring you. A small grin adorned your lips as you moved your shoulder a bit and watched Noya freak out and almost lose his balance and fall down. Luckily for him, your reactions were quicker than his and you had taken a tight hold of his leg and hips, supporting him as well as making sure that he didn’t ruin his position. But now, thanks to your little escapade, he was forced to lean on you, so except having one hand on your shoulder and the other on your head, his crotch was dangerously close to your face.

“Um…(Y/N)? C-Can I just redo the pos–“

“Don’t move…this is perfect!”

Confused by your sudden enthusiasm, the young man took a glance down at you and saw how intensely you started at both his thighs and groin. Not wanting to embarrass himself any further, Noya copied the man before him and closed his eyes, giving you the freedom of doing whatever you wanted yet again.

You didn’t want to admit it, but there wasn’t a better way this could’ve worked out. Not only were you able to see how the tightly bound laces made some of his flesh bulge out in between them, but also how these pants had neither a button nor a zipper, and the wearer had to make use of the strings, that circled their thighs, to steady them. You slowly opened your mouth and bit the end of the laces, tugging on them slightly.

“W-Wait, if you do that then-!”

With a smile plastered on your face, you loosened the bow just enough that only the knot remained and murmured: “Sorry, had to make sure that such flashy trousers were sturdy enough to withstand a feline’s possible attack.”

A weak excuse which’s logic he first had to comprehend while you made use of his confused state in order to place your hands on his buttocks and squeeze them as much as the fabric allowed you to. While your hands kneaded his firm buttcheeks, you rubbed your cheek on his thigh, explaining that you and to test whether this design was comfortable for pets. You remained that way for a couple of minutes and softly kissed the young man’s trained leg before slapping his ass a few times, and finally allowing him to stand by himself.

To escape any uncomfortable questions from him, you quickly reached for the notepad you’d placed on top of the decorative table close to you and started scribbling down some nonsense, giving off the impression that whatever you were doing right now was truly work-related and not simply for your own pleasure. Only when you heard the door to the guest room shut behind him did you look up, burying your face in your hands not short after.

Just what am I doing, using them like that…?

Your excuse of using them as reference material was somewhere true, but stepping on Kita and kneading Nishinoya’s ass were not necessary advances you’d done only for the sake of satisfying your curiosity.

Left alone with your guilt, you waited for another ten minutes wondering once more what took them so long. As far as you remember, your boss had only put in these two sets of trousers and two other special items he refused to elaborate on further, telling you to find out for yourself. Now that you thought back, you remembered the pervy grin your boss had shot you after mentioning the suitcase and its mysterious contents, and you couldn’t help but be curious as to what the two men were about to put on and present you.

Speak of the devil, not even a second after you’d formulated your thought and the door opposite of you cracked open as the two young men slowly walked out.

I’m done for…

Before you stood the former Inarizaki captain with what looked like to be a schoolgirl’s skirt and fishnet tights, next to him Karasuno’s legendary guardian of the backcourt with overknee black stockings that he’d attached to his black boxer shorts with the help of a leather garter belt.

Saying that you were at a loss for words was an understatement, this was absolutely jaw-dropping. Now that their legs were almost entirely exposed you just had to come up with some type of irrefutable excuse that would make it possible for you to not only touch their bare skin but also taste it.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and covered your mouth with your hand, giving them the impression that you were lost deep in your thoughts when in reality you tried to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Ok before I do anything, I need to ask you guys if…if you can deal with pain” you began and observed how they looked at each other and then slowly nodded.

In order to make up for your earlier teasing, you decided to directly tell them what you were planning this time, instead of keeping them in the dark.

“I need to test something out…you see, with such revealing pieces of clothing the buyers often focus on how good pantyhose such as these can hide markings or injuries, s-so I need to mark your thighs as reference” you paused and gave them a couple of seconds to process the explanation you’d offered them before continuing, “the way I want to mark you guys, will have to be with…my teeth. Usually, we’d use a marker or makeup, but neither of those would produce good results with these particular choices of material, especially Nishinoya’s might pose a bigger problem than the ones on Kita-san.”

While you dished out something that sounded professional enough to convince them, you were surprised at yourself and your creativity concerning these white lies. The moment you’d wrapped up your monologue you intended to give them some space so that they could think it over, but much to your surprise, they were quicker on board than expected.

“Are you two s-sure? I mean…I’m asking to bite your thighs here, you know?”

Nishinoya put both his hands on his hips and puffed his cheeks out as he answered: “Yeah so what of it? It won’t be the first time my thighs end up bruised.”

“I agree n’ more than that, we promised to do anythin’ to repay ya, remember?” added Kita with a small smile.

Yes of course…anything to repay me, huh?

The captain’s last few words left a bitter feeling behind, but you shoved it aside and figured that both of them most likely used that excuse to fulfill their own fantasies, just like you did, so in a sense you guys were even, right?

You focused on their legs once more and decided to start with Nishinoya first, so you commanded him to slowly remove the garter belt on his right leg, but the moment his nimble fingers had taken a hold of the leather you immediately stopped him.

“It might be better if someone who has no experience with it takes it off…Kita-san, please undo it for him.”

A small nod that represented said man’s answer was all you got before he got on one knee and started undoing the accessory. You had to admit that the older man’s overly gentle and careful way of loosening the small buckle warmed your heart, but regarding the entire picture, namely Kita in a skirt, kneeling, which caused the fishnet pattern around his legs to dig into his skin, making the plush of his thighs stick out, while Nishinoya stood above him in nothing but a shirt, boxers, and of course, the black stockings that perfectly hugged his toned legs, made your heart thump harder against your chest with each passing second.

Kita whispered a silent done and got back on his feet as he gently unclipped the garter belt from the libero’s briefs, letting it fall along the perfect curves of the young man’s leg. With a small nod, Noya readied himself for you and tried to somehow position his arms so that they don't get in your way.

You copied the white-haired young man before you, kneeling and softly rolling down the black fabric, exposing some of his slightly tanned skin. With your right hand, you steadied his hips, minimizing his movements, and with your left, which you hooked under his thigh, you were now able to turn or raise it the way you needed. To avoid a similar fall from before, you asked if the captain could support Nishinoya, which he affirmed and got behind him, taking a hold of his hands and whispering something that sounded like I’m here, don’t be afraid, I got you.

God, these two…

You turned the young man’s leg in such a way that the inner side of his thigh was facing you and slowly let your teeth sink in his flesh, gradually hardening your bite until it almost pierced his skin. Millimeters before you could draw blood, you stopped and let your tongue glide along the marks you left behind. Without moving yourself too much, you simply turned his leg a little to the side and once again planted your mouth on his still flawless skin, but this time you gently clamped a portion of his flesh between your teeth, started sucking on it until it reddened and finally took on a bluish-purple tone, only then did you let up completely, licked your lips and looked up. The young man above you was leaning on Kita’s shoulder, panting slightly, and looking down at you through half-lidded eyes. You swallowed audibly, rolled the black fabric back up, and gently patted his thigh as a form of release. While he recomposed himself, you took a step back and looked at what you’d accomplished. The bite mark you’d left behind on his inner thigh was barely visible, the hickey on the other hand was quite eye-catching.

You once again grabbed the notebook and scribbled something in it while Kita praised the young man with a rather awkward smile and tried to prepare himself mentally next for what was about to come.

At first, you confirmed the former captain’s readiness, then proceeded to ask Nishinoya for support this time, and finally offered your upper leg for him as some kind of footstep for him to step on, just so you could see his flesh stick out from the rhombus-shaped patterns of his stockings and poke at them for a short while. You asked him questions such as whether he felt uncomfortable or if it hurt when the string-like material pressed down on his skin, only when he answered these questions negatively did you place your hand on his leg, moved closer, and bit down on his stockings, tearing them easily with your bare teeth. That unexpected action of yours successfully managed to make the young man take a deep breath and cause him to hold on tighter to Noya’s hands.

At this point, you couldn’t even bother to come up with an excuse and simply started biting down on the exposed skin. You were so lost in observing how the teeth marks and hickeys you left behind gradually darkened, that only when Kita placed his hand on top of your head did you look up to see his cheeks redder than before and a small smile adorning his lips.

You gave the injuries you’d inflicted a gentle kiss and once again returned to scribbling in the notebook.

“How long do ya plan on keepin’ that fake writin’ up?”

The sudden question caught you off guard, causing you to stop writing mid-stroke.

“W-What…?”

With wide eyes, you looked at both men who started at you with their mesmerizing sharp eyes.

Nishinoya extended his hand towards you with a smile and said: “I’m sure you still need more references for your designs, right? So just come over here and do whatever you’d like…”

…we still have to properly pay you back after all

And with that, you finally dropped the notebook, and your act along with it. Now that you were aware of their true intentions and feelings there was no need for you to hold back anymore.

A few more experiments weren’t going to harm anyone, right?

Since all of this was for the upcoming fashion chain…right?

It’s not like you’d planned all of this out beforehand…

…right?

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu kita #haikyuu nishinoya #hq x reader #hq scenarios #hq kita #hq nishinoya #the church of meian #church of meian collab #thigh july #━𝙷𝚀

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friendlylocalwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Stay With Me

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Summary: You work at the Daily Planet and can’t stand Clark Kent, until he saves your life.

Requested : No

Word Count: 2,514

Warnings: Violence (not too graphic), swearing, a little smutty if you really squint, and Clark Kent’s a bit snarky ;)

A/N: i’m not a huuuge fan of how this turned out, but i just watched The Witcher and needed to write something with a henry cavill character! i’m thinking of doing some geralt of rivia fics, let me know if yall would like that! p.s., i also posted this fic on AO3 if yall would prefer to read it there (my username is violettaren). enjoy! requests are open :)

You sighed heavily as you thumbed through bill after bill, the glaring red ink of PAST DUE seemingly taunting you.

“Jesus, Perry, how did you let it get this bad?” you tossed the papers on his desk, placing your hands on your hips.

Perry White pinched his nose, leaning back in his rickety wooden chair.

“Why the hell do we think we hired you? Out of the kindness of our hearts?”

Silence fell in the room before your head fell back in laughter, and you were met with confused eyes when you looked forward.

“You don’t get to be facetious when you’re on the verge of bankruptcy, Perry. I mean, look at this,” you reached over and picked up a sheet of paper with the payroll on it. “You’re paying people when they aren’t even in the office? I mean, what did you expect?”

Perry snatched the sheet from your hand, scanning it to see what you were going on about. Your brows furrowed when his gaze hardened on a specific name.

“Jesus Christ,” he rolled his eyes and slammed the paper back on his desk. He ruffled through the drawers in his desk and pulled out a red pen, furiously scribbling on the payroll.

“What?” you leaned over to see if you could sneak a peek on what got him so angry so quickly. He handed the sheet back to you and let his head fall, emptying any breath he had in him.

“Of course it’s him,” he said, his voice low.

Confused, you glance down at the paper to see a circled name staring back at you.

Clark Kent.

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

“What’s this meeting for, boss?”

You sat down as Perry moved to the front of the conference room, next to a large projector. He had called in his lead reporters for an ‘important conversation’, and everyone in the room knew this wasn’t ending kindly. You looked around, trying to gauge the different expressions on your soon-to-be coworkers’ faces. Your eyes stopped first on a woman with burnt orange hair, her chest rising rapidly due to her quick breathing. You shuffled through the papers given to you by Perry, and it was easy to determine that to be … Lois Lane. Her eyes met yours and she gave you a shaky smile. You simply raised your eyebrows in return and looked back down at your agenda.

You didn’t mean to be a dick, but you had business to do, and your job didn’t make you the nicest person in the office.

Scanning the room, you continued to identify each member until your gaze fell on him. His light blue eyes pierced through his thick-framed black glasses and didn’t budge when you looked over at him. You took in his defined, angular face and tilted your head, almost staring at him as if he were an attraction. His expression was unlike anyone else in the room - his smile was wide and bright and he leaned back in his chair, letting his shirt tighten with his movements. You could smell the confidence oozing out of his pores. You didn’t even need to take a look at your sheet to know who he was. You simply humphed and turned your attention to Perry.

The presentation included Perry viciously yelling at his employees for nearly an hour. You couldn’t blame him though - employees gone for weeks at a time, using company funding for flights and housing - if it continued, the Daily Planet would definitely be going under.

Which is why you needed to put this Clark Kent character in his place.

“Mr. Kent,” you called out before he left the room,.“May I have a word?”

He held the door for the other employees, and once everyone was gone, he turned over to face you with a Cheshire-like grin on his face. It took every bone in your body not to let your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“I don’t believe I got your name,” he walked over to you with his hand extended, waiting for you to shake it.

Jesus, his hands are big.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kent, I am not having this conversation with you in hopes of becoming your friend. We need to discuss your extended leaves of absences without prior notice,” you said, handing him a large stack of papers. You noticed his body tense slightly before he relaxed and picked up the papers.

After a short silence, you heard what sounded like a … giggle? You didn’t trust your ears, because this 6-foot, incredibly muscular man did not just giggle in front of your fucking face.

“I guess I am gone a lot, huh,” he shuffled through each paper, snickering.

You felt your face get warm, and you clenched your jaw.

“Mr. Kent, I’m not sure what-“

“Clark,” he interrupted, looking up at you. “Call me Clark, no need to be formal.”

You wanted to rip that goddamn smile off of his face.

“Well, Clark, I’m not sure how things are run around here. But, you are single handedly costing this company a fortune. To be completely honest, I am not sure why Perry hasn’t fired you yet to be honest,” you sighed, standing up to face him.

“Maybe he’s in love with me,” Clark grinned, looking down at you.

You let out a dry chuckle and shook your head, licking your lips as you gathered your things.

“Let me be very clear with you, Mr. Kent,” you straightened, not allowing his daunting height to waive your confidence. “There will be no more unannounced absences. If you need to leave, I need to be contacted at least 24 hours before, but I would prefer 48. And, while I determine base pay, there can be no absences for the next month. Do you understand?”

He said nothing as he looked down at you, his smile slowly morphing into a smirk.

“Mr. Kent,” you let any humor leave your voice and spoke very slowly. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he replied, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth. “Duly noted.”

“Great,” you forced your eyes away from his face as you glided past him, smoothing out your pencil skirt.

“Y/N is my name, by the way,” you said as you opened the door, feeling his eyes burning the back of the head.

You knew this guy was gonna be trouble.

—————————————

It’s been around two months since you started working at the Daily Planet, and you have finally begun to found your footing. You’ve been forced to be very strict with the reporters, giving you a not-so-nice reputation, but hey- it’s working. For the first time in the entire year, the company is actually not losing profits. Go figure.

It’s too quiet, you thought as glanced above your cubicle to see everyone was gone. You grabbed your phone to look at the time.

12:46 AM

No wonder it was silent - everyone had already left. You sighed, standing up and feeling the entire weight of the day as you did so. You aimlessly shoved papers and notebooks into your messenger bag and turned to leave, jumping when you see Clark standing right in front of you.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kent, you scared me,” you hunched over with your hand on your heart. “What are you still doing here?”

“I came over to ask you the same thing,” he adjusted the strap of his bag, and you noticed that the top button on his shirt was unbuttoned.

Hmm.

“Perry wanted me to finish some work before I left, and some work became more and more and…” you trailed off, your brain so fried that you couldn’t even think.

Clark raised his hand, hesitating, before placing his hand on your shoulder. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his large grip on you.

“I think White’s working you too hard, Y/N. You always leave after me,” he said, leaning his head down slightly. The space between the two of you was small. Too small for your liking.

You shrugged his hand off of your shoulder and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Suddenly, Clark cares about me? That’s new,” you gritted through your teeth. He winced, confused by your anger. You were confused yourself on why you had gotten so angry. He doesn’t matter.

“I’m not deaf. I hear what Lane says about me. And you seem to have no problem agreeing with her,” you tried to speak with conviction, but it came out so weak and … wanting. That’s not who you are. Frustrated, you start speed-walking away from him towards the elevator.

His expression fell and he jogged to catch up with you, calling your name.

“Kent, please leave me alone. I need to get home,” you felt his hand move behind you and came right next to your head and fell against the wall, trapping you from moving.

“Y/N,” his voice was hoarse. “Please, let me explain.”

You shut your eyes hard, feeling the burn of tears trying to come forward. Without a word, you quickly twisted and pushed his hand away, rushing towards the stairs and nearly falling as you sprinted down. For a reason you couldn’t explain, you felt a ping of sadness when Clark didn’t follow you.

Your heart dropped when you realized you had to walk home alone, as a woman, during the night all the way from Metropolis to Gotham City. Wiping the tears off of your face, you kept an iron-clad grip on your bag and started your twenty-minute walk home. You ignored the cat-calls and gross comments from men on the street, and you managed to make it to the front of your apartment without a scratch. Relieved, you press your keycard into the front of the apartment entrance door when you hear your name called from behind you. Initially, you think the voice was Clark, but it was too high and scratchy to be him. You turn around to see a figure that you couldn’t exactly make out in the dark.

“Who are you?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

The man stalked towards you, and once he came into the light, you immediately recognized him.

“Don’t you own Lexcorp?”

His laugh was cacophonous, making you cringe as you tried to slowly create more distance between the two of you. Within a blink, fingers were pressing into your throat and your back slammed against the door. You gasped, reaching up to try and scratch at the man holding you, and his fist collided with your cheek. Your head dropped involuntarily, and you felt blood drip from your face onto the floor.

“You,” he squeezed out, his voice manic and shaky. “Are the key to what I want.”

“I don’t… know … what you’re-“ you gasped, trying to keep your eyes open and hold on to any consciousness.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, tutting condescendingly. “Superman will save you, won’t he?

He punched you once again, and your head slammed against the glass door. The sound of glass shattering was the last thing you heard before your body went limp.

——————

Fuck, your head hurts.

You cracked open your eyes and tried to push yourself off of the bed you're laying down on, but your whole body feels like it’s a thousand pounds. You let your body fall back into bed and reached to grab the comforters, but your eyes widened in fear as you felt the duvet in your hands.

This isn’t your room.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you forced yourself onto your feet, staggering as your head pounds. Disoriented, you opened the door to the unknown apartment and attempted to make a beeline for the front door when a hand grabbed at your arm. You’re about to scream before you hear his voice- Clark’s voice.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s me, relax,” his voice was soft, so soft, and he used both of his hands to hold you up.

“Clark?” You whispered, letting your body relax in his arms.

“Yes, it’s me, it’s just me,” he moved one hand to wrap around your waist and the other rested on your face, his thumb caressing your cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out. Lines danced across your forehead as you scanned his face, trying to figure out what exactly he was apologizing for.

“For what, Clark?”

He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and you started to slowly gain awareness of your surroundings.

“What am I doing here? And why does my head feel like I was body-slammed into concrete?” you sighed as you rubbed your head, attempting to soothe the shooting pain.

“It’s my fault.”

Silence fell between the two of you as you tried to digest the pain in his voice.

“I’d love a bit more than three word sentences, Clark,” you joked after a few moments, but Clark didn’t even crack a smile. Your heart fell in your stomach - if you were the one joking and Clark wasn’t being insufferable, something was definitely off.

“Clark, please talk to me-”

You’re cut off by Clark’s lips pressing onto your. Your eyes widen with shock as you feel his lips mold against yours. you try to rack your brain to figure out what is happening but your mind is empty - every thought you had escaped as your mouth met his. Your heart banged against your chest as you let him deepen the kiss, his tongue dancing inside your mouth. You felt a flutter in your lower stomach as his grip on your waist tightened, and you moaned softly into his mouth, bringing your hands up to his muscular chest. You opened your eyes slightly to peek at Clark, making sure this wasn’t a figment of your imagination, but it wasn’t. The way he was kissing you was very real.

You softly pushed him away as you gasped for air, his lips pink and swollen and his eyes glazed over.

“Only you would kiss me after I’ve been beaten to a pulp, Kent.”

He smiled that gorgeous annoying smile and rested his forehead against yours as he sighed contentedly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “But you were too busy scolding me to let me do it.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? Of course, of course,” you struggled to feign anger, but you just couldn’t get the shit-eating grin off of your face.

He kissed me.

You took your hand off of his chest and grazed it down his arm until you got to his hand, slowly interlacing your fingers.

“Tell me what happened last night, Clark,” you squeezed his hand, letting him know that kissing you wasn’t going to get him out of this. “Why did Lex Luthor try to fucking kill me?”

His eyes refused to meet yours, and you pressed into him harder.

“Clark-”

“Okay,” he relented, staring down at your intertwined hands. “I’ll tell you everything, under one condition.”

You raised your eyebrow in amusement. “And what would that be, Kent?”

“Stay, here, with me.”

#clark kent #clark kent x reader #superman x you #superman x y/n #dc #batman v superman #dceu #superman #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #superman fanfic #superman fluff #batman #henry cavill x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #headcanon

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yadds · 4 years ago

Text

Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead! Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing. Sorry! However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is! Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.

Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues. Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.

____________________________________________________________________

“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv.

Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”

“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly.

“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”

Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging.

“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”

Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”

One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”

Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate.

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”

Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.”

Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.

He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.”

He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face.

Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”

Tony laughed. “And when was this?”

“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”

“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.

Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”

“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”

“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly.

Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”

“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked.

“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat.

They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else.

After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused.

“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained.

Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”

“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”

“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”

“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”

Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”

Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked.

Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”

Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”

“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”

Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”

“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me? I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet. I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave. I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.

“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him. “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”

Tony crossed his arms. “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.

Peter turned to him with a grin. “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”

“Definitely not. You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”

Peter reeled back exaggeratedly. “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”

“You’d better,” Tony insisted.

“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.

“Definitely.”

Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.

After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony. “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”

Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression. “No clue why,” he said wryly. “But yeah, I know. Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”

Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut. And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.

But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.

_____________________________________________________________________

So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol. Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!

#starker #pre-starker #starker endgame #fic #ficlet #yadds writes #idek #im so out of practice tagging #and i just don't care right now

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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Having seen your thoughts on his deeply-unpleasant daddy, might I please ask if you have any thoughts on The Gladiator himself, Hugo Danner? (THE SUPERMAN WHO MIGHT HAVE BEEN, if you will).

What would you do if you were the strongest man in the world, the strongest thing in the world, mightier than the machine? He made himself guess answers for that rhetorical query. "I would—I would have won the war. But I did not. I would run the universe single-handed. Literally single-handed. I would scorn the universe and turn it to my own ends. I would be a criminal. I would rip open banks and gut them. I would kill and destroy. I would be a secret, invisible blight. I would set out to stamp crime off the earth; I would be a super-detective, following and summarily punishing every criminal until no one dared to commit a felony. What would I do? What will I do?"

The thing that strikes me about Gladiator is that it almost feels like the book is unfinished. The quality and pace of the book is all over the place, but you can boil it's general story down to "unlucky bastard is born Superman before it's time for Superman to exist, without the necessary support, mindset and structure to become Superman, in a world that neither supports nor accepts the existence Superman, and just as he's about to have the life-changing epiphany that could make him something, he gets struck by lightning and dies in the 2nd-to-last paragraph".

The whole book is like if in the first Spider-Man story Peter Parker just gave up after Uncle Ben died and we never saw him again. It's a superhero/supervillain origin story that gets cut short right as it's about to lead to the birth of the character proper. It's frustrating, yes, but to my scavenger goblin brain that likes to dig through pop culture's trash to find nice forgotten trinkets to polish and make into something new, it also invites a lot of promise, if we get into the question of what could have happened to Hugo Danner if he didn't die on the cusp of his origin story. It's an idea I plan to use for my own pulp writings.

It's not so much whether or not Hugo MIGHT have been Superman, so much as: COULD he be Superman? Maybe, maybe not. I'd argue not, because even with all his power, and even with his parents trying to raise him as best they could, even with Hugo genuinely trying his best to be good and heroic and turn his gifts to mankind, it wasn't gonna pan out. The right pieces weren't there, the family structure wasn't there, the necessary aspects of the origin story weren't there, and ultimately, Hugo Danner wasn't cut for it. He is a failure at everything he tries to be super at.

At college on the football field, he kills a man. As a soldier on the Great War, he slaughters thousands for years, but fails to end the war, despite having been able to do so from the moment he enlisted. He is fired from a steel mill for working too far beyond the abilities of his fellows, and then fired from a bank for freeing a man from a locked safe, because the bank president suspected that Danner planned to use his powers to rob the vault. He tries using his powers to enact social change and fails again and again. He can't even enjoy daily life, because he cannot compete fairly with ordinary people, and because of that he must constantly hold himself in check, never able to fully express himself. And when he's presented with the idea of creating a race of people like him to dominate the world and to “conquer and stamp out all these things to which men of intelligence object,” he finds it ultimately distasteful, because he knows better than to expect good things to come out of his life. And then he curses God and dies. The whole book is one long argument as to why Being Superman Sucks.

He's not the break from tradition that Superman represented, he's a sci-fi superman who met the same tragic ending his predecessors did. In that paragraph above, the very first thing he thinks about, after remarking over his failure to end the war, is thinking about becoming some galactic dictator murdering everyone who steps out of line, before he considers becoming a fascist super-detective. Kind of a damning perspective to present your hero, isn't it? If Gladiator was released today, exactly as is, people would be quick to assume it's an origin story for a Homelander/Plutonian/Omni-Man kind of character. Hugo Danner was a Superman deconstruction before that became a pop culture cliche.

My favorite sections of the book are those that describe Hugo in the war. By far the best-written and most evocative, almost bordering on horror story. And they may be the most damning sections of them all. He never forgives himself for not ending the war when he could, because he's spent all those years killing and toiling away when he was just about the one person who could conceivably leap all the way to Germany and force the war to end. I imagine a lot of pulp heroes who suffered in the war, or any war, and walked out of it with a resolve to protect and do good by others, would be pretty pissed when discovering that, all along, there was this living god among them who actually could have ended the war single-handedly, but was just too damn busy slaughtering his way through fields of people who couldn't possibly fight back, to think about it.

And for all that Hugo says that he hates war and murder and bloodshed, he sure seems like a total natural for it:

Hugo, out of his scarlet fury, had one glimpse of his antagonist's face and person. The glimpse was but a flash. He was a little man—a foot shorter than Hugo. His eyes looked out from under his helmet with a sort of pathetic earnestness. And he was worried, horribly worried, standing there with his rifle lifted and trying to remember the precise technique of what would follow even while he fought back the realization that it was hopeless.

In that split second Hugo felt a human, amazing urge to tell him that it was all right, and that he ought to hold his bayonet a little higher and come forward a bit faster. The image faded back to an enemy. Hugo acted mechanically from the rituals of drill. His own knife flashed. He saw the man's clothes part smoothly from his bowels, where the point had been inserted, up to the gray-green collar. The seam reddened, gushed blood, and a length of intestine slipped out of it.

Hugo stepped over him. He was trembling and nauseated. The bellow of battle returned to Hugo's ears. He pushed back the threatening rifle easily and caught the neck in one hand, crushing it to a wet, sticky handful. So he walked through the trench, a machine that killed quickly and remorselessly

Hugo was learning about war. He thought then that the task which he had set for himself was not altogether to his liking. There should be other and more important things for him to do. He did not like to slaughter individuals. The day passed like a cycle in hell. No change in the personnel except that made by an occasional death. No food. No water. They seemed to be exiled by their countrymen in a pool of fire and famine and destruction.

And then later, after they kill a friend of his

He leaped to the parapet, shaking his fists. "God damn you dirty sons of bitches. I'll make you pay for this. You got him, got him, you bastards! I'll shove your filthy hides down the devil's throat and through his guts". He did not feel the frantic tugging of his fellows. He ran into that bubbling, doom-ridden chaos, waving his arms and shouting maniacal profanities. A dozen times he was knocked down. He bled slowly where fragments had battered him. He crossed over and paused on the German parapet. He was like a being of steel. Barbed wire trailed behind him.

Bayonets rose. Hugo wrenched three knives from their wielders in one wild clutch. His hands went out, snatching and squeezing. That was all. No weapons, no defence. Just—hands. Whatever they caught they crushed flat, and heads fell into those dreadful fingers, sides, legs, arms, bellies. Bayonets slid from his tawny skin, taking his clothes. By and by, except for his shoes, he was naked. His fingers had made a hundred bunches of clotted pulp and then a thousand as he walked swiftly forward in that trench. Ahead of him was a file of green; behind, a clogged row of writhing men. Scarcely did the occupants of each new traverse see him before they were smitten. The wounds he inflicted were monstrous. On he walked, his voice now stilled, his breath sucking and whistling through his teeth, his hands flailing and pinching and spurting red with every contact. No more formidable engine of desolation had been seen by man, no more titanic fury, no swifter and surer death. For thirty minutes he raged through that line. The men thinned. He had crossed the attacking front.

A man dipped in scarlet, nude, dripping, panting. Slowly in that hiatus he wheeled. His lungs thundered to the French. "Come on, you black bastards. I've killed them all. Come on. We'll send them down to hell."

And years later, when he's thinking back to the misery that had been his life:

His deeds frightened men or made them jealous. When he conceived a fine thing, the masses, individually or collectively, transformed it into something cheap. His fort in the forest had been branded a hoax. His effort to send himself through college and to rescue Charlotte from an unpleasant life had ended in vulgar comedy. Even that had been her triumph, her hour, and an incongruous strain of greatness had filtered through her personality rather than his. Now his years in the war were reduced to no grandeur, to a mere outlet for his savage instinct to destroy. After such a life, he reflected, he could no longer visualize himself engaged in any search for a comprehension of real values.

If he could but have ended the war single-handed, it might have been different. But he was not great enough for that. He had been a thousand men, perhaps ten thousand, but he could not be millions. He could not wrap his arms around a continent and squeeze it into submission. There were too many people, and they were too stupid to do more than fear him and hate him. Sitting there, he realized that his naïve faith in himself and the universe had foundered. The war was only another war that future generations would find romantic to contemplate and dull to study. He was only a species of genius who had missed his mark by a cosmic margin.

Even when he's thinking about the places where he went wrong, that he blames himself for, even when's engaged in introspection, his thoughts still gravitate towards violence and hatred, of squeezing continents into submission and of how much the masses are stupid to not appreciate him (because really, all Hugo wants is to be loved and appreciated for what he is), and how unlucky he was to miss his mark.

There's just no place for Hugo Danner. Maybe it was actually rather merciful that he got to have his misery ended briefly by lightning strikes, before he could either turn into something worse, or have his life ruined more throughly.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #gladiator #hugo danner #superman

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fanficteen · 4 years ago

Text

Old Friend

deucalion x reader

“(Y/N)?” Rafael’s voice crackled on the other end of the phone. “McCall?” “I need your help.” Sirens whirled in the background. “You what?” “There’s a hunting problem.” That cleared absolutely nothing up. “I’m an author, not a cop, McCall.” “At the shipyard,” he continued, as though he hadn’t heard you. “Remember I told you about the Hale attack?” “McCall,” you heard, muffled, on the other end of the phone. “Name’s a little too close to home, ain’t it, Ferrell?” “Please.” The line went dead. “Hale attack? That was a fire.” Your heart plummeted in your chest. “Hunters.” You scrambled for the door, not even bothering to lock it as you ran. You’d heard about them coming, heard about the new pack, the True Alpha. Hell, you’d even helped once or twice, when Melissa or Argent called you in. But you hadn’t made the connection between McCall and Scott McCall, the tiny, chubby little kid you’d looked after while his mom worked.

Guns were already firing when you reached the shipyard, and someone was crawling for cover. Or, trying too. He was far too old to be Scott, even as his eyes flashed red, claws extending to drag him across the ground. Three teenagers were scattered around the yard, another man crouched behind a steel beam. You waited, as the Hunters moved forward. Then the barrage ceased, though they kept their guns raised. You launched forward, then, and cut off three from the back with ease. You grabbed a fourth by the throat and tossed him into another, finally drawing their attention to you, as you managed to grab the wounded wolf and bolt in their confusion. “Made a new friend, Scott?” That voice sent chills down your spine, blood-soaked memories clawing their way from the pit of your mind. Your parents – human parents, dead on the floor, just for protecting you. “Just in time to bury them.” You swept through the group to the woman speaking, throwing her to the ground. She spun to look at you, as she landed, but you were already moving, surging towards her. Through the corner of your eye, you caught sight of one of her hunters moving towards the stone column, where Scott was crouched, and you changed courses, knowing you wouldn’t get there in time. Then an engine revved, and suddenly there was a Jeep spearing into the shipyards and the Hunter went flying from the impact. You felt a bullet shatter your shoulder and growled, turning back towards Monroe as two new faces joined the fight. She glanced at you, then behind her, and took off for her car, her men following behind her. Half of you wanted to go after her, but Scott needed you more than you needed revenge. Scott’s pack soon grouped up around where he was struggling, vainly, to stem the blood flow of the wounded man. You pushed him aside, lightly, kneeling in his place. The man ignored you, still focused on Scott. Something about Gerard and knowing he couldn’t win. His breath cut off. “It’s really started, hasn’t it?” None of them stopped you, but you could feel them staring as you leaned forward, eyes flashing black, as you buried your claws in the back of his neck. “Hey!” The late werewolf – a Hale – grabbed Scott’s arm as he protested. “She’s a Grim,” he breathed, as the man’s flashed open and he gasped for breath. “She just – she just brought him back from the dead, right?” Stiles asked, jaw dropped. “I’m not insane?” “She just brought him back from the dead,” the redhead agreed. “He wasn’t quite dead,” you corrected, immediately darting out of the way as the man swung onto his hands and knees, choking in mouthfuls of air.

“Who – wait, (Y/N)?!” “It’s been a while, pup.” He stared as you rubbed the back of your neck, awkwardly. “Pretty impressive pack you’ve gathered. A handful of Hales, a Banshee, another Alpha…” You glanced at Stiles. “…the Sheriff’s son. Very human, very smart. You’re taking good care of him, right?” You carefully placed your foot on the wounded man’s back as he moved to stand. He swung his head around to glare. “Sorry, but you should stay down there, sir.” “Gonna introduce us, Scott?” the late Hale prompted. “Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Scott gestured between you and the pack, “Everyone, this is (Y/N). She used to babysit me as a kid. I did not know she was supernatural. (Y/N), this is Derek, Peter, Malia, Lydia, and you know Stiles.” You tilted your head, surreptitiously, towards the recovering wolf. “That’s Deucalion.” “He’s who?” you questioned, earning a half-hearted laugh from the man on the ground. “Can I get up, now?” he requested, lightly, his voice still rough around the edges. You hesitated, then offered your hand. “You have to let me help you, though.” He glanced from your hand to your face, then sighed and took it, letting you help him to his feet, supporting his aching body. “Nice to meet you, oh Mr Demon Wolf, Destroyer of Worlds, pep-talker of my favourite kid.” He chuckled, lowly. “Nice to meet you, Miss Death-Defier, Beacon Hills’ Grim, babysitter of the True Alpha.” The others were all staring at you, wide-eyed, when you both looked back at them. “We should leave.” “I want to take him to Deaton,” you added, as they all nodded. He sighed, and you all waited for him to protest. “What?” he challenged, letting you help him towards your car, “I’d rather see the Druid than die.”

The roar echoed through the school, reverberating in your chest – pain, anger, hurt. “Scott?!” Before you could take off, Deucalion grabbed your arm. “You don’t know how to fight it.” “Scott’s hurt!” “He’ll be more hurt if you’re dead.” You sighed, but nodded, mutely. “Let me go ahead.” He offered you his hand. “Unless I squeeze your hand, don’t open your eyes. It knows how to trick us.” “Don’t you need that?” You glanced at his hand, and he offered you a lopsided smirk. “If I do, I’ll just throw you with my punch.” You snorted, but took his hand anyway. “Give me some warning, I’ll even put my claws out and actually make myself useful.”

“Bobby?!” The Coach spun at the sound of your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you hurt?” “Just looking after my players,” he answered, brightly. You raised an eyebrow. “Some asshole thought he could get away with touching my boys outside my office. I mean, sure, Jackson and Ethan aren’t my team anymore, but they’re still –” “Bobby, are they okay?” “What? Of course,” he huffed, folding his arms. “I hit him with a lacrosse stick.” Deucalion raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us have fangs and claws.” Then he paused for a moment. “Hang on, you’re the asshole–“ “Coach?” You heard a clatter in the nearby entrance hall, as Scott appeared, but just surged towards him. Deucalion headed for the noise. Blood still stained around his eyes but he smiled, offering a soft laugh, as you checked him over. “I’m fine.” “You blinded yourself?” Horror coursed through you. “He what?” Bobby demanded. Jackson and Ethan appeared, from the same direction Bobby had come. Ethan did a double take, but Deucalion held up his hands in surrender, and the boy approached, warily. “Coach, why are you here?” Stiles questioned, still entirely bewildered. “He just saved us,” Ethan admitted, making Derek raise an eyebrow. “Malia?” Peter crashed through the doors behind them. “Malia– you’re okay.” The girl in question smiled, brightly, crushing her father into a hug. Peter froze. Derek kicked Stiles before he could snicker. “Coach saved you?” Stiles asked, returning his attention to the boys. “No need for that tone, Stilinski.” “He beat a hunter unconscious with a lacrosse stick,” Jackson explained, and Stiles’ jaw dropped further. “Wait, do you know about this, Coach?” Scott asked, brows furrowed. “Of course I know. That’s my sister fussing over you.” “She’s your what?” “I’m adopted,” you assured the baffled teenagers.

Deucalion cleared his throat, summoning your attention. He held up Monroe by her collar. “She’s still alive.” “You won’t kill me,” she sneered, “McCall won’t let you.” “McCall’s not my Alpha,” Deucalion responded, eyes flashing red. “Yet you still deferred to him.” Deucalion snarled, but looked back to Scott. “This is your territory, Scott.” The boy hesitated. “But it’s a war for all of us.” They hadn’t even seen you moving before her heart dropped to the floor. “(Y/N)?!” “What the hell?!” Deucalion didn’t speak through the teenaged chorus, just discarded the body, unceremoniously, curious gaze fixed on your face. “A woman after my own heart.” Malia elbowed Peter, cutting off his muttering. “Was that her?” A sob tore from your throat at Bobby’s question, raw and ragged, but you nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your brother, or at Scott, afraid of what you would see there. So you just held Deucalion’s gaze, as if begging him to understand… something. Anything. Even you weren’t sure what. The man was a killer, after all. You didn’t need to justify yourself to him. You could hear Bobby explaining, behind you, but still didn’t dare look back. You flinched when Deucalion finally broke the impasse by taking a step forward, but didn’t move away. He continued forward, slowly, until he had closed the distance between you, a warm hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The question was stiff, awkward, but you couldn’t say you expected any different. Before you even registered what you were doing, you slumped forward, burying your head in his chest. He went stiff for a moment, but you soon felt his arms inch around you, one hand coming to your hair. Your sobs began to fade, breathing falling into sync with the soothing fingers trailing through your hair. “Am I seeing this right– ow, Derek!” A low growl rumbled from Deucalion’s chest, vibrating through your body, and Stiles fell silent. With a shuddering breath, you pulled away and looked up to meet the eyes of the Alpha of Alphas. He raised an eyebrow, but his expression was gentle. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “You just single-handedly destroyed a well-manicured, decades-old reputation.” There was no anger in his voice. “I think you did that when you started practicing pacifism,” Peter drawled, making both Scott and Deucalion glare at him. He shrugged, but didn’t try to take it back. “Can I suggest we leave?” Lydia piped up, quietly. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a shower.” She looked down at her dust-covered hands, the stains of blood and sweat on her clothes. Murmurs of agreement followed, and you all headed for the doors. “Scott, if you see your father, tell him I’ll be by tomorrow.” Scott raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t think I just magically realised you were about to die, did you?” You didn’t bother listening to their mumbled responses, just made a beeline for your car. “Call me tonight!” Bobby shouted after you. You waved your agreement.

#pack mom reader #tw past trauma #tw parent death #tw murder #deucalion x reader #deucalion #teen wolf deucalion #teen wolf #coach finstock #bobby finstock #adopted!reader #adopted!finstock!reader #tw violence #tw gore #tamora monroe #coach is secretly soft #tw guns #tw injury #tw major injury

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echo-three-one · 4 years ago

Text

Whatever It Takes

Alex relives the old days as he single-handedly embarks on a mission to help local German Militia regain their village from the hands of Augustus. But he seemed a little distracted. I wonder why.

Previous Chapter : Roach - A Walk to Remember

Chapter 7 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

"Just Like Old Times"

"Alex"

Task Force 141

1 km East of A Local Militia Settlement, Germany

"Guten Morgen. Hallo." Alex muttered as the plane slowly descended toward his drop off area. He was readying his accent for the negotiation. A few more walks and he'll be on potential enemy territory or ally territory, depending how well he seals the deal. For the whole duration of the flight, he cleared his head on Samantha, how she has no clue about him, and focused on his new task. He was confident he'd get this one right, as this was his playing field. The CIA days were almost nostalgic as he plopped his metal foot on the ground and signaled the chopper goodbye.

Leading small armies to help create forces to counter terrorism. That was his role in the Special Activities Division of the CIA. He was Kate Laswell's favorite when it comes to these kinds of activities and he's confident enough that he could convince them to fight.

The walk was long and quiet, no one was around, most of Alex's trails were just forest upon forest upon forest. He started heading to the sound of the water, and immediately spotted four men, armed and possibly his ticket inside the settlement. Taking a deep breath he emerged from the forest and greeted the gentlemen.

"Hello. Does anyone here know anyone named Blitz?" Alex asked in fluent german. The four of them pointed their guns directly at him and he quickly dropped his bag and raised his hands showing surrender.

"No no. I'm here to help." He kicked the bag as it started to pour out heavy grenadier weapons and bullets. One of them grabbed a radio and called the base.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Call me Alex." he replied with a grin. The next thing he knew is that he was being tied and escorted to the village. He didn't mind, it's always normal for them to be cautious, especially when facing an unknown person.

They trod the dense forestry until they got to a small settlement buzzing with activity.

Alex found himself seated on a small wooden table, his bag of weapons in front of him while Blitz slowly stepped out of the shadows. Blitz was the leader of the said settlement. He has a pale white skin and almost bald hair, his brethren surrounded him, guns pointed at Alex.

"What brings you to this little town, Alex?" he asked.

"Augustus." he replied confidently, all the other brothers whispered with each other.

"Shhh!" he silenced the group. "What about him?"

"I want answers from him and I need your help."

Alex took a sip of their popular soup recipe, they were all gathered by the campfire outside but Blitz wanted to talk to him in private.

"Augustus, has done a lot of bad things in our village. He has slaughtered our animals, stolen some of our men and worst of all, he took away our village." he frowned.

"My wife and kids, they are still there… He's using them as shields so your heavy weapons have no use to win them back." he pushed the bag back to him.

"I still have friends who can help. If you're willing to lend us your strength." Blitz looked concerned at Alex's eagerness.

"Tell me, why do you want this Augustus man so bad?" he asked, his eyes reflected the little burn they had on their campfire.

"He's our only hope to save a lot of people," he replied.

"Good. Join us later for our plans. If we are able to evacuate my people, we can have time to play with your toys." he smiled and Alex nodded. Tomorrow, the 141 is going to have Augustus for interrogation.

"Don't get your hopes too high, Alex. I don't want to live waiting for uncertainty. I'm done with that." Samantha's words hit him like a brick. Alex peeked at the scope and took a general sweep of the view looking for possible hostiles. It's been months since they last met and if she's true to her word and lives a normal life, she must have someone else looking for her right now, someone else she currently loves and he just had to suck it up when his suspicions were to be true.

He had his chance to tell her everything back at the infirmary but seeing her smile like that made him hesitate. Bringing back memories of him would just cause him pain, like what Maxine felt when she heard her name. And he didn't want her hurt, he just wanted her back.

He started to crumple her letter as he fished it from his pocket. It was inside the ziploc he had to protect from the rain, but now he just wanted to forget. He had been hurt many times in the past days that he couldn't handle facing her anymore. The feeling that he isn't reciprocated the way he expected was pushing him down.

'Don't you dare forget about me.' he sighed.

He wished it would be the same as last time. She rejected him at first but convinced herself to give him a chance the next day, but even with Maxine badgering her about him, it didn't seem to work.

"There they go Alex. The 6 am supply drop." Blitz whispered over comms. The plan was easy: Augustus supplies a lot of boxes to the base. They contain food and weapons stolen from farms or delivered to them from their higher leaders. This is the opening where most of their forces carry boxes, Anja, Blitz's wife, would lead all their members to a small tunnel they built in cases of invasion. Once everyone is out and accounted for, we will barge in and surround them, taking back what's rightfully theirs.

It's also important that most forces will focus on the northern ridge as that was the place where they came from before they invaded, and Blitz believes that a bigger base is situated there. Alex quickly relays this intel to the Task Force and reconnaissance has since begun.

"Ready, Alex?" Blitz asked one last time, holding their guns.

"Let's go." he said as they slowly creeped towards the entrance.

Alex's fingers gently felt the trigger through his gloves, he was alone with new found friends and he's not going to let Augustus slide past his hands. This has to end now. For Samantha.

For Samantha, who doesn't recognize him anymore, those days in Brazil were Alex's best days as a normal person. He got to experience living full of love for a while and he got into it. He liked the idea.

One huge explosion on an open area inside the settlement. They were smart, they're reclaiming the base so they didn't destroy anything in there. They just set out a warning.

"Alex! These weapons are top-notch!" One of the soldiers he's with roared, dashing across the field and started firing rounds.

Alex quickly covered himself by an empty barrel, peeking with his sights and firing at the tangos who were defending, slowly pressing themselves inward onto the base.

"Brothers! Let's take back what's rightfully ours!" Blitz yelled in their language, followed by a collective "Ja!" from the men.

Enemies scattered, those with weapons slung on their shoulders immediately retaliated while some of them retreated far back into the village. Alex took note of this and shot runners when he could.

"Brothers, they're going to reinforce themselves with weapons!" Blitz yelled, commanding the rest of the forces to flank, putting pressure on the back exit where most of them could retreat.

"Alex, come with me. Let's get Augustus." The leader commanded and Alex nodded, fighting their way inside the central tent. It was heavily guarded and the duo cautiously made their way in shooting hostiles one barrage of bullets at a time. By the time they made it in a huge chunk of metal caught their attention, it had some sort of satellite components and it hummed dangerously.

Alex and Blitz successfully entered the base but it was Augustus-less, more bad news were reported as their weapons cache was already empty.

"Scheisse!!" Blitz cursed loudly as the village fell quiet. They had won their fight back, but at what cost? Alex consoled the leader and turned to the machine which hummed louder.

"We gotta get out of here!" he yelled, escorting Blitz to the door. But it was too late, the machine whirred and released some sort of small scale EMP blast, forcing their comms to ring in static followed by a loud side effect of ear ringing and minor dizziness.

Alex felt himself drop on the floor, trying his hardest to remove his earpiece. The feeling was mind bending, the ringing didn't stop and it felt piercing straight to the brain, unlike standard military EMP grenades, these lasted longer and rang louder. Whatever this contraption was, he needed it to be destroyed.

With the last of his strength, Alex covered his already bleeding ears and dragged Blitz outside the tent, threw a grenade and hid to safety. It was a slow and steady action but as soon as the machine blasted into pieces, the ringing stopped and everyone started to recover.

The group slowly recovered and got up. Some of Blitz's men began puking as their minds were assaulted by the big machine. If this is one of Nero's big plans, then the team must prepare. Alex still pondered how these blasts weren't familiar on his previous mission and how they could potentially tie to the missing person cases that continued to spread across America.

Alex was afraid of what this thing is capable of and he must report this immediately to the rest of the squad, who he thinks is making their way inside Augustus' base just beyond the mountains behind them.

Next Chapter : Experiment 001

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NOTIFICATION SQUAD, MY BELOVED

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