#i can't remember if that was the previous tag for the fic but it is now because i can remember it

[electricbluebutterflies]

Please give us more of the 842 story from your au fic!

I am literally working on that right now. Should be up in like... less than an hour, maybe even sooner.

[doeidawn]

☁︎ — helping hand

kyle was always a good friend to you, a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold when times got rough. maybe it was a good thing that your biggest problem as of late was a (seemingly endless) cycle of bad boyfriends. but kyle can't stand to see you upset; not when he knows just how well he can help you. 5.4k

⟢ pairing: gaz x f!reader

⟢ tags: MDNI/18+; one-time fwb turns into two-times; reference to previous sexual encounters; technically hurt/comfort—reader has shitty ex-bfs; smoking; gaz is a tease; oral sex [f receiving]; fingering; couch sex; unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it); praise; slight possessive gaz if you squint; increasingly desperate sex; handjob; semi-awkward aftercare; i do not know how to end long fics sorry it's lame

It’s been a while since you and Kyle hooked up.

Eight months, to be exact. Nearly a year. Thankfully, everything was still okay between you two. He was a close friend—a good friend—and hooking up didn’t seem to change much about that. If anything, it only improved things; there was no lingering tension simmering in the air on late nights. No more wondering how his hands and lips would feel on your skin or yearning to hear him whisper filth in your ear. And even though it seemed surreal to remember the way he felt against you, it was over after that one time.

So you moved on. Even though your body begged for more and every fantasy seemed to circle back to him, you moved on.

In fact, Kyle was nothing but supportive of moving on. He was among the first to learn every time you started talking to someone new. He cared enough to vet the guys you met whenever he could, the major downside being that his criteria of “worthy of dating you” seemed very strict. So strict that none of them ever really fulfilled it. But you always assumed it was because Kyle cared about you and wanted you safe with a guy who knew your worth. Truthfully, he was the most supportive wingman you could’ve asked for.

It was a bittersweet feeling. You had to wonder if the night you shared replayed in his head as often as your own. He was the best you ever had, no doubt about it, but you knew it wasn’t in your best interest to yearn for your best friend. But, goddamn, was his embrace a hard one to find a replacement for.

Try as he may to keep you safe and prevent any heartbreak, it was, unfortunately, inevitable. Despite all of his efforts to keep you away from guys who were so clearly just using you, he couldn’t have known you were desperate enough to fill the void that you couldn’t stop yourself from lunging at the promise of a warm body. It was never worth it in the end. Every time, without fail, you’d run back to Kyle to cry on his shoulder. It sucked. But he was always the greatest help.

And, as much as you hated yourself for it, that’s exactly where you found yourself again. Sat on his sofa while you blow snot into tissues and smoke through his cigarettes just to rant about your latest failure of a date. You felt no better than the subjects of whatever trashy television was playing on the screen; originally intended to laugh at for distraction, now only reminding you how pitiful you felt. 

Like always, Kyle had a reassuring hand rubbing your back, nice enough to nod along to your sputtering and curses, as nonsensical as they were. He was so nice, and it made you feel like shit whenever you came around with another sob story.

You run a hand over your puffy eyes, wiping away another stream of tears from your cheeks. “M’sorry, Kyle. I didn’t mean to come over n’ cause a scene.”

“You’re alright, love.” The reassurance was nice, and it felt genuine, but it didn’t necessarily change how you felt.

“No, I’m not. I’m a fuckin’ mess.” A self-deprecating laugh leaves your lips as you run another tissue over your raw and red nose. “You think I’d learn a thing or two by now.”

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault those guys don’t know a perfect woman when they’ve got her.”

You roll your eyes at that. “‘A perfect woman’.” The thought makes you scoff. You felt anything but perfect. “Do I look like a perfect woman right now?”

“‘Course you do.” Kyle brings his other hand close and, for a moment, you think he’s going to hold your hand. Instead, he plucks away the cigarette hanging lazily between your fingers. “Smoking’s not a good look, though.”

“They’re your cigarettes.”

“Ah, that’s neither here nor there.” He takes a puff of his own before leaning forward to stub out the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table. “Never said I was perfect, did I?”

“You seem to have your shit together better than me.” You throw your tissue towards a bin Kyle had brought near the sofa once your crying had started. “I’m an idiot for not listenin’ to you.”

“Well, beatin’ yourself up over it isn’t gonna solve anythin’.”

“But it’s true. You warn me all the time about these guys. It’s either one boring date or a hookup just for…mediocre sex. At best.” Kyle scoffs at that. “And…then it’s over.”

Leaning back against the sofa, you run your hands over your face again. Frustration gnaws at you, tugging at the back of your mind and filling you with some unnamed emotion that makes everything feel bitter. It wasn’t Kyle’s fault for not knowing why you were so hard on yourself. It’s not like he knew it was him you were trying to replace.

You huff an exasperated sigh. “I’m just…frustrated. I can’t remember the last time a guy made me feel…good. Made me feel wanted.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Kyle nods his head in thought like he’s debating his inner monologue. He settles back against the sofa next to you. 

“I can.”

Two simple words and yet they make your heart feel like it’ll jump out of your chest. Choking on your breath felt preferable to meeting his gaze. 

“Oh, shut up.” You laugh, but you aren’t sure it’s because you found it funny. 

His hand finds its way to your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through your sweatpants. “You could have that again, you know. We could have that again.” You almost hate how hopeful he sounds.

You aren’t sure what to say. It must show on your face, you figure, when you notice his smile from the corner of your eye.

It would be a total and utter lie to pretend you haven’t thought about the possibility a million times over. As if you haven’t had to remember the way his touch felt so you could get yourself off when every other man couldn’t. But every time, without fail, the nastiest guilt would purge those thoughts away, ashamed of yourself for thinking about something he never seemed to bother remembering. 

But now he was proposing to do it all over again. And you wanted to. You wanted to so badly.

“Kyle…” Your throat is dry when you finally manage to utter the words. “I thought you…I assumed it was just a one-time thing…”

“It doesn’t have t’be.”

Of course it does, you want to argue. It wasn’t fair the way his touch had you yearning for something you shouldn’t want. But the more you thought about it, the less you wanted to fight it. 

His soft voice fills the silence as his thumb brushes over your thigh. “It’s what you deserve; someone who can make you feel good. And wanted.”

“I thought you only did that because I was…frustrated.”

“Mm. And you’re frustrated now, aren’t you?” 

It’s a simple question, but his tone is dulcet and sweet like he’s trying to seduce you. Truthfully, you feared it was working. Goddamn tease.

“I…suppose you could say that.” You concede, almost fighting the smile forming on your lips.

Kyle’s hand slides off of your thigh before snaking behind you, slotting perfectly on your curves as his arm wraps around your waist. “It certainly seems that way to me.” He leans in closer and your heart leaps into your throat when the warmth of his breath hits your cheek. “I don’t mind helpin’ you out again.”

You hope he doesn’t notice how tense you are, how your lips quiver as you finally bring yourself to speak. “Are…are you serious..?”

A small laugh escapes him as he pulls you closer. His lips press small, gentle kisses on the underside of your jaw, each one sending a shiver down your spine. You can practically feel the blood pumping hurriedly through your veins. He didn’t have to say anything to tell you how serious he was.

Heat pools in your core when his other hand slides up your thigh. More insistent than the last time, his fingers rub and knead at the pliant flesh hidden beneath your clothes. Your nerves come alight, sensitive to every brush of his fingers as they move inward on your body.

You tilt your head enough to catch Kyle’s attention. Placing a hand on his cheek when his nose brushes yours, you impatiently close the gap between your mouths. It’s a gentle kiss, but there’s an undoubtable hunger in it. Almost instantly, you feel the tension leave your body, replaced by an insatiable need that gnaws at your core.

He completely bombarded your senses. His smell in your nostrils, his touch on your curves, his taste on your lips—everything about him had your head spinning. It’s too much and too little all at the same time.

The movement of your hips was an impulsive one; a plea for him to hurry up or give you more. The whine that left you was a pathetic sound that escaped your mouth and filled his.

You could feel Kyle smile against you, his grip on your waist tightening. “Christ, you’re really impatient, huh?”

“Shut up, Kyle,” you pant. He wasn’t wrong; your patience was worn thin at this point. It was almost torturous to feel so needy.

“Easy, baby,” he coos against your lips. As riled up as you were, calming down wasn’t a simple ask, but you willed yourself to listen. The way he spoke to you made your body want to obey his every command. “I know what you need.”

When his mouth meets yours for another series of hungry kisses, you could feel his hand move higher up your thigh. His touch was intentionally light, a tease to leave you wanting more. And it did. It took everything in your power to keep still when his fingertips brushed over the space between your thighs.

But you couldn’t stop yourself when his hand finally dipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. You could feel how slick and desperate you were before his fingertips brushed over your panties. He groans into your mouth when he finds the wetness seeping through the fabric, cupping your cunt to feel you squirm.

“Oh, you poor thing. You needed this so bad, didn’t you?” You can almost sense some sincerity in his tease. Almost. 

You’re moaning against his lips before you can form your own tease. Kyle’s touch grows more insistent, his fingers dragging up and down your wet panties until he starts gently circling your clit. Your nails dig into his arm, hips rocking into his makeshift rhythm. Already sensitive from being neglected, the rough and wet fabric against your clit leaves you whining and groaning pathetically under his touch.

“Fuck, baby, you sound so needy.” You could hear the smile in his voice. Your heavy eyes watch his gaze rake over your body to ogle the way your legs spread. 

“Don’t…don’t tease me, Ky…” You groan between broken breaths and gasps. Your hips roll eagerly, bucking against the steady pressure of his fingertips. “C’mon, touch me. Please.”

You don’t mean to whine when his hand slides out from underneath your clothes. “Really impatient, aren’t we?” He mutters under his breath like he hadn’t meant for you to hear him before settling his hand on your hip. “I told you, I know what you need.”

You don’t get the chance to ask him to hurry up before he’s pulling your hips along the sofa cushions, guiding your body until you’re laid out on the furniture. You trusted him—even when you weren’t ferociously horny for his touch, you trusted him—and knew he’d make the wait worth it.

His fingers hook on the hem of your sweatpants, tugging it and your panties down your outstretched legs. The cool air hits your wet flesh and sends goosebumps over your skin. Your clothes are discarded somewhere on the floor before Kyle settles between your legs, bent down and crunched on the sofa until his face is level with your cunt.

Arms wrapped around your thighs, he kisses along the soft skin, alternating sides and nipping occasionally to feel the muscle underneath tense. As impatient as you were, you watched with rapt attention as his eyes focused on your slick cunt, sensitive enough to twitch every time you felt his breath hit.

One of his hands runs over your thigh until his rough fingertips are spreading you open. He smiles, smirking as if proud of himself. “You missed me, huh?”

You didn’t know if that was a comment on your impatience or how wet you were. Maybe both. “Maybe…just a li’l…” You pant, shivering when his warm breath ghosts over your clit as he laughs.

“Oh, I know you did. You’re fuckin’ dripping, love.”

Kyle’s eyes meet yours before his head dips down and his tongue sticks out to lick a slow stripe up your slit. The wet friction takes your breath away, nails digging into the cushion beneath you to ground yourself. His tongue spreads you apart, lapping at your arousal and gliding over your most sensitive parts.

“You taste just as good as I remember.” His words are muffled against your cunt, almost immediately drowned out by his wet slurps and your moans.

The flat of his tongue circles around your clit before gently sucking it into his mouth. The pressure already has your legs twitching and tensing, shockwaves of pleasure shooting through every nerve. He guides one of your legs up, propped against the back cushion of the sofa, before running his hand down your thigh. 

Fingertips gently caress your cunt, gliding through the mess of your arousal and his saliva, teasing and circling your hole. Two thick digits push inside and the sudden stretch has your hands flying towards Kyle, fingers digging into his short curls, desperate for some part of him to hold on to.

It’s been far too long since you felt this good. Eight months too long. The attention was almost unfamiliar; something overwhelmingly delicious that only he seemed to give you. The way he sucks on your clit while his fingers pump and curl just right makes your head fall back against the armrest. You can feel yourself squeezing his fingers and throbbing against his tongue, that ache in the pit of your stomach already beginning to form.

Kyle groans before sliding his mouth off of you. “Easy, baby. Fuck, you’re grippin’ so tight…” A gentle kiss lands on the inside of your thigh as his fingers curl again. “None of your li’l boyfriends touched you like this, did they?”

If you were any more coherent, you might have said something about how jealous he sounded. But that wasn’t the point right now; right now all you were focused on was how deep his fingers hit, and how right he was.

You shake your head. “No…not like this. Not this good,” you manage to admit between moans.

“Not this good,” he echoes, proudly whispering to himself, before his head dips down again.

His lips latch around your clit again, suckling and running his tongue over it until your hips start to buck. The sounds are disgustingly lewd; wet squelches with every thrust of his fingers, the sloppy sounds of his mouth, and your wanton moans—it’s everything you’d been fantasizing about since the last time he had you. 

Your eyes flutter open as you lift your head off of the armrest. Seeing Kyle, barely fitting himself on the sofa just to ravage you, makes you tighten around his fingers. “Holy shit, Ky. I’m gonna cum. You’re gonna make me cum,” you warn, panting breathlessly. Your toes curl, thighs tensing at the mounting heat in your core.

“Already? Oh, that’s a good girl,” he growls against your cunt. “Cum f’me. C’mon, show me how much you missed me.”

The hunger in his eyes makes you shudder. You were already close to the edge, but with his encouragement, you completely fell apart. With another swirl of his tongue and a harsh thrust of his fingers, your body goes taut with pleasure. The ecstasy that you’ve denied yourself for far too long shoots through your veins until your thighs are shaking.

Kyle hums contentedly at the tightness surrounding his fingers before easing them out. He quickly replaces the emptiness with his tongue, spreading you apart and lapping at your slick cum. He doesn’t pull back until you start to whine. With heavy eyes and a heaving chest, you watch him settle back on his knees, noting the way his lips and chin glisten. 

That unmistakable hunger—desire and determination mixed—is still clear as day in his eyes. He leans over you, lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, and the taste and smell of yourself floods your senses. You reach out for him, twisting your fingers into his shirt to keep him close.

He groans into your mouth, the mess of tongue and teeth complimented by the sound. His hands find your waist, pushing your shirt up and sliding under layers until he can paw at your chest. You almost whine when one of his hands moves off of you until you hear the metallic jangle of his belt buckle coming undone.

He pulls back just enough to look down at you and your eyes immediately dart to his hand to watch him impatiently tug down his pants. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen his cock, but seeing it now—thick and heavy and warm as it brushes against your skin—makes all the memories from the first time flood your mind. And knowing how good he made you feel before only made you that much more eager.

Kyle wraps a hand around himself, giving his cock a few firm pumps before guiding it towards your wet slit. The head of his cock spreads your cunt and brushes against your sensitive clit with each roll of his hips. You can hear how wet you are, how you coat him in your slick with every movement, and you shudder when he groans.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re needy,” he sighs. His hand, still kneading your chest under your shirt, slides down to grip your waist firmly. “God, I could look at you like this all day.”

“C’mon…Don’t make me beg.” You coo, trying to coax him as your legs hook over his hips.

“Oh, that’s a good idea.”

“Kyle.”

“You had no problem waitin’ eight months. You can wait a bit longer, right?”

“I swear to God, Kyle, just fuck me—”

Your own shaky moan interrupts your speech, ripped from your throat as Kyle suddenly pushes the head of his cock past your entrance. He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on the side of your parted lips.

“Gotta work on your patience, love.”

You can feel every inch as he slowly eases his thick cock into you. With nails digging into the sofa cushions to ground you amidst the delicious stretch, both of you moan when he finally bottoms out. He stills long enough for you to feel the way your slick walls flutter around him.

Thumbs press gently into the dip of your hips in a reassuring squeeze. “You alright?” He asks, scanning your face for approval. A pathetic nod and an ‘uh-huh’ that sounds more like a whimper escapes your lips. “Nearly forgot how perfect you feel.”

Kyle leans back on his knees, straightening up with a devilish smirk and an even hungrier look in his eye. His pace is slow when he finally begins to rock his hips back and forth. He watches your body intently; ogling at the way your cunt swallows every inch of him, savoring the way you mold around him, keeping an eye out for any sign of discomfort. 

You moan on every downstroke as he fills you with every slow thrust, the head of his cock pushing just right against that sweet spot deep inside. Still so slick and sensitive from your recent orgasm, every nerve feels alight—addicted to the fullness and the way his cock twitches inside you. 

“Oh, fuck.” You whine as your hands search him out, desperate to be even closer. You can feel his muscles tense when your hands run up his arms and hold onto him tightly. “God, you fill me so good…so fuckin’ deep.”

Kyle makes a sound at that, something between a laugh and a groan. “I know, baby,” he coos softly, encouraging your touch when he leans back to pull his shirt off over his head.

There’s no hiding the way you tighten around him when you see his bare skin. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but something about watching his muscles tense with every push of his hips made your head spin. He leans closer, just enough for you to reach your hands out and splay your fingers over his chest.

“I needed you so fucking badly.” The confession tumbles from your lips without thought, forced out alongside a moan that proves how true it was. “You make me feel so good. I never—shit—never should’ve looked for someone else.”

His jaw goes tight, a low grunt in the back of his throat his only reply to your admission. His gaze drops from your face to watch where his hips meet yours, but judging by the way his chest rises with heavier, deeper breaths, you aren’t so sure it’s because he’s uncomfortable. 

He’s holding back. 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine and your hips buck in his direction on the next agonizingly slow thrust. “I missed you so much, Kyle.” It wasn’t a lie—your body’s reaction to him was more than enough proof of that—but you wanted to see him let go, to stop being so gentle and kind like he always was. “C’mon, fuck me like you missed me too.”

That does the trick.

Kyle mutters a swear under his breath as his hands move to grab the underside of your thighs, pushing your legs towards your chest. Your hands fall to the sofa cushion at the sudden change in position. His hips slam against yours, one foot planted on the floor so he has complete control as he drives his cock all the way within you. There’s no more finesse, no more charm—just pure need.

Hearing the way you yelp and whine at his newfound desperation makes him curse under his breath again. “I missed you…so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, the words coming out as more of a growl. “Christ, I needed this. Been needin’ you all this time. I couldn’t stop…thinkin’ about you.”

That confession makes your head swim—you wonder if this is how he felt hearing your own admission of missing him. You’d thought about the last encounter countless times, but you never would’ve thought it meant as much to him as it did. The way he pounded into you now made you convinced that he craved this just as badly as you did.

“Yeah?” You whine, smiling pathetically at him. “Oh, God, me too. I needed this, needed you.”

When his eyes meet yours, you see nothing but determination behind his gaze, feral and hungry and needy. His hands dig into the plump skin of your thighs as he holds your legs in place. “Did you think of me when they fucked you? Huh? Did you have to think about my hands? My cock?”

All you can do is nod, frantic and hurried, as a pathetic “uh-huh” is forced from your lungs. Heat pools at the bottom of your stomach, tugging at your sensitive insides with every quick punch of his cock deep inside.

Kyle groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes your slick walls flutter around him. “Yeah, they didn’t make you feel this good, did they? No one can make you feel like I do. No one fills this pretty pussy like I do, huh?”

You can’t even form a proper response, your mind blanking. Your eyes roll back, head lying against the armrest, every muscle so tense yet malleable to his will. Your lack of a response was enough proof he was right; no one else stretched and filled you the way he did. 

You hear him curse again before he speaks through gritted teeth. “I would’ve given you this…any-fucking-time you wanted it. Whenever you needed me.”

Finally releasing the sofa cushion, your hands seek out the warmth of his skin, fingers curling against his arms. You could feel yourself tensing, your cunt hugging every inch of him as he slid in and out. “Ky, I’m…I’m gonna c-cum again—fuck.”

You could almost feel his stare boring through you when his grip tightens on the skin of your thighs. “That’s it, gimme one more. C’mon,” Kyle groans through his encouragement, “I’ve waited eight goddamn months. I need to feel you cum on my cock again.”

You bite your lip to hold back the pathetic moans and whimpers leaving your mouth. It was all wanton and needy—involuntary sounds pushed out of your lungs with every deep, rough thrust. The squelching of your cunt welcoming his cock fills your ears, his skin hitting yours with a satisfying slap each time.

“Let me hear you,” he coaxes, almost desperate. “I know you’re close, baby, you’re gettin’ so tight.”

It didn’t take his encouragement for another set of choked moans to slip past your lips. It was harder and harder to hold back, to fight off the mounting pressure in your core. “Fuck, Kyle, s’too much…”

“S’alright, I got you. Just cum one more time f’me, baby. Just one more.”

Maybe it was his encouragement, maybe it was the possessiveness underlying his tone, maybe it was the way his cock hit so perfectly deep, maybe it was because he was the first guy to make you feel good in months. Whatever the reason was, when you came for the second time, you felt that pleasure in every inch of your body.

Every muscle tenses, taut with pleasure as waves of ecstasy flow through you, flooding every nerve. Your nails dig into his skin and your toes curl until you’re left shaking. Your cunt hugs every inch of him, pulsing and milking him for all that he’s worth as he slowly fucks you through the high with stuttered thrusts.

“That’s it, there you go,” you hear him pant at one point. “Keep going, baby, give it to me.”

Kyle’s own sounds are barely audible as your moans fill the air, but he curses and groans as he watches your body tense and throb and twitch. The obscenely lewd sound of your squelching cunt is even more obvious now with the slick cum coating his cock. 

Just as the last tremors of your orgasm start to fade, he pulls out hastily with a groan. He releases your legs from his grip, and the ache you know you’ll feel soon is pushed to the back of your mind when he leans down to plant a kiss on your lips. 

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, at your flushed sweaty skin, to watch you pant and barely have the energy to look back up at him. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Planting another kiss on your lips, you can feel Kyle shift to wrap a hand around himself. Stroking himself steadily between your legs, his breathing grows heavier between each kiss, the wet sound of his cock covered in your cum sliding against his palm hitting your ears. It’s not until you reach down into the space between your bodies that he stops.

You don’t stop kissing him as you nudge his hand off of his cock to replace his rough, calloused touch with your much softer one. He grunts almost immediately, hips bucking into your hand as it wraps snugly around him. You try to mimic the pace he had set, pumping the length of his cock, the slick of your cum making the movement fluid and easy. 

“Fuck, just like that…” His hands reach past you to grab the cushion beneath your body. You catch a glance of him, watching his eyebrows knit tight on his forehead, before he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His breath hits your skin, warm and heavy, sending a shiver down your spine as he moans and grunts. His hips stutter as he bucks into your hand a final time, cock twitching as his cum hits your stomach. Your hand works out every drop until he's wincing and pulling his hips away. 

There are a few beats of silence, the only sound being the two sets of heavy breaths as you both come down from a much-needed high. Though your senses start to come back and your body grounds itself against the sofa cushions and his skin, it still doesn’t feel real somehow. But despite being an unbelievable act, you don’t feel any regret this time. 

Kyle’s the first one to move, eventually pulling back enough to look down at you. “Feel better?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Even through heavy eyes, you can’t miss the way he smiles. He sits back on his knees to tuck his softening cock back into his pants and you watch as his eyes study the mess on your stomach before you look at it yourself. Just the sight of his cum pooling on your skin sends warmth directly to your core. He leans over to the table, grabbing what few tissues were left after your earlier crying spells, to clean the mess he’d left on you.

Nothing but silence for a moment as Kyle carefully runs the tissue over your stomach as you bask in the afterglow. It’s all the reassurance about him that you need. There’s an unspoken desire in the warmth of his eyes, in the way he looks at you and caresses your skin like you’re worthy of worship. The way he makes you feel—wanted—has your heart fluttering in your chest.

You eventually break the silence with a sigh. “Thank you, Kyle. I…I do feel better. A lot better.”

“Good. That’s good.” He only looks up to throw the soiled tissues in the bin next to the sofa. “Sorry for, uh…Y’know, makin’ you a mess.” He gestures to the lower half of your body with a shrug.

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Wasn’t that your intention?”

That makes him smile. A shy, almost nervous smile that you aren’t sure you’ve ever seen him wear. “You got me.” One last swipe of the soft tissue against your skin to ensure you’re clean. “At least I’m cleanin’ you up afterward.”

“Yeah, aren’t you just a proper gentleman?”

Your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed. “Hey, I bet those other blokes never bothered.”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you roll your eyes at his sentiment. “That’s because those blokes never bothered to make me cum in the first place.” You have to smile at him, at the way he cringes at himself for bringing up your previous partners. “If you want reassurance, you’ve got it. They’ve got nothin’ on you, Garrick.”

“I know, I know. I jus’ like to hear you say it.” Kyle leans down, meeting you halfway for a kiss that’s much softer yet holds the weight of the world behind. His hands skirt over your hips before trailing up your naked skin and resting on your waist. “You need a proper wash. C’mon.”

The ache in your muscles starts to set in as the bliss slowly fades. You groan at the stiffness in your knees when he pulls you up with him to stand on your feet. There’s sweat drying on your back, a familiar stickiness between your legs, and your feet feel unsteady.

But Kyle wraps an arm around you to keep you from stumbling and wobbling on your way to the restroom. His fingertips glided over your skin, tracing curves and dips with reverent ease. He held you like you were porcelain, even after you were in the water. 

Many things could be said about Kyle. Most of them circled back to his generosity, his willingness to help, even when you felt like an unwanted burden. But he gave you everything you could ever want. And maybe one day you’ll realize it’s because he needs your helping hands just as much as you need his. 

[jetii]

The Safe House

Pairing: Hunter x fem!Reader / Hunter x Medic!Reader

Words: 12,466

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, friends/squadmates to lovers, idiots to lovers actually, mutual pining, some very minor wound care, consent is sexy and so is communication, smut, oral (m and f receiving), coming untouched, dirty talk, scent kink maybe

Summary: After a mission goes sideways, you and Hunter are left stranded for the night. Lucky for you, you know of a safe house nearby. Unlucky for you, there's only one bed.

A/N: I can't even pretend to feel shame about this. Hunter loves to eat and that's it, that's the fic.

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“Well, shit.”

Your hand falls from the doorknob, staring into the cabin with a look of horror on your face. It’s smaller than you remembered. A kitchenette, a fireplace, a dusty armchair, and a single bed. The walls are wood-paneled, a few worn posters hanging on them. The door to the bathroom is open, and you can see the shower stall, but not much else. 

When you and Hunter were left stranded on this planet, you hadn’t worried. There was a safe house here, after all, one from your days before you became the squad’s medic. Hunter was in no shape to help you out, and with the Marauder making an emergency landing on the other side of the planet… well, it was safer to split up. This safe house had been the closest one, so you did the smart thing. You went there.

Except, this is not the safe house you remembered.

You remember it being big. Not huge, but certainly large enough for a couple people to crash in until rescue came. Certainly not a tiny, one room shack with one bed. You don't even know if that bed is big enough for both you and Hunter.

Hunter props his arm up on the doorframe, peering in over your shoulder, but he doesn't have much to add to your statement. He looks into the room, then back down at you. He doesn’t say anything, which only makes the situation more uncomfortable. You know you have to go in, but…

You don’t move, even though Hunter is standing behind you, blocking your way out. The two of you have been out here for several minutes now in the cold, just staring at the one tiny bed inside the cabin. There was no couch, or cot, or anything else. Just the single bed. Your mind was already racing with possibilities, most of them not so great.

Your cheeks are starting to hurt from clenching your jaw, and you finally break the silence.

"We're adults,” you state, firmly.

"We are,” Hunter says. He sounds uncertain, so you turn around to look at him.

"And we're both capable of sharing a bed. There's plenty of room,” you continue, nodding, as if confirming your words to yourself.

Hunter nods along, too, but the two of you just stand there, unmoving.

Finally, Hunter speaks up. "You... want to go in, or...?"

He lets his words trail off, and you know what he's getting at. You're the one holding us up.

"I'm going, I'm going!" you snap as you look back into the cabin, but you're still not moving.

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

"Because you haven't actually gone inside yet."

You whirl around and glare up at Hunter, but you can't find the words to respond, and your face is flushed. It's the cold, you tell yourself, refusing to admit that you're blushing. It's not the situation you're in, and it's not the idea of having to share a bed with Hunter, of all people.

It's the cold.

He smiles, and you almost slap him, but his words stop you.

"I don't mind sharing a bed with you."

It's an honest admission, and the sincerity in his words takes you off guard.

"Really?" you ask, unable to hide the surprise in your voice.

"Really." 

Hunter's eyes meet yours and you're suddenly very aware of how close the two of you are standing. His breath ghosts across your cheeks, a cloud of mist from the cold. You feel warmth bloom in your chest. 

"If you're okay with it,” he adds. He's watching you closely now, waiting to see what your reaction is. He's giving you an out, and you're grateful for it. But the way his eyes are locked onto yours, the way his lips are pulled into a half smile, the way he seems to be holding his breath...

You shake your head, breaking the moment.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm fine. Let's go in," you blurt out, and step inside, leaving Hunter to shut the door behind the two of you.

Once inside, you kick off your boots and set your bag down. You glance around, taking in the familiar room. The fireplace, the bed, the old armchair. Everything was just as you remembered it. Mostly.

You turn back to look at Hunter. He’s checking the firewood box, and he gives you a thumbs up, confirming there was enough to last the night. You let out a breath and smile at him, and he smiles back.

Then he turns to the bed.

And you're reminded of the situation you're in.

“You should sit down,” you say, gesturing towards the bed. “I need to take a look at that gash on your head."

He nods and does as he's told, sitting on the edge of the bed, and you sit beside him, careful to keep some distance between the two of you.

You take his chin in your hand and turn his head, getting a better look at the cut above his eye. It’s not that bad, thankfully. Bacta should heal it, and he wouldn't need any stitches, but the blood has dried and crusted around the wound. It's not going to be fun to clean.

“I should have done this earlier,” you mutter to yourself, your eyes scanning his face. You tilt his head from side to side, looking for any other signs of damage, but the rest of his face is free of cuts and bruises. Just a bit dirty, but nothing a little water won’t fix.

"It's fine," Hunter says quietly. There's no irritation in his voice, no indication that he's bothered by you fussing over him. In fact, he seems content to sit still while you finish examining him. He's not squirming away or trying to talk you out of doing this. If anything, he seems at ease.

 "I think you had more important things to do. Like keeping me conscious,” he continues. You pause and look down at him, and his dark eyes are fixed on you. You can't read his expression, but the corner of his mouth is curled up in a soft smile. It's an encouraging look, and you take a breath before continuing.

"I still shouldn't have forgotten.” You let go of him and stand to pull out an alcohol wipe from your bag. “I can't believe I didn't think about that, we've been walking for so long... Why didn't you tell me? Were you trying to be cool and pretend it didn't hurt or something?”

He scoffs and shakes his head. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Hunter," you chastise as you move to stand in front of him. His legs widen on instinct, making room for you between them, and you step closer until your thighs are nearly brushing his. "Don't be a martyr. It's not going to help anyone."

"Okay, okay," he holds his hands up, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "You got me. I wanted to show off for you."

"You already showed off,” you say, but you're smiling too. “You nearly concussed yourself in the process, so you've done enough impressing for the day."

You're not sure why you're being so playful with him, especially given the circumstances. You've never had a problem joking around with him before, but now, alone in this tiny cabin, it feels different. There's an undercurrent of something, and you're not sure what it is.

He doesn't respond to you, but he's still smiling. He tilts his head back a bit, giving you better access to the wound, and you take the hint. You rip open the wipe, and gently brush his hair away from the cut, and the smile fades. When you lean in closer to him, inspecting the wound, his hand brushes your hip. It's an innocent touch, the barest of contact before he pulls away, and you're sure it's an accident, but it still makes your breath hitch.

"Is it bad?" he asks, his voice quieter than it was a few seconds ago.

"No, no. It's just a cut. I think the swelling is starting to go down,” you say, your hand still in his hair. Your fingers are combing through his locks, smoothing the messy strands away from his forehead that his bandana normally keeps in place. Your thumb traces the curve of his temple, and he leans into your touch. It's an intimate gesture, but it feels right, and when you look down at him, his eyes are closed.

"That's good," he murmurs. His breath ghosts over your skin, the heat of it making goosebumps erupt along your arm.

"I'm gonna clean it, okay?"

Hunter nods, and the movement jostles you. His face is dangerously close to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and the tip of his nose touches your skin. The urge to shiver is strong, but you ignore it. This isn't the time or the place to be thinking about things like this. You have a job to do, and Hunter needs your help.

"Hold still," you say, and he hums an affirmative. You take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. “This will sting.”

"I've had worse,” he says, but the breathlessness of his voice has you questioning his words.

"Yeah, yeah." 

You're careful with him as you clean the wound, gently swiping the cloth over his skin. Hunter’s nose scrunches up, and his eyes squeeze shut, and you can't help the smile that appears on your face. It’s cute, but you keep that thought to yourself.

"You're doing great."

He chuckles. "Thanks."

You work in silence for a few minutes. You can feel his eyes on you as you work, but he doesn't say anything, and neither do you. You're too focused on your task, but your mind keeps wandering back to how close you are, closer than you've ever been. 

You're hyper aware of every little thing. The way the cold air of the cabin is starting to warm up from the fire, the way the bed creaks every time you shift your weight. How Hunter is watching your every move, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress, and your body is leaning into his.

The closeness is unfamiliar and overwhelming, and it makes you want to squirm. Or maybe run.

But instead, you stand stock still, and try not to think about the warmth emanating from him. He's so much bigger than you, his whole body a solid, firm wall against you, and it's a comforting feeling. He's safe. It's okay to lean into him, you reason. It's okay. It's fine. It's normal.

You're doing a favor for a friend. A friend who used to be your commanding officer, but now he's not really that anymore, and things are changing between the two of you. Your feelings, especially, are changing. You're not sure when it happened, or how it did, but they're changing.

You pull away abruptly and toss the used wipe into the trash, turning away from him.

“That should be fine," you say, and your voice is higher than it was before. You clear your throat, and grab the bacta spray.

"Thanks," he says, and you turn back to face him, avoiding his eyes. You can feel the heat rise to your face, and you clear your throat, focusing on the cut above his eye. You take out the bacta spray and pump the nozzle a few times, the familiar hissing noise filling the air.

"Alright, this'll just take a minute. Let me know if it's too cold."

"It's fine."

You nearly roll your eyes. Of course it's fine. It's Hunter. Nothing ever bothers him. He's perfect.

You can’t remember a single time where he’s ever complained about something, so you believe him. You don’t expect him to react any differently now. 

You certainly don’t expect him to gasp the moment the spray hits his skin, his hands finding your hips and holding onto you. He’s tense, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes. He's not pushing you away, though, and his hands stay where they are, his thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.

"You good?" You stop spraying, and move to pull away, but he shakes his head.

"I'm alright. Keep going."

You swallow and do as he asks. He keeps his grip on your hips, loosening his hold every now and then, but the pain doesn't seem to bother him as much. After a minute, the bacta has sealed the cut, leaving behind a small pink scar. You put the spray away, and run your thumb along the mark, the skin smooth beneath your touch.

Hunter sighs, the sound low and content, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans into your hand, and you can't help the warmth that blooms in your chest.

"Better?" you ask, your voice soft.

"Yeah."

You continue to stroke his skin, and his grip tightens. You're not sure what to do next. Do you pull away? Do you ask him to move his hands? Do you stay here and enjoy this moment for as long as you can? 

Hunter’s eyes are still closed, and his head tilts toward your palm. Your heart is pounding, and you’re positive that he can hear it. He probably thinks you're an idiot. Here he is, injured, and you're practically swooning over him.

You should pull away. You should get up. You should make the distance between the two of you a little wider. But you're still standing in front of him, one hand on his face, the other resting on his shoulder. His are still holding onto your hips, and he hasn't moved them.

Hunter opens his eyes, and you’re struck by how dark they are, how they catch the light of the fire and glow amber. The shadows dance along his jawline, emphasizing the darkness of his tattoo. His lips are slightly parted, his gaze locked onto yours, and the tension is palpable. You don’t dare move. Not an inch. You wait for him to say something, anything.

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. His brows furrow together, and his lips pull into a thin line.

The moment is shattered when the wind picks up outside, rattling the window.

You pull your hands away, and Hunter lets go of you so fast it’s as if you burned him. He clears his throat and stands, walking past you to check the window, and you watch him go. You take a deep breath and will yourself not to blush, turning away from him to pack up the rest of the med kit.

"I should, uh. I should probably get cleaned up,” Hunter says from across the room.

"Oh. Yeah, of course."

You busy yourself with the contents of your bag to avoid looking in his direction, and he disappears into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him.

You let out a shaky breath, and run a hand over your face. What the hell was that? You were being so ridiculous. Hunter was your friend, and nothing more. The fact that you were both alone together was making you act strangely, and you knew it.

He's probably uncomfortable. He's probably in there trying to figure out a way to politely tell you that you're acting weird and he's not interested in you like that. He's just being nice. That's all it is.

The thought makes you nauseous, and you try to push it out of your mind as you strip off your armor and pants, and then the suit you wear underneath. You're left in only your sports bra and compression shorts, and you shiver. It was freezing, and you weren't looking forward to sleeping without proper pajamas, or even a shirt.

There's not much you can do it about it now, though. It wasn't like you had packed your bag for an overnight stay. You were much more concerned about having the necessary supplies to keep the boys and Omega alive than having a change of clothes. You're kicking yourself for it now, though.

You rifle through your bag to find your toiletries and brush your teeth at the kitchen sink. You don't think about Hunter, or how good he smelled, or how warm his hands were, or the feeling of his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, or—

Stop it.

You splash some water onto your face and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart.

After a few minutes, you've managed to get yourself under control. You grab the blankets and pillow, and you spread them out over the bed. The sheets are worn and old but clean, and the blankets are thick, and you hope they'll be enough to keep the two of you warm. Hunter runs as hot as a furnace, anyway. You'll be fine.

You've finished laying out the blankets when the bathroom door opens. Hunter steps out, a cloud of steam following him, and he stops immediately, eyes wide. He's wearing the bottom half of his blacks, but his torso is bare, a towel slung over his shoulders. Water drips from his hair, and the few droplets the towel doesn’t catch run down his neck and chest, disappearing into the waistband of his blacks.

You force yourself to look away, and you're suddenly very interested in the blanket. You pick at a loose thread while your heart thuds loudly in your chest. He doesn't say anything. Neither do you. 

When you glance up, his eyes are still fixed on you, and then he blinks, seemingly snapping out of whatever thoughts were running through his head. Hunter gives you a small smile, the corner of his mouth lifting up, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks almost... sad. But the look disappears just as quickly as it came.

"Bathroom's free," he says, and there's a strain in his voice, as if he's trying to sound casual, and failing.

You nod. “Thanks.”

He walks over to the fire and adds a few logs, stoking the flames. They crackle and spit, and the smokey smell fills the cabin. You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as quick as possible and shut the door behind you. You lock it for good measure and lean against the wall, taking a few deep breaths.

Your eyes fall shut, and you try to center yourself. You're exhausted. This entire mission has been a disaster, both of you are barely dressed, and the two of you are sharing a bed. You just want to sleep, but your nerves are shot.

You strip out of your clothes and take a quick shower, letting the hot water relax your muscles. It does the job, but the feeling is short-lived, and the second you turn the water off, the stress returns.

You dry yourself off, and slip on the same shorts and bra you'd been wearing. There's not much else you can do, and you're too tired to care about it anymore. You're just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. It's one night. It's not the end of the world.

The mirror is fogged over, so you swipe your hand across the glass, revealing your reflection. You're not thrilled with the person looking back at you, and you scowl at your face. A few bruises and scrapes decorate your skin, and a thin, red line sits just below your ribs. You can't remember getting it, but it's nothing serious.

You comb through your wet hair, and after a few minutes, it's as good as it's going to get.

"Alright," you mutter, nodding to yourself with a sigh. "You can do this."

You open the door and walk into the bedroom. Hunter is sitting on the edge of the bed, his bandana in his hands. His hair is still drying, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck, and he hasn't put his shirt back on. He looks up at you and offers a weak smile, his fingers running along the faded material.

You return the smile, but it's not genuine. Your stomach is in knots, and your heart is racing, and the butterflies are back. You can't remember the last time you were this nervous.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure what to do or say. You're both clearly not okay with this, and you hate it. You hate the tension that's settled over the two of you, the discomfort, the uncertainty. You should say something.

Hunter seems to come to the same conclusion, because he clears his throat and speaks up.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low. He's studying you carefully, and you know he can hear the way your heartbeat has sped up at the question. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," you answer a little too quickly. At his raised brow, you sigh. "I'm just... This is really weird, isn't it?”

"A bit," he admits, and the two of you chuckle awkwardly. He shifts his weight and looks down, his shoulders tense. “I can take the chair, if that would make you more comfortable."

You shake your head. "No, no, it's not that. It's just..." You trail off, unsure of what to say. You're embarrassed by the way your body is reacting, how it seems like the tiniest thing has you worked up, and Hunter doesn't need to know that.

"I can't ask you to do that. I'll take the chair."

Hunter stares at you, and his brows knit together. Your face flushes, and you look away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You’re not sleeping on the chair," he says firmly. He's using his sergeant voice, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

You frown. “Is that an order?”

He shakes his head, and his face falls. The stern look in his eyes softens, and he looks almost hurt. "Of course not. I just... I want to make sure you're comfortable.”

You're not sure how to respond. He's always been protective of you, just as he’s always been protective of everyone on the squad, and it makes sense that he'd be worried about your well-being. But this feels different.

He's still frowning, and you know he's upset with himself, as if he's done something wrong. It's a far cry from the way he'd teased you outside the cabin earlier, and his mood shift throws you for a loop. You don’t know what's happening, but the thought of upsetting him, or disappointing him, is not something you're willing to deal with.

You take a breath and force yourself to look him in the eye, and you take a guess. "Hunter, I'm not... I'm not scared of you, if that's what you're thinking."

The way his body sags at your words confirms your suspicions. "You’re not?"

"Of course not," you say, shaking your head. "I trust you. Completely. But... I'm still nervous, and I'm not sure why, and I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey," Hunter interrupts, and he stands. He closes the distance between the two of you in a single stride, and you have to tilt your head back to look up at him. His face is serious, and you hold your breath as he places his hands on your shoulders. "It's okay."

"It is?" you ask, surprised by the gentleness in his voice.

He nods, his expression softening. "Yeah."

"I don't want things to be awkward between us, but I'm... I'm having a hard time being normal,” you confess. Your mouth twists into a grimace, and you huff, shaking your head. "This is dumb. I'm sorry. It's just a stupid bed. We can share it, it's not a big deal.”

Hunter sighs, and the sound makes you flinch. You've disappointed him. Of course you have. He's probably mad at you for being so dramatic. For making a big deal out of nothing. Why couldn't you just suck it up and get over it?

"This is my fault," he says, and his words are so quiet, you're not sure you heard him correctly. You tilt your head, and he looks away, dropping his hands from your shoulders.

"What?"

"It's my fault."

He takes a step back, putting some distance between the two of you, and you want nothing more than to reach out and close the gap again. You stay where you are, though, watching him.

"Hunter, I already told you, it's not that I'm scared, I'm just—"

"Not the bed thing." He shifts awkwardly and avoids looking at you, instead staring out the window. "Well, not entirely.”

You don't understand. "Then what is it?"

He's silent for a few moments, and the only sound is the wind outside. The fire has started to die down, the embers glowing brightly in the dim room. You can see his hands clench and unclench at his sides, and his jaw is set, as if he's trying to work something out.

He's nervous. It's such a strange sight, and one you've never seen on him before. Hunter doesn't get nervous. Hunter doesn't avoid people. Hunter is cool and calm and collected.

You've never seen him like this before, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to comfort him. You take a step forward and place a hand on his arm, and he stills. His eyes dart over to your face, and you can feel his gaze linger on the spot where your hand is touching his bare skin.

"Hunter," you say, softly, trying not to spook him. "Please. Tell me."

He sighs. "It's a lot. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course I do," you answer, and you take a step closer to him. You're standing toe to toe, and your free hand finds his other arm, so you're holding onto him.

You have no idea what's gotten into you, and the boldness of your actions should have you running for the hills, but there's something about the way his dark eyes are looking at you that makes you feel safe. It's the same feeling you get when he's in charge of a mission, or when he's fighting at your side. He's protecting you, and you have no reason to doubt him.

"Whatever it is, I want to know."

Hunter sighs again, and his eyes drop from yours. He's hesitating, and you can't help but wonder what could be bothering him. He's been acting strange ever since the two of you crashed on this planet, but now that you think about it, it started long before that. Ever since Saleucami, maybe. Maybe even earlier.

But then his gaze finds yours again, and he looks so vulnerable, your thoughts scatter.

"It's not... I shouldn't. Not while we're stranded like this, it's not fair to you. I don't want you to feel like you have to deal with this on top of everything else. If it was a different time, a different place, then maybe, but—"

You squeeze his arms, and he stops talking. "Hunter."

His breath catches in his throat, and you can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his brows knit together. His eyes are dark, and there's a tension in the air, one that has been building since the moment you entered the cabin.

"Tell me," you say, and your words are barely a whisper.

"I should have told you a long time ago. But I never had the chance, and it's not fair of me to tell you now, when things are complicated, but..."

"But what?"

"But I care about you."

"Hunter," you start, your grip tightening on his arms, "of course I know you care about me, you've always looked out for me —"

"No, no," he says, shaking his head. "I mean, I do care about you. A lot. But that's not what I meant."

He pauses, and his hands slide up to your wrists, and he gently removes your hands from his arms. You think he's going to push you away, but he doesn't. He holds onto you, his fingers wrapping around your forearms.

"Hunter?"

"I've... I've had feelings for you. For a while."

Your mouth goes dry, and all the air rushes out of your lungs. He's holding onto you as if he's afraid you'll run away, and in all honesty, it's a very real possibility.

"What?"

"I'm sorry." He says it like a confession, his voice hoarse and pained, and it makes your heart ache.

You shake your head. "You don't need to be sorry. I'm just... I'm confused."

"I was trying to keep them in check, but it's hard when we're together, and I can't seem to stop myself,” he says. “I didn't want to make things awkward for you, so I was trying to keep some distance. It was working, but then this whole mess happened, and I'm not sure how to keep doing this."

"Oh," is all you manage to say, and it's barely a whisper.

Hunter drops your hands and turns away, running a hand over his face. You can tell he's embarrassed, and the sight breaks your heart. You've never seen him so upset before, and it's killing you.

"It's not a big deal, I'll get over it, but it's been... difficult."

You're at a loss for words, but you know what he's talking about. It's been hard on you, too. You've wanted to reach out to him, to close the distance, but you've always held yourself back.

"Hunter."

He doesn't turn, so you step closer, and he freezes. You don't touch him, though, not yet.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He doesn't answer at first, and you're not sure he's going to. He takes a shaky breath, and turns his head, but he doesn't look at you.

"I didn't think you felt the same way,” he says. “You’ve never shown any interest, and I didn't want to force something onto you that you didn't want. I just thought I'd make it easier for you. Make the rejection less painful."

Your mouth drops open. "I haven't — what?"

"But now," he continues, ignoring your interruption. "I'm not sure I can keep going. It's been hell, and I know it's selfish, and I'm sorry."

"Wait," you say, and he finally looks at you. You can see the hurt in his eyes, the pain that's been building for who knows how long, and it shatters you. "You've really thought I didn't want you? This whole time?"

"I... Yeah?"

"Hunter," you breathe.

"It's not important."

"Yes, it is."

"You don't need to lie to make me feel better,” he says. "I know how things are."

"Hunter, I've been acting weird because I was worried that you would be able to hear my heartbeat, or sense how nervous I am, or smell the way my body reacts when I'm near you," you say in a rush. "That's why I was freaking out."

He frowns. "Because you don't like me?"

"No, because I do!"

The two of you stare at each other, neither saying a word. The fire crackles loudly in the silence between you, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You can't believe you've said it out loud, but it feels right, and when Hunter's lips part in surprise, you know you can't take it back.

"You do?"

You stare back in utter disbelief. How could he not know?

"Of course I do," you say. "I thought you knew."

He shakes his head, and takes another step forward.

"I didn't... I thought... You were keeping your distance, and I just assumed..." Hunter trails off, staring at you in bewilderment. He takes a step closer, and you tilt your head back, looking up at him. His eyes are wide, and his gaze roams over your face, as if he's seeing you for the first time. "Really?"

Your lips twitch, and you’re unable to stop the laugh that escapes you. You’re not sure if it’s the absurdity of the situation, or the shock of learning that Hunter had feelings for you, too, or if it was simply the tension that had been building since the moment the two of you had walked into the cabin, but the next thing you know, you're doubled over, laughing harder than you had in months. Your sides hurt and your vision is blurry and you can't catch your breath, and a minute later, Hunter joins in.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, wiping a tear from your eye. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise. It's just... it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

"A bit," he says, his chest shaking with laughter. His shoulders relax, and his face is split into a grin, and he looks so happy, your heart feels like it's going to burst.

“We really need to work on our communication skills," you say, and Hunter snorts.

"I think we'll be alright,” he says with a shrug. “We'll figure it out."

"Yeah," you agree. "I think so, too."

He's still smiling, and it’s infectious. The butterflies in your stomach have come alive, and your body is tingling, but for once, you don't worry about how he might be reacting to your nerves. There's nothing to hide. Nothing to be nervous about. Hunter likes you, too. He's liked you this whole time, and the thought makes your head spin.

"We should probably go to bed," you say, and it comes out a little breathless. You're still staring at him, and he's staring back. His smile falls, but he doesn't look away.

"Probably," he agrees.

The two of you stand there, staring at each other.

"It's been a long day," he adds, and you nod.

"Yeah."

Hunter’s gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes. His chest rises and falls, and you can see the muscles shift under his skin. He licks his lips, and swallows, his throat bobbing.

"Right," you say and take a step closer to him.

"Yeah," Hunter echoes, his voice soft. His hands find your waist, and the feeling of his calloused palms against your skin makes you shiver.

"Do you... Do you want to share the bed?" you ask, your hands finding their way up to his chest. He's so close, you can feel the warmth emanating from him, and your body leans into him, your chest flush against his.

"If you're okay with it," he murmurs.

"I'm okay with it," you whisper, and the words hang between you, heavy with intent.

You're not sure who moves first, but one second, Hunter is holding onto you, his hands tightening around your waist, and the next, his lips are pressed against yours, and the kiss steals the breath from your lungs.

You're not surprised at the hunger in his movements, but it still makes your head spin. His mouth is hot and eager, and he kisses you as if his life depends on it. Your fingers curl around the hair at the nape of his neck, and his arms wrap around your back, pulling you closer. The hard planes of his body press against yours, and you can't help the whimper that leaves you when his hands slide down to the curve of your ass. He squeezes, and you pull away, gasping.

“Too much?” he asks, and the way his voice rasps in your ear makes a shudder run through you.

"Not enough," you breathe, and the way his hands grip your hips tightly tells you he feels the same.

He kisses you again, and the passion between you has ignited into a desperate, frantic heat. He bites down on your bottom lip, and when you groan, his tongue darts out, slipping past your lips. The way he explores your mouth, his tongue curling around yours, makes your knees weak, and you're grateful for the solid wall of his chest, keeping you upright.

Hunter tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and you melt into him. Your hands trail along his jawline, the rough stubble scratching your skin, and you sigh. He kisses you hungrily, and you try to give him as much as you can, hoping he knows how much you care about him, how much you've wanted this, and for how long.

You don't know how much time has passed, but the two of you are still kissing, and your legs are starting to grow tired. Hunter seems to sense this, and his hands slide down to your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin. He lifts you up, and you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"That's better," he murmurs into your neck, and your fingers tangle into his hair as he starts kissing along your jaw. His lips find your throat, and he sucks the skin into his mouth, biting down softly.

"Hunter," you whimper, your head falling back. He nips at your neck, and your body rolls against him. Your core brushes against the firmness of his abdomen, and you gasp.

"Shit," he breathes.

"Sorry," you say, your face burning with embarrassment.

"Don't apologize," he growls. His fingers dig into your thighs, and he sounds as if the sound alone was enough to unravel him. You shiver at the thought. "I just... Fuck. I wasn't expecting you to react like that."

"You're a little distracting," you admit, and the grin on his face makes your stomach flip.

"Am I?"

"Don't act like you don't know," you scold him, tugging his hair, and he groans. His eyes darken, and the noise that escapes him goes straight to your core. You swallow, trying to regain some composure, but it's impossible. It’s even harder when he turns and walks over to the bed, laying you down on the mattress, his body hovering above yours.

"I'm glad it's not just me," he says. His hair falls into his eyes, and you brush it aside, letting your hand rest on his cheek.

“Definitely not just you," you whisper, and the way his eyes light up is worth the confession.

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He captures your lips again, and you hum again in appreciation. His hands move over the curves of your body, his fingers sliding over your hips, his palms gripping the flesh of your thighs. His touch is searing, and the heat of it makes your skin tingle.

Your own hands explore his chest, the muscle rippling under your touch, his skin soft and warm. You drag your nails down his abdomen, and his body rolls into yours, his hardness pressing into the apex of your thighs. Your back arches, and the groan that escapes him makes your blood boil. You need more, need him to touch you, need him to keep kissing you, and you try to tell him as much. But every time you try to speak, his lips are there, swallowing your words.

"You're so beautiful," he mumbles, his words slurring together, and it's not the most coherent thing you've ever heard, but the compliment makes your heart flutter, anyway. You kiss him harder, and he grunts in appreciation, his hands gripping your thighs.

You're not sure how much time passes, and the two of you are only spurred on by the noises the other makes. When you nip at his neck, he growls. When he squeezes your hips, you moan. He's driving you mad, and it's obvious that he's having the same problem.

You're panting, your chest rising and falling rapidly, and Hunter breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. He's breathing just as hard as you are, and he's shaking slightly, his eyes screwed shut. You place a hand on his shoulder, and his muscles tense under your touch.

"Are you okay?"

"Just give me a second," he says, and his voice is strained.

"What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer at first, and the silence stretches between the two of you.

"Hunter?"

"It's just... Fuck, I've been waiting for this for a while," he admits, and you can't stop the giggle that escapes you. He lifts his head and stares down at you, his eyes narrowing. "You're laughing?"

"I'm not laughing at you," you assure him, and he lets you pull his head back down. You kiss his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, his nose, and then his lips, and his mouth opens for you, his tongue swirling with yours. "It's just... I didn't know you wanted this."

"How could I not want this?" he asks. His mouth drops down to your neck, and his teeth scrape over the soft skin, his tongue licking a line up to your jaw. "You're incredible."

"You're incredible," you counter, and you can feel his grin against your neck.

"No, I'm serious," he says, and he stops kissing you. He lifts his head, and you frown. "You're beautiful, and smart, and kind, and you make me feel so many things. How could I not want this? I'd be stupid not to want you."

You swallow, and the emotions that wash over you threaten to overwhelm you. Hunter is looking at you with such affection, it's as if the feeling itself is enough to shatter him. He's never been very good with words, but his actions always spoke louder than any speech he could ever make.

"Hunter, I—"

"I'm sorry," he says. "I know I should have said something sooner. I'm not sure what I was thinking, honestly. I was worried about how it would affect the team. But now... Now that I've said it, and now that we're stranded here, and now that we've done this, and I've gotten a taste of you..."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't be able to go back."

Your stomach flutters.

"You want to be with me?" you ask. Your words are tentative, and your tone is careful, but there's a spark of hope, deep inside your heart, one that has been building ever since you first met Hunter. One that has been there for months, and maybe even longer.

"I do," he says. "And if we were anywhere else, I'd take you out for dinner or whatever the hell else you'd want. We could take our time, go as slow as you need, I don't care, but—“

"Hunter, yes. I want this."

He pauses.

"Yes?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"You don't have to say that just because we're stranded. If you don't want to, it's okay."

"Hunter, please," you plead. "I've wanted this for so long, I can't... Please."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say, nodding vigorously. Your legs tighten around his waist, and his hands slide up to your ribs, his thumbs rubbing circles along the underside of your breasts. You bite your lip and look up at him. "I want this. I want you."

Hunter lets out a shaky breath. "Thank the maker."

You giggle, and his eyes fall to your mouth. He kisses you again, his tongue pushing past your lips, and you lose yourself in him.

Your fingers comb through his hair, and his body presses down on top of yours. It's different than before. The passion is still there, the hunger and desperation are still present, but there's a tenderness behind his actions, one that wasn't there earlier. His lips are soft and gentle, and his hands roam over your body with a reverence you weren't expecting. You can feel the love in his touch, the affection he has for you, and it's enough to make your chest tighten.

The two of you trade languid kisses, his lips dragging against yours. Your legs are still wrapped around his waist, and his weight is heavy on top of you, but it's a comfort. He's surrounding you, his body flush against yours, and your hearts are beating in sync. His length is pressed against you, his hips slowly rocking against your center, and each movement is sending a rush of heat through your core.

You can feel how wet you are, and you know Hunter can smell your arousal. It should be embarrassing, but when he growls against your mouth, you know that's not the case. You roll your hips into him, and his fingers dig into your sides. He's holding himself back, trying not to scare you, and the thought alone makes your heart swell.

"Hunter, please," you beg.

"What do you want?"

"Touch me."

His lips find your neck, and he presses a soft kiss there.

"How?"

"Just —" You groan when his hips roll into yours. "Anywhere. Everywhere."

He chuckles, and his breath is hot against your skin. "Where do you want me to touch you?"

You know what he's doing, and the realization makes you smile. He wants to hear you say it.

"You're mean," you mumble, and Hunter snorts. He bites the sensitive spot where your shoulder meets your neck, and your back arches, pushing your chest into his.

"I'm trying to be nice," he says, his voice rough, and he sucks the skin into his mouth, his tongue swirling over the area.

"Fuck, Hunter," you gasp, your nails scraping over his scalp. He groans, and his hands trail down your body, his fingers dipping under the waistband of your shorts.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your mind is racing, trying to come up with something, anything, but Hunter is relentless. His lips drag over your skin, and his tongue licks a stripe up your neck, and you can't think, not when his mouth is on you like this.

"Your hands," you breathe, and his fingers inch closer to your center. "Please, Hunter."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

"You want me to use my hands, mesh’la?"

"Please."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Hunter sits up, pulling his hips away from yours. You whine in protest, but he's not gone long, because his fingers are slipping under the waistband of your shorts, and he's sliding them off along with your underwear.

You raise your hips to help him, and once they're gone, his hands find your bra. It takes some effort from the both of you to slide it up over your head, and you're not sure where it ends up, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he’s looking at you like that.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes roaming over your naked form. His voice is low, and the way he's staring at you makes a shudder run through you. You feel exposed, and you should feel self-conscious, but the awe in his expression makes it impossible. He's gazing at you with an openness and admiration you've never seen before, and it's making it difficult to breathe.

"You're wearing too much," you say, your tone soft.

"Can't argue with that," he replies, and he leans back. He stands, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching as he pulls his blacks down and off. You stare at him, unable to tear your eyes away.

He's beautiful. His broad shoulders are well defined, and his chest is solid and strong, the muscle rippling under his skin. There's a scattering of hair along his torso, and a trail that starts at his navel, and disappears beneath the waistband of his briefs. You’ve seen him without a shirt before, and it was hard enough then. But now that he's standing here, in front of you, you can't stop yourself from drinking in the sight of him. You bite your lip, your eyes trailing over his tattoo, and you hear Hunter groan.

"You keep doing that, and this is going to be over before it even starts."

"Sorry," you say, but you don't sound very apologetic.

"You're not."

"You're right, I'm not," you say, and the smile that lights up his face is so endearing, you have to force yourself to stay where you are and not reach out for him.

He steps closer to the bed, his eyes glued to your naked form. The way he's staring at you makes a fire burn in your stomach, and your breath catches in your throat when his hands slide over your thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh. His eyes find yours, and you can see the way his jaw is clenched, his teeth grinding together.

"Can I?"

"Yeah," you breathe, and the next thing you know, Hunter's hands are gripping the backs of your knees, and he's yanking your legs apart.

You yelp in surprise, and the noise dies in your throat, turning into a moan when he lowers his mouth to your dripping center.

"Oh, fuck."

"Kriff," Hunter mumbles, and the vibration of his voice against you makes your head fall back. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to catch your breath, but it's impossible, because Hunter's mouth is moving against you, his tongue dragging up your slit.

Your fingers find his hair, and he groans. His mouth is hot and eager, his movements hungry and desperate. He's licking and sucking and nipping at the most intimate parts of you, his tongue slipping past your folds. You can hear the noises he's making, the way his lips and tongue are smacking against you, the sounds he's pulling from your mouth, and it's driving you mad.

Hunter slides his hands under your ass, his palms grabbing handfuls of flesh. He pulls you into him, his face pressed into your center, and you let out a long, low moan, your fingers tugging at his hair.

"Up," he grunts, his mouth still working against you, and it takes you a second to realize what he's asking for. When you raise your hips, his hands move underneath you, and then he's lifting you up.

"What — oh, fuck."

His hands are gripping the tops of your thighs, and he's pulling you onto his face, his mouth opening and closing, his tongue darting out, pressing into your dripping cunt.

You let out a high pitched whine, your legs squeezing around his head, and you can feel him smile against you. He hums in approval, and the vibrations make you squirm. Your fingers twist into his hair, and you start rocking your hips, moving against his mouth.

"Fuck, Hunter."

He groans, and the noise sends a rush of heat through you. He sounds like he's enjoying this as much as you are, and the thought makes you shiver. His tongue swirls around your clit, and when his lips close over the swollen nub, his teeth scraping against the sensitive flesh, your head falls back. You're not sure what you're saying, the words coming out in a rush, a jumbled mess, but Hunter is eating it up.

"That's it," he breathes, and his tongue licks a stripe along your slit. He dips it into you, and a moan rips itself from your throat. He does it again, his tongue curling inside you, his lips closing around your folds, sucking the taste of you into his mouth.

"Please," you gasp, your voice hoarse. Your thighs are shaking, and your heart is racing, and you can't think, not when Hunter is between your legs like this. He's devouring you, his tongue moving against you frantically, as if the only thing that matters is getting you off.

"So good," he mumbles, and his words are slurred. "Taste so good."

"Hunter," you beg, tugging at his hair. The action makes him growl, and he doubles his efforts. He's sucking and licking and biting and kissing every inch of you, his tongue moving against you frantically. Each movement nudges his nose against your clit, and the stimulation has you falling apart.

"Hunter," you whimper. "I'm gonna—"

"Come on, sweetheart," he mumbles. His eyes are closed, and his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are red and slick with your arousal. He's a mess, and the sight makes your head spin. "Let go. I want to taste you."

He wraps his lips around your clit, his teeth scraping over the sensitive flesh, and you can't stop it. The fire in your belly explodes, and the tightness snaps, and your orgasm rushes through you, hot and white, a wave of heat that burns in your blood. Your thighs clamp down around Hunter's head, your toes curling, your back arching, and his name is ripped from your throat. You're dimly aware of your hands pulling his hair, and the noises that are leaving his mouth, but you can't focus on anything, not when he's making you feel this way.

Your muscles finally relax, and you're left trembling, your chest heaving. Hunter slows down, but his tongue doesn't stop, and the gentle strokes are too much for you to handle. You whine, trying to move away from him, but he keeps going, licking and sucking at the skin. You squirm, your body overly sensitive, and the movement is making you dizzy.

"Too much," you gasp, and finally, Hunter stops. He lifts his head, his hair falling into his eyes, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He stares at you, his eyes glazed over, and his gaze is enough to make you shiver. He looks absolutely wrecked.

"You taste incredible," he murmurs, and the compliment makes your core throb. He licks his lips, and his eyes flutter closed. You watch him, unable to look away.

"C'mere," you say, and he nods, crawling up the bed. His chest is flushed, and his abs flex with each movement, the muscle rippling. There's a sheen of sweat covering his skin, and his breathing is shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He lays on top of you, his body heavy, and the weight is a comfort. Your legs wrap around his waist, and his face buries itself into your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"You okay?" he asks, his words slurring together, and his arms wrap around your back. You nod, and a moment later, you feel him kiss your neck.

"Never been better," you sigh, your head falling back. He smiles against your skin, and his lips find your shoulder, the soft skin of your collarbone, and then the sensitive spot on your neck.

"That was... Wow," you mumble.

"Good wow, or bad wow?" he asks, his tone playful, and his voice is rough.

"Good wow. Really good wow."

Hunter chuckles, and the sound sends a thrill through you. He pulls back and grins at you, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “I aim to please."

"Mission accomplished," you murmur, and you press your lips to his. He responds eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue licking into you. You can taste yourself on him, and the thought makes you shiver. He kisses you deeply, his tongue moving slowly, as if he's savoring the taste of you.

"You're incredible," he breathes.

"I could say the same about you," you say, your hand trailing along his jawline. "I think you deserve a commendation for that performance. Maybe a medal, or something."

Hunter laughs, and his head dips back down to your neck. He kisses the skin softly, his lips barely brushing against you, and the action makes a shudder run through you. You're still trying to catch your breath, and your heart is beating wildly in your chest. You can't remember the last time you've felt like this, but it's definitely not a feeling you're ready to give up.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper, and his movements slow.

"I'm okay."

"I want to."

"Sweetheart, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

"Hunter."

"Really, it's okay," he insists.

"Do you not want me to touch you?" you ask, and the thought makes your stomach clench.

"It's not that," he says.

"Then what is it?"

He doesn't answer, and you tilt his head up, forcing him to look at you. His face is still flushed, and the longer you look at him, the more his cheeks turn pink.

"I, uh, finished. When you came," he says, and his voice is almost a whisper.

Your mouth drops open.

"Oh," you say, and he's looking anywhere but at you. You can feel his cock twitch against your leg, and his shoulders are tense, and you realize that the reason he's so nervous is because he's embarrassed.

"Hunter," you say, and he doesn't look at you.

"I'm sorry, I just — I couldn't help it. You were... Kriff, you're beautiful, and the sounds you were making, and the way you were grinding against my mouth, and when you came, I could smell you, and it was too much."

You bite back a smile.

"That's so hot," you whisper, and the way his body shudders against yours tells you he heard you.

"It is?"

"Of course," you say. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, and he practically melts against you. You can't stop yourself from smiling, and you try to hide it by kissing his cheek. This whole time, you'd been so focused on your own pleasure, and the fact that he was enjoying it, too, was enough to make you giddy. "That's incredibly hot."

"Really?"

"Really," you confirm. "Are you kidding? It's not every day someone tells me they got off on going down on me. I should probably write it down. Maybe take a holo, for posterity's sake."

Hunter snorts, and his head drops to your shoulder. He nuzzles the soft skin, his stubble tickling your neck, and he sighs. "I can't believe you."

"I can't believe you."

He chuckles, and his hips roll against yours. He's still hard, and when you rock into him, a groan escapes him. You're not sure if he's realized he's doing it, or if he's even aware of the fact that he's pressing his cock against you, his hips moving slowly, but he's dragging his length along your center, and the feeling of it is making your mind foggy.

"You still feel really good," you murmur, and the compliment makes him shiver. His fingers dig into your hips, his nails digging into the soft skin, and his lips find the spot on your neck where his scent is the strongest. He kisses the area, his mouth open, his tongue hot against you, and when he bites down, your legs squeeze around his waist.

"Hunter," you breathe, and he bites down harder. Your body arches into his, and you can feel his lips spread into a smile against your neck.

"Still so responsive," he murmurs, and his voice rumbles in your ear. You can't stop the whimper that leaves you, and your head falls back, your fingers sliding through his hair.

"Only for you," you tell him, and his hands move to your ass. He pulls your hips into his, his grip tight, and the action causes his clothed length to drag along your dripping center.

"Kriff," Hunter mutters, and his fingers curl into the soft flesh. He rocks his hips into yours, and a long, low moan slips past your lips. "Fuck, you're so wet."

"Because of you," you mumble.

His mouth finds your jaw, and he peppers kisses along the soft skin, his hips never stopping their movements. Each roll has the tip of his length pressing into your clit, and each touch makes a small whine escape your lips. You can feel his teeth scraping along your jaw, and then his mouth is covering yours, his tongue licking into you, his teeth catching your bottom lip. He bites down, and a moan tumbles from your throat.

"Fuck, I want you," he mumbles against your mouth, his voice ragged. He's panting, his breathing shallow, and he sounds just as desperate as you feel.

"You can have me," you tell him, and the words seem to snap the last bit of his restraint.

Hunter's fingers dig into your hips, his grip almost bruising, and his lips crash into yours, his mouth open and eager. You kiss him back just as hard, and the two of you are frantic, as if the other one will disappear if you stop.

You reach down, your hands trailing along his torso. You trace the lines of his abs, and his muscles clench under your touch. You trail lower, your fingers dipping into the V of his pelvis, and then your hand is slipping under the waistband of his briefs.

"Fuck," he groans when you wrap your hand around his length. His hips jerk, and his mouth opens, and his breath comes out in a hiss. "Oh, kriff."

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah, it's — yes, fuck," he chokes, and you can't help but smile and tighten your hand. He's slick and warm, and he's leaking all over you. It's hard to gauge his size with only your hand, but you've been feeling him for a while now, and judging by the length and the girth, you're confident in saying he's well endowed. Your body clenches at the thought.

"You're so hard," you murmur, and the way his cock pulses in your palm tells you he likes hearing that.

"You make it difficult not to be," he grunts, his hips bucking, and the movement pushes his length further into your hand. You swipe your thumb over his tip, and his whole body twitches, a low whine escaping him.

"Can I suck your cock?" you ask, and Hunter groans, his head tipping back. His hips snap into your hand, his cock sliding through your fist, and he looks as if he's in pain. You don't think he's even listening to you. "Hunter, can I?"

"Yes, yeah, please," he gasps, his voice cracking.

You bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning, and you push at his chest, trying to get him to roll over. He doesn't seem to realize what you're doing, and it takes a few tries before he's finally getting the hint. He flops onto his back, his head resting on the pillow, and he looks up at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed.

"Mesh'la," he breathes, and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a quick, searing kiss. You break away before he can respond, and you slide down the bed, hooking your fingers into his briefs and pulling them off. He lifts his hips to help you, and once his cock is free, he lets out a sigh.

You look at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

His body is beautiful, his tan skin glowing in the low light, and his length is thick and heavy, resting against his hip. It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. He's hard and twitching, and the sight is enough to make your mouth water.

You crawl between his legs, and his breath hitches when your hand wraps around his length. You can see him swallowing, and his hands are gripping the sheets. He's watching you, his eyes glazed over and dark, and he's holding his breath, his chest unmoving.

"Breathe," you murmur, and he sucks in a breath. It's shaky, and the sound is loud in the silence of the room, but he's listening. You give him a reassuring smile, and his lips quirk.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," you admit, and his eyes widen.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. Is that weird?"

"No," he says, and his voice is strained. "Not weird. I've been thinking about it, too."

You bite your lip, and you stroke his length, your hand twisting around the shaft. A bead of precum leaks from his tip, and Hunter groans, his hips rising off the bed. Your tongue darts out to lick at the fluid, and he makes a strangled noise before his hand finds the back of your head. His fingers thread through your hair, and he pulls you up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just... I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"Do you trust me?"

You don't hesitate. "Yes."

"Okay," he says. "Turn around."

"Turn around?"

"Yeah. So you're facing the other way. And then you can sit on my face."

Your jaw drops, and a rush of heat spreads through your body. You know Hunter can see it on you, and his grin is wolfish.

"You did say you wanted to suck my cock," he points out. "I'm just helping."

You let out a laugh, and you can feel your cheeks heating. You nod, and the next thing you know, you're being picked up by the hips and spun around. You let out a yelp, surprised by his strength, but you let him position you as he sees fit. You're on your hands and knees above him, and you can feel his fingers digging into your hips.

"Comfortable?" he asks, and you can feel him breathing. His voice is coming from right behind you, and you nod.

"Yeah."

He places his hands on your hips and guides you down until you're hovering above his mouth. Your breathing is ragged and your pulse is racing, and you can't bring yourself to look down at him. The anticipation is overwhelming, and it's taking all of your self control not to squirm.

Hunter doesn't give you much time to adjust, and the next thing you know, his mouth is on you. You moan, and your head drops, your forehead resting on his pelvis. Your tongue drags over the base of his length, and you hear him groan.

You're not sure how you're going to focus on him, because Hunter's tongue is moving against you, his hands guiding your hips, pulling you down onto his mouth. You can feel his teeth and his lips and his tongue, and his stubble is scratching at the sensitive skin, and it's driving you crazy.

You drag your tongue along his length, and he moans against you. It's enough to encourage you, and you open your mouth, wrapping your lips around his tip. He lets out a shaky sigh, his hips lifting slightly, and the taste of him fills your mouth. You suck him in, taking him as far as you can, and when he hits the back of your throat, a long, low groan echoes through the room.

"Fuck," he breathes.

You can feel his hips shaking, and you know it's taking every ounce of his willpower not to thrust into your mouth. Instead, he pushes his tongue into you, and his thumbs are rubbing circles into your hips.

It takes some work, but the two of you manage to establish a rhythm. He licks and sucks and nips at you while you bob your head up and down his shaft, taking him as far into your mouth as possible. What you can't reach with your mouth, you wrap your hand around, twisting and pumping him. Each movement of your hand is met with a growl from below, and each swipe of his tongue has you moaning around his cock.

"F-fuck, Hunter," you mumble, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and you swallow around him. The action makes him twitch, and a moan tumbles from his mouth, vibrating against your cunt.

"You're incredible," he groans. "You take me so well."

You whine, and you're not sure how much longer you can do this. You're already sensitive from the first round, and Hunter is relentless. His mouth and his tongue are everywhere, and the stimulation is making your mind foggy.

"So good," he murmurs, and his hand slides down, his fingers dipping inside you. You can't hold back the moan that spills from you, and the vibrations make Hunter hiss. He adds a second finger, curling and twisting them, his pace faster and more frantic. His mouth closes over your clit, and his tongue swirls around the swollen bud, his lips sucking it into his mouth.

You moan, and his hips buck. The sudden movement makes him slide further down your throat, and you gag, tears filling your eyes.

"Fuck," he groans. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"M'fine," you slur, your mouth still around his cock, and you suck him harder, your tongue moving over his shaft. Hunter's fingers dig into your hips, his nails biting into the flesh, and his teeth are scraping along your cunt, his tongue moving in time with the movements of his hand.

You can feel the tightness building in your stomach, the familiar feeling of the coil snapping, and you're close, so close. Hunter can sense it, too, because his pace is relentless. He's working you furiously, his tongue moving at a feverish pace, and the way he's licking and sucking at you is enough to make you scream.

You let his cock fall from your mouth, and you press your face into his pelvis, his length rubbing against your cheek.

"Hunter, I'm gonna—"

"Let go, sweetheart," he rasps. "Let go. Come on my face."

The words alone are enough to push you over the edge, and a moment later, you're seeing stars. You let out a sob as your orgasm consumes you, and your legs are trembling, your muscles tightening. A rush of heat washes over you, and Hunter pulls his fingers away to wrap his arm around your waist, holding you steady as you come apart.

He doesn't stop, his tongue moving furiously against you, his mouth open and eager. Through the tears blurring your eyes, you see his cock pulsing, the tip red and swollen, and his thighs are shaking. You know he's close, and you want him to finish with you, so you take his length back into your mouth, sucking and licking him.

Hunter groans, and his tongue works frantically, his hips lifting off the bed. His grip on your waist is bruising, and he's moaning against you, his tongue lapping at your folds, and then he's coming undone, his cock pulsing and spurting hot and sticky into your mouth.

You swallow, and the act alone is enough to send another shudder through him. He's panting against you, his hips jerking, and his breathing is harsh, his chest heaving.

"Kriff," he mutters, his lips dragging against the soft skin of your thighs. "That was — wow."

You smile, and you place a kiss on the head of his length, licking the stray droplet of cum off his slit. Hunter whimpers, his hips lifting, and the sound is so soft and quiet, you can barely hear it.

"Fuck," he groans, and he's still twitching. You give him one last, long lick, and he hisses, his hands squeezing your hips. You sit up and turn around, straddling his hips, and when you see his face, a laugh bubbles up in your chest.

"You look like a mess," you say, and his eyes widen.

"I've just had the life sucked out of me. Give me a break."

"That was so good," you say, and you bend down to kiss him. His lips part, and his tongue finds yours, licking into you. He moans at the taste of himself on your lips, and his hands move to the small of your back. The two of you stay like that for a while, trading lazy kisses and soft touches, enjoying each other's presence. Eventually, Hunter breaks away, his nose brushing against yours.

"We should get some sleep," he says, and he sounds reluctant. "It's been a long day, and the others could be back anytime."

"Oh," you say, and your heart sinks. You'd forgotten the others would be returning in the morning, and that meant the night would be over. Hunter is right; the two of you needed rest. You weren't ready for it to end, though.

"We can talk about it in the morning," he says, his tone gentle, and his hand moves to stroke your hair.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," you say.

Hunter turns and places you on the bed, and you lie back and watch as he stands and pads naked first to your bag, then the bathroom. When he comes back, he's got a damp cloth, and he kneels on the bed next to you. You expect him to hand it to you so you can clean yourself up, but instead, he uses it to gently wipe you down. The action is so tender and intimate, it makes your heart ache.

"There," he says, a few moments later. He tosses the cloth towards the bathroom, and then he's back, pulling the covers over the both of you.

He turns on his side and pulls you into him, and you let him. You rest your head on his chest, and his arms wrap around your waist. He lets out a sigh, and his nose buries itself in your hair.

"This is nice," you mumble.

"Yeah, it is," Hunter agrees, and the two of you lapse into silence. You can feel your eyes growing heavy, and the steady rise and fall of his chest is comforting. His hand is moving up and down your spine, his fingers tracing patterns along the soft skin, and each touch is lulling you to sleep.

You're drifting, the sounds of the fire and Hunter's breathing fading away, when the sound of your datapad beeping brings you back. You roll over and grab it from the bedside table, squinting at the display.

"It's Tech," you say, and Hunter grunts, his eyes fluttering open. 

I can't reach Hunter. Are you two okay?

You type a quick reply. We're fine. Just fell asleep.

I need to talk to him. Please wake him up.

"He needs to talk to you," you say, and you can hear Hunter grumbling. He opens one eye, and his lip curls.

"Can't it wait?"

"Apparently not," you say, and Hunter groans.

"Fine," he says, and he snatches the datapad from your hand, his fingers flying across the keypad. A moment later, his mouth quirks up into a grin, and he holds out the screen so you can read the message.

The repairs to the engine are taking longer than I anticipated, Tech had written. I estimate we will be ready to leave in about 18 hours. I apologize for the inconvenience. Will try to keep you apprised of the situation.

Underneath it was Hunter's message. Take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere.

Your mouth drops open, and Hunter's smile is growing wider. You read the message again and grin. 

"We have 18 hours?" you ask, and you're unable to contain the excitement in your voice.

Hunter nods and sets the datapad back on the nightstand. You can't see his face clearly in the dark, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. "Guess so."

You let out a giggle and throw yourself at him, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. He lets out a huff of surprise, but his hands come to rest on your hips, and he squeezes them gently.

"Well then. Let's not waste them."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms

[aquasarsstuff]

Arrange Marriage ft. Lilia Vanrouge x reader part 1, part 2, part 3

Tags: Lilia is a flirt, reader is easily flustered, romance, twisted wonderland au, series, fluff, historical au, my longest fic

Summary: Lilia convinces you to go out on a date with him.

Masterlist

---

"Again, what exactly are you here for?" you dusted the crumbs off your lap, letting it fall to the floor, and inevitably for the ants to consume.

"I was looking for a very specific herbs, last night," he pondered for a bit, as if trying to recall his memories from the previous night. You leaned on your chair, expecting to hear another story of his chaotic adventure.

"For a potion?"

He shook his head, "I intended to use it for a new dish, but instead, I stumbled upon a picturesque spot in the mountain." You wince, and here you thought you've already diverted the talk away from culinary.

"You... went there in the middle of the night?" You looked at him from your seat. "Are you sure you weren't seeing things or just being tricked at?"

"Pray tell, what led you to such conclusions?" he took another piece of sweets on the plate, munching them to his heart's content.

"Well... I heard faes are more likely to appear there, after the sun sets and play tricks at humans," you said, a little worried.

"Are you scared of such creatures? Isn't your fiancé one too? Who knows? He might be listening," he poke around, teasing you.

"I would've have probably caught a generation curse if he did," you grimaced at the thought, remembering how vengeful and petty they are if provoke, or rather according to what you've heard from people.

He couldn't helped but burst out laughing, making you look at him. There was a generous filling spread around the skin, near his lips. You can't helped but sigh at how messy he looks. You would've irked at the sight, if he was just some people you don't know. You stood up from you seat and pulled out a handkerchief out of your pocket. While he was busy enjoying the sweet treat, you took the chance to grab his chin to face you. You casually wiped off the fillings from his face, that you didn't noticed how his eyes widen as saucers. When you raised your eyes to meet his, it was now looking at you lidded and filled with mischief.

"Touching me now casually, are we? Do be careful, I don’t want to get the rough end of the stick, by having your prince after me."

You pushed him away, embarrassed at your own actions. He just let out a small laugh, wiggling his eyebrows at you. "Shut up," you retorted. "I just can't stand such behavior in front of me. For someone who keeps complaining about aggravating my fiancé, you sound way too happy."

He hums in return. "Alright, if you say so."

"Just continue what you wanted to tell me earlier," you waved your hand at him, sitting on your seat previously. You closed your eyes at how hard your heart was contracting between your lungs. If you didn't put up an end to his teasing far earlier, one of your vital organs might have exploded.

"The stars look absolutely stunning in there, like someone in here."

"And then?"

"I was eager to show it to you, so I came here as fast as I could," he smiled at you gently.

You looked at him, as if he just said the most ridiculous thing ever. "It's Horse Hour currently. The only star available at the moment is too stunning that'll it make me blind."

"Awh, that was a mean thing to say to the ball of life," he pouted.

"Besides, father is in the house. He hasn't visited my room yet, but he often makes rounds in my room in random intervals. He might have different thoughts if he caught me again, gone here. I don’t want him to enforce even more stricter rules for me."

"I've been here since morning, and I can assure you that I haven't come across your father or caught a glimpse of his presence."

"What?" you said abnormally calm, despite reeling in shock. "What were you doing all these hours?" he brought a forefinger to your lips, shutting you down.

"I only know the way to your room, so I went to every room to pull of this perfect disguise. Now, come on. Do I still need to get on my knees, to get you to say yes?" he smirked at you, taking a hold of your palms. His touch was unexpectedly cold to the touch, despite of the fiery sun outside.

"Not without a ring," you pulled your hand away from him, flustered at his actions. "Get out."

"Throwing me out already? It took great effort to devise and even accomplished the heist, you know? I'm not letting the treasure get out of my sights, when it is in front of me. I'm not one to missed chances, sweetcheeks," he whispered in your ears, appearing behind you, in a blink of an eye.

One of your eyes twitched. "I need to get dress," you firmly said.

"I can just turn my back. I promise I won't take a peek."

"No," you were about to push him to door, when he spun around like a basketball and bounced to the window stool. He took a quick looked behind him and winked at you before leaping out. You stood in your room, shocked. It's a wonder he still hasn't broke a limb or two with his random stunts.

Lilia whistle, waiting for you. He sensed something move behind him and saw you threw a long fabric down from your window.

"You can just jump to my arms, sweetcheeks!" he looked up. Your feet sat still on your window, but due to some carvings you overlooked, you slip down. Your heart leaped from your chest. Scared of the upcoming pain, you closed your eyes, but instead. you felt yourself floating in the air. You snapped your eyes open, only to see the petite man carrying you with a smile.

"And what did I just say earlier?" he brought you down to your feet. "You could've had a terrible concussion."

"Thanks," you meekly said. Your heart now continued to beat erratically for a different reason. You swear, he's gonna be the death of you sooner or later.

---

[wonderlandwalker]

He Knows Better | Finnick Odair x Reader

THG Masterlist / Taglist / Inbox

Summary: Finnick tells himself not to get close to you, because what is the point? But when you survive your games he finds that he can't stop thinking about you. When he finally comes to see you, you're in pieces, and he swears to himself he will put you back together, no matter the costs. Find part 2 here: Should've Known

Content Warnings/Tags: Mentions of prostitution/sex trafficking, angst, Finnick deserving better, crying, bad representation of a panic attack, not proofread

Word Count: 1.6k

Requested by Anon: I loveeeee love love love your Finnick fic. It was the perfect mix of sweet and so angstyyyyy !! I'm having constant Finnick brainrot 😭 I was wondering what you think about writing a finnick × reader fic sort of loosely based on Hozier's "It Will Come Back" where reader is maybe a tribute or another Victor and the first person to show Finnick softness and kindness without asking for anything in return in so long and he's like "dont let me in with no intention to keep me" and "dont be kind to me" and he just is totally feral and obsessed with the reader ? You're such a talented writer !! ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: There is this Dutch expression which goes ‘the monkey comes out of the sleeve’ loosely meaning the hidden meaning is revealed and I couldn't for the life of me think of the English equivalent that made sense to me, so, well, I hope the story is coherent. As usual, divider by @saradika

He remembers first seeing you, you were so young, but to be fair, so was he. In previous years he had always become quick friends with the tributes he was supposed to mentor, how could he not? But it didn't take him long to figure out that they never made it back, and while the company was nice for a while, the hurt in the end wasn't worth it anymore. There's something about you that he can't quite place, but it doesn't matter, because he's not going to get attached. When you first stepped into the training hall you didn't look scared, you didn't even look excited, no, you looked like you had made peace. 

He didn't get to talk to you much, you spend most of your training with Mags, not learning how to fight, but learning how to survive. And every time he watched you, he watched how your eyes lit up when learned how to filter water, he watched how proud Mags was of you each time. And he felt something tugging at him, he felt a need to get to know you. But he knew better.

Because what were the odds, he had seen this before, he had done this before. No, he shouldn't get attached to you. And yet, for the first time after returning from his own, he found himself watching the games. Watching the tributes become fewer and fewer, hoping, praying, that you'd make it through. The fewer left the more desperate he became. You've gotten this far, don't let the luck run out just yet. He saw how your last opponent fell, and he saw your face in the centre of the screen, of virtually every screen. And once again, you didn't look excited, you looked like you had found peace again, and maybe, just maybe, he let himself believe he could too, that you could show him. 

He didn’t go see you after, it wouldn't be of any use. What more did he have to offer you, you did not need a mentor anymore. He had made peace, he had made peace with never seeing you again. So what was the difference if you were alive or not? That's what he thought, if he gave in now, he didn't think he'd ever be able to let go, it would keep coming back. 

It wasn't until a few months later when someone knocked on his door, and in a sleepy haze, he opened it without thinking. He had spent the night at the capitol, and he never managed to get much rest after. Usually, when he had been gone for the night, Mags would come to check in on him, and have Valerian tea with him. He doubted it actually worked, but the effort was enough to brighten his day. So he opened the door, but it wasn't Mags, it was you. Your face was fuller, it had more colour, but the bags under your eyes were still there. Would Mags bring you Valerian tea as well? No, no he needed to stop thinking about you. The last time he had actually seen you was when you won. He had forced himself to avoid you ever since, he hadn't been completely sure why anymore, but now he knew again. The way you looked at him gave him hope, hope he couldn't afford. “What do you want” he asked, he sounded upset, and in a way he was, but the way the sparkle in your eyes dimmed made him regret it. 

And so he opened the door further, stepping aside, and you didn't need more of an invitation before you walked in. You took a seat at his small kitchen table, and he decided it would be impolite not to join you, so he sat down as well. He was about to talk, but you beat him to the punch.

“Snow came to see me.” There is was he thought, the reason, everyone always had a reason. Still, he found himself allowing you to continue, wanting to hear your voice again, even if it brought bad news. 

“I talked to Mags about it, but she said I should come see you, so here I am.” You chuckled, but the situation was not something that asked for it, must be nerves, he thought, but why were you nervous, surely he didn't make you nervous. 

“Look, I don’t want to bother you with my problems Finnick, I know you're dealing with enough yourself, but I don’t know what else to do.” Your eyes glossed over, and you looked like you were about to start crying, but you didn't. He wanted to say something, to comfort you, but what was there to say? And so you two sat in silence, he was looking at you, he was memorizing your face. This was the last time he would let himself see you. He didn't want to get close to you, and with how mesmerizing you were to him, he knew better.

And yet, as days passed, he found himself thinking of you. Whenever he needed comfort, he thought of you, the way you smiled at him when he told you a nervous joke. He could get lost in the memory of your eyes, and more often than not, he did. Every day he spent without seeing you made his heart hurt. 

Without thinking, he found himself walking to your door. It was like he wasn't in control of his own feet. He was in constant agony with himself. He wanted to be with you, but your kindness was one he couldn't afford, because it had the power to break him. He knocked on your door, not even aware he was doing so until he heard the sound echo back to him. He heard rustling, but he didn't hear you approaching the door, so he knocked again, and for good measure, he decided to call out. “Y/n? It’s me, it’s Finnick”. He heard someone approach the door at that, and a little bit of hope sparked inside him that you wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see you, but he knew better. 

The door opened, but it wasn't you that he came face to face with, it was Mags. She was standing in your hallway with a sad smile on her face, and she didn't say anything, but she looked to the stairs on the right end corner. He didn't need any more encouragement, and he sped up them, taking two steps at a time. He knocked on the door he was in front of, but there wasn't an answer. But when he listened more closely, he could hear crying coming from the other side. You were crying. His mind was reeling with possibilities, but whatever it was that had caused this, he swore to himself he would fix it, even if it broke him. 

And so he entered the room, opening the door softly so as not to startle you, but it didn't matter. He saw you in the corner, you had pulled your knees to your chest and he couldn't see your face from where you had hidden it, but his heart broke over it nonetheless. He walked towards you, testing the waters, testing his luck. He was scared for you, but mostly, he was scared you wouldn't want to see him. When you heard him, your head shot up to look at him. The way in which your eyes were bloodshot and swollen made him want to punch a hole in the wall next to you. The way your voice cracked when you said his name made him want to curl up right next to you. he got closer to you, kneeling down in front of you. Allowing you to take the next steps on your own time.

After a few minutes, you had slightly calmed down while he was tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You spoke to him, but you didn't look him in his eyes.

“They’re bidding on me Finnick, they’re bidding on me like I’m something to possess”

The feeling of dread that came over him was something he had never felt before. He thought he had gone through all someone could. He thought there was nothing that could hurt him anymore in a way he didn't already, but he had been wrong. 

He was willing to do anything for you to be spared from this, but he knew it wasn't any use. 

He knew better. And so he did all he could, taking you in his arms and whispering reassuring words, until your crying and your shaking stopped, and you seemed at peace again. 

He had tried himself to get away from what snow had wanted, what the capitol had wanted, he tried everything he could think of, but he couldn't get away from it. He had made peace with the fact that people always wanted something from him, and maybe that's why he couldn't get you out of his head, because you were the only person that was at peace with him, without anything more, just him. So he told you the only thing he could. He told you he’d be there for you, that you’d get through it together. He wasn't sure if he believed it, but he knew it was what you needed to hear, it was what he had needed to hear, except there had been no one to tell him. He would spend the rest of his life wondering if you needed him.

But he won't shut you out again, he knows better.

Part 2: Should've Known

[kalimarinus]

offerings from the unnamed.

[ summary : a mystery person is leaving gifts for 141? ]

[ relationships : tf141 x gn!reader (platonic) ]

[ warnings : 3rd person & 2nd-ish pov , gn reader 🤍 , use of y/n (your name) & c/n (codename/callsign) , unedited & not proofread , i know nothing about the military once again ]

[ word count : 2,392 ]

[ notes : back after another long while , yeah!!! this was fun <3 i can't believe this is 2k words what ?!@?!>@/ that's longer than my previous fic & this was just like a spitball idk..., also the 141 might just have memory loss why is everyone forgetting everything!! (y'all idk why i got so into it w gaz and price's section like why is it so long and soap and ghost's are so short???. but more the merrier, right...?) ]

John Price:

he was pretty surprised at first, he did not expect to see a bouquet of roses on his desk. though, he doesn't question it? 

—until he walks up closer to examine the flowers, just to see a little tag with a note on it that reads: 'for my favorite captain. -a/n.'

now he's a little confused. could it be one of his sergeants? his lieutenant? hell, it could be so many other people.

the only hint is the handwriting. he swears he can recognize it. 

but suddenly price reminds himself he actually has work, so never mind the flowers, for now, he needs to get back to doing his paperwork and such. 

as he works away and whatnot, the thought of the roses is lingering in the back of his mind and slowly creeping up to the front, and he can't seem to ignore the questions.

"why roses?" "whose handwriting is that? i swear i know it." "for me? why not anybody else?"

he's utterly perplexed at this point, so he quickly finishes up whatever he needs to do and turns to the bouquet he left sitting on the other side of the desk long ago.

after many, many minutes of just trying to grasp the mysterious person whose handwriting looks the same as on the tag, he gives up.

gives up on trying to figure out this anonymous roses bullshit by himself, anyway. the captain goes to his two closest buddies, unsurprisingly nikolai and laswell.

he questions them, he tells them everything. to the point he walked through the door and saw the bouquet and to the point where he was now asking them for 'help'. but it just ends up being just a lot more questions and inevitably no answers.

he goes to his lieutenant. his two sergeants. nothing.

now he gives up fully. nobody knows anything about this or who it might be. not him, his best friends, or his own task force.

time passes quickly until it's the end of the day (and he's surprised he's almost spent hours trying to figure this puzzling gift out), and he's trying to come to terms with this.

'it's intended to be anonymous, he shouldn't be trying to figure this out, and he shouldn't lose sleep over this.' is what he tells himself when he gets back to his barracks.

he looks down at the mysterious bouquet in his hand that never had left him alone since he'd come across it, like a fungus that had grown on a damp and and won't let go, and he lets out a sigh.

but john supposes he doesn't mind keeping it. if it really is someone he's friends with (which he's sure), he shouldn't just throw it away. he'll keep it.

which is what he does. preparing and cleaning a random glass jar big enough to fit the flowers, found somewhere around his barracks. it's now put to better use instead of just collecting dust, now filled up with water, the stems of the roses inside.

he sets it on the nightstand next to his bed, and for some reason the room feels a little more homey. oh and don't forget the tag, which he sets next to the jar of blossoms, just in case he does remember who's handwriting that is, he'll be 100% sure who it is and won't be doubting himself if he checks it.

he has come to terms with it now. he's comfortable in bed and he won't be asking himself or anyone else questions that'll lead to nothing. he's sure the one who gave him the bouquet will reveal themselves soon enough. like he told himself, 'he won't lose sleep over this.'

and he is about to drift off into sleep— until suddenly he remembers, and he jolts, sitting up.

he turns his head to look at the roses as his brain is overwhelmed with inquiry. price knows who it is. it's c/n. it's y/n. and now he just has more questions, some the same as previous ones but with the added confusion that it's you that got the flowers for him.

he is going to lose sleep over this after all.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish:

when soap first heard about the captain's situation, he thought it was hilarious. he got roses from an unknown individual? that's silly. he almost even started laughing seeing price so frustrated and baffled over a bouquet of plants.

though, after he said he didn't know anything about any flowers and price walked away in disappointment to go question his other sergeant, perhaps he was a little jealous. don't look at him like that. what's so wrong about maybe wanting a secret admirer?

unbeknownst to him, he would get a gift of his own in no time. when he got to the mess hall, he immediately spotted a box of something right on his table. he quickly went to the seat he always sits at, because of course he has a specific place to eat every day— and he hopes it isn't too obvious to the other soldiers nearby that he's resisting the urge to dash over and admire the supposed present.

when he finally gets to see the gift up close, he practically has stars in his eyes. the note on top of the box catches his eyes first before anything, a simple sentence of 'heard you had a sweet tooth.' typed on the printed out paper.

he has to resist a giddy grin creeping onto his face as he carefully slides the note aside, looking at the box of assorted chocolates in front of him. ultimately, he breaks, and a smile is instantly plastered on his face, already taking one of the sweets and plopping it into his mouth, humming contentedly.

he has the urge to dig into all of them because the candy is remarkably delicious and has his body tingling with dopamine, but fights it and chooses on savoring the gift, taking time to relish in each pieces' flavor.

he enjoys the way the first layers of chocolate slowly melts on his tongue and the taste of the equally chocolate-y syrup inside hits him like a freight train— it makes him appreciate the person who gave him this even more so.

don't worry though, johnny isn't too greedy. he saves the other half of the box for later.

eventually, he does lift his glued-on gaze from the gift to around the mess hall. though, he's met with the other soldiers giving him weird looks. and it does look kind of odd to be fair. a grown man, another soldier, in the mess hall eating a randomly fancy box of chocolates by himself.

despite the little awkward situation and the slightly unpleasant, silent walk out of the mess hall with the box in hand, you know he's walking around with a broad grin on his face for probably the next few days.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

to him, the similar occurrence between his captain and sergeant friend was strange. he'd heard identical stories from both of them now— the same concept of a mysterious offering given to them by a mysterious person.

he was wondering if the lieutenant got one too, and just hadn't told anyone. he was also questioning if he would get one as well. was this individual giving gifts to everyone in the task force?

well, he'd find out soon enough. the answer is most definitely yes.

he'd been dragged away by soap just right after a briefing, into a mostly empty hallway. and after a measly, short conversation and or slight argument about why gaz had been dragged here in the first place, and also why soap looked like he was holding in a giggle fit, the latter pulled out a box from his pocket. so he is getting a gift as well— same note and everything.

soap explains that he'd been requested by this 'anonymous person' to deliver him one as well, like a damn messenger pigeon.

so gaz takes the container carefully in hand before soap snickers and scurries away to do whatever.

he's pretty interested in what's inside as he properly takes a look at it. the box is flatter than your average box, black and sleek with of course, a small, yellow sticky note taped on top. 'this is one of our favourite memories. -unknown.'

he glances around the empty hallway for a moment, feeling a bit weird standing in a quiet hallway, opening a present by himself, alone. but nevermind that— he opens it, and kyle is met with.. a necklace. a silver necklace with a heart locket attached to the bottom.

he moderately cocks his head at the sight of the locket, then picks the necklace up with his right hand, the box still resting on the surface of the other. he opens the heart and squints, a mini photograph of himself and.. another recruit, wearing a mask, so he couldn't see their face. his hand was slung over their shoulder and they were doing the same to his, and despite them covering their face, he could still see a small smile on their face and his own.

he can remember this. he thinks he knows this. it was a group photo of the whole task force. there's the other soldiers in this photo too, but the photo is cropped in a way that you can only see him and the other comrade.

but he doesn't seem to.. remember who he was next to? something in his memory is bugged, like when you forget that one word but you also somewhat remember at the same time, or you forget what you were going to say while having a conversation with somebody.

it almost makes him as frustrated as price when he got his gift, but he wants to push those other emotions aside and just focus on the gratefulness he feels. to be honest he adores the necklace. he's sure he would think it suits him if he wore it and looked in the mirror.

and the picture.. he's still thinking about it. still looking at it. he finds the memory charming and sweet, even if he can't remember this soldier properly. he likes the way he can still see both of the happiness and smile in their eyes despite how tiny the image is. he likes the way he can see the shine and colour in their eyes in the dim light where the photo was taken.

the more he admires the jewelry the more he falls in love with it. the more he wants to cherish it and the mysterious fella who has gifted it to him.

after a lot of staring, and smiling at the present in hand, he finally closes the locket and slips the necklace on, briefly feeling the cold silver around his neck before it turns warm from his body heat.

and then he just walks off casually just like soap, who's probably waiting around the corner to ask "what'd you get?"

he now holds the box close to his chest as if he might keep that too, nearing the end of the hallway.

kyle's mind goes to the photo again, and his brain starts whirring with the thoughts of who it is.

but he's sure he'll remember later. he'll know who the person is soon enough, maybe if he sees them walking through the halls with that same mask. but either way, he knows he'll remember, and he'll thank them for this gift.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

now, he already knew he was going to get a gift as well, seeing as everyone in the task force but him has gotten at least something. he's heard price's predicament, johnny entering a briefing a little too happily with small bits of chocolate syrup near his lips, and kyle proudly walking around base wearing a necklace.

but he has some assumptions that the person didn't get anything for him. he's.. well, simon 'ghost' riley, after all. spooky, intimidating to most, tall dude.

but it seems his assumptions were incorrect, because he came back to his barracks after somewhat of a rough mission just to notice a a small, dark box oddly left on top of one of the shelves near his bed.

after easily retrieving the container, he examines it— and there's the typical 'note' from them, a few words written on top of the lid with a white marker. it reads, 'saw this and it reminded me of you. from a soldier friend of yours.'

.. but what if this 'soldier friend' has actually left a bomb inside of this? will it explode right now? a spy camera? is anybody watching?

you can't blame him for the skepticism. a strange box randomly appearing on one of your shelves? you would be hesitant to open it too.

after a few shakes he gives to the box to hear if anything suspicious is inside, he decides that it isn't a miniscule explosive or a secret camera or any other funky gadget.

simon opens it, and one of his eyebrows raises as an automatic response. a bracelet? specifically, a bracelet made of small, shiny, white pearls with a single flower charm.

but he's not ungrateful or doesn't like it, per se, he's just.. confused. as everyone else was.

confused that somebody thought to get him a gift. bought something for him that he never asked for or mentioned or even thought of himself.

it's not what he was expecting at all. a bracelet. really? for him? but why? he stands in that spot for a good minute, trying to make sense of this. but he's also trying to tell himself he doesn't care about this.

but there's a little creature in his heart or in his brain or something whispering to him that he actually kind of likes it.

he won't admit any of this— but he does end up keeping it, box and all. and he does like the gorgeous glossiness of the pearls and the intricate details and carvings of the charm.

he likes the way it feels on his wrist when he slides it on. it has a nice, cool feeling, but not cold enough for it to be uncomfortable. like the way a cold pillow feels nice against your head.

and from that day forward, if you look closely enough, you can always see a glimpse of a shiny piece of jewelry peeking through the bottom of ghost's sleeve.

[liyawritesss]

YOUR EARTH 42 MILES FIC WAS SO FUCKING GOOD OMFG👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾 of your taking requests can you write about how prowler miles met his girl and how he rizzed her up please? Only if you want to of course and again I only read one thing by you but your writing got me hooked!!!!

ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ɪ ʙᴇ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ' ʏᴏᴜ

Characters: Spiderverse!Earth-42!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 3.7k

Synopsis: The sequel to i really like what you’ve done to me, Miles reflects on his first encounter with you, and how he immediately made it his mission to make you his.

Warnings: Cursing….thats about it, I think

A/N: This was a long one in the making and I think I actually like my characterization of 42!miles here. I didn’t wanna make him overly edgy or overly hood or anything, and I hope that you guys will appreciate the subtlety of his personality here. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoirees @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream

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Miles remembers the day he first talked to you so clearly. It was almost as if it were yesterday. 

The middle of the semester had always been prime time for teachers to start assigning end of semester projects, and while Miles was lucky enough for majority of his classes to have only assigned him individual projects, there was always one class that such a fortune was never the case in. 

When the teacher was calling out pairs there was a part of Miles that dreaded who his partner would be. He hoped it wasn't a slacker - he'd had his fair share of irritation and headache from those types of students who never took their schooling seriously. Then again, he didn't necessarily have to, either, considering his uncensored brilliance already, but at least he still made an effort to look like he made an effort. Others didn't have the same sentiment.

He didn't know  most of his classmates personally, but knew the ones he needed to know by name and face; due to previous instances of being paired with them for projects in this same fashion. The fact that most of his old project partners were consistently placed in the same classes as him reinforced the begrudging familiarity that came with them. Though there were a few select people out of that circle that he'd found himself knowing of due to other circumstances - clumsiness in the halls, points of contact for school activities, etc. 

So when the teacher called Miles' name and the name of his partner, it wasn't a surprise to himself when his head turned to the side to look for them. What did surprise him, however, was when he turned to the seat next to him, only to have found it empty. 

He can't recall if he's ever seen the seat empty since he's been in this class, missing the presence of the person who he deemed to be a good student. Always on time, always exact; work turned in, always complete, and always paying attention to the lectures. Their own interactions were limited to the passing of worksheets,  exchanges of pencils and the occasional conversations of how irritating the teacher was being.

Miles wouldn't consider the shared interactions to be that one friendship - it was more akin to general acquaintanceship. Though, deciphering her character from said limited interactions, he knew that this was not in normal behavior for the girl. Eyebrows furrowed at the lack of her presence, questioning where she could have been.

Since his partner wasn't there, Miles had been left with a brainstorming worksheet to fill out on his own, but his mind was not on the project. He found himself still wondering about his partner's whereabouts. He could have sworn he'd seen her that day, walking the halls with the same two girls she'd been friends with since the school year started. While the same two girls were in class, having been paired together for the project, the missing girl wasn't. So, when the ring of the bell sounded, signaling the end of the day, Miles knew what his first course of action was to be.

"Aye, yo," his voice carries over to the two girls who'd been packing their supplies up, ready to begin their after school activities of sneaking off campus to go to the mall, "where yo' friend at?"

The first girl, with soft locs pulls into a high pony and shiny lip gloss adorning her lips, who he knew by the name of Key, scrunched her face in a grimace

 "What's it to you, boy?" She says chastely, giving him a quick once over.

"C'mon, nah," Miles presses, "y'all know she my partner for this stupid project. I'm just tryna get this shit over with, a'ight?"

The other friend answers next - one of his ex-project partners Taji - her chin resting in her hand, fingers decorated with matte brown coffin shaped nails resting against her cheek. "We ain't seen her since lunch. Said she was gon' go to her locker for sumn' but ain't never come back to the table."

Miles' brow arches, as if quizzing her answer, trying to determine the validity of it. Taji catches onto this, and shoots a similar expression back to him.

"What, you thinkin' I'm lyin' to you, nigga?"

"Are you, Taj?"

"Boy, what I got to lie to you for?"

Taji and Miles had a similar acquaintanceship to that of him and (Y/N), with the former being his partner for a project for their shared arts class in their sophomore year. She was a talented artist, not to mention the one person able to reawaken his love for art, even if it was to a small degree. 

"A'ight, whatever, y'all ain't no help."

He let out a sigh, dismissing the girls’ seemingly secretive antics with a wave of his hand, before tucking the same one in his pocket, preparing to leave the classroom. He didn’t have time to entertain the two girls before him, and believed it best to leave them be and return to his dorm room to figure out the project on his own.

“Check the rooftops,” Miles heard Taji say as half of his body begins to cross the threshold of the classroom door. It makes the boy stop in his tracks, turning his head back to see the two girls as they stand as well, gathering their belongings to leave for the day as well, “or somewhere around there.”

“The rooftops are locked, dummy,” Miles corrects, “janitors here ain’t that lazy and ignorant.”

“Oh, so you weren’t just up there a week ago?” Taji replies back, a tinge of tease in her voice, knowing she’s caught him red handed when a small bulge forms on his cheek. 

“Yeah, nigga, tighten up, cuz you lackin’.”

“Shut up, big head.”

The faint echo of snickering lingers as Miles leaves the classroom, heavy footsteps carrying him down the hall to the maintenance door that leads to the rooftops. 

It’s a routine he’s done many times before, the muscle memory set into motion the second he sees the custodian cart next to the doorway, with the clip of keys attached to the lanyard hanging off the side handle. Expert fingers grab hold of the clip and slide off the first bronze colored key distinguishable for all the maintenance doors in the building - including the rooftop door. Before the custodian exits the bathroom situated next to the maintenance door, Miles is long gone and heads up the next three flights of stairs to reach the navy blue metal door to the school's rooftop. 

Miles had become well acquainted with the rooftop of Visions Academy. After the death of his father, he found solace in solitude. He couldn’t skip school and stay in his dorm or return to his apartment, because both would result in his mother worrying and stressing over him and his uncle getting on his ass about the importance of school and sending his mother into more distress than what she was already enduring. He’d come across the remote haven on accident; one morning when he arrived at school earlier than anyone else, he’d made a wrong turn into what he thought was his homeroom, but upon recognizing the darker and tinier corridor he had entered, realized he had in fact entered one of the maintenance hallways. Curiosity got the better of the dark skinned boy, and upon climbing the three flights of stairs, came across an unlocked metal door that lead to the school's rooftop.

For months, that would be his routine. Arriving a couple of hours before classes began to spend time by himself upon the school’s rooftop. He’d watch the sunrise above the Brooklyn skyline, allowing the heat to melt the cold exterior of his skin, shaking off the bitterness that came from lack of sleep and a racing mind from the night before. Miles and the morning sun became good acquaintances that way, greeting each other at each sunrise; it became one of very few things he looked forward to in those days, and continued to be his secret motivation to peel himself from his bed in the morning to attend the school his mother and father worked hard to put him in.

His hand grasps onto the door hand and twists, pushing the door outward and Miles is immediately washed in the evening sun. He steps onto the concrete ground, scanning the area in front of him for the presence of another. The corner in which he usually occupies is empty, and there’s nothing much to see at the moment but scattered leaves on top of firm grayness.

Black and white Jordan turn and trail around the side of the rooftop doorway, still searching for any sign of another's presence. Taji’s tip is proven correct when his eyes land upon a feminine figure, and there’s a slight wave of relief crosses his face upon finally finding the girl who’d been missing from class two hours before.

“Yo.” Miles calls out to her, and yet there is no reaction. With his eyebrows furrowed, he calls out again, but there is no response once again. He begins to walk further towards her, confusion beginning to settle in, but is then relieved when he notices a book in her lap; as well as earbuds that become visible the closer Miles steps towards her.

There’s a peaceful air that surrounds the girl, and there’s a part of Miles that doesn’t want to disturb her, but as much respect as he has for the other, he’ll be damned if he has to wait until next week to explain this project to her. So, with a short sigh, Miles reaches his hand out to touch her shoulder, calling out to the girl for the third time.

“Aye-” he begins, and all it takes is a touch on her shoulder for the girl to jump away from his touch in shock. A short yelp - more like a squeak, if anything - erupted from her mouth, which made Miles purse his lips tight to keep the snort he wanted to release at bay.

“Jesus, fuck-” you curse, shoulders dropping and a sigh leaving your lips the moment you realized who it was.

“You know that’s dangerous, right?” Miles asks, raising a finger to create circular motions towards his own ear before gesturing to you. “Having those things in on max; what if you was out on the street?”

A scowl forms on your lips as you take out one of your earbuds, stopping the music you had filtering into your ears as you were deep into your reading. You held the book by the spine, thumb placed in between the pages and forefinger on the hardcover spine. “I know not to do that on the street,” you reply, “I was just tryna read my book, before you decided to scare the living shit out of me.”

The boy rolls his eyes at your words, then follows your form as you take to sitting on the concrete ground, using the side of the ventilation bed to lean against. A second of silence passes between the two of you, before Miles finds himself sitting in the spot you once occupied, with wiring fans sounding behind him softly.

“You ain’t come to class today,” Miles voices, hands tucked into the pockets of his black and white Brooklyn letterman jacket as he focuses his gaze onto you. The soft click of you closing your earbud case sounds as you pocket them into your jacket to give the other male your attention, “what was that about?”

It takes you a minute to respond, and Miles isn’t sure if it was because you were coming up with an excuse that would satisfy him, or if you were buying your time for the question to be unanswered. “You know we got them projects assigned today, right?”

“That’s exactly why I ain’t go,” you answer, finally, “there’s an odd number in that class. Was hoping that I’d just be able to do somethin’ by myself instead of being partnered with some lazy ass who don’t be doin’ shit for real.”

“Damn,” the boy breathes with a chuckle, amused by her colorful choice of words, “ain’t even give me a chance and I’m already being called lazy, that’s crazy.”

It takes you a moment to catch on to his tease, at first furrowing your brows as you deciphered what his words meant. As realization dawned on you, your brows rose apologetically, having now realized the possible severity of your words. 

“No, wait- shit, I didn’t mean like that-”

“You cool, chill,” the dark skinned boy reassures, “I know what you mean.”

He watches as another sigh leaves your lips, in relief that your words were not misunderstood, but also in response to his little joke, and he can’t help but to chuckle again. “You right, though. Don’t nobody in that class do shit for real.”

That little jest did garner a laugh from you, and Miles can tell it’s one of comfort and ease. It’s the kind of laugh his mother would share with him after a long shift at the hospital where she’d have to put up a professional front, and she finally is able to shed the protective exterior and be her cheeky self. It’s the kind of laugh that signifies the forming of bond between people; the development of a relationship; the start of something new.

“A’ight, here’s the deal,” says Miles, his hand coming from the pocket of his jacket, rubbing his nose out of habit, then leaning on his knee to grow closer to you, “we both don’t wanna do this project ‘cus it’s a waste of time-”

“A huge waste of time-”

“-but if we do this project, I can prove to you I’m not a lazy ass.”

He watches as you feign a look of thought, eyes casted upward, lips pursed together with a little hum rumbling from your throat. After a moment, your eyes geared over towards Miles, a teasing smile gracing your lips, before finally answering him; “A’ight, sure.”

You start to rise, and Miles does as well, outstretching a hand to help you up from your seating position. As you dust off the bottom of your skirt from the debris on the ground, Miles picks up your bookbag from the ground and hands it to you once you’ve adjusted yourself appropriately. 

If Miles would have been told that he would be dating the girl who was partnered with him for their end of year project, he’d look at you as if you just called him out of his name. And yet, as he glances down at his phone, eyes scanning over your good morning messages together, he finds himself secretly thanking that teacher for pairing them up; he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Hey, Unc?” says the younger, breaking the comfortable silence shared between the two, the ambiance of the morning radio the only sound echoing throughout the car.

“Yeah?” For a second, Miles purses his lips together. He spends a few seconds looking down at the screen of his phone and at the road ahead, as if contemplating on his next words carefully. It doesn’t take much for Aaron to notice the shift in behavior. “What is it?”

The younger’s tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, creating an extrusion on the side of Miles’ face, before he speaks; “You hungry?”

It’s an odd question posed, Aaron thinks, as it’s one that’s honestly never been posed in this section of their shared routine. Once a job was finished, especially when it went well into the night, and cleanup and debriefing happened during the early morning hours, both were too exhausted to let the thought of hunger cross their minds. Aaron raises an eyebrow at the question, beckoning the younger to explain further, “Am I…hungry?”

“Yeah,” says Miles, “my girl, she uh, she made breakfast, and asked if I wanted a plate. So I was askin’ you if you wanted one too-”

The look on Aaron’s face turned from confusion to bewilderment, and the previous expression was mirrored onto Miles’ face the second his sentence finished. “Why you lookin’ like that?”

A moment passed. A smile cracks onto Aaron’s face, a chuckle falls from his thick lips, a teasing tone already etched into his voice as he begins to speak.

“Oh no-”

“Aww, shit-!”

“Please, tio, don’t-”

“She can cook, too?”

And for the next few second, Miles is sunken into the passenger seat as all he can do is allow the onslaught of teasing and pestering from his uncle to cause heat to rise up his neck at a staggering temperature. In between the questions of other endearing qualities his nephew’s girlfriend may have had, the GPS within the car directs the older to said girlfriend’s address, of which had been keyed in during Aaron’s banter. Amidst it all, the growling of their stomachs was undeniable.

After a series of turns, the pair eventually reached your block, the familiar brownstone buildings and plotted trees along the sidewalk illuminated beautifully by the morning sun. “Right here,” Miles says as he points to the specific brownstone with your address on it, the older easily slipping into the parking spot in front of the building.

The younger mumbles a ‘be right back’ before he slips from the car, leaving Aaron in his own solitude, finding amusement in the entire ordeal. Never had he thought he’d be offered a plate of food by his nephew’s girl, and yet, he finds himself reliving the almost identical situation to the time Jefferson wanted to pull up to Rio’s home for a warm plate of empanadas. It had been the first time he had met Rio, and if Miles was anything like his father, then this would be the first time he’d meet the girl that stole his nephew’s heart.

Thirty minutes pass before Miles emerges from the reddish-brown door, and Aaron would have told the boy off for having him wait for long for a plate he offered, if he hadn’t seen the young lady he’d assume to be his girlfriend trailing behind the dark skinned boy.

“Remember, the one on top is your uncles since he doesn’t like pork bacon. And be careful because the food is still hot, I don’t want y’all to burn your mouths-”

“Baby,” Miles says, his tone warm and comforting as his freehand comes to your waist, the other holding the white bag of styrofoam containers containing the breakfast you had prepared, “I know, it’s okay. I’m not gon’ steal his turkey bacon.”

“Yeah, you better not.” You mumble against the skin of his cheek before pressing your lips to the soft skin, pressing deep into the flesh as if to burn the imprint of your lips onto his skin. Once your lips parted from the first kiss, a series of pecks met Miles’ cheek, causing the boy to smile unconsciously by the softness of your touch.

Miles’ wandering eyes caught the sight of his uncle peering through the car window, snickering at the pair, but just as soon as he was caught, the older resumed his original position; though the attempt to restrain the tug on his lips proved to be a struggle. “Is that your uncle?” You ask, innocent but hesitant, not wanting to cross a boundary. Though the state of your relationship was healthy and stable, with lots of communication and expressions of love shared amongst the both of you, Miles had made it clear that easing you into meeting his mother and uncle would be something to take seriously. They were all he had left, and he wanted to make sure that what the two of you had, and were working to develop, was something long term and lasting. The last thing he wanted was for his relationship to crash and burn the second he wanted to connect the most significant people in his life together.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Miles replies, a slight tug on one side of his lips as he turns to glance at the car, then back towards you, “do you wanna say hi?”

You barely understood the words the other had asked you before nodding excitedly. Though as the two of you descended down the tan concrete stairs, across the sidewalk and to the side of the care, the revelation slowly dawned on you that you were meeting Miles’ uncle, and you had no idea why all of a sudden you felt conscious of the loungewear set you’d chosen to dawn that morning while you made breakfast, or the fact that if was through the window of his car - both being the exact opposite of how you wanted your first meeting with Miles’ family to go.

Aaron took the hint with both of you approaching the car, and rolled down the passenger window to speak to the two of you clearly.

“Unc,” Miles starts, taking his hand from your waist to gesture between you and Aaron, “this is (Y/N); and babe, this is my Uncle Aaron.”

There seemed to be a second of stalling on your end, before you took a step forward, bending at the knees slightly to meet Aaron’s eyes. His one hand rested on the steering wheel, his other arm leaning on the arm rest, propping him up.

“Hi, Mr. Davis,” you said, doing your bets to refrain from stuttering, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello to you, too, miss lady,” the older replies, “it’s nice to meet you, too. I heard you made breakfast for us?”

You nodded with a polite smile, “I was just in the mood to cook, and I figured Miles may be hungry; he said you were with him, so I only thought it right to make you a plate, too.”

Aaron purses his lips together in an expression of approval, eyes moving from yours to his nephews as his head bobbing in a slow motion. “Oh, yeah, she’s good, man.”

“Tio, please-” Miles whines, which garners a chuckle from his uncle and a giggle from you; and for a second, the feeling that formed in the pit of his stomach the first time he made you laugh returns. The kind of laughs that signifies the forming of a bond between people; the development of a relationship… the start of something new. It’s from that, that Miles knows that any worries of his family not liking you vanishes. 

[ginnsbaker]

Bulletproof (10/10)

Part Summary: After figuring out your feelings for each other, you and Wanda return to the Avengers compound to determine your future.

Chapter word count: 4.1k+ | Tags: Smut (18+ only), Fluff, Steve being Steve, A little reunion with everyone else | Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Author's Note: Another series comes to an end! But wait there're more--the alternative ending which will be posted tomorrow (or the day after tomorrow at the latest!). I had so much fun writing "Bulletproof" and it wouldn't be possible without the anon who initially requested a oneshot. Thank you to all who commented, reblogged, liked and read this mini series. Many of you are unaware that this blog was primarily a fanart blog before I started posting fics here, and I've been thinking about whipping up a short comic strip of a scene from Bulletproof, so watch out for that :)

Series Masterlist

-

As the morning sunlight filters through the window, Wanda stirs from her slumber. Blinking open her eyes, she's greeted with the sight of you, peacefully sleeping next to her. She can't help but remember the previous time she woke up with you beside her. That morning realization, that she had fallen for you, had sent her into a panic, eventually causing her to slip away to her room before you could wake up.

But this time is different. There's no urge to run, no lingering fear. Instead, there's an overwhelming sense of contentment and a desire to push closer to you. Wanda reaches out, letting her fingertips trace the curve of your nose, moving down to trace your slightly parted lips. A soft smile graces her face, watching as your brows furrow in mild annoyance at being disturbed.

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this way for anyone. With that conclusion, rather than pulling away, Wanda leans in, her lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, chaste kiss.

When your eyes flutter open, they're met with Wanda's gentle gaze, filled with warmth and adoration. “Good morning,” she giggles happily.

Your lips stretch into a sleepy grin before your eyes travel down her naked form. “Mmm, it certainly is,” you mumble, pulling her closer, nestling her against your chest.

Wanda's eyes glitter with a mischievous spark as her fingers gradually drift down from your waist. The slow, deliberate journey of her fingertips over your abdomen has your heart rate quickening, and her touch alone makes your skin prickle with anticipation. By the time her hand settles between your thighs, cupping you softly, the drowsiness that once weighed down your eyelids is entirely forgotten.

A gasp leaves your lips, your body instinctively pressing into her touch. The sensation of her fingers teasing over the sensitive skin makes warmth pool in your belly, the heat of your arousal becoming impossible to ignore.

Wanda's tongue traces the contours of your ear before playfully nipping at your earlobe. Her breath is warm as she whispers, “Did I wake you?” Her tone is dripping with innocence, but the mischievous glint in her eyes tells a different story.

You swallow hard, finding it difficult to form words with her hand expertly coaxing out your desire. “You... have a unique way of saying 'good morning',” you manage to reply, a lump forming in your throat as her hand continues to move deliberately between your legs.

Wanda's smirk is devilish, full of promise. “I thought you'd appreciate it.”

“I do,” you reply, voice husky, as you shift to sit up against the headboard. Wanda takes the cue, momentarily halting her touch, only to move herself gracefully and straddle your lap. As she does, the sheets cascade from her waist, revealing the tantalizing wetness that's gathered at the juncture of her thighs. Your gaze locks onto the dampened patch of hair above her core, and you can't suppress a smirk, realizing she's been aroused for some time—perhaps the entire duration you’ve been asleep.

Locked in an intense gaze with Wanda, your fingers precariously trace her inner thighs, until they finally meet their intended mark, lightly brushing over her slick entrance. The mutual sensation prompts an audible sigh from both of you: Wanda, overwhelmed by the electrifying touch, and you, awed by the fervent response of her body as she dampens your fingers even further. 

She’s so wet and so eager for you. You can’t believe how lucky you are to have her this way.

“Shit, baby, you’re gonna be the death of me…” you trail off before claiming her lips into a heated kiss, while Wanda keens against your mouth at the term of endearment.

With each light, teasing touch, Wanda's breath catches, soft whimpers escaping her as your deliberate pace keeps her on the precipice of desire. For a moment, she seems content with the languid rhythm you've set, a mix of frustration and pleasure playing on her face. But as the minutes tick by, that patience wanes. Her hips begin to grind against your hand, trying to draw you deeper, to elicit more than just a graze. Each time she attempts to capture your fingers within her, you deftly pull away, drawing out the dance and stoking the fire of her desperation.

The room fills with her ragged breathing and soft pleas, a sob catching in her throat as her need grows more pronounced. Recognizing the edge she's on, you decide it's time to give in—but not entirely on her terms.

Guiding her, you position her over your waiting fingers, the slickness making for easy entry. Whispering sultrily into her ear, you urge, “Ride me.”

The command ignites something in her, and Wanda starts moving, her rhythm gaining momentum as she rides your fingers, the sound of wetness and her moans filling the room. You take the opportunity to explore the canvas of her skin with your mouth. You suck, nip, and kiss, marking her pale, porcelain skin with more bruises to add to the collection from last night.

The fervor in Wanda's eyes intensifies, her movements becoming more frantic. You can tell she's on the edge, so close to her climax, and that's when you decide to change the game.

“Stop,” you whisper, and Wanda freezes, her eyes wide and pupils dilated. You carefully slide your fingers out of her, and she whines from the sudden emptiness, her eyes pleading. With a smirk, you bring your wet fingers to your lips, savoring the taste of her.

Wanda's breathing is ragged, her chest heaving as she looks at you, equal parts frustration and desire evident in her gaze. “Why?” she breathes, her voice almost a whimper.

“You'll see,”you reply cryptically, instructing her to lie on her back. Wanda obeys, and then you position yourself over her, placing a leg between hers. Your eyes lock onto each other as you lower yourself, allowing your centers to meet, the sensation immediately sending jolts of pleasure through both of you.

Surprised by the overwhelming feeling of feeling her against you, you wait for the tightening in your stomach to subside before you start to move, grinding your hips against hers. The friction between your sexes is intoxicating, driving both of you wild. Your hands find purchase on Wanda's hips, guiding her to meet your thrusts. Her hands wander up to grip the sheets, her knuckles white as she tries to anchor herself.

Your rhythm builds, each thrust deep and unyielding, fucking Wanda further into the mattress. The intensity of your movement eventually pushes her to find purchase in you, and as you feel Wanda's nails dig into your back, you can't help the low growl that escapes your throat. The blend of pain and intense pleasure from her touch makes your head spin.

“I'm sorry,” she breathes out when she feels the wetness of blood under her fingers.

But you shake your head, urging her on. “It's okay,” you assure her, a wicked grin on your face. “Feels good. Do it again.”

Her fingers once more find their way to your back, and each time she scratches, the sensation of your skin repairing itself serves to heighten the pleasure for both of you. It becomes a dance of sorts—Wanda marking you, you healing, both of you lost in the deliriousness of the exchange.

Her moans become more frantic, her mouth falling open as you drive into her again and again and again. “Don't stop. Please, just like that.”

And you're more than happy to oblige.

In a bold move, you shift your weight, seamlessly flipping Wanda beneath you without breaking contact, the newfound angle allowing you to delve even deeper, each thrust meeting her sweet spot, causing her to gasp and cling to you desperately. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer, urging you to go faster, harder.

You can feel the build-up, the familiar pressure that signals an impending climax. “Wanda,” you gasp, your voice heavy with need.

She responds with a keening whimper, her walls pulsating against you, urging you on. The two of you move in a frenzied manner, chasing that peak together, moving as one. The feeling is so intense, so raw, that when you both finally shatter, the pleasure is all-consuming.

As the aftershocks ripple through you both, you collapse onto the bed beside her, both panting heavily.

After a few moments of silence, you turn to her, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “Hey,” you begin, swallowing hard, “I know it might seem too soon, but I can't help how I feel.”

“What are you saying?” Wanda asks, looking up at you, chest still heaving and you think she’s redder than she was just a few seconds ago.

“I’m saying I love you,” you answer with a soft smile.

Tears pool in her eyes, catching the morning light in a shimmering dance. She reaches out, cupping your face, and whispers, “I love you too.” 

You might not recall much of your past self, but somehow, you wouldn't change this present for anything.

-

The two of you are nestled on the couch, mugs of steaming coffee in hand. Every so often, your eyes meet Wanda's, a smile forming on both your lips as the remnants of the morning's escapade play on repeat in your minds.

Soon, however, the serene atmosphere is interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching the front door.

“Were you expecting a visitor?” you ask.

Wanda shakes her head, placing her mug on the coffee table. “No…”

The apprehension in her voice is evident, and the two of you exchange worried glances.

“Hide,” she whispers urgently, her eyes darting to the bedroom door.

“Why? I've got my powers back,” you argue, rising to your feet. 

Wanda's lips press into a thin line. “You might not remember how to use them,” she whispers urgently. “You could get hurt.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure I can take a bullet or two.”

Wanda looks like she's about to argue further when the front door slams open, the force of it sending it crashing into the adjacent wall. Her reflexes are instantaneous: Scarlet tendrils of magic emanate from her fingers, weaving a defensive barrier between the intruder and the two of you.

However, as the dust settles and the silhouette becomes clear, Wanda's magic falters, her eyes widening in recognition. 

“Vision?”

Vision, slightly wary or Wanda's immediate defensive response, raises his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Sorry for barging in unannounced,” he says.

Wanda lowers her hands slowly, the red magic dissipating. “What are you doing here?”

“Steve has ordered both of you to return to the compound immediately.”

Wanda narrows her eyes. “Why?”

“He didn't specify, but it seemed urgent,” Vision replies, his tone indicating that he's as much in the dark as Wanda.

“Is it about the organization that's hunting Y/N down?”

Before Vision can answer, the sound of soft footsteps signals another arrival. 

“They've been subdued,” Natasha declares without preamble, her eyes locking onto yours, a recognition in them. “The organization was kidnapping ex-agents who chose to live a normal life. And when your powers resurfaced, Y/N, they were hellbent in wielding you into a weapon.”

Wanda's protective instincts flare up. “Nat, I'll only return to the compound with Y/N if you can guarantee they'll be free. They've been through enough.”

Natasha hesitates, shifting her weight on one foot. “I can't promise freedom, Wanda, but I can promise safety. We need to ensure that no one else poses a threat to Y/N, or to any of us.”

Wanda looks torn, her eyes darting between Natasha and you, weighing the options and the promises. After what feels like an eternity, she exhales deeply. “Alright, but the moment Y/N is in any danger, we're out. Understood?”

Natasha nods. “Understood.”

She then takes a moment to glance around the room, an appreciative smile forming on her lips. “I must admit, you two found quite the hideout,” she comments, observing the tasteful yet cozy decor, the soft lighting, and the clothes thrown carelessly on the couch.

With the bedroom door ajar, Natasha's keen gaze settles on the slightly rumpled bed, a few candles still burning around it, and a teasing grin crosses her face. “Although,” she tilts her head, studying the two of you, “It looks more like a love nest than a hideout.”

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at her words. Though she doesn't say it outright, the implication is clear, and it's even more embarrassing given how accurate her observation is. You avoid her gaze, feeling slightly guilty as you remember the passionate moments shared with Wanda just the night before and again this morning.

Your face fails to hide anything and Natasha chuckles at you knowingly.

“Aren't there better things to spy on than our personal lives?” Wanda asks, the tips of her ears turning a pink hue.

Natasha laughs lightly, her arms crossed over her chest. “I can’t help it when the evidence is all around,” she teases, while you groan in embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands.

She then pretends to sniff the air, prompting a flustered Wanda to hurriedly nudge her towards the door before she can make any more cheeky remarks.

-

Steve is not happy.

But he isn't frowning either.

He has that ever-present solemn look on his face, and the only giveaway that something's off is the small patch he missed while shaving his chin earlier. Just as Vision is about to mention it, Natasha silently warns him off with a subtle shake of her head.

Steve leans forward, resting his hands on the table, his knuckles white with tension. “Wanda, seriously? Again? I can't keep covering for you every time you break the rules.” The disappointment in his eyes says more than his words ever could.

Wanda, defiant, steps forward. “If I hadn't been breaking those rules, Y/N would be in some corner of the world right now, being used by those monsters for their wicked games.”

“That doesn't justify your recklessness. We have protocols for a reason.”

Wanda's eyes flash with determination. “And sometimes, those protocols fall short, Steve. Y/N needed protection, and I gave it.”

Steve drags a hand through his hair, attempting to keep his composure, but it's slipping away with each passing second. “It's not just about the safety of one individual, Wanda. It's about the safety of the entire team. If we don't trust each other to follow the rules, then how can we function as a team?”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Steve,” Natasha says sharply from behind them. “Half of these rules are outdated, and you know it. If Tony came up with these, you wouldn't agree to half of them anyway.”

Steve's eyes narrow at Natasha, a silent question in them.

She doesn't flinch. “Wanda did what she thought was right, and she's not the only one bending rules around here. Some rules are meant to be questioned, especially if they compromise the safety of our own.”

“But I’m not one of you right?” you chime in, surprising everyone, but Wanda most of all. Throughout the ride back to the compound, you'd been uncharacteristically silent, leaving Wanda tempted on more than one occasion to delve into your thoughts, seeking answers.

“Y/N,” Wanda mutters, but you raise a hand, stopping her, your eyes trained on Steve.

“I understand the need for rules, for protocols,” you say, your voice steady. “But this entire conversation assumes that I'm just some defenseless outsider. Wanda did what she did to protect me, yes. But she also did it because she knows what I'm capable of and how my abilities, and the knowledge I possess, could've been misused.”

Taking a step forward, Wanda catches a fleeting glimpse of the person you once were in the way you now stand before Steve. “The truth is, I'm not sure where I belong—here or anywhere else. But I do know this,” you say, pausing to look at Wanda and smiling. “I belong with her.”

Wanda meets your smile, her eyes shining in the wake of your confession. If the choice were hers, the two of you would be anywhere but here—maybe in a distant place where you could learn to find happiness, unburdened by duties and weight of the world.

Natasha, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, comments, “Well, this day just got a lot more interesting.”

Steve's shoulders sag, and for a moment, he appears older than his years, the burden of leadership is evident in every line of his face. “Wanda, I understand more than anyone the pull of duty and personal attachment. It's not always about the bigger picture, sometimes it's about the person standing next to you.”

He looks directly at you. “You still don't remember everything, Y/N. And with your powers resurfacing, it complicates matters. You can't just be thrown back into the role of an Avenger. You're essentially starting from scratch. There will be evaluations, both physical and mental. Training. Reacclimation. The compound isn't the ideal place for that.”

He then turns to Wanda, “But Wanda, you belong here with us. You're an Avenger.”

“Perhaps,” Wanda says before standing next to you and interlacing your fingers together. “But I also belong with Y/N. If I have to choose, then—”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” A voice from outside announces. The room's automatic doors slide open, revealing Tony Stark. 

Steve regards him with a short nod. “Tony.”

“Interesting conversation we're having here,” he says, glancing at the group. “I think I might have a different approach.”

Everyone looks to him expectantly. But he turns to you and says, “What if we could get your memories back, Y/N?”

Wanda straightens up, her attention immediately drawn to Tony's words. “What do you mean?”

Tony taps a holographic tablet that suddenly appears in his hand. An intricate blueprint springs to life in the air, hovering above it. “While you guys were deep in your heart-to-heart, I've been in touch with T'Challa in Wakanda.”

“Wakanda? What do they have to do with this?” Steve asks.

Tony continues, “They've developed a technology that accesses areas of the brain we've barely touched on. Something that's way ahead of anything we've seen or worked on. If Y/N's memories are locked away somewhere in there,” Tony gestures to your head, “I’m not promising anything, but they might have the key.”

You swallow hard, Tony’s proposition sinking in. The idea of venturing to Wakanda, a place both unfamiliar and undeniably imposing, is overwhelming. But if it brings back your memories…

“I’ll do it,” you tell them.

“I’m coming with you,” Wanda says.

Steve hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wanda, it's not that simple. It's a highly sensitive mission, and with everything that's happened recently…”

“Steve,” Wanda cuts in, “I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you.”

He lets out a weary sigh. “Tony? What do you think?”

“Why are you even asking me, Cap? You're the captain here. And if I remember correctly,” he adds with a smirk, “I'm not the one who can assign Wanda a 'mission' to formally accompany Y/N to Wakanda.”

Wanda catches onto Tony's implication immediately. “That's right. This can simply be a mission assignment. Y/N's retrieval of their memories is crucial, and who better to assist and protect them than me?”

“She's correct,” Vision interjects. “The restoration of Y/N's memories is of utmost importance. Wanda is uniquely qualified to help and ensure their safety.”

Natasha chuckles from the back, “Looks like you're cornered, Rogers. Majority rules.” 

Steve looks between you and Wanda. After a moment, he nods slowly, a hint of a smile appearing at the corners of his lips. “Alright,” he concedes. “Wanda, you'll accompany Y/N to Wakanda. It's a mission.”

Wanda exhales, relief flooding her features. She turns to you, squeezing your hand, “We'll do this together.”

Tony, satisfied, adds, “And just to be clear, I'm always up for a trip to Wakanda. Count me in.”

From the doorway, a grin appears on Bucky’s face. “Great timing,” he comments, sauntering in. “I’ve been meaning to make a trip back to Wakanda. Now I can hitch a ride with you all.”

Natasha, already with a sly smile, says, “I’ll make the sandwiches. Wakandan cuisine is great, but I know how some of you are with new food.”

Sam, who’s been eavesdropping with Bucky, rolls his eyes from behind her. “Speak for yourself. Last time you tried their spicy dish, I thought we'd need to call in a medic.”

Steve looks around at his team, utterly confused. “Why is everyone suddenly so eager to go to Wakanda? This isn't a field trip.”

Bruce, peeking from behind Sam, adds, “Well, I’ve heard they have some impressive labs. Wouldn’t mind taking a look myself.”

Steve throws his hands up in mock surrender. “I give up. I can't control any of you.”

You laugh, nudging Wanda playfully. “Looks like it’s going to be a full house.”

Rather than reply, Wanda tugs you aside for a more private moment. “You do have a place here, you know? With all of us, as family, not just beside me.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve earned it,” you admit.

“You have,” Wanda says softly, leaning in to place a tender kiss on your cheek. “You just haven't realized it yet.”

Before you can react further, the door bursts open again and Daisy storms in, her face lighting up when she sees you. In an instant, she's wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace. You stiffen slightly, taken aback by the sudden gesture from someone you don’t recall knowing. But not wanting to be rude, you return the embrace lightly.

Wanda clears her throat pointedly, and Daisy's eyes widen in realization. She pulls back, a sheepish grin forming. “Sorry, I got carried away. I just missed you,” she chuckles, but the apologetic glance she shoots Wanda suggests she remembers very well whose territory she's treading on.

“Hey, I’m Daisy,” she says with a grin, extending her hand to you. “We’re friends, you know. Actually, you’re my favorite teammate.”

From the corner of your eyes, you catch Wanda's expression, tight and slightly guarded. You smirk inwardly, amused by her obvious display of possessiveness.

Taking her hand, you give it a friendly squeeze. “I’m sorry, Daisy,” you mutter, letting go. “I don’t remember.”

“Don’t worry about it. On the bright side, at least you won’t remember all the embarrassing moments we’ve had together.” 

Puzzled, you ask, “What moments?”

Before Daisy can answer, Steve yells over the growing chatter in the room. “Alright, everyone! Thirty minutes to pack. We're headed to Wakanda.”

Before you can process what’s happening, Wanda’s hand wraps around yours, pulling you towards the door. You're yanked forward, stumbling slightly in her rush. Glancing over your shoulder, you manage a quick, “Sorry, Daisy. See you soon?”

Daisy just chuckles, shooting you and Wanda a knowing, amused smile. 

-

The sun dips low over Wakanda, painting the city and its green expanse in rich gold. The past couple of days blur with laughs, music, and dance as everyone celebrates the homecoming of old friends. But as the last aircraft departs, leaving a trail of smoke behind, the compound becomes eerily silent, except for the two of you.

The suite you're given overlooks the heart of Wakanda. From the balcony, the lulling sound of the waterfalls adds to the allure of the den you and Wanda have created within the room. Time seems to lose meaning. You seize every moment, every opportunity, tasting and immersing in each other fully.

The days merge into nights and back into days. You emerge, mostly together, to grab a quick meal. The only other commitment you hold is to work with Shuri, who is eager and hopeful that her technology can unlock your memories.

On one of those ordinary nights, you lie on your back, gazing at the ceiling. For once, your mind is at peace, void of its usual chatter, because you've never experienced contentment quite like this before. Beside you, Wanda lies, her skin bare and glistening, evidence of your ardor still evident between her thighs.

Wanda traces patterns on your arm, her fingers light and feather-soft. “You know,” she begins, her voice husky from recent activities, “This is the best mission I've ever been on. I don't want it to end.”

Turning to face her, you take in her flushed cheeks and tousled hair. Your hand reaches up to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. “It doesn't have to end, Wanda,” you reply, locking your eyes with hers. “With or without my memories, with or without my abilities, I'll always stay by your side.”

She pulls you closer, seeking comfort in your embrace. “Promise?” she murmurs.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Promise.”

[zhongrin]

newton’s second law of motion

◇ characters ◇ al haitham (ft. kaveh, cyno, tighnari)

◇ tags ◇ divorced dad al haitham as your ex-hubby, possibly ooc al haitham (?), you have a daughter, al haitham pines on you badly, angst to fluff, crack, kaveh-cyno-tighnari support group ftw, brainrot format with a little fic

◇ a/n ◇ happy birthday you dolt (/aff). i didn't plan to post any birthday fic for him but this thought hit me as soon as i read that silly bday letter. this was supposed to be just a brainrot help-

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

divorced husband!al haitham who is hit by a revelation over the year he lived separated from you - that he had taken you for granted and he had driven you away by failing to communicate and appreciate you properly.

divorced husband!al haitham who receives a little package from you on his birthday; just a small, store-bought birthday cake. he's reminded of the biting words he said the year before, when he tasted the cake you made with your daughter. in hindsight, it was perfectly normal for a three-year-old to mistake salt for sugar. in hindsight, he should have known to hold his tongue. in hindsight, he could have done better than just stare as your daughter cried in your arms.

divorced husband!al haitham who knows that you were just being nice with all these small gestures. for updating him about how your daughter is doing in school every month. it was all a formality of sorts and it was an agreement you had when you broke your marriage. but he can't help the hope that sparked within his chest when he sees your handwriting and hears your voice on the rare meet-ups you organize.

divorced husband!al haitham who admits that you deserve someone better. who resolves to be someone better.

divorced husband!al haitham who picks up that parenting book he abandoned and buys new ones because four-year-olds are different from newborn babies. people stare at him in awe when he starts attending the parenting-themed seminars, and it's like he's back in his akademiya days, taking notes and analyzing research journals.

divorced husband!al haitham who, to his previous roommate's surprise, lets himself be dragged into the 'severely unproductive' weekly tcg game meeting. he silently sits and listens to cyno unconsciously bragging about the warm home he built with his spouse, tighnari proudly retelling story after story about collei taking the lead of the forest rangers, and kaveh gushing about the love of his life.

divorced husband!al haitham who, to everyone's shock, asks for their advice on how to rebuild what he's lost, who for once listens to kaveh as he guides him to emphatize more and shows him the values of white lies when used properly, as inefficient as he though it was. soon enough it turns into a full-on lecture at one corner of lambad's tavern - tighnari had brought out a whiteboard out of nowhere, and even cyno who was at first skeptical about giving him a second chance was animatedly giving his own two mora to avoid worsening the disaster that is the scribe's love life.

divorced husband!al haitham who picks up a new pen and delicately writes a letter with the ink of your favorite color, intending to ask you to meet at the library because he wanted to "further encourage our daughter's newly-found interest in reading". he's hoping it would show his sincerity (yes, he did listen when you absentmindedly told him about your daughter on the last update meeting) and imply that he wishes to make amends (because he remembers not taking much interest in the more 'trivial' things that concerns your daughter when he should have).

divorced husband!al haitham who does not understand why you didn't reply to him, and so he proceeds to recite the letter, word-by-word, to the curious table of the same friends from a week ago, their tcg match long forgotten. kaveh throws a deck of cards at him. cyno slumps back to his chair with a steely expression, arms crossed. tighnari sighs and bemoans about how al haitham is the worst student he's ever had thus far. kaveh rubs his face with his palms - "alright. okay. alright. look. clearly one lecture isn't enough. we could just. we could try again. hey, at least he tried!"

divorced husband!al haitham who wakes up the morning after because of his doorbell, with barely two hours of sleep, coffee-less (you used to make him coffee and he does not understand what he's missing because he could never make them taste the same), grumpy (he remembers the way you would laugh and boop his nose whenever he feels like this), darkened eye bags under his hazy green eyes (which you used to try and will away with a kiss; it never worked but he wishes you were there to do it still), opening the door of his abode (the house feels far too big without you) and promptly almost collapsing from shock at the sight.

it's you.

divorced husband!al haitham who fumbles with his words; his brain isn't working properly and his composure is nowhere in sight. you're holding your daughter's hand and you're looking at him from head to toe with a frown. he asks why you were here. you tell him icily that it was your scheduled date for the usual monthly update; you thought he would have appreciated you bringing your daughter this time. his brain stops. his heart swells. his chest feels warm.

divorced husband!al haitham who invites you in and blushes when you see the remnants of last night's "lectures". kaveh's silly flowchart ('when you should shut your mouth') is still present on the whiteboard. tighnari's books about child development created little towers around the coffee table. cyno's headpiece is still lying on the sofa. and his own copious notes are all over the place.

"what kind of.... project.... are you working on, exactly?"

his brain's broca's area must have been terribly damaged from all the 'scenario exercises' kaveh put him through last night, because what was supposed to be a 'pay no mind to it, it's merely a personal interest of mine' somehow turned into a sheepishly spoken: "i wanted to become a better partner and father."

and you must have thought he was crazy, too, with that look of utter shock on your face. al haitham decides to change the subject. he sees the way your daughter is eyeing the pantry - more specifically, the cabinet that used to store her snacks, and maybe it's all the books and seminars he attended but somehow he understands.

"have you... had breakfast?"

"..... no," your tone is cold and you avert your eyes. the implication is not lost on him. you had not planned to stay for long.

"i see. would you like to procure-" he pauses, gazes towards your daughter, remembering what he read - and he drops to his knees so he can be of a similar eye level with the young child. when he speaks next his tone is higher, softer, and you almost can't believe what you're witnessing, "-would you and mommy like to get some food with daddy?"

"..... yes."

his little angel's voice is barely above a whisper and slightly unsure, but it still makes a genuine smile spread onto his lips for the first time in...... what seemed like forever. he directs his gaze up towards you, like some kind of a lost puppy seeking permission from its owner. you throw one last glance at his notes and sigh before nodding stiffly.

"alright.... you look like you badly need coffee anyway."

divorced husband!al haitham who, despite the tiredness in his bones, readily escorts the two of you out of the house after quickly scribbling a note for the three guests sleeping on a pile in the guest room.

divorced husband!al haitham who asks his daughter about where she'd like to eat and agrees immediately upon her answer despite knowing that their destination would only serve that trashy coffee he loathes with his whole life (and when you ask him again whether he's really okay with her choice, he says yes even though he wanted to say no).

divorced husband!al haitham who asks you about the latest updates on your job and tells you that he thinks it's admirable, for you to balance caring for their child while also having such a stable career (you did not express the need to be getting constructive criticism on how to further improve your career and branch out your skills, so he decides to keep his mouth shut).

divorced husband!al haitham who stumbles, trips, and is still horribly clumsy as he paves a path back to walk beside you and your daughter. but he tries. and he hopes to spend his next birthday with you, your daughter, a kitchen that looked like an oven has exploded, and a deformed cake.

and as the front door closes, the three guests high-fives each other in a small circle from behind the slightly opened door of the guest room.

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @diebischesther | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ladylofspades | @sup-zfam | @ansy-tea

[silasours]

% 1 ━ Yours Deerly, A .

#chapters : [ previous | next ] #cw : your unique soul that piqued the great alastor's interest; he decided to write letters just for you until you finally reach hell. alastor x gn reader. may include adult themes and mild swearing. #note : quick thank you to @sea-bunniii for helping me with the fic title :3 this is the series I talked about, lmk if you'd like to be tagged! enjoy.

there is nothing around you but darkness for as long as you can remember now.

you never really understood what was happening; you tried pulling yourself out of this pitch-black surrounding but failed. you tried to speak but can't seem to utter a word from your parted lips. you rely on your hearing to keep track of your surroundings, but there's something in particular to note after quite some time. there were times when a strange, muffled radio static voice rang through your ears, words never clear enough for you to comprehend what it was trying to say. times when you'd see a blurred figure standing before you, but never clear enough for even a rough appearance, let alone a name.

millions of possibilities would run through your mind endlessly about them. is this a message for you, or are you just gradually losing your mind and hallucinating? you often try your best to push those thoughts aside while listening to the people around you who talk about your condition. but that, too, didn't bring you any good news. every day you would hear about how your life is merely hanging by a thin thread, that they might lose you any minute as they speak.

you mentally sigh, hoping that death would just swallow you up whole now instead of taking its sweet time. maybe by then, you'll finally gain your freedom back.

"hm." the radio demon squints his eyes slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the thin cane he holds. yet another failed attempt. he lifts a hand from the cane and opens his palm, an eerily green glow appears on top until it forms a certain line of words. "looks like this little soul is back in the human world for the time being."

it has been a month since alastor took notice of your soul. your soul that affected him ever so slightly whenever you traveled from the human world and back; it felt like something was lurking in his surroundings when your soul arrived at hell. he ignored it for a couple days, brushing it off as something uninteresting until it lasted for more than a week. with curiosity, he tries his best to wrap his aura around this thing he has been feeling.

noting that it was your soul he was observing, his curiosity grew. your soul would arrive in hell without being in an actual body and find its way to return to the human world. there was not a single effect cast on it, as if it's just a normal travel through countries and cities. nothing like this has ever happened in the underworld, not to alastor's knowledge at least.

as an overload who claims multiple souls, he naturally tried to claim yours as well after seeing the potential of it benefitting him. he tried to insert his voice and appearance into your soul and communicate with you once it returns to your body in the human world, but he failed every time. no matter how many times he improvised his ways, your soul rejects him without struggle.

annoyance started fueling him, yet it is also the sole reason why he has grown more interested in your unique soul. never has he ever struggled this much to obtain a mere soul; usually it could be done with just a snap of his fingers, yet all he could do to your soul is observe and know the place it's in through the aura that he managed to wrap it in.

keeping his head upright, he opens the door of the room that he claimed as his. closing the door behind him, alastor smoothes out his coat while walking down the dimly lit hallway of the hotel. the heel of his shoes thud against the carpet he walks on, chattering gradually growing louder from afar. the light grew brighter down the hallway he passed by until he reached the staircase, now able to view everyone at the main compartment of the hotel from above.

he takes his time walking down the steps, the sound of his heels catches the attention of the blond woman - charlie. her smile grew at the sight of alastor, hurriedly grabbing a small stack of papers from the long table and jogging toward him. alastor widens his smile, tapping on his cane while standing in place.

"why hello there, my friend! you seem busy, what could you possibly be working on?" he watches as charlie clumsily flips through the papers, a slight frown scrunched on her forehead until she finds the paper she needs. she smoothes the paper, turning it to alastor so he's able to read the contents clearly. she clears her throat before speaking.

"alastor, hi! well, you see, is it alright if i ask you for a small, tiny favor?" she seems hesitant to ask judging from her tone.

"why of course! ask away and i shall consider."

"great!" charlie returns to her usual bubbly self, quickly scanning the paper to look for the specific content she needs to show the radio demon. "here, take a look at this. it says here that it's required to write a letter for the request of a big stock sent to our location. and i'm, well.." her hand stretches to scratch the back of her neck nervously, an awkward smile on her face.

"i'm not so good with letters." she tries to relieve her own awkwardness with a chuckle, but it seems it did nothing but made it worse. "i was wondering if you could.. help out with the letters? just this once! I've heard how good you are with words when it comes to letters. please? i don't really have anyone else to ask." charlie gazes at alastor, her eyes shining with hope as her hands clutch tightly onto the papers.

alastor laughs. "i would love to, my dear! it is but mere letters, nothing i can't handle." he extends an arm towards charlie, his fingers stretched out with his palm facing upwards; a gesture to accept the papers and help. the woman excitedly places the papers onto his hand, his fingers now folded to hold the papers firmly. his eyes briefly look through the documents with a small nod of his head. "consider it done. fear not! I'll be able to finish this by dinner."

"thank you so much, alastor!" charlie flashes him a grateful smile before jogging off, feeling relieved without having to worry about finishing something she's not particularly good at. alastor's gaze fall onto the papers he holds, something molding and forming in his head; an idea. he hums to himself as he dives into deep thought, paying no mind to his surrounding for the time being.

if he, the great alastor isn't able to physically reach out to your little soul, there ought to have nothing else that will be able to achieve that as well. though, leaving messages until you physically arrive in hell may help him accomplish his goal. as one first falls into hell, they often get hit by a strong sense of confusion and even panic. if he takes advantage of the emotion you may hold, luring you in with a false sense of security, things will certainly go smoothly and result in success.

his thoughts abruptly got interrupted by vaggie's voice yelling from the kitchen, demanding for everyone to have lunch now that it's all prepared. instead of walking forward, alastor turns around and starts walking up the very same stairs he just walked down minutes ago. he rarely joins them for any group activity; it's only common to see him joining them if the event will benefit him in any way.

a small tune is audible from him humming as he walks, the papers that were once held by him vanish in a split second, leaving behind small traces of dark green sparkles around the area. the chattering grows soft once again the further he walks from the stairs, now walking down the hallway until the familiar door is in his range of view. using the very same aura to push the door open, he enters his room as the door shuts itself behind him.

walking towards his neat working desk, alastor's heart pounds against his chest from the clear idea he has in his head. he sets his cane aside carefully, allowing it to lean against the desk before pulling the plush chair from the elegantly carved table. he sits on the chair, papers and calligraphy pen appearing with a simple snap of his clawed fingers. paying no mind to the letter he should be working on for charlie, the pen straightens from the table by itself and starts scribbling words onto the blank sheet of paper.

he completely sets his focus on the letter he plans to write for you. it's been a while since he picked up his favorite pen to handwrite a letter for someone, the feeling stirs something in his chest. is it excitement? or is it nervousness? even alastor doesn't understand himself. brushing the thought aside, he lowers the pen until the tip comes in contact with the paper lying flat on the surface of the desk. the paper he chose is a special one; it's vintage, like an old paper that has been left sitting in the drawer for years.

it has a sense of familiarity in it, providing comfort in an odd way to alastor. it almost felt like he was writing love letters for someone he doesn't know at all. ink flows from the pen and onto the paper, the small glob of black ink weakly reflecting light from the desk lamp he has. cautiously, he glides the pen across the paper; every stroke and every curve of the words gradually form a sentence, and then a whole paragraph.

he would pause from time to time, digging for the correct words to write in his brain. it was unexpected to even the demon himself, to think that someone like him would spend this much effort for a mere letter. it took almost half an hour for him to finish his first letter to you, signing his name at the bottom with a content heart.

his eyes scan through every word he wrote, reading everything all over again until he confirms that it has no mistake. his fingers reach out to grab the envelope beside him, sliding the neatly folded paper into it. feeling satisfied with his work, alastor seals the letter with wax that has the shape of a radio pressed onto the top.

he holds the letter; it has a color of deep shade red along with a couple of drawn-on flowers. he pulls the drawer that's seated on the lower left of the desk open, revealing an empty compartment. alastor places the sealed letter in the drawer, pushing it back in until there's a click signaling that the drawer is fully closed. he glances at the letter he promised to finish for charlie, finding it now neatly lying on the desk without a single movement.

alastor exhales lightly from his mouth, allowing his back to lean against the chair with his head tilted back. he feels his muscles relax despite never realizing they were tensed before this, eyelids falling, shutting until he sees nothing but darkness.

"ah.. such troubles i need to go through for this little soul."

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[jetii]

Promises Made (pt. 2/3)

Part One | Part Three

Pairing: Crosshair x fem!Reader / Crosshair x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,387 / 23,314

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, that comes into play a lot in this part, reader is genuinely unfair to Cross here sorry, protective!Crosshair, everyone is bad at feelings, smut in part 3

Summary: Crosshair is back, and you're the only one who still can't seem to forgive him. When you finally have the lead you've been seeking since the extinction of the Jedi, you seize the opportunity to escape the constant turmoil his presence causes you. Of course, Crosshair has other plans.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone for your kind words and support on all my fics, it really means a lot to me! I loved writing the drama in this part, and it was hard to stop, so hopefully it doesn’t drag on too much. Enjoy!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

The moment you enter the cockpit, Crosshair stiffens, staring out of the viewport with wide eyes. The smoggy grey atmosphere of Bracca, pocked with smears of red rust and the glimmer of steel, stares back.

You can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, and you know he’s remembering what happened the last time the two of you were here.

You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw and curls his lip. You know he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to set foot on this planet ever again, and you’re surprised at how guilty you feel. You thought a part of you would relish the pain he was feeling, would be glad to see him squirm.

But you aren’t.

"Are you alright?" you ask. You hadn't meant to, hadn't even realized you were thinking it until the words slip past your lips.

He looks at you, startled, as though he didn't think you'd notice.

"I'm fine," he snarls, and the bite in his words catches you off guard. You recoil, turning back to the control panel.

"We're landing in twenty," you mutter, and that's the end of the conversation.

The rest of the flight is silent, and it's not until the Marauder is descending into the atmosphere that he speaks again.

"What's the plan?" Crosshair asks, standing behind the copilot's chair. You can hear the creak of the leather as he grips the backrest, can feel his eyes on the top of your head.

"There is no plan," you say. You look back up at him, and there's a furrow between his brows. "We're not here for a job."

He blinks, clearly confused. "What?"

"We're landing, and we're meeting my contact." You turn back to the control panel, watching the ship descend through the viewport. “She’ll give us the coordinates, we’ll get what I came for, and then we’ll leave.”

“That easy, huh?” Crosshair scoffs.

“Were you expecting something more thrilling? A daring chase? A firefight?” you tease. He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was just an exchange. There won't be any trouble."

The Marauder touches down, the landing ramp dropping a moment later. You stand, stretching.

"Besides," you say, grabbing your bag, "you've had your fair share of trouble for one lifetime."

He watches you closely as you sling the bag over your shoulder, and when you look up, you catch him staring. You don't understand the intensity in his eyes, or the way his expression seems to shift, the frustration replaced with something softer. He averts his gaze, crossing his arms.

"If you say so," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You smirk. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"I don't need protecting."

"Of course you don't, dear." You pat his shoulder as you pass, and he scowls.

He's still glaring when you glance over your shoulder, and you have to hold back a laugh. You don't miss the way the corners of his lips twitch upward as he follows behind, and for a moment, the tension lifts.

It's raining when you exit the ship, and the cold droplets soak through your jacket almost immediately. Crosshair tugs on his helmet as you step out of cover, and you ignore your flash of jealousy as you pull your hood up over your head.

You don't waste time, hurrying toward the abandoned building you're meeting your contact in. Puddles splash under your feet, soaking through your boots, and your clothes cling to your skin. Your hood is doing little to protect you, the water dripping from the edges and onto your face, and you try to focus on anything other than the chill that's settling into your bones.

Crosshair stays a few steps behind, keeping pace. He looms behind you like a shadow. His presence is both comforting and unnerving, and you find yourself constantly checking over your shoulder.

"I hate this place," Crosshair grumbles. The modulator on his helmet makes him sound even more irritated. "Stay close to me."

You turn to see his head on a swivel, his posture stiff, and his hand on the blaster at his side. You can’t help but scoff, and his head snaps towards you.

"What?” he growls.

"Nothing,” you mutter back. “Just nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

“Are you going to be like this the entire time?”

You can hear the annoyance in his tone, the barely concealed frustration, and it makes you smile.

"Probably," you reply, turning down a side street.

Crosshair makes an irritated noise. It only encourages you, putting a spring in your step in an otherwise miserable situation. Maybe it's a good thing he came after all. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth, and it's hard to contain your amusement.

"I don't get it," he mutters.

"Get what?"

"This. You." He gestures vaguely, the hand not on his weapon flapping in your direction. "You're being..."

"Nice?" you suggest, glancing over your shoulder.

"Fucking obnoxious."

You laugh, the sound echoing through the empty alley. Crosshair groans, and you can see his shoulders droop in exasperation. "That's my default setting. You should know that."

"Yeah, well," he says, his voice low and rough, "I forgot."

The admission hangs in the air, and you feel a rush of... something. It's not quite guilt, or sadness, but it's not happy, either. It's an uneasy combination, and you shove the feeling down.

"Maybe I've missed this," you tease. You slow your pace, falling into step beside him. "Maybe I've missed the sound of your voice."

"You're a liar," he replies, but you can hear the humor in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" You feign innocence, but there's a playful lilt to your voice that gives you away. "I'm an honest person."

"An honest pain in the ass."

You snicker. "Maybe I've missed having someone to bother."

"You've never had trouble finding a victim," he quips, and you nudge his arm with your elbow. He pushes back, and it's almost a joke, almost a friendly gesture, and for a moment, you forget why you're even here.

"True," you concede. "But nobody else puts up with me like you do."

His helmet tilts down, and you can feel his gaze on you. You look at him, and it's impossible to see his face, but you swear there's a hint of a smile.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is almost fond. "Lucky me."

"Shut up."

You bump his arm again, and he chuckles, the sound barely audible through the filter on his helmet. It's a tender moment, a brief glimpse of the old Crosshair, the one who would banter and bicker with you for hours, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to a different time. You miss it, more than you thought possible.

"We're here," you say, interrupting the moment. You push the door open, and it swings inward, revealing a stairwell. You glance back at him, motioning him forward. He falls into step behind you, all trace of amusement gone.

"Let's get this over with," he says.

You descend into the building, the stairs creaking beneath your feet. You can see feel the tension rolling off Crosshair in waves, and he reaches over his shoulder to draw his rifle.

"Calm down, would you?" you say, and he bristles.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You said it yourself," he mutters, scanning the shadows. "I've had my fair share of trouble for a lifetime."

"That's not what I—"

You're interrupted when you reach the bottom of the stairs, and a tan Abednedo steps from the shadows, a blaster pointed in your direction. She lowers the weapon when she sees you, and a small smile crosses her lips.

“Master Jedi. Pleasure to see you again," the Abednedo drawls, holstering her blaster.

"Saaba," you nod. You nudge Crosshair hard with your elbow, and he grunts before slowly lowering his rifle. You can see his fingers flex, as if he's not sure he should put it away, and you hope he listens.

Saaba gives him a once over, the tendrils that frame her mouth twitching. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Crosshair. Cross, this is my friend, Saaba," you explain.

"A pleasure," Crosshair says, his tone dry.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised to see you've brought company." She squints, her large goggles emphasizing how she sizes him up. “And a trooper, no less. I thought they were your enemies now."

Crosshair tenses, and you can feel his anger flare. You reach for him, touching his wrist. He looks at you, and even with his helmet on, you can tell he's glaring. You shake your head, and he sighs, relaxing a little under your touch. 

You hadn't told her about Crosshair, or about the rest of the Batch. It hadn't seemed important, and you weren't sure how she'd react to knowing the man standing beside you had more than once tried to kill you.

"Things change," you say, your tone light. "He's one of the good guys now."

"Well," Saaba hums, "that's a relief. I'd hate to have to kill a friend of yours."

Crosshair shifts his weight, and he takes a step closer. "You could try."

"Easy," you say, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping your hand.

Saaba laughs. "Oh, I like this one."

"Me too," you agree, and you can't help but grin. Crosshair's helmet swivels towards you, and you can imagine the bewildered look on his face. You shrug.

"Anyway," you say, ignoring the way he's staring at you. "Let's get down to business."

"Of course." Saaba smiles. She reaches into her bag, pulling out a small data disk. "The coordinates you need. As promised."

"Thank you."

You reach for the data, but she doesn't let go, pulling you closer.

"Don't get caught." Her voice is low, and her expression is serious.

"You know me."

"Which is exactly why I'm telling you not to get caught," she says. “I told the Guild I was stripping the place for copper, and I need to report back soon, or they’ll send their own crew. But I can’t guarantee they won’t go poking around on their own.”

"Understood."

She lets go, and you step back, putting the disk in your bag. You grab a pouch, holding it out to her. "For your trouble."

She shakes her head, pushing the credits away. “I owed you one.”

You blink. “Are you sure?”

"Just don't let me regret it," she warns, but her tone is soft. You always liked Saaba, even if she could be a bit of a handful. But she was reliable, and she didn't ask questions.

"Never."

You turn, heading towards the stairs, and Crosshair follows. You don't look back, and Saaba doesn't stop you. Once you're back outside, the door swinging shut behind you, you let out a sigh.

"Well, that was easy," Crosshair drawls.

"Don't jinx it," you grumble. You shiver, tugging your soaked jacket tighter around yourself. The rain hasn't stopped, and you're beginning to realize you didn't think the weather through.

There's a rumble of thunder, and Crosshair looks up.

Great, you think, just great.

"You should have brought a coat."

"Shut up."

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the sound warms you. You can't remember the last time you'd heard him laugh like that. It makes you smile, even if he is laughing at your expense.

"It's not over yet," you continue, ignoring the way your stomach flutters. "We still have to find what we're looking for, and get off planet."

"I thought you said it was going to be simple," he teases, his tone smug. It's so strange, to hear his voice sound like that again, and it feels... good.

You huff.

"It should be." You glance around the alley, noting how the rain had driven the locals inside. "It's just the retrieval that might be difficult."

He hums, and the two of you walk in silence. The rain hasn't let up, and by the time you reach the Marauder, your hair is plastered to your face. You push it aside, wringing out the water.

"Now, let's see where we're going," you say, climbing the landing ramp.

You settle in the pilot's seat, Crosshair leaning against the doorframe, and you pull the data disk from your bag. You slide the disk into the control panel, waiting as the computer loads the coordinates.

You frown, leaning forward.

“The coordinates are a few clicks south of here," you say, zooming in. “But we can’t take the Marauder there, the terrain is too rough. We'll have to go on foot.”

"On foot?" Crosshair repeats. "Through the scrapyards?"

You nod. He sighs.

"Great."

"You can stay here if you’re scared."

"I'm not scared."

"Well," you say, grabbing your bag and heading towards the exit, "I'm glad to hear it."

Crosshair grumbles, and when he passes you, he knocks his shoulder into yours. You laugh, shoving him back.

"Come on, you big baby. It's not so bad," you tease, closing the ramp behind the two of you.

He scoffs, and the sound is distorted by the rain and his helmet. 

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

As soon as the Marauder disappears from view, the rain goes from bad to worse. The cold droplets sting your face as you trudge through the mud, and the wind whips at your clothing.

The scrapyard is a dangerous place. Thousands of broken starships litter the area, stacked on top of each other in tall piles. Some of them are old, rusted from years of exposure, while others are relatively new, their hulls dented from the harsh winds. Even though you’re cold and miserable, you’re grateful for Saaba's work. If you’d gone searching yourself, it would’ve taken you years to find what you were looking for.

As you climb over a particularly large piece of debris, you glance at Crosshair. The rain is pouring, and it's put both of you in a sour mood, your prior banter forgotten.

You can feel his eyes on you as he walks behind you, and it makes you nervous.

"I'm not gonna fall," you snap, reaching the top.

"Didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm about to."

"What am I supposed to look at?" he asks, his tone sharp.

You glance around. There's nothing but rain and rust, and the looming shadows of the ships stacked around you. It's an eerie sight, the remains of war and violence, and you feel a chill run down your spine.

"Anything else," you grumble. You slide down the other side, and he's quick to follow.

"How much farther is this thing?"

"I don't know. Not far," you say, but the truth is, you have no idea.

"You're a terrible liar."

"Shut up, Cross."

You push your hair from your face for the thousandth time, and you can’t decide if the rain or the wind is the worst. Both make your clothing cling to your skin, and you're pretty sure you're never going to feel warm again.

"Real mature," he mutters, and you can practically feel the eyeroll. “Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for, or am I going to have to guess?”

“Guessing could be fun,” you tease, trying to distract yourself. But his patience is wearing thin, and you know it as well as you know that yours is fraying too.

"I’m not in the mood for games," he growls back. 

The taught threads of your sanity finally snap, and you stop in your tracks, your patience evaporating like the mist. Crosshair slams into you, and you stumble, barely managing to keep your footing.

"Would you watch where you're going?" he hisses, and you whirl around.

“You didn’t have to come, you know.”

The venom in your voice catches you both off guard. He falls onto his back foot, taking a step away from you. You don't let it stop you. Your anger rises, the floodgates open, and your emotions come pouring out.

“Why are you here, Crosshair?”

The question comes out harsher than you intended, and Crosshair recoils, his head jerking backwards. You can't see his face, but the tension in his frame is clear. You're not sure why you're asking, not sure if you even want an answer, but the words spill from your lips regardless.

He doesn't say anything.

You cross your arms, waiting. The wind howls, the rain hammering down around you, and his silence drags on. He stands there, the rain pinging off his armor, his shoulders hunched.

Finally, he speaks, and the words are strained. 

“I told you. It’s my job to keep an eye on you."

You scoff. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," he says, taking a step closer. "Why else would I be here? Do you think I enjoy freezing my ass off, traipsing around in the mud?"

"No," you reply flatly. "But I don't believe you, either."

Crosshair sighs, and his helmet tilts skyward. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Something true, for once," you say, stepping into his space. "Because if protecting me is your job, you're fucking awful at it."

He flinches, and the movement is so slight you almost miss it. You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, but you can't help but double down. You've been holding it back, all this anger and hurt, and the dam breaks.

“I’ve been hurt dozens of times since you left, at least once by your hand." Your voice rises, and he's motionless, his entire body stiff.

Your hands shake, and you clench them into fists, the ache in your knuckles a welcome distraction. He's still staring at the ground, and your temper flares. Something within you snaps.

"You left, and you didn’t come back. And now, what, you show up here, with some bullshit excuse, and act like nothing ever happened?"

"I can't—"

"I don't care," you cut him off, and your voice is cold. "I don't care what you have to say. You had your chance. You should've stayed away."

Crosshair recoils as though he's been slapped, and for a moment, he doesn't move.

You're frozen, too, the weight of the words hanging in the air. You hadn't meant to say it, hadn't meant to say any of it, but you were tired.

Tired of his excuses, of his lies, and his refusal to acknowledge what had happened.

You were tired of hurting.

And in that moment, you didn't care if he knew it.

You can't see his face, but you don't need to. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, can feel his rage, and it mirrors your own.

You stand there, staring at each other, your anger a palpable thing, and a part of you is relieved. It's the first real emotion he's shown, the first real indication he's been anything other than indifferent, and you're glad. You wanted a reaction, and you got one.

The thought is quickly quashed when he speaks.

"Maybe I should've," he growls. The pain in his voice underneath the anger takes you by surprise. "Then I wouldn't have to deal with your fucking mess."

His words sting, more than they should, and you hate yourself for it. He's always been good at that, cutting deep with his words, and it's something you'd hoped would change.

You should've known better.

"Well, then," you begin, and your voice is quiet, a contrast to the anger simmering below the surface. "I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

You turn, and he grabs your arm, stopping you.

"Don't—"

"Don't what?" you ask, whirling around. You yank your arm from his grasp, and his hand drops.

He doesn't reply. You don't move, the rain pelting the ground around you, and the wind whipping at your clothing. Crosshair doesn't say anything, doesn't try to explain himself, and you can't stop the anger from boiling over again.

"Don't go? Don't leave? Why shouldn't I? Why do you care? It's not like you cared about me when—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he interrupts sharply.

"No!" you shout. Lightning cracks in the distance, the flash illuminating the metal around you. "You're the one who doesn't know."

"You think I don't know what happened?" His tone is hard, his words clipped. "You think I haven't had to live with that? With knowing what I did to you?"

"Don't you dare." You jab a finger into his chest, and he takes a step back. His shoulders tense, and you can tell he's furious, but you can't stop.

"You don't get to act like that's some big burden you've been carrying around."

"I have!"

"So have I!"

Crosshair is silent, and you can tell he's taken aback by your admission. He shifts, his weight moving from foot to foot, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He doesn't say anything, his attention shifting from the ground, to the sky, and back again.

The wind blows, and you shiver. You tug your jacket tighter around yourself as the adrenaline starts to wear off. You don't speak, waiting for him to respond.

"I'm trying," he says after a beat, his tone sharp. "I'm trying, and I don't know what else you want from me."

"Not hard enough," you spit back.

"How the hell am I supposed to—"

"You're not," you interrupt. "Not anymore."

He goes still, his entire body rigid. For a moment, the rain is the only sound, battering against the scrap metal and his helmet. His fists clench, and he shakes his head. He lets out a long, slow breath, and the mist from his vocoder obscures your vision.

"I never thought you would forgive me." His voice is low, barely audible over the howling wind. "I just hoped you wouldn't hate me forever."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. There's a lump in your throat, and you can't swallow. Your chest aches, and your fingers tingle, and it takes everything in you to remain upright.

"I don't hate you," you say, and your voice is a whisper. "But I wish I did."

The words are painful to admit, and you're not sure what's worse: saying them out loud, or knowing they're true.

His hand lifts, as though he's going to touch your face, and the movement is so gentle, so careful, that it makes you ache. Then, his hand drops, and his fingers curl into a fist, and he lets out a frustrated huff. 

You can see his hand shake, a reminder that the Empire took something from him, too, and you feel a sudden surge of guilt. But you can’t bring yourself to apologize, can't force the words past your lips, and so you just stand there, watching him. 

The silence stretches on, and you can feel the cold steep into your bones, and you’re tired of waiting for Crosshair, so you turn and start to walk away.

You barely take a step when he speaks, and his voice is pained.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely audible in the wind.

You stop, your feet sinking into the mud, and your breath catches. The apology is so unexpected, so raw, you feel it in your chest.

You want to look at him, but you can't.

You're afraid that if you do, he'll see right through you, and you'll have to acknowledge that despite your best efforts, your anger has faded, replaced by something else.

So you don't look at him. Instead, you stare at the ground, at the way the mud oozes around your boots.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and his voice cracks. "I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I didn't— I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'm sorry."

He takes a deep breath, and you can hear it, the way his lungs stutter. It catches on something inside of you, and your eyes burn.

"I don't want you to hate me," he says. The words are so soft, so quiet, that you almost miss them. "And I know I deserve it. But don't. Please."

"You should've thought about that before you shot me."

He's quiet, the only sound the rain and the wind, and it's obvious the words hit him hard. A part of you regrets it, regrets being so cruel, but another part, a darker part, wants to hurt him. Wants him to feel the pain you've felt since the day he left.

"I know," he says, and there's a note of resignation in his tone. "And I will regret it every day for the rest of my life."

You turn, and his helmet is pointed at the ground.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, that it was the only thing I could do. But I was wrong, and I made a mistake, and I have to live with that." His voice is low, his words heavy, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. "If I could take it back, I would. In a heartbeat."

You blink, the tears burning the back of your eyes, and you fight the urge to turn away. You swallow hard, the pressure behind your eyes so intense that it hurts, before you ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

He lifts his head to meet your gaze. "Because you deserve to know."

"And what do you deserve?"

"Nothing."

It's immediate, so assured and without hesitation that you nearly stumble back.

"I deserve nothing," he continues, and his tone is so self-loathing, so full of hatred, that it makes your chest tighten. 

Your mouth opens, but the words don’t come, and you can't think. You want to scream, want to shout, want to hit him, to comfort him, to apologize, and it's too much, and you don't know what to do.

His words hang between you, the gravity of the situation dawning on you.

He really believes it.

He truly thinks that he deserves nothing.

That he deserves no forgiveness, no mercy, no sympathy, no second chance.

And as much as you want to be angry, as much as you want to hate him, it hurts to see him like this. To see him so resigned, so accepting, that he's willing to take whatever punishment you deem fit.

Your anger fades, and you can feel the fight draining out of you. You let out a long sigh, and the tension in your frame eases. "Cross—"

"Don't." He raises a hand, cutting you off. "Just...don't."

Your mouth closes. The rain batters the metal around you, the wind whips your hair around your face, and it's impossible to keep the tears from spilling over. They mix with the rain, and you wipe them away.

He lowers his hand. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

Crosshair pushes past you, his shoulder bumping yours. He starts to walk, his strides long and purposeful, and the space where his armor touched your arm tingles.

You hesitate before you follow him, and the rest of the walk is spent in silence. Your boots sink into the mud, and the rain beats against your hood. By the time you reach the coordinates, you're shivering, and the rain has started to sleet.

Your feet slip on the icy ground, and you stumble. Crosshair catches your arm, steadying you. You look up, meeting his gaze through the visor of his helmet, and your heart twists in your chest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling away.

He says nothing, turning his attention back to the ruins. The star destroyer is huge, the metal hull jutting up from the mud. The bridge has long since broken away, but the main section remains intact. You make your way to the hull, searching for an entrance.

You can feel him watching you, and you wonder if he's thinking about what you said, if he regrets his words, and your stomach twists.

You shouldn't care, not after everything he's done, but the thought of him thinking he deserves nothing, nothing at all, makes you feel sick. You know he does, and it hurts, because there's a part of you that still cares about him.

A part of you that's always cared.

And no matter how many times he's hurt you, that won't change.

You've wanted nothing more than to put the past behind you, to forget the hurt and the pain and the loss. And here is Crosshair, finally willing to talk, to apologize, and all you've done is push him away.

And despite how angry you are, how hurt, you're tired of fighting. You're tired of running from the past, and tired of letting it define who you are.

You take a deep breath, and then another. It's not too late, you tell yourself.

"Here."

You find a service hatch, and you pull it open, slipping inside. The metal groans as your feet hit the ground, and you narrowly avoid a gap in the floor. The interior of the ship is dark, and the only light comes from the holes in the ceiling. Crosshair follows you, and his rifle scans the room.

"It's clear," he says, lowering the weapon.

"Good," you say, wiping the sleet from your jacket.

You start down the hallway, searching the rooms as you go. The ship is in disarray, the furniture overturned and the walls peppered with blaster fire.

There’s a scorched line carved into a wall, and you wince at the sight, your feet slowing to a stop to examine it. You don't have to touch it to know what happened here, and your eyes burn.

You turn, startled to find Crosshair directly behind you. He stares down at you, his posture stiff. "What is it?"

"I..." You're not sure how to respond. He must sense your hesitation, because his head tilts, and you can feel his eyes on you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, and his words take you by surprise.

You cross your arms, looking away. The hallway is dark, and the silence between you stretches on. You're not sure what you expected, but you didn't think he'd call you out. "Cross..."

"No," he repeats, stepping closer. "Don't. Talk to me."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"Talk to me," he says again, more firmly.

Shaking your head, you turn and start walking. He trails behind, the metal creaking beneath his boots, and the sound echoes around the corridor. The hallway splits, and you go right. The lights flicker, the wiring exposed, and the darkness seems to seep in from the edges of your vision.

"It's the burn marks," Crosshair says, after a moment, his voice low.

You stop.

"In the walls," he adds, when you don't respond. "That's why you stopped, isn't it?"

You turn, and he's standing there, his helmet tilted, his posture rigid. He says your name quietly. “What are we really here for?”

You sigh. There isn’t any fight left in you, not now, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. 

“My Master’s body.”

Crosshair inhales sharply, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t move, and the silence is stifling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed anything?"

He pauses, considering. "Maybe," he says, his voice low, "but I still would've helped you."

Your fingers twitch at your side. It's a struggle, but you keep your emotions in check. You're not sure if he's being honest, if he's telling the truth, and the uncertainty makes your stomach twist, tangling with the grief that threatens to swallow you whole.

"I couldn't..." You trail off, your throat tight.

You don't have the energy to lie, and your eyes burn. You want to say it, want to tell him how much it hurts, but the words are lodged in your throat. You're afraid, afraid that once you start, you won't be able to stop, and the fear keeps the truth from spilling out.

The moment stretches on, and his fingers brush your shoulder. It's a simple touch, one that's barely there, and it's so unexpected that it takes you by surprise.

He squeezes gently, and the contact is grounding, comforting, and it feels so good that it makes your chest ache.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice is thick with emotion.

You turn, and his helmet is tilted downwards. You know he's looking at you, his eyes boring into you with a heaviness you can't decipher.

"I need to find him," you whisper. You hate how vulnerable you sound. His hand tightens on your shoulder, and you swallow. "I need to..."

"We'll find him," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument.

"Thank you," you manage. The words sound strange coming from your mouth.

He nods, releasing your shoulder. You miss his touch, and you have the urge to reach for him, to take his hand, but you push it down.

"We'll find him," he repeats.

You nod, and the two of you continue down the corridor. The hallway opens up into a larger room, and you glance around, looking for a clue, a sign, anything. But the sleet has left the space dark, blocking the light from the windows.

"There's nothing here," you say, defeated.

"There has to be," Crosshair insists.

You turn to look at him, and his helmet is pointed in your direction. He's staring at you, the intensity of his gaze causing your skin to prickle.

"There's nothing," you repeat.

"We'll keep looking."

"There's nothing, Cross."

"We'll keep looking," he repeats, and the steel in his voice is enough to make you waver.

You shake your head, frustrated, but before you can speak, the ground lurches beneath your feet.

"What the—"

Crosshair's arm wraps around your waist, and he yanks you forward, his grip on your jacket so tight you're sure it's going to rip. The ship groans, and the ground lurches again, and this time, you can hear the sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Shit," you mutter, gripping his shoulders. "The ground, it's—"

"I know."

You look down, and the ground beneath you is shifting. You can see the cracks spreading, and the ship starts to tilt, and you realize the ground isn't the only thing that's changing.

"We need to move," you say.

Crosshair doesn't need to be told twice, and the two of you start toward the hallway. You're not fast enough, though, and the ground shifts violently, the force of the impact sending you flying.

You scream, and Crosshair curses. He lunges, wrapping an arm around your waist, and your body slams into his.

The two of you hit the ground hard, and the impact knocks the wind from your lungs. You roll, and your stomach drops as the ground disappears beneath you. Crosshair grunts, and his hand digs into your hip, holding onto you tightly. The ship tips, and you slide down the slick metal floor, heading straight for the gaping chasm.

You let out a panicked cry, and the world goes sideways as Crosshair grabs onto a railing. You can see the bottom of the ship, hundreds of feet below, and you have a fleeting moment of panic.

Your command of the Force is still shaky, and there's a good chance that the two of you will plummet to your deaths if you try to slow your descent. Your heart is in your throat, but then Crosshair pulls, his grip strong, and he hauls you over the edge. 

Your boots scrape against the ground as he pulls you upwards, and you feel your feet catch on the edge. You gasp, relieved, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He pulls the two of you onto the platform, and his arms wrap around you, crushing you against his chest.

"Are you hurt?" he pants, his chest heaving.

You shake your head, and you can feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to him, and you realize he's trembling.

"I've got you," he says. "It's okay, I've got you."

Crosshair doesn't let go, and his breathing is ragged. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you lean into him, the contact calming. You can feel his heartbeat, and the rhythm is quick, erratic. You stay like that for a long moment, neither of you moving.

You're not sure who moves first, but his arms relax, and you shift, pulling away. He releases you, his hands sliding to your waist. He's still shaking, and his helmet is tilted downward, his gaze focused on you.

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is a little too high.

He nods. "I'm fine."

Your lips press into a thin line, and he must notice your disbelief, because he lets out a shaky laugh. "I will be," he amends.

You nod, and you can't seem to look away. He's still gripping your waist, and his gloves are slick with rain. You can feel his fingers digging into your skin, and despite the chill, the contact is grounding.

"You saved me," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

You're not sure what to say. There's a part of you that wants to thank him, a part of you that wants to pull him close and wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. It's a strange feeling, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you struggle to push it down.

Instead, you say the only thing you can think of. "Thanks."

He shrugs, as though it's no big deal. "It's my job."

"No, it's not."

"Yes," Crosshair starts, his tone firm. You blink, and he's leaning down, his helmet inches from your face. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingers curl into his shoulders. His grip tightens on your waist, and you can feel his breath through his vocoder. "It is."

"I—"

"We can argue about this, or we can keep going."

"Right." You nod, pulling away. His grip lingers, and then his hands fall, and you feel cold without them. "I mean, you're right."

You can hear him exhale, and he pushes himself up, holding a hand out to you. 

"I usually am," he says as he hauls you to your feet, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"Asshole," you mutter, pushing past him.

"Brat," he says, following close behind.

You climb through a hole in the floor, and you're surprised to find the hallway intact. You walk cautiously, your senses alert, and your steps are slow. The hallway ends at a door, and the panel is cracked, but the lock still works.

The door slides open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. A window looks out onto the snow, and there's a bed, and a chair, and a desk. You look around, and a lump forms in your throat. The bed is made, the covers neatly tucked. A holoprojector sits on the desk, and a stack of books is piled in the corner.

"This was his quarters," you say.

Crosshair doesn't answer, and the quiet is unnerving. You cross the room, your heart hammering in your chest. You stand beside the bed, and your hands curl into fists. You can feel his presence behind you, but he doesn't speak.

"What do we do now?" you ask, your voice sounding far away to your ears.

"Look for clues," he says. "Anything that could point us to where his body is."

You nod, and the two of you search the room. You're not sure what to expect, and you're not even sure what you're looking for. You pick up a datapad on the bed, but the device is blank.

Crosshair is rummaging through the desk drawers, and you walk over to him. He's looking at an open drawer, head tilted. You peer around him, and your breath catches in your throat.

There's a few pieces of flimsi, and a stylus, and a data card. But what makes your heart skip a beat is the stone. It's small, no bigger than your palm, and the surface is smooth, black with a white streak bisecting it.

"I can't believe he kept it," you say, and your voice cracks.

"Kept what?" Crosshair asks, and you can hear the confusion in his voice.

"The stone. I gave it to him when I was a Padawan."

"Why?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I was always giving him gifts. I used to think they were the only way he'd know I cared about him."

Crosshair looks down at you, and his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I'm sure he knew."

"You think so?" you ask, and your eyes burn.

"Yeah."

You nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill down your cheeks.

"It's just..." Your voice trails off, and you clear your throat, trying to dislodge the lump that's formed.

"It's okay," he says, his hand resting on your shoulder.

"No, it's not. He's dead, Cross, and I wasn't here. I was supposed to be here, but I wasn't."

"That's not your fault," he says, and his other hand lifts, resting on your opposite shoulder.

"I know, but..."

"You couldn't have done anything."

"But I—"

"Stop." His voice is firm, and his grip on your shoulders tightens.

"Cross..."

"Shut up and listen," he says, and his tone leaves no room for argument. "You did the best you could. You were fighting a war, you were doing what was right."

You nod, but the guilt is overwhelming. You force yourself to look up at him. His hands are still on your shoulders, and his helmet is tilted down, his gaze on you.

"It wasn't your fault," he repeats.

His thumbs press gently against the hollow of your collarbones, and his touch is soothing. You take a shaky breath, and his grip loosens, one hand sliding from your shoulder to your face. His thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a tear. You inhale sharply, and his fingers cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch.

"Thank you," you manage, your voice breaking.

"It's going to be okay," he says. "I promise."

"Cross—"

"I mean it," he says. Crosshair grabs your hand, and you let him manipulate your fingers until only your littlest one remains facing up. He curls his around yours, squeezing gently.

"Promise?"

He nods. "Promise."

Your lips twitch up, and he squeezes your finger again, his grip firm. His other hand cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he pulls you against his chest, holding you tight. You wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest plate.

You stay like that for a moment, closing your eyes as his fingers run through your hair. You sigh, leaning into him, and you can hear his breathing through his vocoder. His hands are warm, and he's solid, and he smells like leather, and blaster oil, and rain.

"We should keep looking," you say, but you don't want him to let go.

Crosshair hesitates, then nods, his grip on your hair loosening. His hand slides from the back of your head to your jaw, and he tilts your chin up, staring down at you.

"Okay?"

You nod, and his thumb strokes the apple of your cheek. His touch is so soft, and you can feel his gaze on you. He lingers, and you wonder if he's going to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, his fingers tighten on your face, and he leans down.

His forehead presses against yours, and his hands fall away. He exhales, and his breath fans across your lips before he pulls away.

The absence of his touch leaves you cold, and your chest aches, the space between your ribs feeling too tight. You blink, and Crosshair is gone, already walking across the room.

He starts rummaging through the closet, and you shake yourself, clearing your throat. You turn to the desk, and you pick up the stone. Your thumb runs over the surface, feeling its imperfections. 

Suddenly, you gasp. A memory flashes through your mind, one that doesn't belong to you.

"What is it?" Crosshair asks, instantly alert.

"I know where he is."

Taglist: @covert1ntrovert @bruh-myguy-what @huntersnikeheadband @thebadbatchfan @absolfan @winchesters-girl @sukithebean @spicy-clones @arctrooper69 @qvnthesia

[ishipallthings]

Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Wed)

Early in Canon Wednesday - July 24th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Fics set early in canon as the boys are getting to know each other :D

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

To Be With You (Is Easy) by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

Tony doesn't know what prompted him to visit the recently defrosted Captain America, and he certainly hadn't given much thought to the little confessionals he's given the comatose Capsicle. But when Steve Rogers wakes up and seeks him out, he finds there's an attraction between them that can't be denied.

No Return, No Return by Carsonian @carsonian (MCU)

In many ways, Tony Stark has spent his whole life waiting to meet something real enough to test himself against. He hadn't planned on it being Steve Rogers.

Wish You Were Here by One and Five Nines (MCU)

Steve starts sending Tony postcards.

tear these old walls down by susiecarter @susiecarter (MCU)

Steve didn't like Tony Stark. Stark probably didn't like Steve, either. They'd gotten off on the wrong foot, and that was putting it mildly. And having to pretend to be a civilian Stark was dating, as cover for trying to save Stark's life while Iron Man was busy with a SHIELD mission, obviously wasn't going to help.

when you're gone by talktothesky @thatbuddie (MCU)

Steve's had to get used to many things in the 21st century but falling in love with Tony Stark might be the weirdest one yet. Especially because the man's dead.

not a lot, just forever by Thahire @thahiree (MCU)

A few months after the Battle of New York, Tony invites Steve over to see the apartment he has built for him. Steve, of course, is totally normal about this and not panicking at all.

Handheld by talesofsuspense (MCU)

When Steve starts stopping for lunch at Shawarma Palace he isn't expecting Tony to show up and to keep showing up. And he definitely isn't expecting a guide to the 21st century.

posing up a storm by picturecat @snoozingcat (MCU, alt 2012)

“I have an idea. Can we just pretend the day ended with that really badass Superfriends pose we did?”

Machines and Marvels by rainbowninja167 (MCU, alt 2012)

Or: In an alternate timeline where the Avengers never formed, Steve and Tony need a crash course in team bonding. Stephen Strange just had to take that literally.

choke on me by imperialstark @persephonesfill (MCU, WIP)

After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

and two self-recs!

I'll Be (Good To You) by ishipallthings (MCU, soulmate AU)

Steve Rogers wakes up seventy years out of time to a new world and a soulmate. It’s an adjustment. What he doesn’t expect is Tony Stark, a brilliant futurist who is equal parts fascinating and frustrating, and has just as many demons as Steve. He also doesn’t expect to find a family with a ragtag team of superheroes, or to fall in love. Luckily, Steve is nothing if not adaptable.

An Armored Heart by ishipallthings (AA)

In which Red Skull goes after Steve Rogers, and Tony realizes just how much he has to lose.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists :)

[stylesispunk]

"I couldn't want you anymore" | part 3

Artist! Joel Miller x Florist! Reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next | masterlist

summary: when Sarah's mom comes back into Joel's life to fight for their past relationship, Joel needs to convince her he is in a happy relationship with the florist next to his gallery in order to make her go away. The problem is, that he and the florist can't stand each other's guts or that it's what he thinks.

warning: no use of y/n, "Bee" is reader's nickname Joel gave her, fluff, allusions to smut or almost, angst, miscommunication, there's a lot of tension and things are getting complicated.

a/n: Hello! Chapter 3 is here! I took time off this weekend so i had time for writing this and here we are. I really hope you like this one because things are going to happen next chapter 👀 Happy reading and remember, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, thanks for the love on this fic so far and I'm always love hearing from you, you can send me any ask or talk to me, and as always if you want to be tagged, just tell me 💌

Two days had passed since your encounter with Lauren, and during those two days, you had been doing your best to avoid Joel.  Not only for your own sense of humiliation but because you didn’t want to step into a story you weren’t part of. You felt ashamed of being in the middle of a relationship without closure between them.

However, Joel noticed and he started to miss you, your acts of affection, like the warm coffee you had been bringing to him in the morning and the genuine connection blooming between you. These two days just felt emptier without you.   you. These

He knew something was off with you, so he decided to face you and went to your flower shop with the only objective of talking to you in his mind. As he entered, the familiar sound of the bell he was getting used to chiming, he saw you there arranging a bouquet of roses as you always did. 

You glanced up, your expression guarded “Joel if you need anything. I’m really busy right now”

"No, you don’t” Joel replied firmly, walking to the counter to stand in front of him. “You can’t continue avoiding me like this.”

Your eyes narrowed as if you didn’t understand what he was talking about. “I’m not."

Joel took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Bee”

You sighed and looked at him in the eyes. “It’s hard, but Lauren”, you finally acknowledged the source of your discomfort.

“Oh. Who told you?” he asked, his voice tinged with guilt.

“What?” 

“It’s because I let her meet Sarah. Isn’t it? Because I didn’t tell you?” 

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came. A mix of emotions swirled inside you. But it mostly hurt. 

“Bee?” he pleaded, waiting for you to say something. 

“I have nothing to tell you, Joel,” you said, and undertone your words. 

Joel's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly conflicted. “Are you jealous or what?” he accused you.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, defiantly.

“The way you’re acting,” he said, raising his voice.

"Joel, it's not just about that," you said, your voice lingering with frustration. "It's about how you asked me to pretend to be your girlfriend just for you to become closer to her?

Joel's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “Bee, I didn’t want to hide it from you. I just... didn’t know how to explain everything. It's complicated."

You let out a bitter chuckle and Joel looked taken aback, almost offended. He didn’t know what to say to make things get better.

“Why do you care?” 

Your frustration was evident as you replied, "Because I'm stuck in the middle of this mess, Joel. I didn't sign up for this drama."

Joel's face contorted with a mixture of anger. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have. Sarah is my daughter. I know what’s good for her.”

Your frustration flared, and you spoke sharply, "You're so focused on your own problems, Joel, that you can't see how this affects everyone around you. Including me."

The tension reached its peak, and your voices rose in unison as you both shouted at each other, the anger and pain speaking for both of you.

"Well, that's my problem to deal with, go to hell!" Joel retorted.

"Fuck you!" you shouted back, your voice laced with frustration and pain. "Get out of here before I hit you in the damn face!"

With that, Joel turned and stormed out of your flower shop, leaving behind a cloud of unresolved emotions and a shattered pretense that had held your worlds together.

And Joel didn’t know why his heart hurt so much.

In the aftermath of your heated argument with Joel, you were left feeling like you were on fire. The tension between you had reached its peak, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had made a terrible mistake by getting involved with him.

Over the next hours, you tried your best to put some distance between yourself and Joel. You solely focused on your flower shop and threw yourself into your work, hoping that distraction would help you forget about the consequences of your actions. 

As you were busy cleaning the counter in your flower shop, you suddenly felt a pair of hands cover your eyes. Startled, you nearly dropped the cloth you were holding.

Your heart hammered in your chest thinking it was Joel with an apology, but then a familiar voice whispered in your ear, "Guess who?"

Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of emotions overcame you. You knew that voice and the feeling of those hands on your eyes. It couldn't be... could it?

With a mixture of excitement and disbelief, you reached up to remove the hands from your eyes and turned around. Standing before you was Connell, wearing his characteristic smile.

A gasp of surprise escaped your lips as you took in his appearance. He looked just as handsome as ever.

"Connell!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. Tears of joy welled up in your eyes as you held him close. "When did you get back?”

Connell chuckled warmly, returning your hug. "Job offer” he replied. “Not here, but I wanted to see you.” 

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, your heart swelling with happiness. 

“You look as stunning as always,” he said in disbelief. 

His compliment about your appearance brought a blush to your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile. "You look pretty great yourself, Connell."

As Connell surprised you in your flower shop and you shared a warm embrace, Joel watched from a distance.

As you and Connell shared your warm embrace, neither of you noticed Joel watching from a distance. He was confused as he observed the reunion. Part of him felt a pang of jealousy, even though he couldn't quite explain why.

“That’s Connell if you are asking.”

Joel turned his head to face the voice. It was Lily. 

“Her ex,” she added.

Joel's gaze shifted from Lily to you from afar as she provided some context for him to understand what this could mean. His jaw tensed slightly as he processed the information. Your ex-boyfriend was here, and the situation suddenly felt even more complicated to deal with.

Lily, enjoying the drama, couldn't resist stirring the pot. She raised an eyebrow at Joel and asked, "So, Joel, why are you looking at her like a puppy?

Joel's expression remained guarded as he replied, "I just wanted to talk to her”. He said, “But I see she is busy”. The last sentence came with laced jealousy written over it. 

Lily couldn't help but grin at Joel's tone. She leaned in closer, her voice teasing. "Busy with her ex, it seems." 

Joel's jaw clenched, and he shot Lily a pointed look. "It's none of your business, Lily."

“They were so in love, you know?”  Lily continued to tease. "Oh, I can tell. The way Connell's looking at her, it's like he never left."

Joel's irritation was palpable, but before he could respond, Lily added, "But hey, Joel and Bee are nothing real, so no need to get jealous.” 

Joel sighed, realizing that Lily wasn't going to let this go. "Lily, can we not do this right now?"

Lily stopped, but her mischievous grin remained. "Alright, alright, Joel. I’ll go, but come back later. You may find her in a better mood.” 

With that, she patted him on the shoulder and headed towards the door of your shop, leaving Joel dealing with his own mixed feelings towards you.

By the next day, Joel grew incredibly worried about you not showing up at your job. The worst scenarios came to his mind, the thought of him and Connell spending the night together the one stabbing deeply in his heart.

The idea of having you next to his gallery for four years, not caring about you at all now, you being the only thought in his mind, made him mad. He hated the feeling that now had settled in his heart at the memory of you. 

Your sudden disappearance only fueled his anger towards you, but mostly towards himself, so by the time the day was over for him, he drove to your house. He decided to confront you. 

All the way, he had been practicing the speech he was going to give you, the words he was going to say, and the possible reactions you could have. However, when he knocked at your door and you opened it, he was taken by surprise. You looked absolutely miserable. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess, and you were sniffling, clearly sick.

His anger immediately dissipated at your image, replaced by concern. 

“How do you know where I live?” you asked slowly, whispering. 

He thought it was funny that your first concern was him being here.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern in his tone. 

You gave a weak nod. "Just a stupid cold."

Joel's anger had melted away the moment he saw you in such a vulnerable state. Without another word, he stepped inside, gently closing the door behind him. 

He walked over to you, his expression softening as he took in your appearance. "You should be resting," he said softly, studying all your face. 

“It was what I was doing until an idiot knocked on my door.” You managed a faint smile.

Joel chuckled and told you to sit, then he went to the kitchen, rummaging through your cabinets to find some tea to ease your misery. He quickly brewed a cup of hot tea and brought it to you along with some medicine he found on the counter. 

Sitting down beside you, he handed you the warm mug. "Here, drink this. It should help."

You rolled your eyes at him, taking the tea, sipping it, feeling the soothing warmth spreading through your body. Joel watched over you, concerned because you were not the girl full of life he had gotten used to for the last weeks. He checked your forehead with the back of his hand, checking your temperature. It was a simple gesture, but deep down he knew he had started to care about you. 

As you leaned back on the couch, feeling the effects of the tea and the medicine, you couldn't help but thank Joel’s presence next to you that you ended up falling asleep on his shoulder and his heart melted in his chest.

Seeing that he had grown tired from the effects of the tea and medicine, Joel carefully set the empty mug aside. He couldn't help but smile softly as he watched you drift off to sleep, your head resting on his shoulder. At that vulnerable moment, you seemed so delicate and different from the annoying person he thought you were, a picture he had created of you by himself, far from the truth. You were actually nice, caring, and the person with the biggest heart he had ever known. 

Gently, he lifted you into his arms, cradling you as he stood up from the couch. Your head nestled against his chest, and he could feel the rise and fall of your breath, steady. Without a word, he carried you to your bedroom, careful not to wake you.

As he laid you down on the bed and pulled the covers over you, he couldn't help but linger for a moment, his gaze tracing the lines of your face. It was a rare sight, seeing you so peaceful and vulnerable, and it tugged at something deep within him.

Joel knew he should leave and let you rest, even when he didn’t want to, but as he turned to go, your voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Joel, don't go," you murmured, your eyes fluttering open slightly.

You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. "Please, just stay."

That was all he needed to stay. He carefully climbed into the bed beside you, making sure to maintain a respectful distance, but you shifted closer, seeking the warmth and comfort of his body. The two of you lay there in silence, your breathing gradually synchronizing in the silence of the room. Joel watched over you, a rush of emotion ran through his body and he made himself feel comfortable against you. 

“Don’t get too comfortable, Miller. Remember, we can’t fall in love” you whispered as you snuggled on his chest.

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your whispered remark, even as his heart skipped a beat at the intimacy of the moment.

"I’m doing my best to keep that promise," he murmured in reply, not feeling sure of that promise anymore. 

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep as well. The warmth of your body against him lulled him into the best sleep he had had in years. 

At that moment, there was no fake relationship, not pretending, but just two people resting in each other’s arms.

The next day, after a restful night of sleep, you woke up feeling better, better enough to go back to work. You decided to start again, putting aside the last argument with Joel and focusing on your own job. Besides, after last night, you were grateful for Joel and you couldn’t find yourself mad at him anymore. So, the first thing you did was arrange a bouquet of flowers for Joel and go to his gallery, making your way to his office. There wasn’t a signal of Joel, so you placed the cup of coffee on his desk, along with the bouquet, and some pastries, and left a note: 

I know you hate flowers, but thanks for last night, I feel better because of you.

Then, you returned to your flower shop, hoping the note would make him smile. 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur with you arranging flowers and serving customers as usual, and even when you kept yourself busy, your mind occasionally drifted back to Joel, anticipating his reaction to the flowers, and just as you were arranging a bouquet of sunflowers, your phone chimed, interrupting your thoughts. 

Joel

Thanks for the coffee and the pastries, I’m happy you’re better, bee.

By the way, I don’t hate flowers anymore.

You smiled at that, leaving the message unanswered.

As night fell, you noticed Joel was still working in the gallery. So, you decided to pay him a visit.

When you arrived, the gallery was dimly lit, with the soft glow of lights illuminating the pieces of art displayed inside. You spotted Joel in the studio, focused on adjusting the lighting to highlight the details of the paint he was currently working on. Looking at him, this focus gave you a moment to appreciate his dedication and his own features under the cast light. You have never seen him this way, so focused as he smoked out the air of the cigarette between his lips. 

He didn’t notice your presence until you approached inside the studio. Joel looked up from his work and his eyes met yours. Surprise flickered across his face as he took in your figure in front of him. The corner of his lips curled into a small smile.

"Bee," he said, setting down his brush and walking over to you. "I didn't expect to see you here."

You returned his smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you in his presence. "You left early this morning, so I thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

“I wanted to let you sleep.”

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips “Well, your plan didn’t work.”

Your eyes shifted from him to his work. He was painting a portrait of a woman. You took a moment to admire the painting, intrigued by the way Joel's work, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized the woman in the painting was you.

"Joel," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "Is this... me?"

"Yes, it's you." He said as you stepped forward in front of him. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the portrait. It made you feel beautiful.

"Why?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

You felt Joel stepping closer from behind you, as you kept admiring the canvas. He took another step closer, and his hand gently cupped your waist, “Well- “he cleared his throat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air. The gallery around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of you in a color you had searched for years.

As you felt his presence linger, you were able to cast a glance at him over your shoulder. Not speaking as you silently held his gaze, watching his eyes not leaving yours. 

“Bee” he leaned closer to you, whispering smoothly in your ear, as his chest brushed your back. 

You had been getting closer in the last weeks, but this moment was different and intense, and it was making your heart beat hard against your chest.

You tried not to be affected by the closeness, you were trying really hard, but everything around you was slipping away and Joel was the only clear thought you had in your mind. It was like you were under a spell.

He learned, leaving small kisses on your neck, as his hand travelled down the curve of one of your hips, gripping your skin all over the material of your clothes. He whispered your name against your skin, leaving goosebumps traced on it. 

“Can I kiss you for real this time?” He whispered lustily.

You turned to face him, and his hands held your waist, your widened eyes locked with his, feeling a magnetic pull, a connection without boundaries, when the false reality you had created blurred, and all that mattered was the feelings pulling both of you closer right now.

As he stood there, in front of his own piece of art, his lips dropped down to your mouth, already devouring it with his gaze. You couldn’t help but feel wanted under his stare.

You didn’t react at first, his mouth took your lips in his and he properly kissed you for the first time, because this kiss was real, one you both wanted. His hands grabbed your waist and held you against him as if his life depended on it.  

Kissing Joel for real felt like driving in a dead-end street, like crushing your bones against the waves of the sea just to be brought back to life. And he also felt like the sun at the end of summer burning deep down your legs being carried out by passion and desire. 

A gasp escaped from your throat, Joel’s mouth moving over yours in slow motion, savoring the taste of your lips to never forget it again. Your kisses felt like eating the sweetest fruit in summer. 

He gently pushed you against the wall as your legs spread, giving him closer access to you. As the kiss deepened, the feeling wasn’t just magical, but it was hot, with his tongue against yours. There wasn’t a proper way to get closer, but you wanted him closer, you wanted to feel him on top of you. 

Joel slowly detached his lips from yours, looking flustered at the intensity of the kiss you had just shared.

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

You quickly nodded, as you traced your hands on his hair down to his neck and rapidly connected your lips with him. This time it was even hotter, now there was desperation in the touch.

The air in the room grew heavier, filled with the sound of small whines slipping from your lips as he travelled his way down your neck with his lips, you felt like his own canvas being delicately traced by his lips brushing over your skin, planting tattooed kisses on his way.

He was capturing every second of this in his mind, the taste of your mouth, the softness of your skin, and the sound falling out from your lips, as he didn't stop taking every visible inch of your skin in his mouth. Every touch sent shivers straight down where you wanted him the most.

A slow moan escaped from your lips as he hit the hot skin of your neck.

"Everything's f-"

You shut him down by furiously attaching his lips back to yours. His hand left the back of your neck, travelling down your chest as he remembered how every inch of your body felt under his touch and he smiled against your lips. The ache between your tights intensified at that, all while his hand pushed under your skirt and brushed where you wanted to be touched the most.

"Oh" you breathed.

Joel stopped kissing you for a moment to look at you, and he had a small smirk on his lips because he knew what he was doing. Leading not only by the desire but because of the mixed feelings he had for you.

“I’ve been really,” he kissed you “loving” He kissed you again “spending time with you”

And at that moment, breathing heavily against each other's faces, he kissed you again, and this time he went for it. He grabbed your bottom lip between his teeth as his hand rose higher on your tight. 

He grabbed your waist, pulling you closer in a quick motion, your hand on your back holding your tight. You fell against his chest, falling apart under his gaze and touch. His lips pressed against you with a crazy need. 

Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears when he kept caressing every inch of you, making you spin. His palm smoothed over the curve of your waist down to your bum and gripped it tightly, moving you even closer to him.

You let out a whine at that, and one your legs was pulling him on hold, kissing down his neck. You could feel him clenching under you. 

He let out a groan, while you moved your hand along his chest down to his jeans, his own hand leaving your body to grasp your hold against him. He groaned low against you. 

He stopped kissing you to meet your eyes briefly.

“I want you,” he said, capturing your lips as his teeth grabbed your bottom lip and his hand cupped the side of your face. 

“You can have me” you whispered, resting your forehead on his.

He leaned forward, capturing your lips as he unbuttoned your blouse, your hands working on his jeans, and planted kisses on his mouth. Kissing him deeply as one of your hands rested between you two, as you wrapped your hand around him.

He lifted you with force as you wrapped your legs around his waist, your back to the wall. His hands on your hips to hold you right there. The air in your lungs was trapped in a bubble of incredible pleasure, but it still found a way to escape in rushed moans against his mouth as you both kept devouring each other. 

He groaned against your mouth, lips parting, unable to utter other things instead of whimpers that drove you absolutely crazy.

Just as you were almost crossing the line of the agreement you made. A voice calling his name suddenly ruined the moment. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, his eyes still locked with yours.

Fuck.

"Joel!" Tommy's voice echoed through the gallery, and you both turned to see his brother approaching.

Joel cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, pulling you down carefully and fixing his jeans rapidly though his eyes still lingered on you.

 "Tommy, what are you doing here?" he asked, leaving the studio.

Tommy chuckled, his grin widening. "Well, you told me to pick you over tonight.” 

Joel blinked, momentarily confused by his brother's words. Then the realization dawned on him.

“You forgot? Because- Bee?” he asked in disbelief once he spotted you hiding behind the door of Joel’s studio in the gallery. 

You stepped out from behind the door, feeling a bit awkward and ashamed. "Hi, Tommy.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye “What are you doing here?

You struggled to find words to explain your presence at the gallery at 09:00 p.m. “I just thought I’d stop by to help Joel.”

“With your mouth?” he asked you.

Joel shot his brother a warning look, but Tommy just grinned wider. “I’m sorry but your unbuttoned jeans and the messy hair speak louder.” 

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you looked away, suddenly self-conscious under Tommy's teasing gaze.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Tommy, can we talk about this later?"

Tommy laughed, clapping Joel on the back. "Sure, sure. I'll let you two get back to your... art appreciation."

With a final wink in your direction, Tommy made his exit, leaving you and Joel alone.

“By the way, you’re are getting pretty good at pretending,” he shouted for the last time. 

“I guess he is right,” you said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Joel nodded, but there was a contemplative look in his eyes. "I wasn’t pretending.”

There was a moment of silence between you two, the unspoken tension from earlier still lingering in the air. 

Joel's words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but feel a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Joel sighed, running a hand through his hair. " I care about you, Bee” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. He couldn’t believe he had just confessed something he only thought was in his mind and it left you both surprised. 

After two days, both Joel and you were in a game of changing minds with none of you wanting to face each other after the events of the other night, when you almost crossed the line of pretending while tracing shades of love you didn’t want to admit. And if you face each other, your armor could fall again, and neither of you wanted that. 

But you couldn’t stop replying to his words in your mind, wondering if he had truly meant them or if it was just a slip of the passionate moment that felt like a sin.

As evening descended two days later, you found yourself at the gallery once again. Contemplating your options. Going inside and falling into his language that made gravity fall too much or going back to your home and pretending Joel wasn’t your Achilles heel.

This time, you went for the first option, and the same soft glow of light was illuminating the space like the other night. However, this time it wasn’t the same. Joel was standing next to one of the art pieces, sharing a laugh with Lauren. They seemed to share a really good moment, with genuine smiles displaying on his faces, and it was clear that you had interrupted a moment between them.

Your heart sank at the picture. Just imagine bringing women to his gallery to fuck them in his studio was something casual for him. 

You hesitated, before making up your mind and leaving, but your footsteps must have caught their attention because Joel's gaze locked onto yours, and he quickly excused himself from the conversation with Lauren. Lauren turned to look at you, her expression unreadable.

Joel approached you with a concerned look. "Bee? What are you doing here?"

You couldn't hide the hurt in your voice as you replied, "I came here to talk to you, Joel, but I bet you’re busy”

You felt a surge of disappointment and Lauren's presence behind only added fuel to the fire of your own humiliation.

“It’s not what-

“Joel? Are you ready for dinner?” Lauren's voice interrupted the moment, and you turned to see her looking at you both with a faint smile.

You couldn't help but feel like an intruder, and the conversation you and Lauren had the other day made sense. After all, they had a bond that couldn’t be broken. 

 "I'll... I'll leave you two to your plans." You whispered, with a heavy heart.

Without waiting for their response, you turned and made your way out of the gallery, the heavy weight of uncertainty settling in your chest. As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, you couldn't help but feel like you had let Joel play with your feelings.

You knew that the arrangement between you and Joel was built on a foundation of pretense, but recent events had blurred the lines on that. Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard the door to the gallery swing open behind you, and you turned to see Joel rushing out. His expression was a mix of concern and desperation as he called out to you.

"Bee, wait! Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his footsteps quickening as he closed the distance between you.

You weren't ready to hear his explanations, not now. You took a step back, your voice laced with hurt as you replied, "Joel, I don't want to hear it right now”

Joel's face contorted with regret, and he reached out to gently touch your arm, his voice filled with sincerity. "It's not what you think, Bee.”

But your heart was too wounded, and you shook your head, pulling away from his touch. "Stop playing with fire, Joel”

Without another word, you turned and walked away, leaving Joel standing there, watching you go with a heavy heart.

Deep down on your thinking your phone vibrated, it was Conell,

Conell

Hey, are you free for dinner with me?

You considered Conell's invitation for a moment, after all you could use some distraction from all things running through your head.

You

Sure, is everything alright?

Conell

I'll tell you when we meet. Let's say 9:00? I’ll pick you up.

After confirming the time, you put your phone back in your pocket and watched Joel and Lauren making their way to his car. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy settle into your body. Their interaction seemed natural, so familiar, and you wonder if this is how he had felt about her at the beginning of their relationship. 

Joel opened the car door for Lauren, and as she got in, their laughter echoed through the quiet evening. They seemed at ease with each other, and it made you wonder if all that Joel and you had shared for the past weeks was insignificant. 

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you made your way to your car to arrive home and get ready for your dinner with Connell. Not without shooting a last glance back at Joel before getting into your car, his eyes briefly met yours, and there was a moment of unspoken language in his gaze as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Then, he got into his car and drove away with Lauren by his side. 

Your heart felt heavy after they left. A weight of uncertain feelings was running, making yourself questioning what was happening to you. Shaking your head to clear away the doubts, you started your car, drove home, and got ready for your dinner with Connell. 

As you entered your house and prepared for dinner, you couldn't escape the thoughts of Joel in your mind. It was like he was hunting your brain and your heart and you swore that wasn’t going to happen. You even thought of canceling on Connell but he seemed to want to talk to you about something really important, so you ended up choosing an elegant but simple outfit, doing your best to ignore the pictures of that damn artist in your head. 

When Connell arrived to pick you up, he greeted you with his familiar smile and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Some time ago, that small gesture would make your heart skip a beat, but now you didn't know what was happening.

Both of you arrived at a cozy but elegant restaurant and sat down for dinner. You both caught up in each other's lives, sharing stories of the time you had spent apart.

His career as a doctor and how your life has been going since you parted ways. 

Being with him felt so comfortable and familiar that you even forgot about the mess you had in your life going on in your life right now. The way he threw his head back laughing at your jokes and how you always thought of him as your safe place and person, now brought back to you. 

But as the night passed, Connell's demeanor changed and he took a deep breath before speaking. "There's something I need to tell you."

You looked at him, your curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?”

He reached across the table and took your hand in his. "I came back not just for a job offer but because... I came back for you”

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sank in. "For me?"

Connell nodded; his eyes locked with yours. "No matter where I go or what I do, I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you, and I want us to have a second chance."

You were taken aback by his confession. The past had been complicated, but the idea of rekindling your relationship with Connell was both exciting and frightening. You needed a moment to collect your thoughts.

After all, you were single and you could end the stupid agreement with Joel and he could go back to Lauren and be the family they were meant to be, and you could simply ignore how your heart felt at that. 

Connell’s voice broke your thoughts and he was looking at you with his blue eyes filled with sincerity. "I have an opportunity in London, and I want you to come with me.”

a/n: btw I only picture Connell as Paul Mescal and it may be because he played Connell on normal people haha.

tags 💌: @joeldjarin @borhapparker @fatima-marisa @kirsteng42 @paleidiot @harriedandharassed @runningmom94 @pedr0swh0r3

[seiya-starsniper]

I mean, I can't NOT prompt 3."Can you just look at me? Please?" with Dreamling. Because I'm predictable like that.

🤘five-and-dimes

Hey @five-and-dimes, remember when you sent me this BACK IN MARCH? 😅 I finally got around to it, for Sandmannivery and also for Dreamling Bingo!

This was originally supposed to be a shortfic and then it ballooned to 4k, whoopsies! But I don't think you'll mind all that much ahahahaha.

@mr-sadman prompt: Amnesia @dreamlingbingo prompt: Square C1 - Rescue

Tags: Memory Loss, Dream of the Endless Saves Hob Gadling, Time Loop, Angst with a Happy Ending

Read the whole fic below or on AO3: a half-remembered dream

— — — — — — — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers, with no thought or care to any sort of responsibilities for that day. It was a weekend after all.

Wasn’t it? 

Now that he thinks about it—what day is it anyways? Wasn’t there something he needed to do? Why did it feel like there was something he was forgetting?

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting. It was the type of day best spent laying out on the grass in a bed of flowers…

…Where were all the flowers?

When the man sits up all he sees is an endless sea of grass. Where was he? What time was it? How long had he been here? Why was he—who was he?

Why can’t he remember?

What was going on?

How—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun—

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. Again. The sun was shining. Again. The birds were singing. Always the same song, the same length, the same tune. The same, the same, the same. The sun was shining, but now it felt cold and hollow, not warm and inviting. There was something very wrong about where he was, and now that he was paying attention, he fits the pieces together to form a very simple conclusion.

Hob Gadling was dreaming. 

He’d been dreaming for the entire time he’d been here. And he still had no idea where here was. Sometimes he’s laying in a field of flowers. Other times there’s nothing else but grass and rolling hills for miles. Sometimes he hears the babbling of a brook nearby. Sometimes he remembers the vague outline of a cottage that reminds him of his childhood home. The one from 1359.

Hob doesn’t know how long he’s been here. Every time he gets somewhat close to maybe remembering something, his mind just—floats away. He wouldn’t quite call it blacking out, his vision doesn’t go suddenly dark and he doesn’t lose consciousness then suddenly wake up. Could a person even wake up from a dream into another dream? Hob has no idea.

Sometimes though, if he concentrates enough, Hob can feel a deep ache in his muscles and bones. He knows it’s his real body that feels the pain because in this dream world, Hob can run and skip and jump for miles and miles and miles. Wherever his body, his real body was, Hob knows that it hadn’t moved or been moved in a very long time. 

Too long, his mind supplies. 

Wake up, he tells himself. He’d always been able to get himself to wake up if he knew he was dreaming. But it doesn’t seem to be working this time. Hasn’t worked on any of his other previous attempts really, but Hob still feels like he has to at least try to do it again.

Wake! Up! he tells himself over and over to no avail. Wake up, wake up, wake up! 

Nothing. 

Hob growls in frustration and desperately looks around the dreamscape, hoping for some sort of sign, some sort of clue for how to get out of here. Was he in a coma? Was that why he couldn’t wake up? Was his body safe? Was he—?

Hob startles suddenly as his eyes catch sight of a shadow. The movement is so swift, so sudden, that Hob’s not entirely sure he didn’t just blink and imagine it all. He whips his head around desperately, concentrating all his focus to the spot where he thinks the shadow may have gone.

And then he sees it. A small wisp in the dark. Hob runs, desperate to catch up to it. He wants to see what it is, who it is, because he’s almost certain the shadow is a person, and maybe they know a way out of this place, a trick to wake Hob up, something, anything to help. 

But then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the shadow vanishes into the air, as if it had never been there at all.

But Hob knows that he’s seen it. He knows it’s there.

He knows he’s not alone here. Not anymore. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

“Why can’t I wake up?” Hob asks the shadow, ignoring everything else around him. The shadow stands out in the bright landscape of the dream, though Hob is certain it did not mean for Hob to perceive its presence at all.

The shadow does not answer him. It never does. Hob sees the shadow all the time now, out of the corner of his eye, always just beyond reach. He doesn’t know what the shadow is, but he is certain that he knows the shadow itself. He’s forgotten the hows and the whys and the whens, but he knows the shadow is a friend. That it won’t hurt him.

The problem is, the shadow won’t help him either. 

“Can you just look at me please?” Hob begs. If he were stuck here, if even they were both stuck here, wherever this weird limbo between dreaming and waking was, wouldn’t it be better if they worked together? Anything was better than this crushing loneliness Hob was feeling right now. He would do anything to have a conversation with someone right now. He doesn’t know when the last time was that he’d heard the voice of a friend. 

“Answer me!” Hob demands, his anger rising now as the shadow continues to ignore him. “Why can’t I wake up from this dream?!”

Silence. Then—

“It is not safe,” the shadow says, and then, once again, it is gone.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. No. It was an awful day, and Hob screams to the sky and demands the stranger—his Stranger—because something about that rings true in his mind—stop hiding from Hob and face him like a man. That too, rings true in his mind, that the Stranger at the very least, wore the shape of a human man whenever Hob saw him.

As always though, Hob’s questions are met with nothing but indifferent silence.

Hob will not give up. He knows now that something is very wrong, something that is keeping Hob from waking up, from living, and he is determined to find out exactly what.

Ever since Hob encountered the Stranger, his mind has stopped floating away, but now Hob is all too aware that he’s repeating the same day, in this same goddamned endless landscape, over and over again. And he doesn’t know why.

The Stranger knows why. He doesn’t always show up when the day resets, but when he does, he doesn’t speak, nor does he meet Hob’s eye, no matter how much he begs and pleads. If Hob tries to run to him, the Stranger somehow ends up further away, without having taken a single step. It’s infuriating. 

Today, Hob can’t see him anywhere, but somehow, he knows the Stranger is here. And still, he ignores Hob’s requests to talk. Hob tries insults next, hurling whatever cruel and uncaring words come to the forefront of his mind. No response. He tries threats. Nothing. He goes back to begging, crying even, for any sort of acknowledgement from this cruel and uncaring god. 

No response.

So Hob screams.

He screams and screams and screams and—

— — — — —

It was raining. 

Finally, something was different. Hob had grown sick of nothing but sunny days and perfect weather. It was all so fake. The sunny weather was fake, the beautiful landscapes were fake, the trees, the flowers, the singing birds, all of it was fake and Hob hated it here.

Thunder booms in the distance suddenly, followed by the unmistakable crack of lightning, as if the weather had worsened to reflect Hob’s feelings on the matter. Maybe Hob was affecting this tiny little dream world he found himself suddenly trapped in. Maybe he had more power here than he originally thought. 

Not that it really mattered anyways. Hob was still trapped, and his only hope for escape refused to talk to him. For all Hob knew, the Stranger he’s been trying so hard to communicate with is the reason he’s trapped here. Maybe he’s keeping Hob here because Hob did something to offend him. 

Even as the thought crosses his mind, he knows immediately that it’s not true. The Stranger, whoever he was, was Hob’s friend, and Hob knew, deep in his bones, his weary, achy, exhausted bones, that the Stranger wouldn’t keep him here against his will. There was something else going on, and for whatever reason, Hob wasn’t allowed to know. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Hob says to the falling drops outside his cottage window. “You said it wasn’t safe, but what if I’m not safe out there? Where is my body? Why am I asleep? What happened to me?”

Lightning crackles and sparks in the distant horizon in response, but Hob receives no other indicator that the Stranger, the shadow, had been listening to his pleas at all. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Hob thinks he has never heard anything more perfect and wonderful in his entire life.

Because today, Hob finally remembers. 

He remembers the meeting with his Stranger in 1389. Then 1489. And 1589. And on and on they went, secret meetings in the same tavern once every hundred years. A friendship borne on shaky beginnings, but still steadfast and true. He remembers the name of his friend. His patron. His—

“Dream!” Hob calls out to the sky. It vibrates and shakes and Hob can feel the atmosphere of the dreamscape tremble at the utterance of its maker’s name. Hob learned that Dream’s name is a closely guarded secret, that it is sacred, because to hold Dream’s name in one’s mind is to hold power over the Endless himself. 

Even knowing this, Hob still calls for him. Even knowing the pull of Hob’s will, Dream still does not come.

Which means that something incredibly bad has happened. Dream would not lock Hob away like this without cause.  

“Why am I here, Dream?!” Hob yells. “What’s going on?!”

— — — — —

It was…a day. 

Hob does not know how long he’s been here, trapped, scared, alone. The dreamscape has grown dull with each passing, unchanging day, and Hob’s will to continue on with this charade of a life grows thinner and thinner as well.

He does not want to die. Hob will never ask for Death’s hand, of that much he’s certain. He will stay here for as long as it takes, confident that one day, he will once again taste what it feels like to be awake. To be alive.

But Hob is also tired, and, perhaps more importantly, he is bored. As peaceful as his little cottage is, as safe as it appears, there is nothing left for Hob to do but wait. And he does not know what he is waiting for, other than for Dream to finally speak to him and tell him that everything’s all right again.

So Hob decides to sleep.

He realized, some time back, that though his physical body is asleep, his dreaming body is wide awake. But this manifestation too, needs rest, and cannot sustain itself forever, even in the realm of dreams. His dreaming mind, too, needs rest from time to time, which Hob belatedly realizes is the reason why sometimes he has a dreamless sleep.

Dream, Hob is certain, will wake both his subconscious and conscious minds, when everything is safe in the Waking World again. 

The cottage in this landscape of Hob’s mind contains a bed big enough for Hob to sprawl in. Hob wouldn’t have had this bed back in the 1300s, it’s more reflective of the one he shared with Eleanor in the 1500s, back when he was a lord and could afford all the finest silks and sheets. It’s far too large of a bed to sleep in alone, and Hob almost wishes he could craft himself a companion of some sort to cuddle up to, to at least pretend he’s not stuck in his own mind alone. And well, it was probably for the better anyways. Hob is pretty sure that even if he could make himself a companion, it wouldn’t be Eleanor he would create in his mind’s eye to cuddle up to. And well, that would be rather embarrassing to explain. 

So Hob settles in his large bed, alone, and lets himself drift off, hoping that he won’t wake too soon.

— — — — —

It was a beautiful…night?

Hob spins and spins and spins, and still, he cannot fathom how it is he’s surrounded on all sides by nothing but darkness stars. He thinks he should be falling, for there is nothing but infinity below his feet when he looks down.  And yet, the ground beneath his feet is solid as anything Hob has ever stood on, even if staring at it too long makes his eyes a little dizzy.

Everything Hob has come to know about his dream world is gone. The cottage is gone, the bed he’d been sleeping in for eons and eons and eons is gone, the grass, the flowers, the rolling hills, all of it is gone, gone, gone. Like it had never existed in the first place. 

Hob tries running in one direction, then another. Yet for all his efforts, he never seems to truly move anywhere. He wonders what it all means. 

Then, Hob sees him. A shadow in the dark. A wisp of power. A spark of hope and light and friend.

Dream of the Endless rushes towards Hob in the blink of an eye and collapses in a broken heap at his feet. Hob startles and then falls to his knees, clutching his oldest friend in his arms. Has Dream always been so small? So frail? 

“My friend, what’s happened?” Hob asks, trying to not jostle the other too much. Dream doesn’t respond, only groans when Hob tries to take a closer look at him. “Dream, please, are you all right?” Hob pleads, hoping and praying to whatever entity out there that the Endless was all right. That this wasn’t the end of the line for the two of them.

Even if it was though, Hob is certain he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. 

“Hob,” Dream gasps after a moment, his head suddenly shooting up as he meets Hob’s eyes. Hob realizes with horror that his friend’s face is covered entirely in blood, and his eyes are sunken, endless pits of black. Dream looks like someone had beaten him for hours, then thrown him out to fend for himself. Hob feels helpless, not knowing what he can possibly do to help. 

“My friend,” Hob wails, tears filling his eyes, and gripping Dream tightly. “What happened to you?”

“It’s over,” Dream wheezes, then coughs out a darkened ball of sludge. “You’re free.”

“What? Dream!” Hob yells, and then—

— — — — —

Hob gasps and coughs loudly as air, real air, fills his lungs. To finally breathe with his waking body is both the most glorious and agonizing thing. He feels as though he had been dead and brought back to life, only this time around, he’d spent a particularly long time being dead. Everything hurt, his head, his eyes, his bones.  

“Oh fucking hell,” someone curses from next to him. Hob’s head snaps harshly to his left, trying to locate the source of the voice. 

It is a mistake to move so suddenly.

Hot, fiery pain shoots up Hob’s spine and all the way up to the tip of his ears and he groans. The voice curses again, calling Hob a bloody idiot and it’s only when Hob sees a flash of a bright white trench coat that he finally recognizes who it is that’s at his bedside.  

“Constantine?” Hob tries to say, but his voice cracks on the syllables. He coughs again. He’s thirsty. Parched even. His tongue feels like lead, and every time he tries to say something else, the words come out as a cough and a wheeze instead. 

“The one and only Hobsie,” Johanna replies, still seeming to understand Hob’s intelligible noises anyways. “I’m sure you’re wondering what the flying fuck has happened then,” she adds, gesturing between the two of them. “Let’s get you some water first though, you look and sound like shit.”

— — — — —

Hours later, Hob’s mind is spinning as Johanna explains to him what’s happened to Hob over the past eight months. Eight. Months.

Apparently, someone had figured out that Hob was immortal, and, unsurprisingly, had tried to see if they could steal his immortality for themselves. There was a battle, a negotiation with a demon that Johanna was all too happy to smite, a failed spell, a cult, and—a coma.

A coma induced by Dream. To save Hob’s mind. The demon that the cult had summoned had wriggled its way into Hob’s head, eager for a vessel that would not die so easily. One that could easily wreak infinite destruction and chaos upon the mortal realm. 

Dream would not let that happen. He’d followed the path of the demon into Hob’s mind, had fought tirelessly with it, while keeping Hob’s own consciousness locked away in a small pocket of the Dreaming, where not even Lucifer themself could reach. He’d left the guard of Hob's physical body to Johanna, who then stuck Hob in one of her safehouses just outside London, checking on him every other day to see if his condition had changed. She had been just about to leave for the evening when Hob awoke and, in her words, “scared her fucking soul into next Thursday, you git.”

Johanna, unfortunately, has no idea what’s happened to Dream, but she’s not nearly as terrified as Hob feels she should be when he describes to her the last he’d seen of the Endless before he’d woken up.

“That bastard’s too stupid to let a demon off him like that,” Johanna says, shrugging. “I’ll see if I can get a hold of him, but you need to fucking rest, or he’ll kill me himself.”

Hob thinks he should be afraid to go back to sleep, after being asleep for so long already. But shortly after Johanna leaves, Hob finds himself growing sleepy once more, and for the first time, he falls into an entirely peaceful, dreamless slumber. 

— — — — —

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the air was warm and inviting.

Hob takes a deep breath, and smells fresh air for the first time in eight months.

He is awake. He is alive.

It had taken him almost an entire week to recover his strength after he’d woken up. An entire week of trying to make sense of his life, how he’d lost eight months of it, the cult of wannabe wizards who had tried to take his immortality from him, the lies Johanna had spun on his behalf so no one would look too closely into why Hob was suddenly missing. It had been overwhelming those first few days, but Hob’s always been quick to adapt to things, so today he is taking the time to relax and enjoy his hard won freedom. 

Hob feels his presence before he sees him. He’s gotten good, over the centuries, at being able to sense when Dream was nearby. There was always just the subtlest change in the air, a sudden smell of morning rain where previously there had been none.

Dream sits next down to Hob on the bench, a loaf of bread in hand, which he starts to break apart to feed the pigeons that have gathered at their feet. He looks much improved from when Hob had last seen him. Still fragile, but whole and unhurt. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” Hob says, turning to face Dream and smiling to show that he’s not angry.

“I am aware,” Dream replies, his own lips quirking up just so. “I apologize for the delay. I had some additional matters to deal with.”

“Banishing demons and the like?” Hob asks with a small chuckle. Dream huffs. 

“How are you, my friend?” Dream asks instead of answering Hob’s question. Hob stretches and then cracks his neck in response.

“Still a bit stiff, honestly, but doing loads better,” Hob answers. “Thanks for…everything. Even if I wasn’t always the most grateful at times,” he adds a bit sheepishly. He still remembers how angry and frustrated he’d felt. How lonely he’d felt. 

Hob knows, logically, that he’d mostly reacted out of fear and ignorance, much of which was brought on by his amnesia in the Dreaming. But he still feels guilty about all the unkind things he’d thought about Dream, when Dream had been out on the front lines desperately trying to save his life. Things he knows that Dream was able to perceive while Hob was locked away in the Dreaming. He wonders if that’s why Dream hadn’t come to see him right away. If his friend was angry at him, though he didn’t look like it at present. 

Hob is shaken out of his morose thoughts by a solid hand on his shoulder. Dream’s hand. God, he really must look like a wreck if Dream is this concerned. 

“I am sorry,” Dream says solemnly, “that I took so long to rescue you. You suffered unnecessarily because of my shortcomings.”

“Dream,” Hob says, swallowing a lump in his throat, and trying to ignore the heat creeping up his face at where his friend is touching him. “You saved me. That’s not nothing.” 

He’s touched at how much Dream cares, but it really wasn’t the Endless’s fault that Hob found himself in danger. If anything, it was Hob’s fault entirely for not being careful enough, despite centuries of living, and learning that hard way that he needed to be careful.

“But it was my fault you were compromised in the first place,” Dream says, then suddenly goes silent, his face pinched.

Hob furrows his brow, confused. “How’s that?” he asks. “It wasn’t your fault that someone figured out I was immortal.” Dream sighs, then shakes his head.

“Those that captured you were not well versed in the ways of the occult,” Dream answers.“They mistakenly summoned a demon far more powerful than they intended, and it was only because the demon knew of your association with me that they were spared their lives, and allowed to strike a bargain.”

“So the demon only helped because he knew you and I were friends?” Hob asks. “That’s hardly your fault still.”

“That is—not all of it,” Dream says, looking wretched and like he’s marching to his own execution.

“Then what else?” Hob asks, placing his hand over Dream’s own. It’s surprisingly warm beneath his touch, but Hob may just be projecting. Dream tries to remove his hand from Hob’s shoulder, and Hob lets him, but doesn’t release his own grip on the Endless’s hand, letting their hands slide down to the bench between them instead. 

“It’s okay, Dream,” Hob says, squeezing his friend’s hand in reassurance. “You can tell me.”

Dream stares at the point where their hands meet, face still pinched with discomfort. Hob lets the silence between them drag out, not wanting to rush his friend. Whatever it was Dream wanted to tell him, it clearly was something that weighed heavily on his mind, and Hob didn’t want to put his friend under any more duress than they both had been through recently. 

“The demon knew,” Dream finally says, so quietly that Hob can barely hear him, “that I felt more for you than just friendship.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Dream—” Hob starts to say, his heart suddenly lurching,  but Dream holds up his free hand to silence him.

“That is not the only confession I wish to make,” Dream admits, before he takes a deep breath Hob knows damn well he does not need.

“Okay…” Hob replies, bracing himself, but still feeling hopeful, despite Dream’s somber tone.

“After our reunion at The New Inn,” Dream says, his face now tinted the slightest shade of pink. “You dreamed of me.”

Ah. 

“I…see,” Hob says, processing all this new information while trying to calm the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart. “So you’ve known for a while then,” he continues, his question confirmed when Dream nods his head silently at him, still looking somber. 

“Why then—” Hob coughs and then clears his throat. “Why all the secrecy then?” 

Dream’s brow seems to be in a permanent state of pinched, and Hob wants to smooth it out with his thumb, but he holds himself back as the Endless considers his words. 

“My love has been a burden to mortals before,” Dream replies, looking stricken as some painful memory seems to overcome him. “It is, in fact, forbidden for the Endless to consort with mortals, barring certain circumstances,” he continues. “I withheld my knowledge of your feelings, as well as my own, for your own safety. For all the good that it did in the end.”

“Hey,” Hob says, squeezing down on Dream’s hand as understanding dawns on him. “I’m still here thanks to you. And still plan to be for the long haul. Too much to live for, remember?”

“I still put you in danger,” Dream starts to argue, but Hob shushes him gently.

“That sort of danger comes with what I signed up for,” Hob reassures him. “And I’d go through it again, just so you know,” he adds sincerely. “Too much to live for still includes you.”

Dream's eyes widen, shock and hope and awe clearly painted across his features. “You would still—?”

“I would,” Hob replies immediately, leaning in just close enough for them to almost kiss. “You're worth the risk, any day, any century, Dream.”

“You are a fool,” Dream replies, but there’s no reproach in his tone. Only a heat that makes desire curl in Hob’s belly.

“Maybe,” Hob grins, staring pointedly down at Dream’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”

“You can do more than just that,” Dream purrs, and then suddenly the two of them are enveloped in a whirl of sand that instantly moves them from the park bench to Hob’s bedroom. Hob laughs as he finds himself pinned beneath the King of Dreams.

“C’mere you,” Hob says, tugging his oldest friend down into a kiss. 

It was a perfect day.

[penny-anna]

i have other things to do but here we gooooo owl house fic recs:

Autism to Autism Communication by Polyhexian

"I understand sarcasm," Hunter said, sounding offended. He crossed his arms. "You didn't do the voice thing." Darius stared at him. "The what?" Hunter put his arms in the air and gave his hands a sarcastic little wave. "I GuEsS I'LL hAvE tO sToP cOmInG oVeR, tHeN," he said in the most over the top and comical parody of sarcasm that Darius had ever heard in his life.

everything by this author is great & this one is a joy and a delight!!

Extant Species by Polyhexian

She'd been called a monster more times than she could count, but she knew what a real monster looked like.

i'd happily rec a bunch of polyhexian's stuff but this lil vee & hunter fic was a highlight. especially enjoy the part where hunter's advising her on how best to go about murdering him. love that for them both!!

Owlet by Polyhexian

"Eda!" Hunter yelled as he shouldered open the door and Hooty cooed and rambled at him, "I need help with my potions homewooooooaaaat the HELL is that?!" Luz looked up from where she was sitting on the couch and reading what appeared to be a romance novel about werewolves. "What is what?" "That!" he yelled, pointing at the hulking behemoth curled up in the middle of the room in a massive pile of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. "Is that the owl beast?!"

& 1 more!! short n sweet n cute

With Clay and Star Scraps by SiryyGray

Hunter decided to do some research into Grimwalkers. First discovery: Grimwalkers were outlawed in every city under every rule as far back as the history books go. Second discovery: Grimwalkers have no natural means of death. Third discovery: there’s a caveat to that second one.

some absolutely brutal grimwalker content. SPOILERS: hunter can't outlive belos.

Intrusion by rayrock

'He drops something in. It moves and writhes, but it is clearly exhausted. “Eat,” is all he says, voice barely above a whisper. But it is a demand nonetheless, intimidating enough to send shivers down her spine. She hisses in protest once more. He tucks the notepad and pen into his cloak and pulls out a staff. It unfolds and glows a bright red. He does not say anything more. He is nearly always silent when she sees him.' Or: Vee and the Golden Guard’s relationship is complicated, but it is there

some more vee & hunter content for you

just a little bit left by prodigalDaughter

The first time Darius had seen the new Guard unmasked, the fury and betrayal had risen in him like floodwater, bubbling and steaming out of creeks and sewers. Creed had never told him he had a son. —— Hunter has discovered what he is, but he’s not the only one who has to grapple with assumptions made about his origins.

hey remember the other day when i was talking about 'what if darius thought hunter was the previous golden guard's son'! well here u go someone wrote that fic

Wild and Wandering Cries by PorcelanaRota

So his uncle goes flying into the wall directly above him and he is unable to dodge. And his uncle, who is now more palisman curse slime than he is flesh and blood, splatters on the wall, on the ground, on him. Hunter’s been in hundreds of life-or-death situations. He’s felt real and true and visceral fear that sank into his bones and marinated into terror more times than not. Still, nothing has ever left him so shocked and horrified and just flat-out scared that time has actually stopped.

belos splash zone? belos splash zone.

mistakes (the thrilling saga, in high definition) by quynnyah

"This," Amity says, "is not normal human behavior." (Or: Amity and Hunter volunteer to help Camila on a grocery trip. It goes about as well as expected.)

some banging amity & hunter in the human realm stuff for u

Notched by angelcloves

Belos removes the ear tag from his newest Grimwalker.

tiny wee fic giving a backstory for Hunter's notched ear. i rotate this concept in my brain all the time. absolutely twisted.

There is no open window, but the floors still creep by theprincessofdenial

On Tuesday, they eat Chinese. On Wednesday, Camila once again doesn’t have the time to cook, so pizza it is. On Thursday, she wants to make a proper dinner but there’s a hold up at the clinic, Luz knocks over a shelf, Willow has a wardrobe emergency, and then Amity’s cat goes missing. And Hunter beats Gus up so badly the boy ends up bleeding, so there’s also that.

hgnnnh i would rec this entire series if i could (it's 14 fics totally 200k total). its all so chewy i want to get my teeth into it and rrrrrrrrrr. ANYWAY this is my no 1 fav i've been back and re-read it about 7 times. love the Camila Noceda POV; the way it captures the chaos of all 6 kids in the house and makes it feel so real & vivid; the absolutely brutal Hunter characterisation. if ur a Hunter fan go read this right away.

Distance by theprincessofdenial

For the first minute, they all just stand there in silence and watch the airship slowly disappear beyond the horizon. Even though they’re supposed to react quickly, the cold still comes as a shock. It takes some time for the reality to settle in and for them to realize how useless everything they have brought is going to be when their marrow freezes. Hunter hears some of the Scouts inhaling sharply after they approach the ledge and look down. They turn around, unsure where to start, and they shuffle their feet in the snow (terrible decision, really, this way their boots are going to get wet even quicker). Hunter’s the first one to break the silence, and oh, he does it with style. He has been rehearsing that line for a week. “See you at the bottom, suckers!” he exclaims as he pulls out the staff and disappears in a flash of red light. (or: The Obligatory "Leave Everyone at the Top of the Mountain and See Who Makes It Back to the Bottom Alive" Fic. With a splash of Steve)

2nd rec from this series. exactly what it says on tin. *banging pots together* you like whump come get your whump i ADORE what this author does w Hunter. also Steve is there (whump for Steve!!)

A Potter's Field by theprincessofdenial

The view from the staircase is, well, not stunning, that’s definitely not the word. It’s just that “view” is supposed to be accompanied by “stunning,” and Luz can feel her brain coming to a screeching halt and refusing to process what they’re seeing. It's skeletons. Come on, they both knew it was going to be skeletons. The entire Isles know at this point. (Or: despite what the stories would have you believe, in the aftermath, there are things to deal with. Those things include ruined infrastructure, electing new leaders, and prosecuting those responsible for the old regime. And apparently, also Grimwalker mass graves.)

& third and final. unbelievably chewy post-canon fic. lets get into the reconstruction of the isles in full detail. goes hard as hell. will sit in my brain for a long time i think. cannot rec this enough.

and rats all for now!! i got a bunch more stuff in my 'marked for later' so watch this space

[lemonlyman-dotcom]

Found Family Fic Recs! [You can find previous fic recs here 🍋]

Sharing some of my favorite Found Family & Marjan & Paul fics as part of this week’s @lonestar-s5countdown Found Family theme

Links in a chain by Aryn - Six times Carlos bonded with members of the 126 on his own, and one time TK saw it for himself

Ride or Die by @tailoredshirt - Post 3x10, Paul and Marjan have a heart-to-heart while they’re stuck in a vehicle after a major car accident.

they say you're holding onto heartache by sunfIowers - After the visit to the cardiologist, and after his fight with Marjan, Paul can't stop thinking about his heart.

You Have the Right to Remain Silent (But I Know You Won't) by @chicgeekgirl89 - Seven times Carlos has to deal with his friends as an officer and one time he's on the other side of things.

126 Final Girls (aka Summer Slasher Fic) by @ladytessa74 - The 126 crew (plus Carlos) take a much-needed vacation to a secluded lakeside cabin. Carlos and TK have been distant lately, Marjan's sister has been getting on her nerves, and they've had a difficult callout that left them dejected and blaming themselves, so they're looking forward to spending the last long weekend of the summer swimming, relaxing and playing Catan. But a killer lurks outside and they have to use their combined wits to survive.

Goodnight My Love by @noxsoulmate - TK would’ve never thought that a little gif could make such waves. But apparently, he was wrong – if only someone would tell him what the Chinese letters in that gif mean so he knows why his boyfriend (and everyone else) is so amused.

Ten Digits Away by Dekka - In a moment of need, TK remembers he has a team of people who love him and are willing to help him through a rough night.

Carry You by @marjansmarwani - One moment you were searching a house with your friend, looking for a missing kid, and then the next everything went wrong. Things could turn from routine to disastrous in an instant and what side of the disaster you were on simply depended on luck and the whim of the universe. Today, it was in Mateo’s favor. The same could not be said for TK.

lead me somewhere i've never been by terramous - TK didn’t realise he could miss carpet. That was until he stepped out onto the rink and his feet immediately started sliding. In a panic, he steadied himself by clinging to the wall of the rink…Marjan teaches TK how to roller skate. Or she tries to.

Lunch with Lou by @doublel27 - TK brings Lou I into the firehouse after he's been cleared and the rest of the 126 has comments.

in uncertain terms by @iinryer - after salim, marjan gets hurt on a call. when the recovery time leaves her with a little too much room to think, realizations ensue…a story about self discovery, acceptance, family in friendship, and letting yourself be uncertain. aka: the marjan manifesto

Tagging some folks in to make some recommendations of their own if they’d like: @thisbuildinghasfeelings @ladytessa74 @carlos-in-glasses @emsprovisions @eclectic-sassycoweyes @alrightbuckaroo @bonheur-cafe @chicgeekgirl89 @decafdino @certifiedflower @guardian-angle22 @goldenskykaysani @herefortarlos @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @kiwichaeng @literateowl @messymindofmine @never-blooms @reeeallygood @she-walked-away @whatsintheboxmh