#i noticed that his posture is always upright/perfect

[avoiltaire]

day 2: bandage/ruining eyesight

[sapphire-writes]

Our Last Summer (modern!HOTD)

part 7 of 10 || series masterlist || previous part || next part

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond realizes he messed things up with you and attempts to reconcile at the summer carnival.

word count: 5.5k

rating: Mature/Explicit/18+

warnings below the cut!

warnings: language, exhibitionism, oral (fem-receiving), fingering, kissing

note: im starting to become obsessed with them ngl 🧍🏻‍♀️

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

as always, comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated but not expected ❤️

AEMOND POV

Aemond knew he had fucked up.

Royally, fucked up.

Something he finds himself doing quite often. It had been several days since the hot tub incident. Several days since he’d last spoken to her. Aemond glances at his phone again, watching the time change as Helaena hurries down the stairs.  

“Morning,” she calls, tossing her phone onto the couch and stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh.

“It’s noon,” Aemond tells her.

“Where’s Y/N?” Helaena asks, sliding onto the couch next to him. 

She lets her feet hang off the edge of the armrest, her neck straining over the cushion as though she’s about to topple off of the sofa altogether. It looks quite uncomfortable, and wildly different from Aemond’s rigid posture as he frowns over his phone. 

“How should I know?”

“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?” Helaena muses, playing with a strand of her hair, “You usually have your companions over more frequently, if I recall.”

Trying to, Aemond thinks to himself, his jaw clenched. If she’d return my calls.

“She’s upset with me,” Aemond admits, tossing his phone to the side. It’s always been hard to keep the truth from Helaena.

Helaena makes a noise of contempt.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll fix it. You’re clever that way,” Hel encourages, “Perhaps a grand gesture of sorts? Something Austen-esque.” 

A phone buzzes on the sofa. Aemond checks his anyway, though he knows it’s Hel’s as she reaches for it. 

“It’s whatever,” Aemond lies through his teeth, “Plenty of girls around for the summer.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Helaena says, twisting her body so she’s upright on the couch, “Can you calm down the fuckboy-sona for five fucking minutes?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Aemond says, shrugging.

Helaena rolls her eyes. 

“Okay Egg,” she says with a sneer, “Manwhoring doesn’t look good on you Aem. It’s not in your nature. Doesn’t suit you at all.”

“Suits my cock just fine,” he says, causing Helaena to make a face of disgust. 

“Gross,” she says, nose still scrunched, “It’s not you.”

Aemond doesn’t answer. Just glances at his phone again. The time greets him, but no other notifications. He opens Instagram, trying to avoid Helaena’s piercing gaze. As the app opens, he notices your profile picture, signifying you’ve posted a story. He shamelessly clicks on it, revealing you were at Seasnake Scoops seven minutes ago. 

Perfect. 

“Are you in the mood for ice cream?” Aemond asks, changing the subject and rising from the couch. 

Helaena’s frown deepens. 

“Aemond-”

“Hel, unless you’re saying yes or no to ice cream, just drop it,” he snaps, moving quickly to leave the room. 

“Oh fuck you,” Helaena says, rising from the couch and following him, “You’re just scared Aemond! Fucking scared.”

He hears every word, though he pretends he doesn’t as the front door slams shut behind him, leaving Helaena alone in the house.

 The last time Aemond Targaryen was in Seasnake Scoops it was not a pleasant experience. He’d been around thirteen years old at the time, and Aegon had assured him that Cece Lannister was waiting, expecting a date with him. 

Aemond remembered how nervous he felt. Though Cece wasn’t his cup of tea, she was beautiful, smart, and held the social status and respect that Aemond craved. A date with Cece was sure to turn the tide for him.  

He’d waited all afternoon for her. Seated at a table, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves. As people wandered in and out, the lady lion never made an appearance. It was Rhaenyra who found him as the sun began to set, seated on the curb outside the ice cream shop.

It had all been a joke, he’d realized once he entered the house. Aegon was in stitches until his mother smacked him upside the head and yelled at him. Aemond had stayed solemn, walking straight to his room without speaking.

They are always going to laugh at you, he thought to himself. 

Standing outside the ice cream shop left a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Seasnake Scoops was unopposing in itself; it was the memories that haunted it. A small ice cream shop with some tables outside, with blue and white umbrellas offering some shade. There was indoor seating as well with air conditioning. 

Aemond stared at the people in line to order, scanning the small crowd for you. The nervous feeling returned being surrounded by all these people, remembering Cece.

Until he saw her.

She had turned her head, reaching for some napkins as the cashier handed her a soft serve twist in a cone covered in rainbow sprinkles. She smiles politely, thanking them before licking a stripe up the side of the frozen treat. There’s something so sweet about the way her eyes light up, Aemond finds himself smiling as she licks her lips. 

She turns to leave the line and his eye meets hers. It’s as though someone switches off the light behind her eyes completely. 

Cold is the only way to describe the look she awards him, as her mouth falls into a straight line. Aemond only holds her gaze for a moment before she looks towards the ground and begins to quicken her pace. But Aemond is faster.

“Y/N,” he calls, blocking her path back up the stairs inside. 

She sighs, avoiding his gaze, assessing whether or not she can squeeze around him.

“Move,” she tells him.

“You’re not answering my texts,” he says, confusion evident in his voice, “Or my calls.”

“Yeah,” she says, “Maybe you should take the hint.”

“I haven’t heard from you all week.”

“I’m trying to eat my ice cream Aemond,” she tells him, “What are you stalking me now?”

“Viewing an Instagram story is hardly a punishable offense,” he tells her.

“Just a reminder to block you later,” she tells him.

Aemond’s heart sinks at her words. There’s no playful banter in her tone, no note of excitement. She’s deadly serious. 

“Goodbye,” she tells him, moving past him.

You’re losing her, he realizes. Do something. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Aemond says suddenly, “Y/N, I didn’t mean what I-”

“You know what, Aemond?” she says, her gaze icy, “I don’t care what you meant or didn’t mean. I care about what you said.”

Aemond’s chest tightens at her words. She’s standing tall, the ice cream beginning to drip down the cone between her small fingers. She ignores it if she even notices, but Aemond’s eye follows the sticky river beginning to form. He gets a sudden urge to lick the mess from her hand and pull her towards him covering her in sticky kisses. 

Seven hells. Stop it. 

Aemond blinks as she turns away, before giving him one last lingering look.

“Will is waiting for me,” she tells him, and the ache in his chest grows.

“Will?” he asks, the one-syllable tasting like poison on his tongue.

“Yes, Will,” she says, annoyance in her tone, “People who like each other go on dates. They date each other. I know that must be a foreign concept to you.”

Aemond says nothing, just clenches his teeth so tightly together his jaw begins to ache.

“Maybe give Floris a ring or one of your other friends. I’m sure there’s someone convenient for you,” she says, turning and walking away. 

Aemond lets her go, watching as she goes inside Seasnake Scoops, the door slamming shut behind her. The second time in his life he’s been left alone there. 

READER POV

“You can’t do this!” Baela’s voice calls from the hallway, “You can’t make me!”

You quickly leap out of bed at the sound of your best friend’s distress, opening the door and flying down the stairs. After your run-in with Aemond, you’d returned to your room to sulk for the majority of the afternoon. 

Baela stands below, arms crossed, tear tracks running down her cheeks. Rhaenys stands in front of her, hands folded, a stern expression on her face.

“Baela, it is one dinner-”

“It’s always one dinner,” Baela says, through her teeth, “One dinner, then another, then ‘we have to all go together Baela, as a family’,” she deepens her voice to the likeness of her father, “Like I want to go to that stupid gala and pretend everything is fucking fine!”

Rhaenys moved forward, taking Baela’s hands in her own.

“You’re angry,” she says to her softly, “You have every right to be. But don’t shut him out, dōna jorrāelagon (sweet love). Not when he’s finally trying.”

“For her,” Baela says, quietly, “He’s trying for her.”

“Rhaenyra is trying as well,” Rhaenys assures her, “You are not replacing your mother by letting her in.”

Baela yanks her hands away, angry tears spilling from her eyes. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

“I can’t forgive him,” Baela insists, “I can’t do it. I can’t forgive her either.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rhaenys says, “I’m asking you to try.”

“This is me trying,” Baela snarls, “Staying away, letting them play happy family! That is me trying!”

Rhaenys purses her lips.

“Laena would-”

“Don’t,” Baela warns, shaking her head, “Don’t you dare.”

Her voice has dropped to a whisper. Rhaenys sighs, looking toward the floor. The tension between grandmother and granddaughter could be cut with a knife. Rhaenys looks back at Baela, drinking in her angered expression.

“You’re so much like her,” Rhaenys muses softly, before reaching out and stroking her cheek, “Full of so much fire.”

“I’m not going,” Baela insists.

“You are,” Rhaenys says, “I’ll hear no more of it. You can go to the carnival after.”

“Y/N will be all alone!” Baela says, pointing at you.

Rhaenys gives you an unimpressed look, but you nod quickly. Anything to help your best friend. 

Though Rhaenys doesn’t look like she buys it for one second.

“I’m sure Y/N will be fine for a couple of hours,” Rhaenys says, raising an eyebrow at you.

“She’s going to get lost,” Baela says, and you agree. 

Rhaenys gives you a stern glance, one only a grandmother can deliver. Baela loops her arm through yours, holding her chin high. You crack first under Rhaenys glare. 

“I’m sure I’ll be okay for a little bit,” you say quietly. 

Rhaenys smiles at her success as Baela drops your arm with a groan. You give her an apologetic smile, knowing you’ve doomed her to another dinner with her father and stepmother.

You arrive at the carnival just as the sun goes down. It’s already crowded with people, the lights from all the rides making everyone glow with neon colors. The smell of fried food and the sound of laughter fills the air as you wade through the sea of people. You decided on a simple baby blue sundress, styling your hair off of your shoulders. It’s been so hot recently, you can’t stand the feeling of having your hair down.

You glance at your phone, though Helaena has yet to respond. You promised you’d meet her at the main ticket stand. 

The minutes tick by and you’re still standing with a rope of red tickets when your phone buzzes letting you know that Helaena had fallen asleep after losing track of time. You sigh, checking your other messages. There’s one from Will asking to meet up later paired with an emoji of a Ferris wheel. 

You want to smile, but your stomach turns instead. You can’t help but think of Aemond. Will is nice, very sweet, but it was evident after your ice cream date that you don’t have much in common. And there’s no spark.

When you told Baela, she’d raised an eyebrow at you.

“Spark?” she questioned.

“You know,” you tell her, talking with your hands as you tried to explain, “That feeling just, deep in your gut. Like being pulled to another person. Something that just feels…..right.”

That wasn’t there with Will. And you couldn’t fake a spark.

You sigh, tilting your head back and looking around, trying to determine what you should get to snack on while waiting for Helaena. A booth advertising fried Oreos piques your interest before a tall silver head catches your eye.

Something in your gut tightens with an intense need as you watch Aemond say something to Aegon. He’s wearing all black, as he often is. It’s as though Aemond is allergic to color. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you don’t know whether you hope he does or doesn’t.

You need to be firm, to hold the boundary you set with him. He doesn’t get to disrespect you like that. No matter how attracted to him you are. You may like Aemond- you may like fucking Aemond- but you love yourself more. 

His head turns and you look away before meeting those violet and blue eyes. You don’t know how strong your resolve will be if he looks at you again.

“Having fun?” a voice calls, causing you to turn and meet the sapphire eyes of Floris Baratheon.

She looks gorgeous, though you can’t imagine a time when she doesn’t; clad in a skin-tight green dress with her dark curls pulled into a high ponytail. You force a smile as she walks closer, a concerned look in her cobalt eyes. Classic mean girl, Helaena had called her. She certainly looks the part but then again, all beautiful people do. 

“Not really,” you admit, feeling your chest tighten.

“Me either,” she agrees, smiling softly, “Ellyn ditched me to hook up with Eddie Karstark behind the tilt-a-whirl. Can you believe?”

“That sucks,” you tell her. You hadn’t met Ellyn, but you’d seen her around the country club.

She gives you another small smile, following your gaze and landing on Aemond. Her smile drops as her lips form a tight line.

“Is he giving you the run around too?” she asks, looking back at you.

You can feel your cheeks warm with embarrassment. 

“Something like that,” you admit, letting your eyes fall to your feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Floris says, “Seriously. It fucking sucks.”

“It’s my own fault,” you tell her, “I made things messy.”

“Aemond makes things messy,” Floris insists, “I don’t think he can help it. He’s emotionally stunted.”

“I think you’re right,” you agree. 

Floris grabs your hand.

“C’mon,” she says, tugging you along.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“Funnel cake,” she says, leading you through different booths, “We need funnel cake and then we need to shoot something. Or throw darts. Or both.”

You giggle and nod in agreement, letting her pull you along.

After eating all the funnel cake your body can handle and playing several rounds of balloon darts (something Floris is scarily good at) you make your way toward the Ferris wheel. It’s huge, the largest attraction at the carnival, with roomy compartments holding small groups of people.

Floris stops in front of it, glancing at you nervously. The change in demeanor makes your eyebrows knit together in confusion. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

Floris’s cheeks turn a bright pink as she sighs, wetting her lips. 

“Have you….heard any rumors about Aemond and me?” she asks, “or Aemond and my sisters?”

No of course not, you think to yourself. Cause that would be crazy, an incestuous orgy of beautiful girls and the ethereal man who fucks like a god? No fucking way.

You’d tried very hard not to think about that.

“No,” you tell her, shaking your head, “What rumor?”

Floris seems unconvinced by your white lie. 

“People are gross,” she says, cheeks still darkened with blush, “Look nothing happened. It’s just-” she sighs, “The Ferris wheel is a very romantic spot.”

“Okay,” you tell her.

She nervously chews her lower lip, batting her lashes up at the Ferris wheel. 

“So Aemond invited me to ride with him last summer,” she says, shaking her head, “And he kissed me because guys do that when they take you on the Ferris wheel.”

A kiss. An innocent, sweet little kiss. That’s all it was. Your heart hammers in your chest thinking of Aemond asking Floris, the romantic gesture of it all.

“That’s really sweet,” you tell her, smiling.

“It was,” she agrees, “Until I found out he did the same thing with Cassandra, Ellyn, and Maris.”

Oh. Well, there it is.

“Well, I mean Maris didn’t end up kissing him,” Floris corrects herself, “But Cass and El did. And do you know what Aemond told me when I confronted him about it?”

You shake your head.

“He said I was the best kisser. And if I wanted to be friends with benefits for the summer, that would be cool,” she says, crossing her arms, “I was so naive. So fucking flattered that of course, I agreed. I mean, who says no when Aemond Targaryen says he wants to fuck you?”

She bites the tip of her tongue, as though reminiscing just what fucking Aemond entails before shaking her head. 

“Aemond Targaryen holds his own private kissing contest, and now I’m stuck with the rumor I had an orgy with my sisters,” she groans, “Fucking perfect.”

Damn. You can’t help but feel bad for Floris. That’s a skeevy thing Aemond did. She’s looking up at the Ferris Wheel as though she wants to melt it with lasers shooting from her eyes. You’ve begun to like Floris over the course of this evening. She could’ve been rude to you, mean even. You were fucking her ex-situationship after all.

But instead, she’d seen you upset and spent the rest of the evening with you. It’s your turn to return the favor. 

“Ferris wheel orgy,” you say, matter-of-factly, “If anyone believes that, they’re fucked in the head. Totally not enough room in those carriages for all that” You wave your arm around for emphasis.

Floris bursts out into a laugh, reaching to cover her mouth with her hand. You can’t help but laugh along with her. Floris Baratheon is a-okay in your book. 

“It’s fucking ridiculous,” she says snickering, “Guys will believe anything.”

“They’ve got holes in their brains,” you assure her.

Floris continues to laugh, shaking her head and wiping tears from the corner of her eyes. It feels good to laugh with her and forget about the drama surrounding you for a moment. 

“For sure,” she agrees, “Ugh. Do you want to go on? I promise no kissing, and no orgies.”

You laugh again at her joke. 

“Sure,” you tell her with a smile.

You walk up to the operator of the Ferris wheel and hand him your last two tickets. Everyone has exited the Ferris wheel, so you get in the first compartment. You move forward scooting onto one of the benches as Floris digs in her purse.

“Shit, I’m out!” she says with a groan, “I’ll go grab more, be right back!”

She flies down the stairs, hurrying over to the ticket booth. You glance at the conductor, knowing you must be holding up the line.

“Do you mind waiting?” you ask.

The twenty-something-year-old looks as if he’d rather be diving headfirst off a cliff than operating this ride, but he sighs dramatically and nods at your request. You clasp your hands in your lap when someone else enters the compartment and sits in the seat across from you. 

Aemond.

“Out,” you tell him, frowning, “Seriously, Aemond I thought I was clear.”

“We need to talk,” Aemond insists.

“We talked at Scoops, I have nothing left to say to you,” you insist, before changing your mind, “You know what? Actually, I do. Kissing Floris and her sisters? Really?”

You swear Aemond’s cheeks flush, and he glances away momentarily, before reaching out and snapping toward the attendant. 

“$50 to send us up now,” he tells him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a fifty-dollar bill. 

Your eyes widen. 

“Aem-”

“And $50 more to stop us at the top. Fifteen minutes, tops,” Aemond finishes, adding another fifty between his slender fingers. 

The attendant’s eyes bug out of his head as he takes the money, shutting the door of the carriage. 

“No!” you say, watching the attendant return to the podium, “No! Dude, what about my friend? We have to wait for her!” Your voice is several pitches higher than you like, but it's due to being alone with Aemond. 

The attendant raises an eyebrow at you.

“Got fifty bucks?” he asks.

Your eyebrows lift in shock.

“No!” you squeak, panic bubbling in your throat.

The attendant shrugs, throwing the handle forward making the Ferris wheel begin to move. Your jaw drops as you slowly begin to ascend and watch in horror as Floris returns, her expression mirrors yours as she notices Aemond in the carriage with you. You clutch the edge of the compartment, leaning over the edge as you start moving farther from the ground.

“Asshole!” you yell down to the attendant before sinking into your seat and crossing your arms and legs. 

Aemond sits silently, though you know he must be gleeful about getting you alone. The compartments below you are empty, you’ve been sent up alone. 

“Y/N,” he says, but you don’t look at him. 

You just look over the side of the carriage at the rest of the carnival as everything begins to grow smaller and smaller. You can see the country club, the golf courses, the tents being set up for the gala. The lights from Driftmark and Dragonstone are even visible in the distance.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.”

That gets your attention. You whip your head towards him, watching him leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You still don’t speak. Too angry, too hurt, too humiliated to say anything. Your brows are knit together, lips pressed into a tight line. No tears tonight, you cried enough over him. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I never should have spoken to you that way, or said those horrible things. It was disgusting and inexcusable.”

Aemond wets his lips. The Ferris wheel comes to a stop as you reach the top, the compartment swinging gently with the force of the brakes. You uncross your arms, steadying yourself. 

“I haven’t been that vulnerable with anyone in a long time,” he admits, “That’s not an excuse, believe me, that doesn’t excuse what I said, but I-” he runs a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words, “You were right.”

You want to remain silent as that violet eye watches you. Surely you can sit for fifteen minutes of silence. You cross your arms once more, trying to remain strong. 

“About what?” you ask, cursing yourself.

The corner of Aemond’s mouth twitches, and something tugs in your chest as it does. You dig your nails into your bicep, trying to ground yourself. If you look at him too long, you’re afraid you’ll float away. 

“About you growing on me,” he says softly.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You don’t know when this started, really. But since the hot tub something changed. Something inside you clicked, and suddenly you can’t look at Aemond Targaryen without wanting to kiss him.

“I don’t like…feeling out of control,” he admits, lacing his fingers together, “And you make me feel…fucking crazy.”

You want to believe him. You do. But Floris is on the ground below, and she was in the same position you were. Believed Aemond cared about her. As Aemond’s walls begin to let some light in, you can feel your own going up.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” you tell him, arms still crossed, “You said it yourself, you fuck, you talk like that, but you don’t get feelings. It’s one of your rules.”

“I’m figuring out none of those rules apply to you,” he says, observing you carefully.

You shake your head. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” you tell him, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

“I haven’t been the best person,” Aemond admits, “I’ve hurt people because I was hurting. I don’t…I don’t want to hurt you.”

His fingers are laced together and he braces his forehead on his clasped hands. 

“I can’t,” you tell him softly, “Aemond I can’t.”

You don’t want to get hurt. Don’t want him to hurt you more than he already has. If you let him in deeper, it’s going to be so much more painful than it already has been. Aemond looks up, resting his chin on his hands. His gaze is soft, and a breeze rolls through causing you to shiver. 

“Let me show you,” he says softly, “Please. What can I do? I’ll do anything.”

Aemond’s hands are outspread, a pleading gesture. How could he prove himself? If he really wants to change, for the better. 

“Apologize to Floris,” you say suddenly, “She deserves it. All her sisters do.”

“Done,” Aemond answers immediately.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, “I don’t know if I want to do this with you anymore.”

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” he says, kneeling forward on the floor; the compartment shakes with the movement.

Your cheeks flush when you realize what he intends to do.

“Aemond-” you say as his hands brush over your thighs, pushing your dress up.

You look over the side of the compartment, eyes wide. You’re all the way at the top, looking over everyone else. No one can see, and yet you’re dangerously exposed at the top of the Ferris wheel. Adrenaline courses through your veins, and your heart beats wildly in your chest as Aemond’s fingers curl along your panties. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmurs, dragging the fabric down. You lift your hips to assist him.

It’s almost unconscious, the way your body reacts to him. He plays your body like an instrument; every touch has you melting into him, bending to his wishes. Aemond removes your panties, placing them in his pocket for safekeeping. His violet eye watches you, waiting for what you say next. You bite your lip in desperation, trying to ignore the feeling of his hand under your ass, keeping your center propped off the seat. 

He holds you with ease, letting his other hand slip under your opposite thigh. It’s driving you crazy. He’s driving you crazy. 

“Y/N,” he says, voice a desperate whine, like it’s taking everything in him not to bury his face in your pussy. 

You’re already wet, you can feel it. There’s no use, you can’t ignore the feeling in your chest, the desperate ache between your legs. You want him, you need him so bad you feel like you might go insane without his lips on you. 

“Please,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it, “Please Y/N.” You can feel his hands trembling against you, as though he’s ready to snap.

“Yes,” you tell him, and with a desperate growl, he dips his head below your skirt.

His mouth glues itself to your dripping slit, tongue diving between your folds as you bury your hands in his hair. You sling your legs over his shoulders, desperate to push him deeper, and harder against you, especially as his tongue moves to circle your entrance. 

“Fuck,” you mewl as the warm, wet muscle dips inside of you, and Aemond moans-fucking moans-as he moves it in and out. 

Your heels are digging into his toned shoulders, nails raking against his scalp but if it pains him, Aemond doesn’t let it show in the slightest. He’s simply devouring you, groaning with every shudder and stifled moan you award him. With every movement of his head, his nose rubs pleasantly against your clit, sending waves of pleasurable warmth coursing throughout your body. 

Aemond pulls away suddenly, his mouth shining with your arousal, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and begins sucking on them. He meets your eyes before dipping his head down again between your thighs, fingers replacing his tongue and stretching into you. He curves them upwards against your tender, spongy walls, and your spine arches off of the seat, mouth falling open in pleasure. 

“Fucking missed this pussy,” he groans, lazily fingering you before bringing his mouth to the apex of your thighs.

His tongue swirls around your needy clit and you can feel your stomach tightening. 

“Forgive me,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on top of your clit before swirling his tongue around it once more.

“That’s not fair,” you answer, breathlessly, “Oh my fucking-oh.”

You can feel Aemond’s smile against you, feel him flatten his tongue on your clit before rubbing steady circles with the warm muscle of his tongue. He strokes your sweet spoke with his fingers effortlessly, your legs trembling on his shoulders. 

“Please,” he says with a groan, “Please, I can’t fucking stand it-”

“Oh!” your nails dig into his scalp as you clench around his fingers, your release barrelling through you.

Aemond slowly removes his fingers, pressing them between his lips and licking them clean before you grab him by the shirt collar pulling him towards you. Your mouth is on his in an instant and it feels like fireworks have gone off in your brain.

He kisses you ferociously, one hand grabbing the back of your neck and anchoring you against him; the other wraps around your waist, pulling you off the seat and holding you flush against him. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel how hard he is underneath you. You’re kissing him desperately, it's all clashing teeth and gasps as you press yourself against him harder. You can’t be close enough, can’t be held tight enough. It's not enough, not enough. 

The Ferris wheel begins to move, slowly but surely beginning its descent and you pull away, gasping for breath. You’re both breathing heavily, so close you can feel the brush of his lips against yours with every exhale. 

“I can’t stand it,” he whispers, voice breaking as he strokes the back of your head.

“I know,” you whisper back, kissing him softly.

You untangle yourselves from each other as the Ferris wheel comes to a stop, pushing yourself back onto the seat to avoid suspicion. Thankfully, your dress is long enough because there was no time to put your panties back on and you’d rather not have your bare ass on the seat of the Ferris wheel.

The attendant opens the door, none the wiser to what you and Aemond were up to in the middle of the air. 

You exit the compartment on shaky legs, turning back to Aemond.

“Forgive me?” he asks, watching you.

“I’ll think about it,” you tell him, walking down to Floris, who is now holding a half-eaten fried Twinkie.

“Dude, that took forever,” she tells you, “What did you even talk about-”

“Floris,” Aemond calls, walking over.

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, cheeks darkening as he approaches. But Floris Baratheon doesn’t back down. No matter how she feels about Aemond, she squares her shoulders and looks him directly in the eye.

“I owe you an apology,” Aemond begins, “For everything.”

Her chin tilts higher in the air.

“I was cruel to you when I shouldn’t have been,” he continues, “And I should have shut down those rumors when I heard them. I shouldn’t have treated you or your sisters that way in the first place and I’ll be telling them that as well.”

“Well Maris is in Oldtown,” Floris says cooly, “She stayed for the summer to do research.”

“Next semester then,” Aemond agrees.

Floris looks him up and down.

“Thank you,” she says and Aemond nods. 

Her phone buzzes in her chest and she hands you her twinkie as she reaches between her boobs to grab it. She frowns.

“El needs rescuing,” she says, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” you assure her, “I’m good, really.”

“I had fun tonight,” she tells you, “Let’s hang out again.”

“We could always use more help on Seasmoke,” you tell her.

“Cool, later Y/N,” she says, “Bye Aemond.”

As Floris leaves you turn to begin walking as well. Baela should be here by now and hopefully, Helaena has found her way down here. Aemond grabs your hand, stopping you.

“You won’t forgive me?” he asks.

“I said I’d think about it,” you tell him, still being cautious.

“Y/N-”

“Look, there’s something here,” you tell him, “Definitely, but…” I’m scared.

You can’t finish the sentence but you read it in his eye too. 

“Go with me,” he says suddenly, “To the gala and the auction.”

“What?”

“As my date,” he says, “Be my date.”

“You don’t date.”

“I do now,” he argues, his voice insistent, “I date….I want to date you.”

He steps closer, taking your other hand. There’s that feeling again. Deep in your gut, pulling you toward him. A fire ignited within you, sparked by his touch. 

“Come with me,” he says softly, “Please.”

You stretch up onto your tiptoes capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s the only answer you can give right now, but the only answer he needs.

OLS Taglist: @talesofoldandnew, @aemondslefteyeball, @urmomsgirlfriend1, @castellomargot, @high-on-darren-criss, @diosademuerte, @padfooteyes, @tempo-rary-fix, @amirawritespoorly, @chainsawsangel, @toodlesxcuddles, @tssf-imagines, @malfoytargaryen, @nina2697, @glame, @joliettes, @yentroucnagol

@grungegrrrl, @melsunshine, @helaenaluvr

@m1ndbrand, @herfantasyworldd, @sunna-fangirls, @carriellie, @elle4404, @fan-goddess, @jamespotterismydaddy @shessthunderstoms @carriellie @sunna-fangirls @dancingqueen0

bold means tumblr would not let me tag!

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

When Paths Diverge - Y.JH

💔Who; Yoon Jeonghan x female reader 💔What; Angst. Established relationship. Break up. Vampires. 💔Wordcount; 2.2k 💔Warnings; Honestly, Jeonghan is not exactly a good person. Though it's not really explored in this. Reader realises that their relationship is not healthy and stands up for herself! References to turning/loss of humanity but no actual descriptions of that. I don't think there's actually anything specific to warn about, but let me know if I'm wrong.

Summary; After decades together, after everything you've been through, you can't believe that this is all it takes for the rose-tinted glasses to slip from your eyes and allow you to see the truth of Yoon Jeonghan, the man you thought you would spend eternity with.

-2024 Masterlist-

AN- I have no idea where this whole idea came from, it just hit me and it was supposed to be more of a quick flashback scene in a fic about them meeting in the future but instead this happened. It's very different to anything I've written in a long time so I hope it's okay. Big thank you to @kwanisms for helping me with the header by supplying Jeonghan pics! 💖

"You are not the person I fell in love with anymore." It's said so simply, so effortlessly, like he's rehearsed those words a thousand times in front of the mirror. Perhaps he has. You wouldn't put it past Jeonghan and his neverending need to be seen as nothing short of perfection. "You are nothing like the woman I fell in love with those years ago."

"You can't seriously be saying that." You respond disbelievingly.

"I am. You have changed, my dear, and not for the better."

"Of course, I've changed, Jeonghan! It's been decades since we met and you turned me in that time! Of course, I've changed!"

"I have not."

"Maybe that's the problem, Jeonghan. Your inability to make even the slightest changes to yourself and expect the world to bend and mould around the shape of you." You scoff and shake your head while getting up from the couch. He remains seated in the same formal upright posture he always does. Unchanged in all his centuries of life. You had given up your humanity for him, left everything behind for him, yet he can't even relax his posture even once. It isn't the first time you've noticed it but it is the first time you've ever spoken it aloud, spurred on by his own hurtful words. "Humans are supposed to change as we grow, Jeonghan."

"We are not human any longer. I cannot even remember how it feels to be human. Maybe that is the cause of our differences, that you can still recall those memories." He too gets up and straightens his already neat shirt as his always-so-level gaze meets your upset one.

While it usually settles you to see him so calm regardless of circumstance, always so in control and the voice of reason, now it just hurts. Even now, during what your entire being knows is the end of your decades-long romance, Jeonghan's expression shows no sign of feeling, well… anything.

Shortly, you try to recall a time when he let his truth show beside the gentle little smiles he's treated you to over the years, yet you can't recall a single memory. You don't know how you've never realised before how much that hurts.

Suddenly, you're struck with the thought that perhaps, you never truly knew Yoon Jeonghan. You had thought that you were his exception, the only person he allowed to see the man behind the mask, yet now you're realising that he has kept even you at arm's length even when you were wrapped up in them and tucked safely against his chest. You knew, still know, that he cares for you in his own way. You're just now realising that it's not enough and never was.

"Did you think I would become emotionless like you these decades? Is that why you agreed to turn me in the first place? To remove my physical humanity and hope the rest would follow?" Your heart breaks a little more when he just stares at you. There may be no sign of a response from him but Jeonghan is quick-witted and always has a retort, has never once missed the chance to correct someone. His lack of answer is louder than his words could ever be. "Right." You take a deep steadying breath, making his gaze dart down shortly to your expanding chest before he looks back at you.

You used to think he found your quirk of taking unneeded breaths amusing, or perhaps cute, but now you know the truth; he doesn't look at your chest fond of the sign of the human habit remaining. But in disdain. He's been waiting for you to drop all your links to humanity yet you refuse. Humanity may not be a very elegant species and full of flaws, but as a whole, they're good, have morals and work hard to stick to them. But vampires? Well, after so long living, morals seem to become a rather grey area for them so you've seen. You always thought Jeonghan was a rare exception to that, but you know you've overlooked more than you should've in the name of love. Not in his actions towards you but to other humans. He's always put himself above humans and so long as you continue to keep your little shreds of humanity in your chest, he'll always see himself as above you too.

"I guess I'll pack up and leave." You declare, already walking to your shared bedroom. You don't stop to look around it, take it in for one last time. You already know what you'll see. Signs of the both of you, old mixed with new, him and you. A clear distinction you had stubbornly refused to see for the truth of what is it, two separates that can't make a whole. Not when your edges have been formed in your humanity and the weaker points smoothed over by Jeonghan's hands to fit against his own edges, yet you still have too many sharp points he could never flatten out. You hadn't even realised he was trying to.

"Just like that?" He questions, following you smoothly and watching as you pull out the large case from under the bed, which usually only shows up when he takes the pair of you away on an expensive luxurious holiday somewhere cold in summer. To escape the sun blistering the sensitive vampiric skin covering your bodies. You had never seen him blister and had never experienced it yourself either as Jeonghan has always swept you both away at the first sign of the sun's heat but you trusted his words entirely. Trusted him.

It won't be until the coming summer that you realise that he hadn't been entirely truthful, yes a vampire's skin is much more sensitive to the sun's rays, but it's much less instantaneous than he had made out. The newfound knowledge will make you wonder what else he hadn't been honest about, and send you on a task to relearn everything you know about vampirism, and the world in general.

But now.

"Are you expecting me to grovel and beg for you to change your mind and allow me to remain by your side?" You huff, shoving items into the case, not everything you own because frankly, you don't care for all the silks and jewels. That's all Jeonghan, wanting you both to always be donned in the best money can buy. "Since when have I begged for anything, Jeonghan?"

"Never."

"Then I haven't changed as you claim."

"And you will not?" It's the first time he's outright about his wants here. It makes you pause your harsh packing to look over at him incredulously. "You said that you love me, you tell me every day, my dear, yet you will not even try to tempt me to open my arms again with an offer of change?"

"You think I am the one who should change here? Jeonghan, I gave up my humanity for you, I gave up my family, my friends, my life, everything for you and you think I need to do more to prove my devotion to you?"

"Is that not what love is? Proving one's devotion?"

"Then where are your attempts to prove your own to me?" You point out. "Over the course of this conversation, I've come to the rather jarring and honestly heartbreaking realisation that you have not once ever changed for my sake. You've spent decades manipulating my very heart to your own whims yet you remain as stone-hearted as ever. Unmouldable. I wish I knew that when we met, that you truly are just the empty shell of a being that man accused you of being. Thinking about it, maybe I should've picked him that night."

"That man is a vile excuse for a vampire."

"Is he?" You think of the beautiful tall man from all those decades ago. He hadn't seemed very vampiric to you at the time and even less so now that you think back on it. He seemed more, human. More like you. "I should've taken his hand and let him save me from you."

"Save you?" Jeonghan repeats softly. The first sign in this ordeal that he isn't entirely apathetic. "You have never needed saving from me, I have never done a thing to hurt you, nor will I."

"Not physically at least."

"There is no other way that matters."

"The fact you can say that and truly mean it, is perhaps the scariest I've ever seen you, Jeonghan."

"I do not understand."

"And that makes it worse." You turn and get back to your packing. "But at least I finally know you're capable of admitting to weakness."

"You are my weakness." That makes you pause again, though you don't turn to him. "I do not want you to leave."

"I don't want to either, not really, but I can't stay if nothing will change, if you won't change, Jeonghan. I deserve more than that. You always say that I deserve the best, that you'd give me every star in the sky if I wanted them to hold in my hands, but you won't even change your own centuries-old, outdated habits and thoughts for me." You pack slower this time, not because you're trying to put it off, you know your departure from the home you can no longer call your own is inevitable. You're moving slower because it's finally starting to catch up with you and bloom saltwater in your eyes. You're trying to stop it from falling any faster and hoping your own movements will slow the descent at least until you are out of the door. It will only hurt worse to be the only one crying again when he should be crying with you. But you know he won't. He never has.

"I do not know if I can do that, my love."

"Then I can't stay. If you ever manage, I'm sure you will find a way to let me know."

"You really are leaving? With no intention of seeing me again?"

"Not unless you change. I can't be the only one trying to be a better version of myself for the other." You shove a final jumper into the case and zip it up. You don't really have anything sentimental to keep, it all reminds you of Jeonghan and when he had turned you, he convinced you to let go of all reminders of your past as it would only hurt too much. You had believed him at the time, had full faith and hadn't taken a single memento of your family or human life. Though now you just think he was trying to make you lose all ties to your humanity to change you at your core, not to protect your delicate heart.

"Where will you go?" He asks, stopping you from leaving the bedroom by standing in the doorway and putting a hand on your arm. You brush him off though don't look at him, you can't.

If you did, you would've seen the pain starting to seep into his eyes.

"A hotel, I have enough money to do that until I decide where to make a home for myself."

"You will not go far, will you? I cannot bear the thought of such a distance between us."

"So I should suffer for you instead?"

"No."

"Then let me go without a fuss, you owe me that much at least."

Jeonghan is quiet for long enough that you almost lift your lowered damp gaze to look at him, yet he speaks just in time to prevent you from doing so. He hadn't known that you were about to look up and see real emotion in his eyes for the first time, that you would've seen his heartbreak and immediately reconsidered leaving. If he had known, he would've stayed quiet longer and let you see him for the first time. But he didn't know, so he opened his mouth and spoke quietly. "I owe you a lot more, I am starting to understand that now." He admits. "I will not stop you again, just know that I will be here waiting for you to come back. I shall do everything I can to change myself but this is our home, my love, and it will remain this way ready to welcome you back when I discover out how to prove myself to you. You can change it however you like when you return, but until then, it shall remain this way."

"Don't do that." You frown. "I won't want to return to this."

"I thought you love our home?"

"I do now, but I won't then. To find it unchanged will just remind me of the past. Let it change with you, reflect you and if you find me one day and bring me back, I can add pieces of me back into it again."

"If that is what you want." You nod and adjust your grip on your case. "I love you, I wish it was enough."

"Me too, Jeonghan." Your lips press together tightly to prevent more words from spilling from them in amongst the sobs threatening to bubble out into the thick air between you, and you walk past him the second he steps aside.

The front door of the house is barely closed behind you before the tears start to flow. You stop to take a shuddering wet gasp before rushing to your car to throw the case into the back and drive.

You don't know where you're going, you don't know what will happen but you hope with everything in you that one day, you'll find yourself back on the same path as Jeonghan and meet a man changed for the better.

A/N- Don't be shy to let me know what you think! As I said in my author note at the top, I don't really write stuff like this, all serious angsty type things but if I know people like it, I will try to write more in the future!

[midnight-glasses]

Can you do Reiji body headcanons, please🙏!!

This headcanon clearly inspired by @/dialovers-lover-xoxo check out her post!

☕ — Since he always wears gloves, Reiji's hands are very soft and smooth when you touch them. Additionally, he always keeps his nails trimmed.

☕ — He doesn't have many body hairs, but where he does, they are located in very specific places and not in abundance. He has a decent amount of hair mainly in the armpits and a bit in the abdomen region, extending down to the pelvis, and a little hair on his legs. They are almost imperceptible, but when you touch them, you can feel them.

☕ — Reiji has a thin torso and waist, but his body is well-toned and even muscular to a certain extent. He has more physical structure than Laito but is not as muscular as Ayato.

☕ — I'll be bold in stating this, but I like to entertain the idea of Reiji having inverted nipples. He tends to be very self-conscious about this and is unlikely to be shirtless around anyone.

☕ — Reiji has an upright and elegant posture, reflecting his refined upbringing and his sense of superiority over his other brothers.

☕ — His hair is tidy and impeccable; when you run your hand through it, you can notice that it's very silky and soft, with an aroma similar to that of fine herbs.

☕ — Reiji's feet are small and elegant, a feature he doesn't particularly like. Perhaps he's a little insecure or overly self-conscious about it, but it adds a certain grace to his overall demeanor.

☕ — He has broad, well-defined shoulders. If he ever allowed himself to wear a tank top, he would look great in it.

☕ — Reiji's skin is smooth and flawless, with hardly any noticeable hair or texture. It feels similar to the skin of a peach when you touch it, smooth and soft like a makeup sponge.

☕ — His fingers are long and agile, perfect for manipulating delicate objects with surgical precision.

☕ — Reiji's legs are long and slender, with an athletic appearance without being overly muscular.

☕ — His eyebrows are thin and well-shaped, curving gently over his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, they are not as feline as Laito's eyes; they are softer, though they narrow when he is angry.

☕ — Reiji has piercing and deep eyes, with irises of a dark hue that tend to shine brightly when he is excited.

☕ — His chin is slightly square.

☕ — Reiji maintains an upright and proud posture, with his torso tilted slightly forward when he is concentrating on something, giving him an air of determination and focus.

☕ — His skin on his arms and forearms is smooth and pale, without visible imperfections. As mentioned earlier, he is not the prime example of physical strength, but one cannot say that his combat abilities are atrophied. He knows how to use his strength and fighting skills when necessary.

☕ — Reiji's ears are not prominent, discreetly framed by his tidy hair, and they lie close to his head.

☕ — His nose is straight and thin, with a slightly upturned tip. The nostrils are defined, and the nose line is smooth and symmetrical

☕ — Reiji's buttocks are subtly defined beneath his clothing. He often opts for loose-fitting clothes that slightly accentuate the curvature of his hips. (I like to think so, again these are just headcanons, don't judge me by the thought)

☕ — Reiji's lips are thin and well-defined. When he smiles, you can notice some dimples appearing on his cheeks.

☕ — His smile is often restrained and calculated, revealing just enough to convey confidence and, occasionally, a sardonic streak of humor. His thin, well-designed lips contribute to the balanced aesthetic of his smile, the dimples in his cheeks only appear when he is very excited and cannot contain himself.

☕ — Reiji's teeth are white and straight, with slightly more pronounced canines.

☕ — Reiji has a gentle expression line between his eyebrows. This line, known as a forehead furrow or “worry lines”, is subtle but noticeable when he is focused or deeply reflecting on something.

☕ — When nervous, he has the habit of sawing his teeth or biting his lower lip, sometimes it is possible to see evidence of this, especially after moments of stress.

☕ — Reiji has a small dark mole on the inner side of his left ring finger, just like his uncle.

☕ — He has a long, slender neck

☕ — Reiji has a subtle scent of woody notes and spices.

☕ — He has a habit of combing his hair with his fingers when he's nervous, he tends to do it in a very ritualistic way.

☕ — In addition to being deep, Reiji's voice is engaging and melodic, captivating the attention of whoever listens.

☕ — When he is thoughtful or concentrated, Reiji may frown slightly or purse his lips.

All my written content is original, however, I do not claim ownership of the characters depicted. ©2024-Present.

[spumonibones]

Chasing Wings: Memoria Chapter 10

Pairing: Xiao x Venti

First Chapter (Ao3) ; First Chapter (Tumblr)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Lore/Story Notes

Chapter CW: None

Update Schedule: Every Wednesday Canon Divergence AU; Other Four Yaksha Still Live; Zhongli already retired but Osial hasn't happened; Canon Typical Violence

Summary:

"To Err is Human, to Forget is Godly."

Almost 500 years ago, the Cataclysm happened. As the fires and monsters dwindled, most of the Seven had fallen. One, Barbatos, simply disappeared - and in his absence, the mourning songs of Dvalin would serenade the land of wind each yearly anniversary. The surviving Archons presumed him dead, and Monstadt presumed he simply never was.

Then one day, before a Traveler will fish Teyvat's Best Guide from its waters, a young man named Venti is rescued by the Vigilant Yaksha. Without memory a face as familiar as it is foreign, the question then becomes... What path can one take, when new memories meet old?

***

"You can touch them, if you like." Venti offered, quite happily at that. The pair were in Jueyan Karst, bard standing before yaksha with his wings out. Wings that Venti had noticed the frequency with which the yaksha kept looking at them, hints of longing in his eyes. Why wouldn't Venti offer a touch? Yet Xiao was always refusing kindness, hiding behind the claim of his duty, his contract. The man needed new excuses. Honestly, Xiao could learn a lot about excuses from Venti, if he was willing. 

"Touch… Them." Xiao repeated his words, his brows furrowing as they so often did. It was cute, honestly. The bushy brows sometimes had stray hairs stick out in front of those glowing yellow eyes, distracting Venti from the yaksha's cat-like pupils. The expression was so close to a pout, and Venti was starting to suspect that perhaps those frowns were more cover-up than agitation. As Venti mused, green-blue eyes watched the other for the more subtle signs. Xiao wouldn't be honest with himself, so inevitably he wouldn't be honest with the bard.

Xiao’s fingers twitched, testing the sensation of reaching, the fantasy of running along the offer. Then the tension of the body, shoulders pulling in, back becoming a painful rigid instead of his usual perfect posture. Finally, fingers curled in until both hands were a fist. The yaksha wanted to, but for some reason refused. Or Venti assumed, until he noticed hints of red on the other's cheeks. Was he too embarrassed to admit that he wanted to?

"I can't. I'll hurt them… You." Xiao answered, his voice tight.

"Xiao, don't be silly! You'd only hurt them if you wanted to." Venti readily dismissed the fear. Both knew that Xiao's karma didn't affect Venti, and the bard couldn't picture Xiao doing anything to hurt him. On purpose, at any rate. Accidents happen, and it would be cruel to assume Xiao was exempt from that reality. Venti took two steps closer, bending forward so he could look up at the other with a slight tilt of his head. A mischievous smile played on his lips, a plan forming to help give Xiao what he wanted. 

"Wings… Are a lot more delicate than you realize. I will." Xiao continued softly, that annoyed visage slipping into multitudes of emotions. Pain, sorrow, and regret. Venti's smile faltered, and all over again he wondered at everything that Xiao wouldn't say. The bard wanted to know so badly. To hear the tales of Liyue's Diligent Yaksha, the stories so sad they affected even Xiao. The one who kept it all locked up, tight and secret and lonely. 

"I trust you, Xiao." Venti was no longer trying to persuade the other to do what he wanted. No, now he wanted to help pull the other back out of whatever hole he was drifting down into. Their dance, with Xiao smiling, suddenly seemed so long ago despite only two days having passed. 

"That's because I protect you." Xiao countered, quick to justify and push away. 

"Oho? Is that how you see it?" Venti asked, standing upright again. Pulling his lyre out, his fingers outlined a symbol of wind, the anemo ensuring his most recent tuning was still the best. Those same fingers strummed, his music easing into song. 

"In the land of stone carved from law,

Does a sweet melody travel in winds.

Changing tears into dew does this land he regrew,

Not with contracts but a heart so pure. 

If there are a thousand winds,

Then he's saved as many of each with never a need for thanks. 

The sun is warm yet he is warmer, 

The land's bounty is kind yet he is kinder,

For his motivation is that his love, like stone, runs deep."

Truthfully, Venti could have continued. But Xiao seemed the type that hated compliments, constantly trying to dodge any offered under the guise he was 'just doing' his duty. Xiao's hands twitched, tempted to applaud yet he managed to resist. 

"...You're wrong. I do this, because it is my duty-"

"That you took up because you love Liyue, and you love the humans in it." Venti interjected, hoping the warmth he felt towards the other could be seen in his eyes. For Xiao to understand that Venti truly saw the goodness that he so desperately tried to hide. 

"Rex Lapis asked me to." Xiao dodged, refusing to deny or confirm. At this, the bard raised a brow. 

"I heard that Rex Lapis was a blockhead, but was he so emotionally constipated he assigned a yaksha that hated humans to protect them?" Venti asked, and immediately regretted his word choice when Xiao shot him a withering glare. Important note: don’t diss Rex Lapis in front of Xiao, Venti thought to himself.

"He was not!" Xiao hissed, quick to defend his Archon. "I never said I hated humans." He corrected, ready to say more but then noticed the cat-like smile on the other's face. Recognizing what he said, Xiao merely scowled and crossed his arms. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"You say so." Venti said, a tune in his voice. “I am sorry for what I said about the Rex Lapis.” He amended, and noted the way Xiao's shoulders eased at the apology. Good. Now, to enact his plan. With a spin on his heel, his wings unfurled. One wing lowered, and the length of the primary feathers caught just under Xiao's chin. The feathers slid along, almost like a finger. Venti could almost feel the weight as Xiao followed the touch of the feathers, letting himself be pulled in the direction of their movements. The contact was short and quick, the entire purpose to just give the yaksha a tease to hopefully help him accept doing what he wanted was fine on occasion. Xiao wasn't going to hurt Venti's wings, he was being needlessly paranoid. 

Action completed, Venti put the wings away so he could look over his shoulder at the other. His smile might have been too smug, but this would have been worth it if…

Venti paused, the pride in what he did faltering before he could only feel confused. Because behind him, Xiao was staring at Venti, his entire face red. Including those pointed ears of his! The yaksha also didn't appear to be breathing simply frozen how he had been left. "Xiao?" Venti ventured. Had he done something wrong, or offensive somehow? 

The voice broke Xiao from his stupor. His left hand shot up to cover his face, yaksha looking away to hide his growing embarrassment. That was, it felt so… Intimate. The touch was light, and the feathers were almost caresses. He could feel how the longing built an ache in his chest, a need for two beautifully different desires. 

This bard was dangerous, and Venti just stood there, ignorant and oblivious to the power he had. 

“Did I… Do something bad?” Venti finally asked, hesitant to move forward but also wanting to check on the other. 

“N-No. Just. Unexpected.” Xiao managed to stammer out, barely able to hear his words over his pounding heart. He couldn't bring himself to look at the bard, not right then. What was he supposed to do now? The Anemo lessons were decreasing in the actual teaching as Venti learned so quickly, and increasing in… This. Whatever this was. Venti smiling at him, or trying to hold his hand. Surprising him with almond tofu each time the yaksha arrived to collect him. In fact, this morning Venti basically jumped into Xiao's arms. 

The sensation had been so natural, so normal. As if the bard belonged there, arms around Xiao's neck and beaming up at the yaksha, chattering away without any apprehension. To further complicate things, ever since the two danced that other night… Xiao couldn't stop thinking about Venti, kept feeling a heat in his chest. There was no way that he could…

…Could he?

This wasn't Xiao's strong suit. He trusted this was Venti's, but asking what was becoming the object of his affections for guidance wasn't an option. It put Venti in an uncomfortable position, and Xiao refused to do that. No, he would just figure it out on his own. 

This would have been a perfect time for someone to call for help.

There was no call for help. 

Accepting there was no tactical retreat available for him to collect his thoughts, to adjust his expressions, he rolled his shoulders. Tried to focus on what he would bring to the meeting with the other four yaksha. Anything except the person near him, waiting with a nervous smile. “...It's quiet here. It'll be a good opportunity for you to stretch your wings. Getting a muscle cramp in them isn't advisable, and using them helps prevent that.” 

Xiao closed his eyes, trying to not let the frustration at himself show too much. He was supposed to focus on anything else - that recommendation required his attention. He couldn't take the words back, however, as an excited Venti was already getting a running start to take flight. Golden eyes cracking open, Xiao's fists tightened as he restrained himself from reaching out, to refuse the call to catch one of the loose feathers that floated down. Tainted hands weren't allowed near feathers so dainty and pure. 

***

Hours later, the meeting wasn't proving to be very distracting, either. Venti had been returned to the inn, and now Xiao stood in the circle made up of Liyue’s five yaksha. Every few weeks Bosacius would summon all of them, a habit he started a little over two years ago. Prior to that, the five only interacted when they answered the same call. Xiao suspected a certain someone requested he try to amend the damage somehow, as he would no longer be there. In theory.

In actuality, the man who now called himself Zhongli still found ways to be there. Such as sending specialized medicine to help each of the yaksha with their debt, even though it was no longer his duty. 

“There's been a rise of Abyss activity around the Chasm. Those tiny mages are pains in my ass, and keep terrorizing the geriatric hilichurls. You'd think as old as they are, those damn Abyssholes would have some respect for the elderly.” Bosacius scowled, one set of arms crossed while the other held a clipboard with papers collected. He also wore glasses without lenses, which looked rather silly on him but none of the others had the heart to comment on it. “I know grandma and grandpa ‘churls aren't really our duty, but they are temporary residents until their time. And well, as Liyue grows we're needed less… So it's something to do.” He continued. 

“Is it just me, or does it sometimes feel like humans get in trouble just to give us something to do?” Indarius asked, sitting upon one of the rocks while fiddling with a contraption Cloud Retainer gifted her years ago. It wasn't that she hadn't figured out how to use it, it was that she had broken it and was always trying to fix it. The Pyro yaksha must have ‘fixed’ it ten times over by now, yet the device somehow remained broken.  

“No, a few it's definitely to flirt with us.” Menogias corrected, leaning against a pillar of rock and enjoying the cool slab of stone. When he said that, Xiao was reminded of Venti's remarks. 

“...With… Innuendos?” Xiao asked, brows furrowing heavily over his eyes as he mulled over that conversation. Was reminded of who he was trying to not think about. 

“Oh, the Innuendos! Why you wouldn't beli-… Xiao?” Menogias asked, his own golden eyes widening in surprise that the person he was responding to was Xiao, and not anyone else. Normally, the Anemo yaksha said nothing the entire meeting. That had been true of him the entire time the other yaksha knew Xiao. Even more startling was the topic he chose to join in on. “Xiao, what did the mortal do?!” The protective streak that made up the core of every yaksha reared upwards, Menogias’ eyes flashing with sudden fury. 

“What did they say? We'll deal with it for you. Such matters are not ones you should ever have to suffer.” Bosacius added in, eyes snapping from his clipboard to catch Xiao's eyes. 

Blinking rapidly, Xiao was temporarily at a loss at the rapid reaction such simple words garnered. Even Indarius set down her contraption, a deepset frown upon her face. “No, I was just… Curious.” Xiao finally managed to say beneath the protective gazes of his yaksha family. Didn't want to bring up his conversation with Venti, because then he'd have to talk about Venti. Could still hear the bard’s good-natured laugh when the adeptus pressed him about why he was laughing after that woman spoke to Xiao. How embarrassing it had been, for both of them, for Venti to explain what the woman meant by, ‘Conquering something other than demons.’

Venti had been almost shy the more Xiao pressed for better explanations of innuendos. At the time Xiao had been more frustrated at a new level of human interaction he'd have to parse through. That the mortals were anything but direct with him was annoying. For what purpose did they flirt with him using double meanings? “Well, sometimes people do it because they're testing if the other party is interested? I was laughing more at her than you, but you were pretty cute with how oblivious you were!” Venti had said, a carefree smile on his face. 

Cute wasn't a descriptor that Xiao often got nor cared for. But now… If Venti thought he was, perhaps being cute wasn't so bad…? 

…Xiao groaned, realizing he was doing it all over again: thinking about Venti. Why couldn't he shake thoughts of the bard?

“Yes, but… Since when do you know what an innuendo is?” Menogias asked, faltering somewhat. He had expected Xiao to be more uncomfortable. Instead he seemed distracted? Looking up at him, Xiao narrowed his eyes into a disapproving glare. 

“Do you think me ignorant?” Xiao accused. With a cough, Menogias retreated back to his original place. 

“No, just… It didn't seem of interest to you, is all…” Menogias murmured, voice trailing off.

“Curious, huh?” Bonanus chirped, her demeanor relaxing after the reassurance Xiao wasn't being harassed. Indarius went back to her device, but Bosacius looked on with interest. “What about it made you curious?”

“...Nothing.” Xiao muttered, crossing his arms and withdrawing out of the conversation. 

“Oh come on, Little Bird! Ask your Big Fishy anything you'd like!” Bonanus pressed, refusing to let him escape so easily. “You so rarely speak, I want to know! Please?”

“It's nothing, really…” Xiao's voice got quieter, hoping she would let it drop.

“If you don't tell us, I'm going to assume the worst and have to contact the Qixing about how Liyue’s populace conducts itself around us yaksha.” Bosacius warned, and around him there were eager nods. 

“Fine.” Xiao growled, eyes glaring down at the ground. “It was recently brought to my attention that sometimes mortals will say something with a multitude of meanings. I just wanted to verify that this was what Menogias meant.” He hoped that would appease the other's.

“Oh! That makes sense. Verr Goldet really does go above and beyond for you, doesn't she?” Bonanus said, swinging her legs as she spoke. 

“It… Wasn't Verr Goldet.” Xiao corrected her, and as he felt the heat hit his ears realized he should have just kept quiet. There was no longer a Rex Lapis to pray to, but Xiao prayed to him all the same the other yaksha didn't notice the red on his ears. 

“Not Verr Goldet?” Bonanus repeated, curiosity beneath her words. 

“Not Verr Goldet.” Menogias confirmed, the grin grating in how obvious it was in his words. 

“So… If…” Bosacius, fine leader that he was, was for the first time in a long time stumbling in how he was going to handle this. He cleared his throat. Couldn’t find his words, eyes catching the red of the normally impassive Xiao's ears. Cocked his head to the side, and looked at the other yaksha seeking guidance from them. Those precious moments of faltering bought Menogias the time he needed, stumbling over his robes as he rushed before Xiao with Bonanus excitedly on his heels. 

“Who is it? What's their name?” Mengias asked, eyes glittering.

“What are they like?” Indarius inquired, keeping a more respectful distance than the Geo yaksha. Noting he was losing control of the meeting, Bosacius joined in approaching Xiao. Catching on to what was happening, he of course asked the most important question of all. 

“Are they strong? Can they protect you?” Bosacius asked, invested for more than one reason. Namely, Xiao's well-being. But also, a strong opponent to challenge and get stronger with. 

“What are you all even talking about?” Xiao asked, shoulders rising up to almost touching his chin. The red on his ears was slowly spreading to his cheeks, doing nothing to help him hide the growing embarrassment.

“All you do is protect. You deserve to be protected for a change.” Bosacius answered, genuine and heartfelt words. With a frustrated growl, Xiao massaged his temples.

“With standards like that, it'd be you or R-... Whatever. We've all signed contracts to protect, I don't understand why it matters when we're all protecting those around us regardless.” Xiao wanted this conversation to end. This was a meeting to discuss yaksha matters, not if someone was teaching him about innuendos. 

“So they aren't strong?” Bosacius sounded disappointed. Not in Xiao, the four-armed yaksha could only ever feel pride in his Anemo compatriot. No, in the fact that this wasn't someone he could challenge.

“You can either tell us, or we'll ask Verr Goldet.” Bonanus spoke softly, but her words were heard loud and clear. She wasn't trying to threaten him, more a reminder and a warning about the lengths Xiao's siblings would go. 

Archons, I don't need Verr Goldet asking Venti questions, Xiao thought miserably. That was bound to raise warning flags to the bard, and Venti was too well-versed to not notice something so obvious. The ‘boss’ of Wanshu Inn would never dare to disturb their local yaksha with such inquiries. The recent resident, on the other hand…She definitely would. “Fine. Just don't bother Verr Goldet.” Xiao relented. Opening his eyes again, his frown deepened finding four pairs of eyes watching him expectantly.

“His name is Venti, and he's a charge assigned to me by Mr. Zhongli.” Xiao tried to keep it as concise as he could, and to put as much distance between himself and the bard as possible. At the words, he could see the questions brewing. “He's lost his memory, and Mr. Zhongli suspects he is either the missing Barbatos, or the new Anemo Archon. I've been teaching him how to use Anemo, and he's been using it to cleanse my karma.” There, that was a decent summary. 

“I gotta challenge him.” Bosacius announced, squaring his shoulders with Electro sparking in his eyes. 

“Did you not just-... I just said he might be an Archon!” Xiao reminded him. With a dramatic snap of his head, Bosacius removed his glasses and wore a wide grin.

“I know!!!” Bosacius gushed, his excitement palpable.

“Ah, our Little Bird's first love. I remember mine so well.” Menogias sighed, his lashes fluttering. The word choice turned all of Xiao's face red, the blush consuming his usual pale complexion. 

“L-Love?” Xiao repeated, alarms in his head and a pounding in his heart. 

“Yes, we all remember your first love.” Indarius grumbled in reference to the Geo yaksha.

“I really do think we could have worked out.” Menogias sighed once again. 

“I'm sure you two would have been very happy together if she hadn't been lying about it to try and kill you.” Bonanus… Agreeing didn't seem right, but equally so she wasn't disagreeing with him. 

“Well, that decides it then. How long have you two been together?” Menogias asked, his smile gentle in spite of his overflowing enthusiasm.

“I've been… Training him for about a month now.” Xiao suspected that wasn't quite what the Geo yaksha was asking, but he couldn't parse out what else he meant. His poor brain was still struggling to recover from the blow that, ‘first love,’ dealt.

“No, as in… Romantically.” Menogias corrected, even wiggling his brows in a wave-like pattern as if to help explain his meaning. 

“We're not. Venti's just my charge. Once he's trained, that will be the end of our interactions.” The words were bittersweet on his lips, and Xiao hadn't anticipated the sadness that came with that reality. That after this was over, he would miss the time with the bard. 

“Ah!” Menogias exclaimed. “Then sweep him off his feet!” He instructed. Thinking on all the times Xiao picked Venti up to transport the bard, he was pretty sure he already did that? “Woo this Venti, romance him!”

“I don't… Think that's wise.” Xiao muttered. From the corner of his eyes noticed that Bosacius had since left the conversation, and was now asking Indarius if she thought he was still in shape. This was becoming an even bigger mess. Groaning, his hand left his temples to cover his face. The last thing any mortal needed was a four-armed, electric yaksha showing up on their doorstep demanding a duel. Assuming Venti was mortal, at any rate. 

“Why not?” Menogias, for all his occasional eccentricities, was genuinely curious. Xiao could see in his eyes that the other yaksha was willing to listen, and let rest if the explanation was reasonable. 

“I… Menogias, I wouldn't call this a ‘first love.’” Xiao's cheeks burned at the words, but were already red as they could get. “He's… Even if it was, why would… Why would he want to be around me?” The last of his words tapered off, an ache in his chest. “Besides, I have a duty to Liyue. It would be cruel to ask anyone to accept always being second. I couldn't ask that of someone like Venti.”

“Little Bird, why, I'm sure all of Liyue would love to be around you if they could!” Bonanus spoke first, focused in on reminding her sibling that he had value even if he didn't see it. 

“Very well, how about your first sweetheart? You are clearly sweet on this Venti.” Menogias pointed out, not so easily swayed. “I can't tell you what to do. Your life is yours, after all. But, please consider my words. In the thousands of years we've known each other, I've never seen you look smitten. It's new, but not bad. You may not feel this way for anyone again. If your words are true, and you two will part ways… You will regret not trying. And being what we are, that is a very… Very long time to regret. If things don't work out, nothing has changed. He will move on, and I trust so will you. So, why not try to see if things will work out?” 

There were times the other yaksha made sense. This was one of those times, and Xiao wanted to hate it. He did. But there was something inside of him, a small ball of hope. 

“...I don't know what to do.” Xiao admitted, and received fond smiles from Bonanus and Menogias.

“And that's where we come in.”

[fourseasonsfigs]

Clever Little Daoist

Dong Fang Yuechu is looking very resolute here! This is our third in this series of Gong Jun in action as his character in Fox Spirit Matchmaker: Yue Hong.

I posted about the other two here and yesterday, and the last one in this series is actually touching ground in the Port of LA today! I should be able to post it this week - I'm so excited about it I'm going to pull it in front of the line when he gets here 🎉

But in the meantime, let's focus on this clever and determined little man. He is in fact, ready for action with his fulu in hand, ready to hurl some magic at the enemy.

I don't actually have the photo inspiration for this fig, which is unfortunate...I'll have to keep looking. I do at least have these behind the scenes pictures of his costume:

Gorgeous! I wish I had HD closeups of this (and all of them). I've been noticing how a lot of his costumes have asymmetrical prints to them, which I find really lovely. I think it adds some interest to the looks.

Another fig delivery in custom cutout polystyrene! You can see the extra special height they gave this fig for his two little hair strands on his topknot. When I ship these type of resin figs I always try to get them air-column wrapped, which unfortunately adds to the shipping expense, but I think does a great job protecting them during the sea travel.

However, with my work travel schedule and the amount of figs in my warehouse, in the fog of war I totally missed getting these wrapped (along with a whole bunch of others!). Luckily, they sailed right though without any mishaps.

Thank goodness too! I love him. Since his costume is so white here, I'm foregoing my usual white background to try to get some better contrast in here. My weak winter daylight doesn't help though.

Oops, I just realized I missed photographing the first 1/8 turn here - I, like this fig, was clearly all business here. Well, we'll start at the first 1/4 turn, with his perfect posture and a nice view of his action pose. I like how this fig and the one from yesterday are standing very still and upright, but you get a sense of motion from them because of the way their robes flow. Yesterday the robes were flowing behind, like the fig was moving forward, and here we have almost a backwards motion with the arm going behind, giving us some great sleeve and robe movement.

Which you can see more of here with his arm and hand rising up. The hair is coming off the neck and back as well due to the motion.

This is a slightly better view of the hair motion! And also of his hairpin and his hair topknot "antenna".

Ah, this is an even better view of the motion in his hair. This is a fairly simple fig in some respects as the costume is almost pure white, but you get a lot of thought in the fig physics here.

Speaking of fig physics, you'll notice that unlike yesterday's Yuechu, this one stands up just fine.

I've noticed a lot of his costumes (as near as I can tell from the previews and the BTS shots) seem to have a tiny little bit of a train on them. I'm a big fan of that aesthetic choice for sure. Here, I think it's less of a mini train and more of the way the fabric is flowing to show motion.

Like yesterday's fig, this last 1/8 angle view is my absolute favorite. A lot of personality and you get a lot of the elegant motion here too.

And back around. Here you can see the asymmetrical blue band on one of his collars.

I took this a little bit to the side so you could see his color coordinating white pants and white boots.

Not as quite as many layers to this fig's costume as yesterday's but still quite the respectable detail for the underside you'll generally never see!

This is actually straight on the center of the fig, so you can see all the motion and angles in the hair. Sorry there's a bit of a shadow there obscuring the right side of the pic.

Oh no, my box card met with some mishap! Sorry Yuechu, your beautiful face has some battle damage there.

I'm still not entirely sure why the box card side's art of this fig has a ghostly white face compared to his ears, when the card art is normal, but who can say what mysterious things happen during printing!

Alright, saving the best for last...soon we'll see the last fig, that cute little bunny lantern one we have there.

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 308

Scene Count: 23

Rating: Magical!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[followmeinthedark]

accidental meeting (cyrus x elias)

break time. elias' favorite time of the day - especially after he'd spent all morning fiddling with bugs in his code. he wasn't perfect, despite achieving to be. but coding was always fickle, which was part of what he loved about it so much. never a dull moment. every day at around noon, elias would leave home to get a coffee, some cake to reward himself for the work & then he'd sit in one of the comfortable arm chairs - he loved those coffee shops with couches & arm chairs, perfect for comfortable work. he brought his laptop with him, he always did, but it rested on a small coffee table in front of him. one leg slung over the other, his suit pants a little tight with the stretch, but he had a meeting with a possible client later, so he had to look the part. he forgot he'd left his bag next to his chair - a death trap if anybody was to walk past, which ... promptly happened. "oh fuck, i'm sorry"

"Ah, shit" disss cyrus tripping over something and almost dropping the drink he had taken from the counter "Try to learn not to leave your stuff lying around" he said regaining his upright posture. cyrus's day so far at least hadn't been exceptionally stressful so he wasn't too annoyed that he almost tripped, after all he didn't spill his coffee or anything. the handyman looked around and found that the place was full and the only place available was at the table where the owner of that bag was, by the smell he could see that it was an omega werewolf. "I hope you don't mind if I sit here" he said blowing out a breath and finally looking directly at the male.

“i know, i know. so—rry” he glanced up apologetically, thought glad to see he had not, in fact, assisted his bag in first-degree murder before the afternoon. he set his coffee down on the coffee table & swiftly picked up his bag to place it between his legs, in front of the chair, where it was safe from prying eyes & it wouldn’t trap anybody else, although…it did choose wisely. the guy he caught was definitely alpha & while elias didn’t discriminate, he couldn’t deny an alpha’s scent, especially if they had that alpha confidence going, was pretty damn enticing. lost in thought, he barely noticed the other’s predicament, only glancing back up into his eyes when he spoke again. eyes roamed to confirm the words spoken - not that elias would’ve minded company even if the shop hadn’t been crowded, “yeah, sure, i promise i won’t try to kill you again.” he shot the other a little smile before picking up his coffee again. soft sigh when he sipped it, leaning back in his chair again, though his legs had uncrossed when he picked up his bag & he’d kept them like it. “make yourself at home.”

"don't worry I'm perfectly fine, only the good die young, and I'm definitely one of the bad ones" he let out a nasal laugh as he sat down in front of the omega, his scent was strangely calming to the alpha who just stood there a little more than a meter away already completely dissipated his irritation for making him stumble. "well, i used to come to this place almost every day, so it really is like a home for me" he explained not being able to take his eyes off the handsome wolf, his bright blue eyes, the slightly messy black curls and also the impressive musculature especially the pecs, it seemed that at any moment one of the buttons on his shirt was going to pop out and his chest would be exposed, the redhead prayed that this would happen "Are you new in town? or chance just hasn't done the work of making our paths cross yet, cute?"

chuckling softly at the stranger's little joke, he was glad that he didn't accidentally hurt him. sometimes he was so engrossed in his routine or work & coffee, the times he set up for himself for everything, that he forgot about everything else. to his defense, the coffee had smelled pretty good, he'd been distracted. well, he got lucky. he had to be more careful next time. "oh yeah? we might've been here at different times." or maybe he'd just been too busy to pay attention, which - was very much possible. some days ... no, many days.. elias didn't really notice what went on around him. "it's one of my favorite places, too." if not the favorite place, actually, because he liked his home, but the coffee here was just better. cute? okay, not exactly something he was called often, but he'd take it. he couldn't help it, his lips curved at the compliment, teeth showed in a little smile. "been here a while. i settled here shortly before the time travelers did, so.. a month? tops? guess god didn't want us to meet just yet." god. because while elias was a beast - he was raised human. he knew of mother nature, mother wolf - he knew, but .. it felt wrong to pray to someone he didn't know existed for most of his life. "better late than never, right?"

"yes, that's probably right" he nodded before taking another sip of his drink "I really like this place too, and I hope it's not the last time we're lucky enough to meet here next same time" he winked and smirked "Cyrus Frederiksen, but people often call me Red" he said holding out his hand. "I've been here in town for a good few years, if you need a handyman you can come to me" he said reflectively, as soon as he heard the wolf say 'god' he unconsciously brought his hand to his chest to feel the silver crucifix he wore under his shirt, but he soon removed it. "You're right, if I see you around here again I'll make sure to sit at the same table, if you don't mind of course" he said taking another sip of his drink.

"assume not. i'm here every day." twice, actually, which meant they had a lot of possible meet-ups ahead of them in the near future. that wink, though - yeah, he liked that. "red?" that .. okay, well - fair. "nice to meet you, cyrus. i'm elias hawkins. uh, don't got a fancy nickname, so elias will do." his family had names for him, but they weren't exactly nicknames to share with a stranger. "i'm gonna need your number." he shot back with a wink of his own, "unless you want me to just invite every handyman in town over to my place to see who's the one." he would, just for the sake of it. he reached for the laptop on the table & swiftly slipped it into his bag, not expecting to work when he had company, which was fine - he didn't always have to work during coffee time. "i never mind good company, so feel free to hit me up whenever." leg once against crossed over the other as he leaned back with his coffee in his hands. "speaking of handymen, any chance you need a website for your business? i can fit in another client or two."

"the pleasure is all mine Elias, it's not every day you meet such a nice werewolf" he smiled "but red isn't a fancy nickname, it's just a nickname the townspeople gave me as soon as I got here" the werebear took his cap off his head for a brief moment so the other man could see his red hair before putting it back on. cyrus put her hand in her pocket and took a piece of paper out of her wallet and handed it to Elias "this is my business card" then laughed a little at the other male's comment "it's a small town, you wouldn't take that long to get to me find" he shrugged."that's something we have in common" said cyrus taking a sip of her drink "although i must confess i am very picky about companions but you are one of the most agreeable and also very handsome" he raised his eyebrows briefly and leaned his elbows together on the table. "Thank you very much for the offer, but I have to decline, I'm self-employed and I don't see myself needing it, at least not yet" he said with a shrug.

"hey now, most of us are quite nice." elias chuckled, holding his hands up like he surrendered - innocently. then again, he assumed - there were wolves less nice than him, but every species has black sheep, right? he assumed the reason for the name was the hair, or his eyes. "can't quite believe that happened, but uh, okay. cyrus is a great name, though - kind of a shame to let it be overruled." he gave the business card a quick glance, nodded & slipped it into his bag. "got it. if i ever need .. plumbing i'll make sure to call." oh boy, the innuendo. not intended, but definitely noted. "i guess you're right. i've still got to get used to small town vs. big city life. "i like to think i am." agreeable & nice, that was. okay, handsome, too. no use in denying it, "you are, too, cyrus." he liked saying his name, it wasn't one you heard everywhere. "advertisement and online-presence is never a bad thing." elias grinned a wolfish grin - business-mode activated, a hand slipping behind him, he stretched & lifted his rear off the chair to grab his wallet, pulling his own card from it. "if you change your mind." wallet stored again, he leaned back, watching the other. "how's business as a handyman going in a small town like this?"

"thank you" cyrus just nodded, he never knew why his biological parents named him that, but what he did know was that his adoptive parents really loved his name, 'cyrus, the great' ancient persian emperor , definitely a powerful name for the powerful man they wanted him to become. the handyman noticed the inuendo in the other's sentence and that made him chuckle briefly "You'll get used to it pup, it's a good place to live". he took out the business card and glanced at it briefly before pocketing it "or maybe I'll call you for other reasons" he said as he finished his drink. "I see, I can earn enough to make a decent living" he shrugged, remembering how difficult it was to get used to this lifestyle as he had grown up in luxury.

pup? something else he wasn't called often. however one may look at it, he was not exactly .. a pup. not that he minded, it was a little funny, actually. some alphas didn't mind his rather imposing appearance, which he liked. he'd met a few in town so far who seemed to welcome it, which was new. "i'm sure it is. i never thought i'd prefer this to the city, but i do. it's quiet in the mornings, which is so relaxing" it really was. his morning routine was so much more comfortable here, it felt like home already. running down the same street every morning, seeing the same people while he does, drinking his coffee in the same seat.. yeah, he liked this. "sounds good to me, i got my phone with me wherever i go." yeah, he was one of those. phone everywhere. he couldn't help it. "sounds to me like there's room for improvement. why settle for decent when you could have more, you know?"

pup was a nickname cyrus liked to use when talking to members of the kennel pack who were younger or the same age as him, especially if they were omegas. As the conversation went on he couldn't help but sometimes his gaze wandering over the werewolf's impressive musculature marked by the clothes he was wearing, he'd take the time to take a look at his ass. "it's good to keep your cell phone close around here, you never know when someone calls you to arrange a hook up" he started laughing "again i don't try so much ambition, i'm satisfied with what i have" he took another sip of his drink " if you keep being so cute someone might drag you making out in an alley" he said raising his eyebrow.

elias couldn’t help a little snort at that. “don’t think i know enough people in town yet for that to be a concern.” people called for hookups here? huh. good to know. the only hookup he’d had so far was random & he hadn’t had a lot of say in the matter, other than the where. not that he regretted it, not at all. the only thing he regretted was not getting his number. he wouldn’t make that mistake twice, point in case: cyrus. “i just think it’s wasted potential, but it’s your life.” elias couldn’t help it. the ambitious perfectionist within him would always strive for better even if what he had was perfect already. nervous laugh ensued, he averted the other’s eyes at his comment. “someone, huh? guess i better be careful. wouldn’t want to entice a stranger into doing something they don’t want to.”

"you'll soon meet, and trust me, a good looking guy like you will probably have piles of people fighting over a piece of it all" cyrus commented casually as he pointed up and down Elias' body. the alpha finished his drink and got up "it was really nice to meet and chat with you a bit, i hope this isn't the last time we meet, i promise i'll send you a message" the werebear left that place.

“only time will tell, i assume.” small town, he’d assumed his chances were decimated compared to usual, which was funny, because when he still lived in the big city he blamed the casual  hook-up trend for his lack of .. well, hook-ups. “pleasure’s been all mine. hope to hear from you soon, cyrus.” he could call him red, but .. he refused to join the mob. elias didn’t leave with him, instead be ordered a second mocha & grabbed his laptop to work.

@wolftracked

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

[hauntingmothgirl]

To Hell and Back PART 3

Hi so a lot of people liked that last part, thank you for the support, it really made me smile and made my day. If you have any suggestions/requests or want me to write a specific scene then feel free to ask, my dms are open, but for now here’s part 3! This series spans across the ending of season 4 if it wasn’t already clear enough.

✰

        The flight to Windsor, Ontario, Canada felt longer than it should have. Trying to avoid Spencer’s prying and profiling eyes was harder than it seemed. Even staring at her book wasn’t enough to keep him from noticing how long she had been on a single page. And the looks the team were now giving to a certain profiler who seemed to be studying every movement of his co-worker were hard to ignore. 

        By the time the plane had touched down, Y/n had cleaned up her space and was sitting on the edge of her seat, book in hand and satchel across her chest. As soon as it was clear to leave Y/n was out of her seat, mumbling a thank you to a flight attendant and hurrying down the steep steps. The normal cars they had assigned to them were directly outside, waiting for the team. Flinging an SUV door open and hurrying into the back, ducking behind the headrest, she tried her best to see over her hiding spot to check if the hour ride to R.C.M.P. Headquarters was going to be one filled with torture, or one filled with awkward silence. 

        She was just about to sit up, realizing how idiotic she looked and how stupid she would feel if someone spotted her when an uncoordinated Reid tried to hurry down the steps without looking, well… hurried. A grimace settled onto his face as he squinted through the sunlight trying to spot her. Rossi was next behind him, taking slow steps. Clapping a hand on his back and leaning in, Rossi muttered something in Reid’s ear, smiled and then started for the car. Reid’s demeanor shifted, his shoulders went stiff and then relaxed, his expression softened and then fell. He took off for the next car. 

        Y/n sat upright and stuffed her nose into her book as Rossi entered the car, pulling his seatbelt on before finally starting the car. “You can sit in the front if you like, you know?” He offered, looking up in the mirror to meet her eyes. Hesitating, she dropped her book and moved to the door. Settling into the front passenger seat, she forced herself to keep her eyes forward. The drive started out fine at first, Rossi didn’t try to make conversation and let the silence flow comfortably around them. After the first 20 minutes of driving and staring down endless highways, Y/n had grown restless and drew her book back to her, in need of something to occupy her mind. As she read her eyes grew heavy, sore, and her head fell forward slowly. Every so often she fought against closing her eyes fully and instead found herself sinking further and further into her seat. By the time she had woken up, the drive was over. 

  ✰

         “Come on Sunshine,” a voice laughed near her ear, startling her out of her sleep. Craning her now sore neck to peer up at the person who stood with her door open, trying to unbuckle her now, she rubbed her eyes. “Have a good nap?” He chuckled, taking her satchel from out of the backseat. She grimaced, taking his hands to help lift herself up, steadying her balance. “Where are we, Derek?” She asked, taking a look around. “Headquarters, they dropped your bags off at the hotel, told me to give you your room key for tonight. You were knocked out for a while, Rossi didn’t wanna wake you when we got to the hotel. Don’t worry, we didn’t go through any of your belongings,” he added with a smirk. Looking up at the headquarters, she smoothed her shirt and pulled her into a ponytail, trying to look decent, or at least as if she hadn’t been asleep for the past hour. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking her satchel from his hands. “No problem.” 

           A thought popped into her head as she pulled the satchel onto her shoulder, “Aren't you supposed to be with Prentiss?” she asked, twisting to look for the other profiler. “Yes, mother,” he chuckled, “I’m heading there now, but the teams inside and I'm apparently on wakeup duty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do,” he answered, walking backwards towards another SUV. “Drive safe,” she called after him, turning to the big building as he called back, “You know it.” 

        The building was big and red. Bigger on the inside than she anticipated, multiple floors, lots of bustle and busy people. The faint smell of peppermint and air freshener wafted to her nose. As she entered the building she caught sight of the rest of her team, giving a small smile as she started towards them. “Morning sleepyhead,” JJ cooed. Her stomach did flip flops as she came to a stop in front of them, locking eyes with Spencer. “Very funny,” she retorted as the team started to set a stride. 

        A small elevator sat at the far end of the room, a door titled, “Stairs Access,” stood just across from it. On any normal day Y/n would’ve chosen the stairs, she had always had a problem with the close quarters of an elevator, the uncertainty and danger of such an unstable device had always left her off put. But a long way to the ninth floor on the stairs would not only be physically tiring, but would most definitely be accompanied by a certain doctor to her left who had been dying to talk to her alone. Still, the team became increasingly interested when Y/n stepped in with them. “Someone’s getting brave, huh?” JJ chuckled, “Just too tired to deal with the stairs today.”

        The hallway the doors opened to was short and led out to a giant office full of people. Tan walls extended on each side, the tiles on the floor reflected the lights above them. A man met Rossi in the entrance of the room, exchanging pleasantries and introducing the team, it was impossible not to notice the way Spencer’s gaze kept flickering to hers. Two red offices stood at the far end of the room and the room to the right of them. Walking in between the desks and making his way to one of the rooms, Jeff led the team, “I've got a victim board and timelines set up on monitors in the conference room. Anything you need, you've got the run of the place.” 

         “We appreciate it,” Rossi replied lightly.” “Don’t thank me, Thank the unsub. He's the one that put you all in charge.”

        Something about that last remark hit Y/n the wrong way, wrinkling her nose in agitation. JJ excused herself to go talk to Garcia as Y/n took in the room. A long conference table sat in the middle of the room, six chairs pushed into it. A tv hung on the left wall, faces of the victims littering the screen. Rossi took in the site, then moved around the table to make room for Reid and Y/n. Following Reid, she took a second to go over the tv soon realizing that she had already seen the pictures in the file JJ had supplied her with. Realizing that everyone’s backs were to them, Spencer made the quick decision to steal a look at her. Turning on her heel to walk away from the screen, her eyes reached his, the pleading look on his face was enough to make her stomach turn. Guilt flooded her, all he probably wants is his best friend back, this isn’t fair to him. Did I ruin our friendship?  Turning around to take her place next to Rossi. “You believe that he killed all these people?” Reid asked, his eyes turning back to the screen, “Fits the profile,” Officer Jeff responded absentmindedly. “How so?” Rossi asked, clearly quizzing his former student, everyone in this room knew of the Unsubs history, but Jeff answered nonetheless. “He got a recent physical trauma. Could be a stressor. Wide disparity of victims. No bodies. Possible border cross. Two entirely different terrains,” He paused, “To pull that off, you'd have to be smart, you'd have to be organized, mobile, physical.” His missing leg ran through Y/n‘s mind once again, before the accident this all could’ve been possible, but now? After such physical trauma? It didn't make sense. 

        “Military background gives you all that,” Rossi finished for him.

 “Exactly,” Officer Bedwell hummed.

        “It appears as though he clusters his victims into men, then women, and then back to men again.” Spencer’s voice raised in tone, confusion heavy in his voice. 

        “What does that tell you?” Officer Bedwell asked.

“At the moment, nothing.”

        They were informed that he hadn’t contacted family, nor a lawyer and was awaiting an interrogation. Hotch was the last person to talk, deducing that since this man had contacted the FBI, he would want to speak to whoever he believed was the most in charge. 

        The interrogation room was dimly lit, only one light directly overhead, the room behind the glass was filled with two officers, Rossi, Reid and Y/n. Crammed into the few chairs there were, Y/n watched, her brows furrowed, as Hotch sat down at the table. William was a tall man, broad shoulders and muscular arms, he sat in silence, a detached look sewn onto his features. A black goatee rested above his lips, his hair was cropped in a buzz cut, understandable due to his military background. His body shows his training too, he sat straight up, shoulders back, hands on his thighs, his legs slightly spread. The pinnacle of perfect posture. 

        It was silent as Hotch announced himself as the behavioral analysis unit chief from the FBI. William’s face didn't change as his eyes lifted to Hotch’s, “You’re here to analyze me.” This wasn’t a question, but a statement. “No, I’m here to take your confession and find out where you dumped your victims,” Hotch corrected. Y/n could see the technique Hotch was using beginning to form, diminishing any hope of negotiation. Setting himself in charge in the room and demanding the attention, making it clear that this was Hotch’s room, not Heightower’s, taking away any slimmer of wiggle room around the conversation. He continued, “Or are you wasting my time?” 

        Y/n’s boss was always great at keeping his voice firm but somewhat monotone when speaking to unsubs, not letting emotion intercede unless it was directly needed. “I gave you names, I gave you dates.” William bounced around the subject, his voice low and gravely, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. Hotch reigned the conversation back onto topic easily, “You didn’t give me a dump site.” It was silent for a moment, as if an unspoken staring contest had started, the Unit Chief’s jaw was set, William was withholding information and he wasn’t intending on opening up anytime soon. “You were a sergeant,” Hotch started, again not a question, a statement intended to gain an emotional reaction, “You led troops, probably lost men.” Y/n’s eyes flickered to William’s just as he let out a hesitant, “a few.” 

        “What would their parents feel if they didn’t know whether their sons were dead or alive?” Hotch tried. The tension shifted uncomfortably. A cord was struck, “Don’t lecture me on notifying families, I’ve been on those doorsteps,” as William spoke his voice rose slightly from the whisper it had started out as. He’s protective of these men, his angry tone shows Hotch’s words affect him, why is he trying so hard to make us not see that? “No one cares about those people, why should I?” His head shakes as he says it, even his own body is rejecting the words he’s saying, subconsciously disagreeing with them. Hotch’s words have caught him off guard, this technique is making him emotional.

        Rossi’s voice interrupts Y/n’s thoughts, “Here we go.” 

        “What do you mean?” An officer to the right of Y/n’s chair asks, he leans against the interrogation window, unknowingly making her scoot her legs closer to herself. He mindlessly takes up so much of the little space beside her that she cringes uncomfortably away from him. “An interrogation doesn’t really start until you get the first lie,” Rossi finishes, so he picked up on it too. Hotch’s voice silences all of them as he resumes the conversation through the glass, “See that’s just the thing William, you were out there every night. You took their photographs, you checked off their names in a notebook,” William remains blank as he mutters, “So?” Hotch grimaces at the answer and then continues, “Your behavior was more like a protector, like someone in the army doing a bed check.” If Hotch’s words resonate with anything at all to him, he doesn’t show it and lets him continue. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to confess to a crime you didn’t commit,” Hotch accuses. 

        Suddenly all reservation in William is gone, his lips quiver as he spits the words out angrily, “The folks on the street, did they tell you people were missing?” It's like he’s trying to prove their absence rather than his own guilt. 

        “If my team is here there are cases we are not working on, you are wasting our time.” 

        “10 people dead, huh?” Swallowing harshly, scowling, challenging Hotch, “That’s not enough for you?” 

        “I’ve watched the tape of you at the border cross over and over again, you wait until every guard is out of the booth before you drive into it,” Hotch raises his voice, as he leans closer to the table, “if you wanted to kill people you had your chance.” 

        William’s voice is booming now, his face enraged, “Are you investigating these murders or not?!” His whole body shakes violently as silence fills the room. “So that’s what this is all about?” Hotch questions, “Making sure we investigate?” What a way to do so. “If you thought people were being killed you should’ve gone to the police in Detroit.” Another shudder rips through William, “I already did,” his voice is low as it break. “3 times. They told me the kind of people I was looking for disappeared.” His voice trembled, the light reflecting off tears in his eyes, “They said that’s the way life on the street works.” Silence enveloped them again. 

        Struggling to keep his composure, he enunciated every word, “Do. You. Believe. The. People. I. Showed. You. Are. Missing?” 

        “I believe it's possible.”

        Rage wracked through his frame once again, “Don’t give me a political answer!”

        Hotch hesitated, giving himself a moment before he responded, “Tell me about what happened the night before the border cross.” William opened his mouth and then shut it before starting, “I did a head count,” he began. “Every night for the past month, like we do in Baghdad. That night I saw a boy named Charles wasn’t where he usually camped down.” The mention of a boy sends a pang of pain through Y/n’s chest, wondering how old the boy must have been. Hopefully he had meant a young man, rather than a young boy. The idea of a child in the case was a sore subject. Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, she hoped she hadn't shown any visible signs of discomfort. 

        “So I made another pass.”

“He didn’t turn up?”

        “By the morning I knew he was gone,” another scowl had set on his face, though this time it wasn’t targeted at the man across from him. “William,” Hotch started, sympathy thick in his voice, “People don’t do what you did out of honor.” He paused, “They do it out of love.” William’s lack of a response was enough to confirm their suspicions. “Who were you looking for on the streets every night.” His brows furrowed as William prepared himself before continuing, “I got home from Iraq, first thing my mother told me was that my baby sister Lee was on the streets.” Y/n’s heart sunk, with the way he’d been acting there was no way this story was going to end well. Rossi must have noticed it too because out of the corner of Y/n’s eye she watched him shake his head slightly, turning away from the glass before coming back to it, exhaling roughly. 

        William continued, “She asked me to find her.”

        “But you couldn’t?” Hotch pried.

        “I managed once. Brought her home, we got her fed.” His eyes fell, staring longingly as his voice broke yet again, “She even wore my dog tags. For good luck.” Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. No matter how long you were on this job, no matter what horrors you’d seen, it never gets easier to hear from the relatives of people who’ve gone missing. The team was evidence of that, Rossi’s head was to the side, face contorted in uncomfort. The officers sat quietly, staring at their laps. Though Hotch had to remain indifferent in order to keep control of the room, his face was no longer hard and stern. While he held his lips together in a tight line, a deep sadness sat behind his eyes, something only his colleagues who’d worked with him for so long would pick up on. 

         “Two weeks later, she slipped back onto the streets.” Composure was no longer an option for William, his breathing came out in short, quick breaths as his chest visibly shook. The tears spilled over, “That was it,” he barely managed to let out, another shaky breath in.

         “William, you’ve got so much information about the other potential victims, why not Lee?” Hotch asked, though this was a raw subject, it was still vital to know. Blinking rapidly in order to control the tears and reign his emotions back in, Heightower replied, “I hid it in a spare tire, in my car.” That explained why none of the team had any knowledge about Lee, organized and brilliant, William had intentionally left her out of the files he created for us. He wouldn't have even been considered had the officers known how close he really was to one of the victims, Y/n pondered. “I needed to wait until I was sure,” while the tears had stopped and his breathing was now in control, his hands still shook slightly under the table as he finished, “that you were on board.”

         That was all the team needed to hear, Frankie excused herself from the room. Walking down the hall as she assembled her thoughts. The car would definitely be in evidence somewhere, how they hadn’t managed to find the new piece of the puzzle was surprising, confused she wandered the hall trying to find the stairs. 

        The sound of the stairwell door opening made Y/n falter. She’d reached a platform between the set of stairs, eyes glancing to the door at the end of the platform that would take her to the hallway. Stairwells were where most assaults happened, but due to the fact that she was in a police department, she pushed that thought to the back of her head and continued to the next set of stairs. It wasn’t until she heard the pitter patter of quick footsteps behind her, that she realized she should have taken her chances with the elevator. 

        “ Y/n?” A pang of dread ran through her body in slow waves. Turning slowly on her heel, her eyes met Dr. Reid’s. His face was contorted, his eyes fixed on the ground, then fluttered back up to hers. “I-” 

        “Did I miss something on Heightower?” His eyebrows furrowed, confusion making it’s way on to his features. 

        “No- I just-” 

“Does this have anything to do with this case or a previous one?”

        “No-”

“So this is not work related?”

        “No, it’s not, but-”

        “Then we should not be having this conversation.” Starting back down the stairs, he was next to her in a moment. “I know that, but the other night I didn’t mean to make it seem like-” “Spencer,” her nose scrunched up in uncomfort. “Please, don't do this.” Another flight of steps was through. At this point she was counting them down in her head. 

        “Y/n, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, it just seemed like the worst time and I didn’t want you to-” “Spencer, please.” One more flight to go. 

        “Okay but give me a moment to-” 

         “Spencer!” 

        Blinking back tears, she tried to reason with him. “That was the single most humiliating thing I’ve ever done. Just having to look you in the eyes right now is unbelievably painful. Knowing that our friendship will probably never go back to the way it was is killing me and you bringing attention to it every five seconds is making it worse,” she rambled. “I mean for God’s sake Morgan won't stop trying to profile me and Hotch looks at me like a kicked puppy. I can tell everyone here is second guessing my decision to come back and I’m already having a hard enough time proving that I’m okay without your worried glances making everything worse so please. Give me some space, some time before I have to have this conversation with you.” 

        Spencer’s eyes flickered down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

        “I just can’t do this right now Spencer.” Opening the door and entering the lobby she made her way to an officer, flashing her badge and asking where the evidence storage room was.

✰

okay that’s part 3, again, i hope it didn’t disappoint. and if it did then, again, that's chill too. tagged everyone who wanted a part 3. i know it was pretty long but i wanted to get a lot of the dialogue out of the way so i can focus on the reader and spencer in the next couple parts, rather than just the case, although that is pretty important. thank yall so much for the kind words!! and again if you have any suggestions or recommendations just ask, and if you want to be tagged in part 4, let me know! if you want me to stop tagging you then let me know that too lol. part 4 will be up tomorrow. have a beautiful day loves :)

@anarchy-n-glitter i love you sm, thank you for the support lol.

@reidselle​

@doctorspenceryeet​

@ashwarren32

@reidsbookclub​

Part 2

Part 4

Masterlist

[miinomo]

my little maid.

✿ pairings - Erwin x Maid Fem! (Chubby) Reader

contains - (18+ content MDNI) Infidelity, Body worship, Age gap, Creampie, Dark Content

✿ Synopsis - A bad day could change in moments of Erwin coming home to his perfect maid. One that could never deny him the pleasure that his cold, unloving wife denies him on a daily basis. 

You stood in one of the bigger guest bedrooms while staring at yourself in the mirror. It was a Venetian mirror that had lacquered wood finished in dark red with a high gloss varnish coat. It was one of the many expensive furnishings that caught your eye in the Smith’s household. It was like there was always something to be looking at. All of their furniture seemed straight out of a film, or a novel. The type of couches or beds you would see in a mansion on the big screen. 

When you were first hired by Mrs. Smith, you weren’t as great of a cleaner as you are now. It was tough-- Getting used to cleaning so many rooms, and so thoroughly at that. But you picked up a good technique rather quickly. And for that, the Smith’s were thankful. Their home always seemed to accumulate a lot of dust in such a short period, so without you, they would surely be suffering something fierce in the realm of allergies.

The uniform, however, was something Mr. Smith’s wife did not approve of. The skirt was too short, the stockings- too revealing. Whenever she would come home and see you dressed so whorishly it made her skin crawl. But looking at yourself, it felt nice. Even though you weren’t a model, you were a bit thicker than most women that society deemed beautiful- Mr. Smith never made you feel that way, like you weren’t good enough. He looked at you as if you were the only woman in the world. 

His words affected you more than he would ever know- “You started as a blank canvas. Everything about you, down to your stretch marks is beautiful. And I will tell you every day until you believe it yourself.” That was what he said to you the first time the two of you had been intimate. You were nervous and shy for him to see your unclothed body. But he insisted, he wanted to worship all of you, not just the parts that anyone could see on a day-to-day basis.

Abruptly the front door was slammed and it caused your heart to drop into your stomach. The sudden sound had frightened you- you were so caught up in reminiscing on past experiences with Mr. Smith and didn’t notice it was around the time he usually came home. The loud noise echoed through the house, which was a common occurrence anywhere with long hallways and high ceilings. “Mr. Smith?” You called after walking to the doorway, wanting to be sure the person that entered the premises was truly who you were expecting. 

“Yes, y/n. It’s me.” His stern, yet comforting voice announced. “Come downstairs when you have a moment.” The tone in his voice suggested two possibilities. Either he and his wife were fighting again, or he had a bad day at work. Making your way downstairs you could see him sitting at the dining table with his head resting in his hands. You were guessing it was the latter due to it being directly after business hours that he looked so unhappy. 

“Yes. Work was quite hectic today, but it was also Marleen. She was constantly calling me while I was in the middle of a presentation with a new client. Needless to say, it did not go well.” Erwin looked at you as you stood at the opposite side of the table. “Please sit y/n. I would love your company. Dusting can wait.” Although Erwin was venting to you- your chest felt warm. It was always the same feeling you got when looking at him. He held himself so well. His posture, so upright. Everything about him just screamed ‘gentleman.’ 

The sound of your flats tapping against the white tiles was what made Mr. Smith’s attention come back to you. “How was work, Mr. Smith? Was it as unpleasant as it seemed?” You approached the oaky table which had hand-carved details of the intricate marquetry and like the mirror from upstairs; it was also finished with a high gloss varnish. 

The ocean blue eyes that you loved to look into were staring you down as his warm hand enveloped yours. “I missed you so much. You have no idea how long today felt. And now that I’m here with you it’s like a weight was taken off of my shoulders.” He confided in you. The world felt so quiet- usually, you could hear the birds chirping, the winds howling, or even the neighbors doing yard work. But not right now. Not while Mr. Smith sat so close, telling you all he needed to feel better was to take one look at you. 

“I missed you too Mr. Smith.” You smiled at him while he rubbed his thumb over your hand. “y/n, I’ve told you at least a dozen times you may call me Erwin.” His voice was so calm. Every time he said your name it felt like your heart was going to burst. “I know you have, but it’s easier for me to slip up if I get too comfortable.” Silence filled the room for a moment. Bringing up the fact that you two were hiding your love for each other was never easy. Even if he was in an unhappy marriage, it felt wrong sometimes. 

“I understand.” Erwin looked away from you for only a moment before directing his gaze straight back to you. “Would you accompany me upstairs? I would love your help with something.” Just from the tone in his voice, you knew where this was going. He needed relief, and you weren’t planning to deny him. “Of course, Mr. Smith.” You got up from your seat and followed him through the hall. 

The two of you walked up the stairs together- you following behind him while he held onto the railing. “We’re going to the master bedroom.” He instructed before taking a right when he reached the top of the stairway. The halls were decorated with many expensive pieces of art. Paintings, teaware, and framed botanicals hung on the brown walls. The white marbled tile of the floor accentuated the brown in such a pleasant way. 

Erwin turned around to look at you after entering through the doorway. “You’re so beautiful.” He rested his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to him. Bringing you to his chest and looking down at you, he smiled. “Having you here with me... I couldn’t ask for anything more.” He leaned down, encasing your lips in his. His kisses were always so passionate. You could feel the care and love behind his desperate groans into your mouth. 

“I love you.” Your eyes widened and a loud ringing came to your ears. Mr. Smith just confessed his love to you. You both mutually knew that you cared deeply for one another, but hearing him say those words was just something you couldn’t have imagined. The words were so sweet. “Please, y/n. Let me have you.” He ran his hands down to your ass and gripped it lightly. You looked into his eyes and without hesitance, you gave him your answer. “You don’t even have to ask.” 

And with that, Erwin picked you up continuing to kiss you with as much passion as he could. His tongue explored the inside of your mouth and fought against your own for dominance. Although you would never actually try to overtake him. You loved how much of a lead he took when the two of you were intimate. He walked with you in his arms, slowly making his way to the bed. It was the largest bed in the house, with lilac satin sheets. They were cool and soft against your thighs when he placed you down onto them. 

“Mr. Smith, are you sure we should have sex in here? This is...” The thought of his wife sleeping in this bed later tonight was clouding your head. “We will just have to be sure we don’t make a mess.” He breathed against your plush lips before kissing you yet again. Your hands snaked their way up around his neck, touching the back of his head. His haircut was a bit scratchy due to the undercut and shave he opted for. 

“Erwin.” You moaned into his mouth as his large hand made its way up to your inner thigh slowly. He gripped onto your skin, pushing his thumb down just enough to apply a bit of pain. “I love how much of you there is to love.” He pulled back from the kiss and smiled endearingly while looking into your eyes. “You’re perfect. And I love you.” Your heart skipped a beat from his comments. “I love you too Erwin.” 

With your confession, Erwin found in himself that he was no longer able to be patient. He would usually prep you for him, with his tongue or fingers. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to be inside of you. “Are you wet enough for my cock, y/n?” He breathed against your ear while he focused on undoing his belt. Tossing it to the side of the room, he proceeded to unzip his pants- pulling his cock through his trousers. 

You could feel his member poking the inside of your legs while he kissed your neck, occasionally biting down onto your skin. “Fuck, I want you.” You hissed through your teeth as he nibbled your ear. His breath was warm as was his tongue, which ran down the side of your neck before he placed light and feathery kisses along the trail of saliva he left behind. “Then you’ll have me.” He groaned before pushing his cock deep inside of you. 

No amount of slick was ever enough to make taking him easy. It always felt like he was assaulting your insides when he thrust so deeply into you. Stretching you more than anyone else ever had. Erwin let out a breathy moan. “You’re so tight.” During sex, your holes always squeezed him just right. To the point where your pussy would make forming sentences a challenge. You always made him feel so good. He planted his feet firmly into the ground while you laid on your back, looking up to the ceiling. He grabbed ahold of your thighs and pushed your legs up, resting them onto his shoulder before he began pounding into you.

The ivory frills on your skirt tickled his skin as he kept his rhythm. You gasped every time you felt him ram into your cervix. You felt your eyes start to roll back into your head; his veiny cock was almost too much for you. Continuously mixing up your insides, each vein pulling at your inner walls. He grabbed onto your hips harshly, keeping you in place while he brought your pussy to the base of his cock. The two of you were moaning so loudly it started to echo throughout the house. “shit, y/n. Fuck, you’re squeezing, so fucking tight.” His voice was shaky. 

Your hands searched for anything to hold onto while your body rocked back and forth on the bed. Finally settling on the soft and luxurious satin sheets. You balled them into your fists and cried out his name repeatedly. “I’m going to cum, Erwin.” Your walls clenched his cock so tight, not wanting it to leave with each pump. Your legs began to shake and fall from his shoulders but he grabbed ahold of your thighs. Holding them in place and speeding up the pace of him ramming into your pussy. Deeper than ever. 

“Don’t spill any of my cum, baby. It’d be a pain to get out of these sheets.” He chuckled as his hips spastically jerked forward. He groaned and leaned his head back as his warm seed shot into you. Your pussy was filled up with his cum and your cheeks were bright pink. It was so thick, so much. You were scared you wouldn’t be able to hold all of it in. He pulled out of you slowly, making sure you put his thumb on your hole when his cock finally exited your gaping hole. “Should I cork you? Make sure not a drop escapes your beautiful pussy?” He smirked as he looked over at a bottle of red wine, sitting on the granite countertop of his dresser. 

You thought for a moment and couldn’t help but lick your lower lip. “Please cork me.” Your response surprised him, this time he was the one who was shocked. His eyebrows raised slightly but he kept his smug expression. “Oh? If you keep all of it in till the end of your shift tonight, maybe I’ll reward you. My beautiful, little maid.” 

✿✿✿ Author’s Notes ✿✿✿ - Although I don’t normally write a note at the bottom of my pieces I wanted to address something. I’ve been seeing a few people that I follow having body shaming anons coming into their ask boxes, and that’s not cool. I am all for body positivity and feeling good about yourself. But there’s a difference when your tone is bragging, versus being happy in your own skin. And I am a bit on the chubbier side myself and want anyone that is uncomfortable in their own skin to know that you’re beautiful and loved. Usually my writing is for all body types, but I wanted this one to be a bit more personal for us Chubby girls. I hope you all still enjoyed this piece, and can all one day love who you are and what you look like. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and don’t let anyone ever put you down. Thank you. 

[lemmielem]

A Watchful Eye, Part 3

Summary: Part 3 of 3

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I've been hyperfixating.

Not much gets past Sevika when it comes to her boss. Much to Silco's chagrin. On this day, we witness a perfect storm, brought on by Silco's stubbornness and ego. His health is threatened and the only person who can intervene is his right hand.

AKA: Sevika and Silco’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Trigger Warning: Smoking. Talk and description of withdrawal symptoms. PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

Word count 2.5k

The walk back to The Last Drop didn’t take more than 15 minutes, but it felt like it took hours, each anxious heartbeat an eternity. Sevika hovered close to Silco's side on high alert, keeping trained eyes on the environment and on his steadily worsening condition. It would be too easy for someone to notice Silco's weakness, too easy for someone to attack, or run their mouth around town about how they saw The Eye falter.

Silco’s brow glistened, catching the neon lights of the Lanes, the sickly green only making him look worse. His eyes were dull and unfocused as he trudged forwards, posture drooping ever so slightly. The journey home was all but silent, besides the occasional stifled hisses of pain from Silco. They rounded a corner and were greeted by a bright green eye, like a lighthouse in a dark sea casting a guiding light into the harbor. Sevika’s relief was short-lived as Silco fumbled over his own feet. In a split second, her mechanical arm extended with a hiss and a snap. Silco was caught by the back of his long coat, fabric pinched between his shoulders. Sevika steadied him back upright.

“Come on, you don’t want to have me carry you over the threshold, do you?” She baited him. He shifted, narrowing his eyes. “Shut up.” He whispered.

“You’re in no position to fight me. Either straighten up or I’m carrying you in like a prize hog.” Silco huffed, the meekest smirk tugging at the corner of his pale lips.

Finding his balance, he stepped forward completing the final stretch to his home base. At the sight of their boss stalking towards them, the bouncers opened the door, ceremoniously stepping aside to let the man pass. Sevika hurried behind him, shooting a glance towards her usual booth on the bar floor. Much to her relief, Singed was there, Ran casually chatting with him. His eye wandered to Silco and then to Sevika as they entered the space. The crowds parted without much fanfare, it wasn’t a rare sight to see Silco treading across the floor. Sevika only hoped no one would note how ghastly he looked. She cast Singed a definitive nod and he stood, making his way towards the pair. Silco didn’t notice the doctor’s approach. His vision was tunneled and dark, as he focused on the last obstacle before him, the stairs to his office. Singed made it to the base of stairs as Sevika reached them. Silco had already begun the harrowing climb.

“He’s not taking the doses,” Singed said plainly, no questioning in his voice.

Sevika shook her head. “I don’t always see when he does. I’m not sure how behind he is.” Singed hummed. They climbed behind Silco steadily. Sevika bore into his frame, looking for any evidence of weakness. Arms swept up both sides of the banisters as he rose, moving carefully and fairly quickly. Once he reached the top, Sevika bounded up the rest of the stairs, taking two steps at a time. She rushed past him, reaching for the keyring to unlock the door to his office. With one fluid movement, it was open. Sevika never felt happier to see the inside of Silco’s office. Her relief was short-lived as Silco stepped past the frame and the last bit of his strength evaporated. Sevika turned to address her boss as his body went limp and toppled over. Adrenaline spiked through her as she rushed forward, catching him under his arms as he slumped.

“Shit!” She exhaled sharply, Silco was dead weight in her arms. Sevika adjusted her grip, taking stock of the man she held onto. So feared and respected The Eye of Zaun, now hung crumpled and vulnerable in her arms. His neck gave up its support as his head swung downward, eyes hazy and unfocused. Growling, she effortlessly dragged him to the sofa, laying him out like she would a blanket. His dark eye lulled undirected, a clammy hand flopped, dangling off the sofa knuckles knocking the floor.

A dreadful feeling gripped Sevika as the scene before her became a harsher and harsher reality. She knew Silco was likely to survive this, but his neglect and stubbornness threatened to undo everything they had worked, every brick that had been laid. He was only a man, but his duty was to be more. Her stomach was in knots as white-hot anger washed over her fear and concern. She moved towards the desk, grabbing the two components that made up the injection. The doctor at her back after pulling the office door behind them, she hastily thrust the components into his hands.

“He will need to be given extra doses incrementally as not to shock his system. He must rest for the remainder of the week.” Singed removed the loaded vial of medication from the injector gun, holding it towards the only light in the office inspectingly.

“Looking at the remainder here and considering the date,” He paused, “I’d say he hasn’t been taking the second dose.” Singed traded the neglected vial with a new one. "Sometimes none at all.” Sevika cast her gaze back at Silco with fury.

“This is a variant, it will help stabilize him for now and keep the withdrawal symptoms from ravaging him. He’ll be able to rest.” Singed loaded in the fresh glass tube. As if on queue, a guttural and gasping scream tore through Silco. He clutched his face, his scream devolved into a low growl. He spat and hissed as Sevika moved to his side. Singed, without a hint of urgency methodically connected the needle component to the injector.

“Restrain him,” he said calmly. Sevika’s eyes widened and shifted to Silco’s twisted face. His open palm pressed to his exposed black eye, as if trying to stamp out a fire. With a deep breath, she caught his arms and pinned them to their respective sides, laying a knee on the seat of the couch to brace herself. The sound that escaped Silco seemed better suited to a feral animal. He yelled, teeth-gnashing, spit flying. His blue eye open and dilated with a wildness she’d never seen before. Silco began to flail his legs, knees jabbing into her stomach as he thrashed against her. He was no match for her grip and strength as she began to press her body deeper onto his legs, using her weight to still his movements. Singed approached, using one hand he snapped his fingers Silcos chin, sharply tilting his head back with a jerk.

“You’ll feel alright momentarily,” Singed said without an ounce of worry. With his right hand, he positioned the new dosage over Silco's eye. Silco sputtered and gurgled under the doctor's grip. With a sharp inhale his fingers on Silco’s face tightened and jerked it to be steady under the needle. Silco hissed, face contorted into a snarl. With a sharp click, the needle was in and out of Silco’s eye. His body lurched forward and Sevika pulled back. He sat up, gasping and shaking as a purple trail of Shimmer rolled down his scared face. His hands now free to paw at his eye. His gasping slowly subsided as he slumped forward over his knees. His hands moved off of his face and glided instinctually, though shakily up to settle his hair. The room was deadly silent besides Silco’s haggard breathing. Singed walked back towards Silco’s desk to deposit the injector. He casually grabbed a pen and paper and began to write out directions. Silco's body slumped backward with an indecent thud.

Sevika stared down at the man now prone on the couch. Silco’s good eye blinked open, he looked up at the rafters in his office, seemingly realizing where he was for the first time. He slowly moved to prop his body onto his elbows, shifting his weight and shaking under fatigued arms, his glance drifted to Sevika.

She was exhausted and angry, but more so, he could see how scared she was.

“You’re an idiot.” She whispered. “If you ever pull this shit again I swear I’ll -“ She tilled her head up to the rafters, biting the inside of her cheeks. Rageful tears stung her eyes for only a moment, she blinked, banishing them back.

“You’re right,” Silco said in a hoarse monotone. “It won’t happen again.”

Sevika lowered her head back to him, grey eyes meeting his mismatched ones. Behind the utter exhaustion, Sevika saw something else behind his stare, pleading. He was not one for apologies, and though the words would never pass his lips, the accountability behind his eyes shot through her. She felt the anger begin to lessen leave her tensed muscles. With her newly earned validation she sighed, unclenching the fist she realized she had made. Her nails retreated from the palm of her hand. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“It won’t happen again.” Silco asserted. His eyes cast downwards as if searching for his rationale. He came up empty-handed. He had truly been an idiot, he would allow that knock of Sevika's words to strike his chin, humbled.

Singed’s voice pierced the silence. “If you neglect to take the second dose, you will begin to deteriorate faster.” He moved towards the couch. “There will come a point where it will undo the work we’ve done up until now.” Silco met Singed’s stoic and unbothered stare. “You will die, Silco. Much sooner than you think.” the air seemingly vanished from the room.

Silco didn’t fear death. Not when he was a young man fighting in the streets, not during the long, back-breaking days in the mines. No, not even after he had been reborn at Vander’s hands in the Pilt river. Death still lurked and threatened, but he did not fear it.

A soft shifting of floorboards at the entrance of Silco’s office stirred everyone's attention. A small frame clung to the door, shaking. With a bang, Jinx flung herself into the room. Before anyone could react she launched herself onto Silco. Sobs ripped through her, as tears fell onto his vest. His arms wrapped around her, his eyes were wide, mouth agape, dry. “It’s alright-” he tried to begin.

“You can’t die, please!” She choked. Sniffles and gasping sobs tumbled from the young girl’s mouth. Her body convulsed as she cried. “I can’t lose you, please! Don’t leave me!” No one could pinpoint when Jinx had arrived, evidently, she saw and heard enough.

Sevika watched as Silco surrendered and buried his face into the crown of Jinx’s head. Eye closing as he cradled her shaking body. He shushed her, softly. Stroking a hand along her back “It will be alright. I am alright.”

“The doctor said-” She cast an accusatory glance towards Singed, who took the glare in an unyielding indifference. “The doctor said you will die!” Silco inhaled to speak.

“Only if he doesn’t listen to what I say,” Singed said cooly, interrupting.

The doctor reached again for the injector on the desk. “Your father needs his medicine. You’ve seen him take this before, yes?” Singed asked Jinx. She nodded, her breath settling.

“The needle,” she whispered.

“Would you like to help keep your father healthy?” the doctor asked softly. Jinx’s small arms shifted, releasing the grip around Silco's chest. Her swollen and tear-soaked face cast a glance back to her father. Jinx reached softly to his face, no longer hidden by makeup her fingers grazed his scars, she stared into his marred eye.

“If you help him with his medicine, he will get better.” She looked back to Doctor. He picked up the injector and beckoned Jinx towards him. With an uneasy glance back to her dad, she shifted off of him, gently padding towards the desk.

“I will show you how to use this,” He said handing her the worn metal injector, “that way every morning and every afternoon you can help give your dad his medicine.” He leaned low to match her eye level. “He will live for a very long time if you promise to help him.” Her eyes grew wide. She fiddled with the trigger as she glanced back to Silco.

Silco swallowed his eyelid fluttering as he watched the small girl. The crushing guilt, the crushing fear constricted around him. He did not care if he died, he did not fear death, but he feared what his death would do to her. The fear of abandoning her. The air left his lungs as an empty hole opened up in his chest. The thought of her alone threatened to undo him right there.

“Jinx,” Sevika said softly. “You and me, we gotta protect him.” Silco’s head snapped, wide-eyed to Sevika. “I can keep the bad guys from getting him, but you gotta keep him healthy.” Sevika stepped towards Jinx, stooping to meet her eyes. “You and me, the Silco defense squad, okay?” She mimed a punch across Jinx’s jaw. Jinx nodded with the tiniest smile she cast her glance back towards her dad.

Silco’s brain was swimming in emotions over the scene before him. He was overwhelmed by what felt like a blaring spotlight cast over him, exposing him. Brighter than he had ever allowed anyone to see. He was dwarfed beneath the stares of his subordinates and his daughter.

In a move to step out of the spotlight and regain his carefully crafted control, he shifted his body to swing his legs to the floor. Uneasily, he set himself forward off the couch towards the three before him. Standing as tall as his body would allow, he addressed Singed. “I’ll allow you to show Jinx the procedure.”

“Good, though I was not looking for your permission.” He responded as he placed a hand on Jinx’s shoulder. Silco’s attempt to win back control was swiftly stomped out. His mouth pulled inwards, his nostrils flared, biting his tongue he nodded indignantly.

“I will make sure you’re healthy, forever.” a small voice interrupted the tense silence. Jinx’s tears returned to her eyes. “Sevika and I will keep you safe.”

Sevika nodded in agreement. “You heard her, sir. It’s our job to keep you safe.” She rose to her full height, addressing him face to face. “Let us do our jobs so you can do yours.” Her words were sharp, but not completely without tenderness.

Silco swallowed, Sevika, stood unwavering. His eye caught the glint of her prosthetic arm. He could trust that not a word of today would be spoken to another. That everything she had done was for him and for Zaun. He closed his eye and rolled his head in a grateful nod.

Silco’s gaze settled on Jinx. She once again flung herself around his waist, burying her face into his stomach. Silco allowed his arms to rest over her shoulders as he slowly dropped himself to his knee. Large hands reaching upwards, nearly swallowing Jinx’s small face. He cradled her, softly brushing the tears from her cheeks.

“Jinx,” His voice was soft and low. ”We’ll start tomorrow.” she sniffled, rubbing an eye in exhaustion.

“Promise?”

“I Promise.”

The depleted Eye of Zaun took his daughter’s hand and moved towards the door to his apartment. “Is there anything else, doctor?” Silco asked, turning to glance at the two members of his inner circle.

“Just for you to rest. I will return in the morning to discuss the regimen.” Singed replied. Silco turned to Sevika.

“All appointments tomorrow are to be canceled,” Silco instructed. Sevika had planned that quietly in her head, long before the command.

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the reins were passed back to Silco. Settling into the rightful order.

“You’re both dismissed.”

He turned and passed through the door, gently squeezing Jinx's hand. "Let's get you to bed," he whispered to his daughter.

With the door closing behind them, Silco stepped out from the garish light once again, rising back into his station, the one beyond himself. The unblinking Eye of Zaun.

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

[lunaastoir]

childe or zhongli with a s/o who can cook very well who’s friends with xiangling ? since they’re very good friends with her they often invite their s/o to try out their new food combinations. thank you if you do write this ! ♡

hi anon!!! this is such a sweet idea i smiled while reading it,,, domestic things make my heart go brrr

you had me as soon as you mentioned xiangling

i wanted to do zhongli too but unfortunately i didn’t have enough time tonight so expect a part 2 sometime soon 😩

reqs: open! 

childe x gn! reader

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

childe

a soft smile adorned his face as he swiftly navigated the streets of liyue with his tell tale swagger. stall owners all turned to watch the harbinger as he paid them no mind, determined to get to his destination. usually, he would stop by certain stalls and make small talk while relishing in the slight fear and upright posture his presence conjured up in the owners. today however, he had places to be. 

the place in question? he needed to see you. your friendship with xiangling had to be one of his favorite friendships of yours, aside from the trio you formed with zhongli. the sweet natured girl always seemed to drag you off on some culinary adventure which left your heart happy and his stomach full. today was no exception; before leaving this morning, you had pecked childe on the lips and asked him to stop by wanmin restaurant later. he had teased back with a “of course, looks like someone misses me after a few hours ~” to which you promptly smacked him on the back of his head. you had been planning this trip with xiangling for a while now so he was excited to see what new dish you would have him taste this time. 

when he got to the entrance, he sent a quick “hi” to chef mao before venturing inside. the kitchen was bustling with activity - xiangling on the stove while you chopped up various ingredients to add into the bubbling concoction. taking a quick survey of your appearances, childe noticed that your clothes were dusted with dirt and slime condensate, indicating that you had just recently gotten back from your ingredient hunting. a sweet hum left his lips as he lightly let out, 

“wow, what’s all this?”

xiangling jumped at the sound of his voice, squeaking while whipping around and subsequently crashing into you. childe’s rich peals of laughter could be heard echoing off the walls as the both of you laid on the floor comically, your apron folded over your face while xiangling had lettuce in her hair. 

“when you’re done laughing, care to help us up?” your annoyed voice spiraled up from the ground. still giggling he reached his hands out for both of you, easily pulling you to your feet. his fingers interlaced themselves into yours after fixing your apron. 

“hello childe! sorry, you scared us! we were so lost in cooking we didn’t even notice you come in!” xiangling chirped while stirring the pot. 

“oh don’t worry, it was very entertaining to see you two fall” he smirked while bringing his hands to come around you in a back hug. you scoffed at him but leaned into the warmth he provided. “besides, i can’t wait to try whatever crazy combo you’ve come up with today.”

“definitely the craziest! but i can promise it’s finger lickin’ good!” xiangling responded before moving to plate the food. 

“it’s hoarfrost core kebabs today” you informed him while absentmindedly tracing the cut from the fight. noticing, he replaced your fingers with his own before chuckling and moving to stand next to you in order to peak into the plate. you could practically hear him salivating as his eyes sharpened with a focus he got on the battlefield. 

“enjoy!” xiangling smiled before handing the plate to him and moving to stand next to you. childe was always the number one person you went to if you needed a taste tester. your boyfriend was always so keen to get involved in whatever you loved to do and crazy food combinations with xiangling was no exception. surprisingly, he had a good palate as well. instead of just eating the food, he gave you good feedback, acutely pinpointing on certain flavors and textures that melded together. you had accumulated this newly discovered trait under the category of “fatui things.”

as childe bit into the dish, both you and xiangling watched him wide eyed, eager for a response. you noticed his cheeks puff out as he chewed with a quizzical expression. his eyes lit up before he swallowed, conveying all you needed to know. 

“this has to be one of your best dishes yet, who thought hoarfrost core and boar would go so well together?”

the awe in his voice was apparent as he eagerly bit down on the kebab once more, sweet hums of delight filling the air as he closed his eyes while chewing. 

as you and xiangling watched the harbinger scarf down the food like a starved man with glowing cheeks, you felt your heart swell. 

the unlikeliest of friendships, however for you, it couldn’t have been more perfect. 

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Sore (Revenant x Reader)

Theme: Revenant comforts (in his weird way) and helps a reader who is tired and sore from a lot of strenuous work and activity, coming down from a manic high. Part of a series.

Warnings: Mentions of mania, threats of violence, bodily pain.

Reader Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is non-gendered this chapter, this can be read in the context of romance or not.

Writing Notes: Reject leg damage, ascend to Octane. I guess this is a series because I have no chill.

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"Ah, little skinsuit, you're back." Revenant seems genuinely surprised by your appearance in his doorway. You had wearily limped all the way back to his private room from the volunteer breakroom on other side of the Apex compound. He had, indeed, mentioned something about being willing to help you again previously, but just in case, you had an excuse for showing up.

"I brought you a water." You hold up a water bottle, your arm shaking from exhaustion. A lot of the Legends would have volunteers run water, drinks, and snacks to their rooms from the kitchen and cafeteria, so it was decent cover in case he didn't actually mean it before. After all, you were right at the start of a manic episode then and weren't thinking straight last time. I mean, you asked a killing machine for help, outright, with no thoughts of what that might lead to. But you lived! And he was oddly nice, despite your brazen request.

"When was the last time you slept?" there is something a bit off about his vocals. Genuine concern, perhaps? Or maybe you are imagining it. "You know I don't drink water, right? It's tasteless and I don't need it, so there's no point in me drinking it."

Your gut sinks. You never even considered that, but when you think about it, the only runs you ever made to his room were for various alcohols, usually hard liquors. You should have just brought something from his prior requests, but you were so confident in water as something everyone enjoyed...

"Sit down. You're not answering me quickly enough to be reassuring." He motions to a small bench in his room with cushions situated in front of the television, which was broadcasting some of the highlights from the last match. You want to walk over, but you're too busy rubbing your eyes at the moment trying to fight back the fatigue. The water bottle slips out of your hands as they rub into your eyes for a moment, and as you jolt to try to catch it, you feel the soreness in your legs lock them... causing you to fall on right your face.

"So... I take it that it's been a while." He seems bemused, but you are too tired to be bothered by it. You just lay there, face down for a moment, absolutely and utterly exhausted. The water bottle steadily and slowly rolls away from you and towards where Revenant is sitting: at a computer desk to the right of the room, pushed up against the far wall.

He audibly sighs, and you hear nothing for a moment. Then you feel a single, metallic arm scoop under your belly and hoist you up like cattle. You feel the weight of your torso balance against the weight of your legs, sufficiently winding you as your hang by your diaphragm on his forearm. You stare blankly at the floor, blurring from your weary vision. He carries you to the cushioned bench, and places you down on it surprisingly gently. The cushions help keep the bench from being wholly uncomfortable as you slowly find yourself splayed out on it. You stay limp, letting your limbs fall where they will. He's right. You haven't slept in a while.

"Sorry..." You utter as he sits next to your pretend corpse non-chalantly. He's hunched forward, forearms resting on his knees, looking over you with notable interest. Your last manic episode was only just beginning to wear off, and you managed to hurt both your legs running around at full speed during it. Even worse, the mania kept you from sleeping last night, only getting in an hour and a half at best, which is always somehow worse than not sleeping at all. You were already drifting to sleep as your thoughts wander.

"Hey." You wake back up with a jolt at the feeling of a cool hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "Seriously, what kind of ship are they running in this place? Why are you so desperate as to come to me for help--twice?"

You move to sit up, and his hand drifts away. You should apologize and leave with the water. That would be best, right?

"I'm sorry for the disturbance." You say as you hobble to your feet.

"Bit late for that. Also, those legs aren't going to hold you up for long, your muscles are already quivering like a violin string against a bow." You loosely see him point to your legs through your blurry vision. He is right. They hurt really badly. They had been given a moment of rest and they are screaming to be given a longer reprieve.

"Sit."

"I'm sorry, I'll just be--"

"SIT." His growling command is absolute. You collapse onto the bench with no further protests. Your legs are still sore, whimpering in pain, but much better now that they aren't supporting any weight. You sit upright, but you feel your posture faltering rapidly as you begin to drift towards sleep.

Revenant stands up off the bench while picking up the runaway water bottle in a single, sweeping motion.

"This is fairly cold, was it originally frozen?" He towers over you intimidatingly.

"Yes, most Legends like cold water, so we are constantly defrosting frozen bottles throughout the day." You answer blankly.

"Good. So where are the frozen bottles?"

"In the mess hall kitchen, walk-in freezer B, on the left." His questions give you just enough mental focus to break through the fuzz of exhaustion for a moment. "Would you like me to retrieve you a frozen one instead?"

"No, it's fine, I'll go." He starts to turn to leave, but you speak up.

"Actually, only volunteers and staff are supposed to enter the kitchen area--"

"I go wherever the hell I want." He turns back to shoot you a glare. "Now get up, and lie down in that bed." He points to the surprisingly large bed immediately behind the bench, perched at perfect viewing angle from the droning television. "I don't sleep. Haven't touched it. Won't touch it. You might as well use it."

"Wait, I can't just--"

"You don't have a choice anymore. Now go." He turns and slides out the door, letting the hatch close behind him, but not before giving you one last dirty look for questioning his request.

You consider that it is technically a part of your volunteer duties to do as the Legends ask. Sure, you are allowed to deny any obviously bad faith requests, but nobody said you had to deny them. Plus, Revenant is probably the most mysterious, concerningly foreboding, and terrifyingly powerful Legend in the Games. Nobody would blame you for doing as he asks the moment he asks it, especially when every word he speaks oozes with a threatening aura. Most volunteers wouldn't even come to his room. You were just happy to take all their requests and deliver them yourself to get to see him for a few moments. Sure, you had to trade away a couple Fuze requests and Wraith requests to prioritize him, but everyone seemed intimidated enough that they came to you to trade well before even considering just making the delivery. You were known as the only volunteer who actually liked delivering Revenant's many requests, even when some of them required going above and beyond the normal snack or drink runs.

You manage to hobble yourself onto both legs, which are once again screaming for relief from your weight. With a couple of well placed limps, you make it to the edge of the bed. He really hasn't touched it. Not a single wrinkle in the cloth. Nothing is out of place. Pillows are fully fluffed and without craters from a resting head. You hesitate to ruin it, but you know you must.

You crawl into it, collapsing only a few inches from the edge you started on. It's so soft. They really spared no expense for the Legends' beds, apparently. You remember them getting remodeled and finding the bench to be an odd choice over a nice couch, but you didn't know they were outfitted with beds made of clouds. You wonder, what does Revenant do all night if he doesn't sleep? How boring must that be? Does he charge his chassis? Does he shut down? You think about what it must be like to shut down. Shutting down must be nice. Peaceful. Just being able to rest. Similar to sleep. If only...

• • •

You suddenly regain awareness of your surroundings. How long were you out? Are you still in bed? Why is it so dark? You lift your head a little and tilt it towards a skylight window on the ceiling. Your back is newly sore, and your neck protests being bent. It's night now. You've been asleep for at least five hours for it to be this dark. You begin to scan the surroundings just to be startled by the hulking mass sitting on the bed next to you. His eyes glow dimly, locked on to yours.

"Feel any better?" His vocalizations are a bit more hushed than usual. He may not be sure if you're fully conscious yet. To be fair, you're not sure you're fully conscious either. You want to answer, but you're paralyzed like a deer, staring into his optic LEDs. After a moment of uncertain silence, he reaches out and touches your shoulder lightly, bringing your mind back in focus.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to--!"

"Shut it. You slept like a corpse. Probably one of least entertaining sleepers I've met." Wait, he watches people sleep? "Although, to be fair, you might be much more restless on a normal night. Maybe this is like one of those pilot episodes that is just not up to the quality of the rest of the series." You noticeably shudder and pull away as you sit up to face him. "See, more of that would be better." You hold the sheet in front of you defensively, not that it would stop anything larger than an insect. "Cute." He pulls the sheet from your hand and it falls back to the mattress.

You can't help but feel a bit bothered by his inquisitive stare, now knowing it's been collecting data for hours without your knowledge. You lean away as you think about it, continuing to shudder, deciding that perhaps this Legend is still planning to dissect you at some point after all.

He relishes in your fear for a moment, but then swiftly moves to get up and walk to the kitchenette. He opens the freezer, unleashing a powerful light into the room for a moment, before pulling out a bottle and closing the door, taking the light with it.

"What hurts?" He grabs a towel from atop the freezer, wrapping the frozen water bottle completely.

You stutter for a moment, and then get it out:

"I hurt my legs pretty badly yesterday, as well as my back, apparently." You had just woken up to it sore and aching, unfortunately meaning that all that box lifting had finally caught up with you. You reached behind yourself to try to massage it, but you felt a cool compress push up against it. When did he get behind you? He didn't even make a sound.

"A sore back is the worst." Why was he doing this? Has he really taken some kind of liking to you? "Even Rampart takes pity on me and readjusts my spinal plates when they get misaligned." He rolled the covered, frozen water bottle up and down your spine, helping with the pain a bit. "I haven't met a skinsuit or simulacrum who simply walks off a bad back."

You felt bad. He shouldn't be helping you. Why was he even bothering with you? What compelled him to do or say any of this?

"Hey, don't hunch forward like that, it'll get worse." You snap to attention.

"S-sorry!" You let slip out of your mouth as his spare claw wraps around your left shoulder and pull you back against the bottle and into the correct posture.

"Anyways, I was about to ask... Where do they get off working you to the bone like this?"

"It's actually my fault. I haven't stopped working since the third season, the more you work the more interaction with the Legends you get, I wanted to make sure I got the best positions and shifts." You pause. "I should have taken time off the moment I started to get fidgety. I should have known I would do something stupid and inappropriate..." You trail off, realizing you're speaking things out loud that are better kept in your internal monologue.

"Well, you're not dead so far, but you're really damn close to Death now." Your spine was starting to relax and decompress, finally. "So, if you're working that hard, that means you definitely are a huge fan of one of these skinsuits... so, who is it? Season 3 you said, right?" He paused as you started to turn flush without his notice. "Octane doesn't suit you, you're slow and clumsy. Although, perhaps that's something to aspire to. It couldn't be Crypto, he's unimaginably boring. Wattson, though, I have noticed she has a lot of fans..." He was simply mumbling on. It didn't really matter why you started anymore, you already had a new favorite. "So, which one? I'll add 'em to my list of high priority targets, just for you." He pauses, awaiting an answer.

"You..." You say, as softly as you can.

"Repeat that. Louder." Did he hear you?

"You." You say it just loud enough to know he heard it this time. "You were my favorite the moment you joined," you pause, deciding if you should confess this, "especially after that stunt you pulled on live TV." You hated Forge like all the other volunteers after word spread around about how he treated Bangalore. He may have put on a decent façade for the camera, but clearly was a predator behind the scenes. When an abuser is backed by big money like Hammond Robotics had, they could freely abuse anyone without consequences. Money tends to shut people up, despite the victims. Your gut told you all you needed to know about Forge the moment you first saw him. Thankfully, it was also the last time you saw him. Even though the just side of you knew that Forge deserved some kind of trial, the more primal part of you was happy to see him gone. The justice system would have been rigged in his favor anyway.

Revenant was silent as you pondered. Shock? Disgust? Or just nothing to say? He wasn't one to be speechless.

"Well, not sure what kind of a psychopath you are, but your wanton lack of self-preservation is my favorite thing about you." Was he offended at your answer? He sounded humored. You panic a little and start to pull away, but get pulled backwards--all the way into his enveloping grapple.

His entire frame practically swallows yours. You peer up just to catch a glimpse of his face staring down menacingly at you. You instinctively start to ball up defensively, but he snags one of your legs before you can tuck it away behind your arms. He's strong. Disturbingly strong. Even for a mechanical amalgamation, his grip is unfetterable. You couldn't free your leg, and you knew there was no way you could squirm out of it.

"This hurts too, you said?" The bottle was pressed to your calf, and he applied steady pressure to the muscle to relieve the nerves and cramping. Why was he doing this? Didn't he just make a thinly veiled threat to kill you? "You should consider giving me the other leg too. Unless you're afraid I'm not going to give this one back." He mocks you, but honestly you aren't sure he is truly joking about taking your leg or not. He could, if he wanted. He's huge, strong, and apparently he can make blades from his mechanical hands. You shudder a bit at the thought that those same lethal hands are currently prodding at your calf muscle... He is actually fairly adept at relieving pain, oddly enough. You feel the pressure ebb away the soreness as it reaches relief. You knew a little about simulacrums, enough to know they were once human. Did he hurt himself a lot back then? How else would he know how to do this?

"Hey, I'll trade you." He releases your one leg, it actually feels a lot better. Just a bit of pressure in the right areas really calmed it down. He motions for the other, but you cower for a moment too long. "Give me your damn leg." You immediately relinquish it, carefully pulling back the newly relieved leg into your defensive ball stance, per the trade agreement. He proceeds to perform the same relief on the other leg as well.

"You know, normally when I'm asked for help, I get to kill something." His gaze remains locked on your leg. "Instead, you just tempt me and expect me not to. Now why would you do that, little skinsuit?" You lock on to his eyes, but they never meet yours. "You've got a death wish, as far as I can tell. I'll confess, I like that about you." You keep perfectly still and silent, trying to stay as small as possible. "You're playing a risky game. Can't say I get to play these games often, so I'm going to make the most of it." He gently releases your leg, now feeling better and relaxed. You pull it into your ball, finally completing the pathetic stance. His giant, clawed hand comes down to pet you on the head a little roughly. He could crush your whole skull, if he wanted. That is the primary message, laced with the subtle message that he won't do that, yet. A chill runs up your spine.

"Alright, I've made my decision." He's out of bed, taking the thawing bottle and towel back to the kitchenette.

"W-What?" You are very uncertain.

"It's fine, I'll have it taken care of. Now sleep. You haven't slept enough." Your spine curls a bit at the prospect of sleeping in the presence of this guy again. You start to get up to leave, but it's slow moving since you're still a bit iffy on your legs.

"It's okay, I have a bunk in the volunteer space I should get back to..." You trail off, meeting his gaze and causing you to freeze right before standing up. His yellow eyes seem brighter and more visceral than before, locking you into a stare down. You blink immediately, that's not a fight worth attempting. "...why?" You can't tell if you're pleading or hoping for a genuine answer. He turns away to look back into the blinding light of the open freezer for a moment.

"Go, if you want, but I'm only giving you five seconds." He doesn't turn to look at you, he just starts counting. "Five..." Should you go? "Four..." Would he come after you? "Three..." You don't want to go, actually. "Two..." You want to see where this goes. "One..." What else do you have to do, anyway? "Zero."

Revenant turns to meet your gaze, his eyes noticeably widening and dimming in the dark when he sees you still there. He probably knew you didn't move, after all he would have heard it, but he still seemed happy to see you there anyway.

"Now, sleep. I'll take care of the rest." You felt a bit uneasy, but you laid back down, uncurling yourself and trying to make yourself comfortable. Revenant didn't linger over you on the bed this time, instead he must have gone from the kitchenette over to the computer desk, because you slowly dozed off to the sounds of the keyboard feedback chirps and pointer clicks as he worked with the heads-up displays. You were more tired than you thought, and dozed off quickly.

• • • •

"... Hah! I knew the pilot episode wasn't a good indicator of quality." You woke up to him looming over you in the bed again, but this time you were not taken by surprise. "You twitch a lot while you sleep; you even murmur absolute nonsense." You sigh. This is fun for him somehow. "I swear you were trying to run or swim at one point... Did you get away? Or did you drown?" You don't know how to answer his questions, you don't remember any dreams. In fact, he probably has more of an idea than you do at this point. You meet his gaze, and it seems to be understood that you have no answers. He sighs, clearly disappointed.

"Shame, well, in the meantime, congratulations on your promotion."

"Wait, what?"

"Here, welcome to the team." He drops a red laminated badge on top of you, and swiftly makes his way out of the bed, just to crawl up the wall, onto the ceiling, and starts to exit through the skylight window. "Sorry I can't spend more time with you, but I have a match today." His voice is nearly drowned out by the sound of aircraft starting up. "Watch for me, I'll make sure I knock out whichever one of those skinsuits used to be your favorite early on." You can hear the sneer in his voice through the overwhelming aircraft engines.

He disappears from view, the window closes, the aircraft noise dampens again, and the television drones on with the pre-match banter between announcers in front of you. You stare up at the morning sky for a moment, wondering what you got yourself into.

You look down at the badge. It is a top clearance badge, meant for direct employees of the Legends. It can get you access to almost anywhere and to almost anything. It has Revenant's personal seal on it, marking you as his. It has all the correct watermarks, and a scannable chip to prove authenticity. You've only seen a few of these, and you heard Mirage once got in huge trouble for selling his as a VIP experience. But it did nearly sell, and it was already bidding for enough money for any sane person to retire off of.

You aren't a volunteer anymore. You're Revenant's subordinate. Notably an important enough one that you can go almost anywhere he can go. The badge shimmers in your hands, sparkling in your eyes. This badge is worth more than anything you've ever held before in your life. You revel in it for a moment, until you notice it: You're now "Little Skinsuit" according to the "Name" field on the badge. He genuinely couldn't resist, could he? You'd be bothered if it wasn't genuinely hilarious. That means somewhere in the security checkpoints, "Little Skinsuit" was now registered at nearly maximum clearance. Amazing.

You sit there for a moment, pondering how you got yourself into this. You had a moment, just a single moment a few days ago, where you felt like you could ask him for help. You just wanted to calm down; you had tripped, bruised your feet, hurt your calves, and even busted a couple bottles of liquor and whisky meant for him because of your manic movements as you ran back and fourth from one side of the complex to the other. Finally, after getting him everything he requested, intact, you lost your inhibition for a mere moment. You asked if he'd help you settle your mania. And for some reason--maybe he had already started to get some kind of drunk at that point--he said yes. That's what started it all.

He said something about helping you again before you left last time. And then you came back yesterday, completely in the fog from no sleep and a continued manic episode, but holding on to that promise. And now you've somehow become his personal errand runner, holding an ID worth more than you could grasp. What the heck is happening anymore?

For now, you stare into the sky, and soak in the sun, and just relax in the moment. You get to watch today's match instead of scrubbing the floors. It'll be a nice day.

[no-droids]

Chapter 5: Of Metal and Men

Part five of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.1K OUR LONGEST SIN YET FOUNDLINGS

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, mild mild degredation whoops

A/N:  Uhh this is so fluffy?  wtf how come??/?

“Mando?”

“Hm.”

“I have to pee.”

He grunts.  “So go pee.”

“I can’t see.”

“Turn on a light.”

“But…”  You don’t even want to say the words aloud.  You’ve so far convinced yourself that if you just never mention the fact that he’s got his helmet off right now, he’ll somehow forget to put it back on again.  

It’s not that you necessarily want him to deviate from the ways of the Mandalore, obviously; you have more respect for his culture than that.  No, it's just that.  This is so nice.  Hearing him speak without a modulator warping the natural frequency of his voice, being able to feel his skin directly under your lips with your face buried in the crook of his neck like this.  Practically everything on this fucking ship is metal—the floor beneath you, the mechanics, the hull, the cockpit, the blasters, the armor.  When he puts it on, he becomes nearly invincible; an unreadable, impenetrable fortress that abides by a strict code he rarely deviates from.

But without all that, he’s so… human.  Not a Mandalorian, just a man.  Everything that gives him prestige and recognition stripped away.  Every weapon he straps to his body removed.  The code he’s honored his entire life suspended in a paradisiacal loophole that you never want to end, even if it means having to walk around in the dark for the rest of your life.

He has to put the helmet back on at some point, you’re eventually forced to remind yourself.  What starts out as an impossible task slowly becomes easier as the pressure in your bladder increasingly makes itself known, a reminder that you too are only human and sometimes humans have to pee soon after they wake up.

Which, y’know, a lot of times is okay.  But sometimes, like right now, it really fucking isn’t okay.  Because right now, his hand is so big and warm resting against your upper-back, shoved up underneath the fabric of your shirt and spread out across your shoulder blade.  Right now you can feel his heartbeat through his chest, feel his lungs expand and contract slowly against you.  The last thing you want is to move, and the darkness makes a perfect scapegoat.

You’re quiet for too long, apparently, because he eventually turns his chin to brush his lips against your temple.  “Turn on a light.  Just don’t look.”

You honestly don’t blame him.  He hasn’t had as much time to contemplate the staggering predicament you’re in.  “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive, shiny.”

“Go.  I trust you.”

Your lashes brush against his neck when your eyes pop open, and the giant pang you feel in your chest shouldn’t be nearly as debilitating as it is.  You know he trusts you, it goes without saying.  But it’s one thing to travel around the galaxy with him, cultivate that inherent trust that comes naturally with odd partnerships that work surprisingly well.  He trusts you to look after the kid, trusts you to pilot and maintain his ship, trusts you to cauterize his wounds when he’s incapable of doing so.  He even trusts you enough to fall asleep next to you, leaving himself unarmored and vulnerable in ways you know you’ll never truly be able to understand.

But this—this is entirely different.  This is the Way.  And he’s half-asleep right now, putting a proverbial blaster in your hand and painting a target on his livelihood, telling you he trusts you enough to uphold one of the strictest, most foundational pillars of his belief system for him.

Okay.  Okay.  If this is what he wants.  You’re not sure you’d put nearly as much blind faith in your own abilities (pun totally intended), but okay.  You trust him and apparently he trusts you, so by some weirdly paradoxical extension inwards, you’re just going to have to trust yourself, too.  He’s always been a man of relatively few words, so it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to you that somehow only three of them work to provide you with more motivation than you’ve experienced in your entire life.  If this is what he wants, then you’ll fight logic with gloves on and downright force yourself to see without seeing.  Somehow.

You slowly start to wiggle out of his arms, but then pause for a second to tilt your chin up and press a soft kiss to his lips, trying not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

“Go,” he eventually breathes into your mouth.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Go.”

“Fuck—fine.”  You carefully remove yourself and do your best to stand up on the blanket with unsteady legs, but then you stop for an entirely different reason, patting the skin on your bare hips in the pitch blackness to check.  “Wait, hang on, did—did you not put any pants back on me last night?”

“…Was I supposed to?”  Eventually comes from somewhere by your feet.

No.  No, he most certainly was not.  You’re honestly just surprised it took you this long to notice, especially since you’ve been subtly clenching your thighs and delaying the inevitable in the darkness for so long.  

You don’t end up answering him, determined instead to find your way to the fresher without the use of sight so you can come back to him quicker.  That’s easier said than done, though.  It’s slow going from the start, trying to step over him without actually knowing exactly where he is, carefully tapping your toes to the ground three times before putting any weight on them and hoping you don’t accidentally step on anything important.

He takes the possibility away when you hear him sigh and strong fingers wrap themselves around your ankles in the dark, pulling and guiding your legs up over his body while muttering inaudibly under his breath.  Something tells you he’s still getting used to having companions that are so blatantly helpless without him, but he does good in rising to the challenge regardless.

The second he releases you and you take a step forward off the blanket though, you immediately trip over something bulky and painfully hard on the floor, catching yourself just in time but managing to stub your toe in the process.

“Careful,” his voice says from behind you, over the loud clang echoing throughout the hull.  “Beskar’s there.”

“Thanks, I almost tripped.”  Once you get closer to the machinery standing upright against the far wall of the hull though, it’s a bit easier to see.  The red and green lights act as your navigation beacons, stationary air traffic control wands guiding your turbulent body through the darkness.

The fresher light is fucking blinding when you finally make contact with the switch, and with the illumination comes an incredibly stern reminder to yourself not to look behind you.  It… it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it?  Turning your head just a fraction right now would be the equivalent of pulling a blaster’s trigger a mere inch—devastating, life-altering, and permanent, yet somehow so fundamentally easy.

You don’t, of course.  It’s just the fleeting thought of it that jars you for a moment.  You quickly shut the door behind you, use the toilet (annoyingly slanted thing you need to have a talk with him about soon, more of a weird space urinal than anything else and not really designed to be used by people with vaginas at all), and then wash your hands.

Your slightly damp fingers press tight to bridge over your eyes before you carefully open the door again, knowing you’re now facing him and the fluorescent light over the sink behind you is probably shining directly on him.  

“Is it… safe?”  You ask after a second.

“I’m not a rancor.”  The sound of his voice makes you sigh in relief and your heart drop in disappointment simultaneously.

Modulated.  Filtered, and familiar.

Sure enough, you peek through your fingers to see him laying back with an arm casually folded behind his head, his helmet back on.  Even though the only skin you see is his bare hand resting on his stomach, he still looks fucking gorgeous like this—waiting silently for you in the make-shift bed you shared, blanket twisted around his lower half.

You pause there in the doorway so you can just admire him for a second.  Relaxing, looking so trim and flexible in his long sleeved under-armor without all that beskar weighing him down.  He looks back at you through the chrome visor, letting it tilt to the side and rest lazily in the cradle of his arm, and you suddenly remember with a jolt just how incredibly pantsless you are right now.

“Come here.”

Maker, he still makes you nervous.  Stars, he had his mouth buried between your legs for longer than you can even imagine last night, why are you still so nervous?  Is it the proximity?  Just the literal act of seeing him in front of you?  Not being able to feel like yourself around him unless he’s a disembodied voice in the darkness?  Not being able to remember he’s an actual fucking person under there if you’re not actively touching his body in some way?

You feel… kind of shy now.  Why?  It’s like a flip inside you he can switch at will, just ever so subtly change his posture or tone of voice and bam—he’s dangerous, remember?  He’s an underground bounty hunter, remember?  He’s a mystery, he’s unpredictable—he’s an invincible, unreadable, impenetrable fortress, and you know absolutely nothing about him.  Remember?

You trip over his armor again for an entirely different reason on your way back to him this time, despite how much better you can see now.  You catch yourself once more, looking down at the offending pile of beskar like it did that on purpose, but then stop to consider it for just a second.

It’s just metal.  And he’s just a man.  You know he’s probably killed more people than you can count and he’s intimidating as all fuck, but you also know he stutters when he gets really worked up and decided to fall asleep next to you without his helmet on.  Because he’s just a man, and men aren’t born with shields on their backs and visors covering their eyes and grenades in their hands.  Not even Mandalorians.

So you slowly bend down and grab his hefty gloves, taking a moment to study them before fitting your comparatively small hands into each of them one at a time, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling how much space the tips of them have to move before reaching leather.

He says your name shortly as you’re carefully stepping your right foot into his oversized boot.  You ignore him, balancing precariously on one leg while your left foot slides in the other one.  “Hey, guess who I am.”

“No.”

You reach down and lift the unexpectedly heavy ammo belt over your head, letting the thick leather drape between your breasts and come to rest just below the curve of your bare hip.  “I’ll give you a hint,” you say, gathering the mass of dark fabric at your feet and making sure your butt doesn’t get caught on the thick bandolier when you rise back up again.  You wrap the cape around your shoulders and lift your chin to tie it in a sloppy, makeshift little knot around your throat, fingers noticeably less nimble when confined in loose leather.  “Handy with a blaster, not real big on droids.  I also wear a helmet, probably because my face is too pretty to match my menacing vibe but those rumors are unconfirmed.”

“Come here,” he gruffs impatiently, but you just turn around and waddle back a few steps in the baggy getup, much too tiny feet clomping around awkwardly in his roomy boots and the floor-length cape dragging on the ground behind you.

And then you stop, before grabbing the hem of it and whipping around dramatically to face him, giving him your best bounty hunter pose.

“I can bring you in warm,” your voice is a deep as you can get it, your eyebrows narrowed as you fingergun and shift with flair.  “Or—”

“Hey—careful—” he quickly sits up and points at your hand, “—don’t touch your thumb to the—”

“—I can bring you in—”  And then an actual, real life, giant ass blaze of fucking fire suddenly shoots from your wrist and scares the living shit out of you so much that you stumble backwards and trip over your cape, choking and flailing as you come down hard on your bare ass.

You blink up at him from the ground with wide, terrified eyes.  He looks back at you, arm outstretched and frozen in midair.

And then he laughs.

Mando actually fucking laughs at you.

You stare at him in utter shock as he abruptly drops his hand to his lap and his helmet to his chest, his shoulders shaking with it.  As lovely and uplifting the sound is, you’re not really sure how to feel about the fact that the first time you managed to get an outright laugh out of him was at the risk of your own mortality.

“Excuse me,” you say after a second, trying your best to sound appalled.  You carefully remove the death gauntlets with your hands extended as far away from your face as possible, fingers spread and thumb held completely rigid in position.  “Are you actually laughing at the fact that I almost just died horrifically in front of you?”

“Stars, just—” he lifts his head back up to look at you, “fucking—come here.  You’re worse than the kid is, I swear.”

You slowly stand up, and the boots are so big around your ankles that you don’t even have to kick them off, you can just leave them there in position on the floor as you lift your feet and begin walking over to him.  “I’ll have you know I am a fierce bounty hunter—”

“Terrifying,” he mutters, and you’re about halfway done untying his cape when you get close enough for him to reach out and snatch the bottom of it, swiftly yanking you down on top of him and removing the fabric from your throat at the same time.  He ignores your dramatic choking noise, catching your flailing body with barely a grunt.  “Craziest in the guild.  Your first kill was yourself.”

“Yeah, I—” you oof and giggle as he immediately flips you around, downright giddy at the ease with which he maneuvers you on the floor and gets on top of you, “—I bring them in warm, or I bring them in hot.”

“Stop,” you can hear his smile through the helmet as he catches each of your wrists and pins them to the ground by your head.  “Maker.”

“Wait—” you try to wiggle out from under him.  It’s futile, of course, not just because he’s all muscle while he holds you down and straddles your hips, but because all your body weight is now laying on top of his ammo belt as it slings around your chest.  “Wait, h-hang on—the fresher light’s still on.”

“So?”

“So I can see you right now, which means—”  you can’t take that stupid thing off your head and kiss me.

That’s what you want to say.  You catch yourself just in time, biting your lip and blinking up at your warped reflection in the chrome visor.  He releases your wrists and lifts his torso up tall.  “…W-which means—”

Mando’s too smart for that, though.  You’re not getting one by him anytime soon.  Before you can come up with an alternative, he hooks his fingers under the thick band of leather trailing down through the valley between your breasts and calls you out.

“Do you want me to take my helmet off?”  He asks, tilting his head down at you and letting his hand slide back and forth under the ammo belt idly.  For a second you think he’s going to remove it, try and find some way to wiggle it off you in this position, but then he just lets the heavy bandolier drop back down to your sternum again and continues moving his hands down your tummy.  “Hm?  Or do you want to see?”

And then one of his thumbs catches the hem of his trousers and ever so slowly starts to pull the fabric downwards.  Your breath stutters as tan skin and dark, coarse hair are gradually revealed right in front of your eyes, the hemline making a mouthwatering triangle shape that runs alongside the lines of his Adonis belt.

When he stops just at the very base of his cock, it takes you a second to realize he’s waiting for an answer.

“Uh—”  Stars, what the fuck kind of harrowing, existentially crippling question is this?  Kiss him or look at him?  Is he serious?  “Uhhhh…”  You legitimately feel torn, blinking up at the visor and noticing the struggle blatantly written all over your reflection.  Why in Maker’s name would he put this on you?  On the one hand, his mouth.  On the other hand, his—

“I want you to see,” he admits quietly, and you flick your eyes down to look at him slowly running his thumb along the slope of flesh peeking out of the dark curls.  “Can I show you?”

Oh fuck, what is happening?  And why are you so wet already?

“Uh… ye-yeah—” and then he’s immediately using his other hand to reach inside and shift up just a bit, before he eases his gorgeous cock out of his pants by cupping his balls and letting the fabric hooked in his thumb rest under them.  He’s already half-hard for you, already deliciously thick as he carefully lowers himself back down again.  Against all reason, his skin practically glows under the artificial lighting, somehow looking sunkissed in places that never see the sun.

Maker, you want it in your mouth.

You have no idea why that’s your first thought.  Okay, well no, that’s not true—you know exactly why that’s your first thought, especially when you can physically see him getting harder and harder right in front of you, watch him trace his fingers down his shaft and lazily brush them over the head.  You love the way he touches himself, how his hands look cradling the base, the beautiful contrast between the dark hair and his warm skin tone.

He slowly starts to move down your body, slide his legs back on either side of you until he’s straddling your lower thighs, and it’s not until his cock goes in the exact opposite direction you want it to (away from your mouth) that you find your voice.

“Hey, wait—I want—” his touch immediately stills along your hips and he lifts his helmet, letting you scramble to prop yourself up with your elbows, “—let me go down on you.  Please.”

“I told you I’d fuck you when you woke up,” he says, dropping his gaze back down between your legs.  His voice somehow sounds deeper through the filter.  Maybe not the pitch exactly, but the… color?  Fuller, darker, more depth.  “You want to make me into a liar?”

“Never.  Fuck my mouth instead.”

His hands tighten and his breathing subtly picks up through the modulator.  “I want your pussy.  First.  We’re almost to Corellia and I’m not risking my life on another hunt until I’ve fucked it like I want to.”

“You decide that timeline,” you remind him breathlessly, pushing your upper-body up off the floor and catching the fabric of his tunic near his neck.

“I have to earn credits somehow, I can’t just—” he abruptly cuts himself off when you yank his collar to the side and lick a slow, hot, wet line up his throat.  “—I… I-I can’t just stay on this ship with you f-forever and… and…”

His breath catches when you bite down on the thick cord of muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder.  And then he murmurs your name when you wrap your hand around his hard cock.

“You can do whatever you want to my pussy,” you whisper against his skin, feeling him shudder under your lips as you slowly pull your hand up and down the thick length of him.  “Whenever you want.  I made that clear last night.  All I’m asking is that right now, you lay back and let me suck your cock for a little bit.  Is that okay?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but he throbs under your hand and his body is surprisingly malleable as you urge him to move back slightly, just enough for you to collect your legs out from under him and rise up on your knees to face him.  You keep stroking him the entire time, sucking marks down his neck while you hold the hemline to the side.  Nobody will ever be able to see them, but somehow that makes it even better.  A secret only you and him know.  Next time he scares off a crowd of locals, he’ll be wearing your signet under his armor.

When you’ve sufficiently bitten and kissed marks along his neck and the fabric won’t stretch anymore, you reach down and pull it up from the bottom, lifting it up up up—up until it rests right above his sternum and you can see almost the entire length of his torso underneath, tan and dusted in dark hair.

You strongarm him back to sit on the floor with one hand and hike your own shirt up over your breasts with the other, letting the fabric bunch under your armpits while his ammo belt bisects your chest diagonally.  He curses when you immediately climb on top of him and start dragging your skin against his, rolling your exposed tits and pussy against the hard planes of his body and letting him feel how soft you really are.

“Is that okay?”  You ask him once more, rubbing yourself into him.  “Will you let me suck your cock, Mando?”

“Fuck—” he growls, grabbing your hips, “—why are you—h-how do you always make it feel so… so good—?”

“It’s supposed to feel good,” you tell him, beginning to slide down his body.

“Not like this,” he pants, tipping his head back when you slowly lick down his chest.  “Not—not everything, n-not all the time.”

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy is intensified by the clear drop of precum shining at the tip of his cock, now achingly swollen and a mouthwatering shade darker in color than the rest of him.  “Keep talking,” you whisper.  “It’s sexy.”

And then you slide his head into your mouth and let your tongue flutter gently along his frenulum.

Mando instantly goes rigid and grabs a fistful of your hair as you hum and taste his precum, slowly brushing your tongue over his tip to see if you can get any more out of him like this without going deeper.

“Fuck—” he grits while lifting his helmet to look, every muscle in his body tensing under you.  “Y-your mouth is—” he gasps when you gently swirl circles around the pulsing head, his open palm coming down hard on the blanket with a dull thud, “—fuck, your mouth is s-so—so fucking good—”

You open your jaw and take him down a few inches so he can feel your throat, satisfied when his helmet falls back and his grip tightens in your hair.  You slowly begin bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft and getting him nice and wet.  His thighs almost feel like he’s wearing beskar over them, his entire body held so incredibly tight and stiff as you softly pleasure him.

You can only get around half of him in your mouth without straining for it, so you soon lift off him and start coating your palm and fingers in spit.  His head raises immediately, exposed chest heaving as he watches.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, reaching down and starting to jerk him with your slick hand.  He doesn’t relax into it, instead he straightens his back even more, his hips starting to thrust into your grip.  “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want to fuck you,” he growls, the exact opposite of relaxed.  “You—you can’t w-walk around half-naked in—in my clothes and expect me t—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you take him back down again, deeper this time.  And then he relents and starts slowly fucking into your mouth, gradually rolling his hips further and further with every thrust.  One hand fists itself into the blanket while the other holds your hair back as you open your throat and work the rest of his length with slippery fingers.

When you take him down as far as you can and you drop your palm down to cradle his balls, Mando just about loses his mind.

“Fuck—let me fuck you,” he starts rasping at the ceiling, “please, l-let me—let me pound you into this dirty f-fucking ground like you wanted, like—like the filthy little girl you are—”

You hold there and swallow around his thick cock, letting your other hand slither down between your own legs and start rubbing your clit.  He probably can’t see you do it from this angle but it feels so much better this way regardless, having him as far down as your throat as possible and listening to him babble while you touch yourself.

The sound you make pulling off him to breathe isn’t necessarily the most attractive thing in the galaxy, but with the way he groans and tugs your hair sharply in response, you’d think it was the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.  You keep jerking his throbbing cock and rubbing circles around your clit, before moving down to take one of his balls into your mouth.

His grip tightens, along with the gorgeously soft skin under your tongue.  “W-Wait—stop—”

You look up at him.  He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and everything about him is unbearably stiff, even with the way his body is sprawled out and his chest rocks up and down with exertion.

“Sorry, I just—I was—” he gasps, “—I d-didn’t want to—to c-cum—”

“I want you to cum,” you murmur, blinking up at him and dragging your tongue up the length of his swollen, throbbing cock.  “Please.  Want it down my throat.”

You don’t know how it’s possible for his body to go even more rigid, but it does.  “You—?”

He possibly could’ve stopped himself, you think.  Even with the way you start gently sucking on his tip and looking up at him innocently after telling him you want to swallow his load, maybe he could’ve stopped the way his balls suddenly pull up tight, the way his grip on your hair turns to steel and his helmet rolls to the side.

But then the subtle shift of his head means he can see your hand moving between your legs, you can tell.  You can tell, because he makes a choking sound through the modulator and his stomach flexes, and then he’s cumming down your throat exactly like you wanted him to.

There’s a second between the moment of detonation and the explosive result of it.  It’s just enough time for him to slowly tilt his chin up and let out the smallest, quietest moan you’ve ever heard from him before his cock starts throbbing on your tongue, his balls working to steadily pump cum up his shaft.

You pull up and start swirling circles around his head just as the first spurt hits your tongue, moaning at the taste of him and preening at his hoarse whisper of your name.  You swallow everything he gives you, drain him until he’s completely empty and spent, trembling in pieces on the floor.

Admittedly you do keep him there in your mouth just a little bit longer than you should, just taking a minute to savor how good he tastes and how fucking beautiful his cock is, how stunning his body is exposed and spread out for you on the ground like this.

“Keep—keep doing that and I’ll get hard again,” he eventually warns, though his voice comes out sounding like sandpaper in his throat.

You hum and finally pull off him.  “That’s got to be the least threatening thing you’ve ever said to someone, I think.”

“Not able t—” he jerks when you bite his hipbone, “—to scare you off, apparently.  Most people run from me.”

“Nope.  Told you I wouldn’t, remember?  Back on Cantonica.  I’m also the craziest bounty hunter in the guild, so.  Look.”  You lift up to show him.  “I even have an ammo belt, see?  It holds all of the bullets, for all of my guns that I have.”

His hand slowly comes up and you think he’s going to grab the band of leather across your chest to either take it off you or pull you forward with it, but then he just grabs one of your breasts and gently squeezes it instead.  “You’re beautiful.”

Your breath catches.  You blink twice at him, your heart suddenly thundering under his hand.

“Wearing my armor.  Not wearing it.  Not wearing anything.  Wearing your clothes.  In complete darkness.  You’re beautiful.”

You think—for one ludicrous, insane second, you think that the enormous swelling in your chest literally transfers itself up to your brain and causes you to have an aneurysm right there on the floor in front of him.

But nope—it’s just the entire hull starting to violently shift and shake, swerving sideways and jerking upwards with rapid, unpredictable shifts in gravity.

You thrown on top of him in the chaos and try to find some sort of stable ground without accidentally kneeing him in the crotch.  Mando grunts and gets rolled on top of you when the ship immediately veers the other way, the weight of him suddenly crushing your lungs and making it impossible to breathe with the brutal changes in g-force.  Did he—did he leave the baby in the fucking cockpit?

He left the baby in the fucking cockpit.

[danny-chase]

Hello! May I request the pneumonia square on your bthb card for Dick with Bruce taking care of him?

Thanks for the request!

Pneumonia - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne Characters: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: bruce wayne centric, Dick grayson centric, Sickfic, Pneumonia, Blood, Stitches, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Damian Wayne, Sick/hurt Dick Grayson, mentions past passive suicidal attempt, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, what a surprise they hug each other Series: Part 9 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Bruce hasn't been sure where he stands in sons' lives after returning from the timestream, but a case of pneumonia provides an excuse to sort some things out.

Full story under cut

Bruce only meant to drop by briefly, hand off some papers, and be on his way. He wasn’t exactly sure what made him pause in front of the display case.

Well. That wasn’t exactly true. He did know. How could he not know by the way his eyes gravitated towards the hood on the back of the Robin suit’s cape. By the way his heart sank at the sight of it.

He still thought it unnecessary – a distraction in the fight – it could easily obscure vision. He would have never allowed his partners to wear one.

And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? Damian wasn’t his partner, the hood a visual reminder. Dick knew Damian’s abilities better than anyone, knew whether or not the hood was appropriate. He trusted Dick’s judgment – no – had to rely on it when it came to his youngest.

He’d considered stepping in at first, but it made sense to keep Dick and Damian as partners – they worked well together, provided results. Damian rarely got along with anyone else… and that was changing under Dick’s mentorship. Gotham was doing well, crime rates were dropping, and public approval had risen significantly. By all accounts, Batman and Robin were doing an excellent job.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, at wearing the mantle you created.

It was an odd feeling, to be surpassed by your son, in being loved by your youngest. To have missed out on so much, to have been dead a year and come back with things running (mostly) smoothly, as if the world hadn’t really needed him anyways. He couldn’t quite tell if it was humbling or humiliating when he heard whispers from officers of the new Batman being better than the old one.

But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was-

The walls of the bunker shook slightly, the floor trembling beneath his feet as the roar of an engine reverberated through the entrance tunnel. Swept out of his thoughts, he swiftly placed the stack of documents by the main computer and doubled back to his car.

He didn’t plan on being here long, wasn’t keen on talking – he had the computer back at the manor running narrowing down possible combinations for one of Riddler’s games – he’d already lingered much to long.

With that thought, he opened the door his of car, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement as Dick entered on his bike. Dick didn’t wave back – he always waved when he saw him – unless something was wrong – or maybe he hadn’t seen him – that was the logical answer –

But Bruce still found himself frozen in place, his pulse increasing, heart leaping into his throat as Dick got closer, his mind scrutinizing every detail he could see – the way Dick was hunched over too much – his posture was normally perfect, his left arm was wrapped around his middle – Bruce slammed his car door shut, jogging forward as Dick parked.

“What’s wrong?” He reached up, pulling off the damn cowl, revealing tired watery, reddish eyes. Dick blinked, frowning, his eyes adjusting to the light.

“Nothing.” He pulled back, refusing Bruce’s arm, dismounting the bike himself. The cape obscured whatever Dick was putting pressure on. Dick strode forward, his shoulder squared as he started up the stairs. He felt oddly small looking up at the stark silhouette – and he had to wonder – was this how his kids felt when staring up at his back?

And then Dick succumbed to a nasty coughing fit halfway up the stairs. Bruce bolted up beside him, offering an arm again, swiftly finding blood trickling from a deep gash on his side. Instinctively he tore off a piece of his shirt, pressing it to the wound. Dick looked at him judgmentally, speaking through coughs.

“If you – waited like -” He doubled over again, pausing their trip up the stairs. He put up a hand, as Bruce moved in to simply carry him up the rest of the way. “- m’ fine.” Dick sucked in a shallow breath and they continued on. “ – didn’t have to ruin your shirt. We have gauze.” He mumbled as they reached the top.

Bruce looked down at his shirt, then back at Dick, feeling like a dumbass, but nonetheless glad he hadn’t left him behind. “You would have fallen down the stairs.” He noted, before moving onto the more pressing matter. “Were you gassed? Poisoned? Dick, repo-”

“I’m-” Dick cut him off, only for Damian to drop from the rafters, dramatically landing a few feet away.

“He’s been ill.” He crossed his arms in annoyance, pouting in his pajama pants, wearing an oversized shirt he’d sworn he’d gotten for Dick years ago. “And insisted on benching me even though I am perfectly capable of-”

“Damian, you’re supposed to be in-” Dick stumbled over his own feet – another alarm going off in his mind – Dick was normally graceful. Bruce was tired of this – he made eye contact with Damian, nodding towards their medical closet.

“Grab gauze and a suturing kit.” He commanded, Damian scurrying off ahead. He slipped his free hand beneath Dick’s knees, scooping him up – rushing him the rest of the way to the table as Dick succumbed to a hacking fit. Memories from years ago bubbled in the back of his mind, from a time Dick was smaller, in a brightly colored costume, fading quickly in his arms after a run in with Harvey Dent.

He couldn’t call for Alfred this time. He was halfway across the world assisting Kate, spending well deserved time with his daughter.

Biting back the panic, he did his best to gently set him down, but Dick was heavier than he used to be, and he was a bit older himself. Bruce cringed as Dick hit the table with a bit of a thud – though it seemed Dick hardly noticed – but Damian hissed in disapproval.

“Sorry.” Dick murmured, once he caught his breath, sounding far away – as if standing on the other end of a tunnel. Bruce couldn’t tell if he was spacing out, or if Dick was simply quiet, either way, he ignored the interruption, holding out a hand.

Damian materialized beside him placing the kit in his hands before pressing clean gauze to Dick’s. Bruce yanked off the costume in tandem. Neither spoke as they worked like a well-oiled machine, Bruce sewing up the wound as Damian kept Dick still. He could fix this – it wasn’t like before – the cut wasn’t too bad, he had the skills – he just needed to focus.

Bruce fought to keep his hands steady, as he tied off the end. Dick stared aimlessly at the ceiling, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, rolling down the side of his face and dripping in his eyes. Damian kept him propped upright, from atop the other side of the table.

Dick paused to cough for a moment, Damian pounding his back with furious eyes, as if he was attacking the congestion himself. “Don’t tear the stiches.” Bruce chided, Damian glared, but lightened his taps. Bruce held Dick by the shoulders until he was ready to continue.

Moments later, the bandage was applied, and Bruce scanned for more injuries.

“That was it, I’m fine.” Dick muttered, though Bruce couldn’t tear his eyes away – he could feel the blood on his hands – drying at the edges, slimy under his latex gloves. Dick was too pale, too warm to the touch, too- “Quit looking at me like I died.” He grumbled exasperatedly, his voice painfully horse. The tone snapped Bruce out of his inspection. “I’m fine.”

He turned to Damian – because at least one of his kids was being honest. “How long has he been sick?” He turned, grabbing a thermometer off a shelf.

“Since last Monday.” He replied, critically scanning Dick as well, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

Dick scoffed at the remark, looking offended. “Liar, that was just allergies.” He reached up, moving to ruffle Damian’s hair – unsuccessful, Damian easily dodging the attempt.

“Obviously, it was more than just allergies, seeing as you’re still under the weather.” He rolled his eyes. “Likely something viral, the flu perhaps?”

Bruce gave Dick a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. “You know better than to go out while sick.” That’s how people get killed, how Dick could have gotten killed, how he would have been left to bleed out on the floor if he hadn’t been there, how –

“I thought I’d turned the corner.” Dick’s tone was cool, but his eyes were laser focused on him – he had this way of looking at people, as if he was staring into your soul. “I felt fine when I left.”

“He was doing better earlier.” Damian begrudgingly mentioned, taking some small amount of pity on his brother. He gazed up quizzically, matching Dick’s expression. Bruce shifted his gaze between the two sets of searching eyes.

A moment passed in silence. The weight in his hand finally reminding him of his purpose, he stuck the ear thermometer in Dick’s ear.

“I can do the rest myself.” Dick noted, placing a hand atop the thermometer as well – which Bruce subsequently ignored.

“Mmm.” He noted, checking the temperature. “Almost hundred and three. And you felt fine enough to go out?” He asked, dropping notes of disbelief into his voice. Dick gazed back at him, unamused.

“I meant what I said. It was only supposed be a stakeout anyways.” Irritation was clear, despite his scratchy tone. Damian hoped off the table behind him. “You’ve gone out way worse than this!” Dick broke into raspy coughs, Bruce catching his shoulders.

“I’m going to prepare tea.” Damian muttered, dashing up the stairs, leaving him alone with the sound of Dick’s wheezing.

“Any other symptoms?” Bruce grabbed a stethoscope, snapping a pulse oximeter to Dick’s index finger. “Be honest.” He reminded, Dick avoiding his gaze.

“Bruce, you don’t seriously think I would have gone out if-”

“I know you know your limits.” He acknowledged. He also knew his family (and occasionally himself) liked pretending the limits weren’t there. He slipped the stethoscope against Dick’s chest, listening to his lungs. “Breath in.” Something crackled deep in his lungs. “Chest x-ray.” Bruce noted.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” If Bruce closed his eyes, he could pretend it was 9-year-old Dick, complaining about having to be swabbed for strep throat.

“If I’m right, no.” Dick unhappily mimicked his voice. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, giving him an unamused stare. “A list of symptoms would help.”

“I hate it when you’re like this – just tell me what you think.” Dick slid off the table. Bruce caught him by the shoulders, they were burning up. Dick shivered, shaking underneath his hands.

“I think you already know.” He slipped an arm under his son’s shoulders, slowly walking him towards the machine. “Shortness of breath, coughing, wheezing, fever, chills, recently viral illness. Chest pain likely.”

Dick groaned. “It’s just a cold.” Bruce pulled a blanket a nearby shelf, wrapping it around his shoulders. “I’ll be fine with a good night’s sleep. You don’t have to do this; I’ll go to Leslie’s tomorrow.”

“Dick.” He sighed exasperatedly. They could do the x-ray here or drive to the clinic at 2am.

“Don’t, Dick, me. You have stuff to do, thanks for stitching me up but I can handle myself, I thought you were supposed to-”

“Richard.” Dick paused for a moment. Bruce took it as an opportunity to half carry him the rest of the way to the machine. “I’ll take a culture when this is done and send it to Leslie. I don’t mind.”

Dick hesitated before responding. “Fine.”

A few aspirin, couple of tests, and a trip to Leslie’s later, Bruce found himself walking in through the front door of the penthouse, antibiotics in hand. He nearly tripped over Damian’s sneakers, scattered carelessly in the little mud room. Kicking of his own shoes, he moved the little sneakers to the shoe rack, struck for a moment by how small they were.

Making his way into the living room, he found Dick, half asleep on the caramel-colored couch. He clicked off the television, turning off some nature show, Dick’s attention pivoting to him.

“You came back?” He whispered, almost too quiet to hear, but surprise evident all the same – eyes widening, jaw dropping, before he caught himself and returned to a blank expression. Bruce nodded, passing him the medication before settling in a nearby armchair. Two empty mugs sat on the low table, rich aroma still lingering in the air (ginger if his nose was right), though Damian was nowhere to be seen.

His eyes lingered on the mugs – they were handmade, one in the Batman color scheme, the other matching the Robin costume. He’d taken a sculpting class with Dick years ago; they’d made similar ones together. Dick’s was likely in pieces, lost under the rubble of his old apartment, and Tim accidentally knocked his off a table years ago. He tore his eyes away – it made since for Dick to carry on the tradition with his Robin, he just… regretted never making another.

He watched as Dick fumbled with the container, his heart sinking at the uncoordinated attempts to twist off the lid. Bruce swiped it back, popping off the lid, and passing him a pill along with a bottle of water.

The surprise in Dick’s voice weighed on his mind – surely – Dick didn’t expect for him to leave him alone in such a state? Yes – he knew Dick was an adult – knew he could take care of himself – but Alfred wasn’t around if he took a turn for the worse, he couldn’t just leave that for Damian. Worry crept into the pit of his stomach, Alfred had been gone weeks, were there more illnesses Dick hadn’t been reporting? More injuries? Why? Because he didn’t think he would care? He didn’t want to burden Damian? He was too busy to-

“Bruce, quit brooding, I was just surprised you got back so fast.” Dick spoke slowly in carefully low tones, scooting back into a sitting position on the further end of the couch. Curling into a ball, he wrapped the blanket he’d grabbed early tighter, shivering under it. Internally, Bruce cringed at the sight before turning back to his thoughts.

“Hmm.” That wasn’t what Dick said, or why he was surprised. “You didn’t think I was coming back.” It came out more statement than question. Dick coughed lightly, avoiding a response. “I’d like to know why.”

Dick shrugged, too timed to be nonchalant. “You have casework to do.” He wouldn’t meet his gaze, busying himself pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. “I’m an adult. I can handle being sick.”

“I know.” He hummed disbelievingly, his worry growing – Dick had a knack for lying – he really wasn’t feeling well if he was this easy to read. “You know I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t.” Dick warned, cutting him off with a glare. “If Alfred was here, you’d already be gone.” There was an edge of bitterness to his voice, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I…” <em>Haven’t visited in weeks because I feel strange around you and Damian,</em> his mind supplied helpfully.

“I know it hurts to see your…” Dick paused for a moment, catching his breath. “Family like this. Just don’t try to deny it, you disappear every time I get hurt.” <em>Or kick you me out,</em> went unsaid.

Bruce threw an arm over his eyes, taking a moment to lean back against the recliner. For so long, he’d been focused on just getting back to the present, getting back to his kids. But… coming back meant facing up to the times he’d been less than a good father… or older brother… whatever he and Dick had all those years ago.

He took a moment, examining a few memories, his behavior after the Two-Face case, the time Dick was shot in the shoulder, even how he’d acted the first few weeks Dick was at the manor – relentlessly pursuing justice rather than spend time with his ward. It was no secret to most he had regrets. He’d changed since then – never acted like that with Jason. Didn’t disappear after Tim’s father died. He’d changed, but he never –

“I’m sorry.” They stared at each other, speaking in tandem. Bruce’s jaw dropped as Dick continued.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your standards, I know I disappointed you tonight, I shouldn’t have brought the past up, you don’t have to stay-” His words came out hurriedly, rushed and pained.

“Dick.” Bruce hadn’t thought his heart could sink any lower, but somehow, it dropped to the bottom of his gut, his throat closing uncomfortably.

“I’m doing my best, I thought I’d be fine, I just really needed information tonight and I couldn’t go out tomorrow because I need to help Tim, and now I’m going to have to call in Steph, and Barbara’s gonna be upset, and Tim’ll be mad, and it’s Damian’s first week of school, I took him out of homeschool because you wanted him to go to Gotham Academy, but he hates it and he won’t go to bed on time, and I have a board meeting in the morning I’m not prepared for-”

“Richard.” Bruce tried to interrupt, but Dick was rambling, his hands shaking as he pressed one to his forehead, his voice growing frantic. Bruce moved to sit next to the mugs.

“-I know I’m letting you down, you came back to a mess and I’m still trying to get everything settled, and Jason’s still loose god knows where, and I can’t take three steps off this couch without feeling like I’m about to collapse and now I’m taking up your time too for nothing because I’m fine and I can handle this and you should just go back to your case because it’s more important and-”

“Richard John Grayson.” He squeezed Dick’s shoulder, waiting for him to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” Dick bit his lip, face flushed. Bruce froze, not sure where to go from here. He had more to say, but for some reason, he couldn’t speak. Dick blinked, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, and for a moment Bruce could pretend he was eight years old again – and just like that, he knew what to do.

Leaning forward, he wrapped Dick in a hug, gently patting his back (hopefully breaking some mucus loose). Alarm bells rang in his mind – Dick was warm – too warm, but he ignored them, just holding his son steady as his ragged breath went smooth.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stick around before, I know better now, and I’ll stay this time if you’ll let me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, releasing Dick back against a stack of pillows. He dropped his elbows to his knees, letting his head drop into his hands. He could fix this.

“You’ve done better than I could have imagined, given the circumstances. Better than I did when I was your age.” He ran Dick’s words through his mind again. “I’ll stay until you’re well. I’ll talk to Tim and Barbara. I’ll figure out where Jason went. I’ll talk to Damian about school, though you might have better luck than me on that one-”

“You’re kidding me he listened to you perfectly earlier.” Dick muttered, tucking his chin between his knees.

“-only because we had a shared goal, and that goal was assisting you.” Bruce continued. “I’ll call Lucius, get him to reduce your hours. I-we can fix this. Just…” his voice caught in his throat. “Get well soon.” Dick, well he was right, it was painful to see him so worn out. It seemed… unnatural, seeing him sick, though he’d seen him ill plenty of times before.

Dick glanced at him, then dropped his gaze, fidgeting with the corner of a little throw blanket. “I’m being pathetic. Bruce. I’m sorry, I can handle this.” He looked back up, determination swimming in his bleary blue eyes. “You don’t need to stay.”

Bruce sighed exasperatedly. “I know. Do you remember the time I got mono? Back when you were a kid?” Dick thought for a moment before nodding.

“Alfred wouldn’t let you leave your room. We played Uno.” He noted.

“And Go-Fish, checkers, chess, and every other game we own. And Clark and Lucius covered for me for two months. And I hated staying put but playing games with you made time fly.” He leaned forward, slipping an arm around Dick, pulling him up again, and heading towards his room. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I would have cut the recovery time in half if I didn’t escape out the window two weeks in. Dick… you aren’t letting me down if you let me cover for you, consider it payback.”

Dick gasped dramatically, only to let out a few weak coughs. “You didn’t! …Actually, I already knew. Alfred and I picked you up after you got your ass kicked, remember?” He shook his head. “I know it’s stupid to go out sick, I saw you do it and I hated it I wouldn’t do that to Damian or you.” He paused, leaving them in uncomfortable silence. “Uh. No offense. Just… you believe me, right? I wouldn’t have gone out if I thought I wouldn’t come back.”

Bruce paused, giving Dick a long look. Memories of Superman’s panicked call coming over his comms, Dick rushing into nuclear wastelands without protection. They’d come a long way since then, Dick had come a long way in the year he’d been gone. “I believe you.”

Dick let out a long breath as they turned into his bedroom. “Okay.” Bruce propped pillows as Dick faceplanted into bed.

“Sleep well.” He murmured, throwing the comforter over him. Dick turned, shooting him a half smile, not making any moves towards the nice stack of pillows. He clicked on a humidifier on his way towards the door, shutting off the lights as he left. “I’m proud of you.”

As he closed the door, leaving it open just a crack, he heard a tired voice whisper “Thanks.”