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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 3 months ago

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Things Learned and Unlearned Ch. 15

Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?

Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)

Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁

Chapter Warnings: None. Just angst and fluff.

Word Count: 3,343

A/N: So, here it is - Chapter 15, and the end of this series. I've been so grateful for all the wonderful reblogs and encouraging comments this fic has received as it's gone along week by week. Your support is the reason why it's finally completed.

It began life as just a few chapters from an orphaned fic of mine over on ff.net and now it's a fully completed Dean fic that I'm very proud of. 😊 So thanks again, and I hope you enjoy the end of this story, and feel it was worth the investment of your time. ❤️

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Four weeks later. January 1901.

Dean sat down heavily behind his mahogany desk and picked up his morning mail before immediately throwing it back down in annoyance.

It will just be invitations and invoices, Dean thought, who cares?

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and digging his fingers into them. He was hungover and had barely slept. He felt like he'd been hit with a brick building.

With a deep sigh, he opened the file in front of him and ran his hand over the top page. It was his copy of the deal that he’d finally signed a week ago.

Two weeks ago, George Taskett had called his secretary to arrange a meeting. When Dean showed up at the appointed time, George apologized profusely for what had happened at the theater.

“It’s taken me a little while to reach out to you because I wanted to be able to tell you that Byron Temple had been fired, and before I could do that, I needed to speak to the board about it first. But I can assure you now that he has been permanently removed from his position, and fired from our company. It seems that the board shared my concerns with his lack of moral character.”

George had told Dean that when they investigated a little bit, they’d discovered that the incident at The Manhattan hadn't been the first such incident for Temple. Dean was not surprised, and he was glad that the board of Northern Freight had been all too happy to show him the door.

So with Temple out of the picture, the deal had gone through as originally planned and all three companies were now set to make a lot of money. Winchester Shipping and Lumber was in the best shape it had ever been in.

But he still couldn't sleep at night.

As he tucked the file away, he heard a knock at the door and then Grant's voice when he opened it. Dean couldn't make out what he was saying to the visitor, but if it was anything other than, “come back another day”, Dean might have to fire him.

A minute later, however, Grant was in his doorway to announce his guest. But Dean didn't need the announcement, as he saw his baby brother's towering frame standing behind his butler.

Dean stood up with a frown, walking out from behind his desk as Grant left, and Sam entered his study. “What's wrong?” He asked without preamble.

Sam shook his head. “Nothing's wrong.”

Dean's scowl got deeper. “What do you mean ‘nothing’s wrong’? Then what are you doing here?”

Sam shrugged. “Just wanted to visit my brother.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against his desk and fixing Sam with a look as he took a seat on one of the leather chairs across from Dean.

“You just wanted to visit?” Dean asked, his voice incredulous. “You thought you'd take a six hour train ride to just…drop in and say hi?”

“Sure.”

“Sam.”

“I just wanted to see how you're doing. See if you're alright.” Sam said innocently.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

Sam sighed. “Cause Y/N isn't.”

Dean's heart beat double time as he scowled again at his little brother. “Sam, honest to god…” He ran a hand through his hair. “This better not be the real reason you're here.”

“It is.” Sam said calmly.

“Well, then I'm sorry you wasted your money on a train ticket, along with six hours of your life.” He held up a finger. “No, twelve, actually, cause you're gonna leave now.”

Sam just continued to stare at him, annoying him profusely. Finally his little brother had the audacity to shake his head and scold him.

“Dean, why did you let her go? I saw you with her, saw you at Christmas. I know you love her.”

“Bullshit!” Dean barked at him, angrily. “You are imagining things, Sam, and I'm not interested in dredging up this same asinine conversation I already had with your wife.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she told me about it. Just made us even more sure that you were completely in love with Y/N. What we couldn't figure out is why you were so furious about the very idea of loving her.”

“Dammit Sam, drop this!” Dean shouted at him as he straightened up from the desk.

Sam pointed at him. “Yeah, furious like that.” He shrugged. “But then…I think I figured it out “

"Oh, did you?" Dean asked with a death stare, feeling the panic start to rise up in him.

Sam's voice softened as he looked Dean in the eye. “You're afraid you'll end up like Dad.”

Dean clenched his jaw and refused to respond.

But eventually Sam just shook his head. “You won't though.”

Fear and panic sat thick in Dean's throat, clogging his voice as he spoke. “You don't know that.”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, I do.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Dean shuffled back and sat down behind his desk again. His head was pounding harder than ever.

He watched Sam for a while before he shook his head. “You don't remember him the way - I mean, obviously you couldn't remember him how he was. Before. But…”

He scrubbed an exhausted hand down his face. “I remember. The way he was. I remember him laughing and smiling. The way he'd pick me up when he walked back in the door at the end of the day, ride me around on his shoulders…I remember all of it. And I remember when it was gone. He was like a completely different man. He might as well have died with her, cause he was gone and he never came back.”

Dean closed his eyes. “So, I swore to myself, I swore,” he emphasized, “that I would never do the same. I would NEVER love someone like that and then lose myself completely when they were gone.”

He shook his head again and opened his eyes to pin Sam with another glare. “I just won't do it.”

Sam sat, quietly nodding for a moment before his brow wrinkled in thought. “Hmm…” He took a deep breath and spoke as he exhaled.

“Do you love me?”

Dean stared at him for a heartbeat before a red flush began climbing up his neck as he answered in a growl. “What are you talking about?”

But Sam just waved away his brother's words. “Nevermind, I already know you do. You love me a lot.”

Dean continued to glare at his annoying little brother, not sure what to even say to that.

“And I know you love Jess and Lucy too. Also a lot.”

“What is your point Sam?” He barked at him, although he thought he'd started to figure it out.

“I know this too, though.” Sam continued without answering him, “If anything ever happened to me or…Jess, or…” He didn't seem able to finish the horrible idea, and Dean felt his stomach churn and his chest ache at the mere thought.

But Sam pushed on. “If something ever happened, you'd never abandon the ones left behind. You'd never leave us on our own.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, feeling his throat ache from his trapped feelings.

“Oh yeah?” He asked doubtfully. “And how could you possibly be sure of that?” He smiled without humor. “I am my father's son, after all.”

Sam shrugged. “That may be, but you're also just Dean, my big brother. And he's the most selfless man I've ever known.”

Dean scoffed, but Sam continued over him.

“You've never put yourself first. Not while you were raising me. Not when you went toe-to-toe with Dad for me, so I could go to law school. Not when you worked a second job outside the business, so that you could pay my whole tuition when Dad refused to pay for it with ‘company money’ as he called it.”

Dean couldn't look at Sam any longer, dipping his head to stare at the wood grain in his desk as his brother continued to heap undeserving praise on him.

“And ever since you took over the company, you've always put your employees first, you take care of them, you work twice as hard as you need to, and pay them a lot more than other companies do, to make sure they can live good, happy lives. I've seen your books, I know it's true.”

“So?” Dean cut into Sam's diatribe, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Even if all of this praise was true, which it isn't, none of it proves that loving and losing someone wouldn't change all of that. Dad was a good man too, until he loved a woman and lost a woman.”

Sam tightened his jaw. “Maybe he was, but he was also a selfish bastard for abandoning us, for just going off to live alone with his grief and anger. You weren't even five years old, and you'd just lost your mother!” Sam huffed angrily. “He should have cared about that too. He should have cared about you, about us...not just the wife he lost.”

Dean's instinct was to defend their father, but he didn't. He'd begun to see that Sam was right; it had been pretty selfish.

“And I'm telling you,” Sam said with conviction, “if you and Y/N were lucky enough to be blessed with children, you would NEVER abandon them for any reason. Not ever. Because you. are not. our father.”

Dean heard his little brother's words, and the freedom he found in them, surprised him. It felt like he could breathe deeply for the first time in a very long time. He felt a tear escape and he dashed it away quickly, turning his chair away from Sam and staring at the wall.

After a moment of quiet, Sam spoke solemnly. "But none of this speculating about how you'd act IF you fell in love with Y/N really matters anyway. Because the plain and simple fact is, you're already in love with her.”

The words still made Dean's stomach clench, and he turned back to Sam and shook his head. “No, I refused, I wouldn't let myself love her.”

Sam rolled his eyes and breathed out harshly. “Damn! You really are a monumental idiot.”

Dean scowled at him, unimpressed with his opinion.

“Dean, you can't stop yourself from loving someone. You can't just control something like that.”

Dean felt the old, familiar panic start to rise in his chest. If he couldn't control it...if he really did love her already…then he'd already lost, and he'd never be free of her hold on him.

I don't wanna be free.

The intrusive thought leaked into his mind and he closed his eyes, trying desperately to deny it but-

“She's leaving.”

Dean's eyes popped open to stare at Sam.

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly.

“She gave us her notice. She's leaving. Catching a train in a couple of days. That's why I came to shake some sense into you before it's too late. She's going west, says she wants to seek some adventure, but I know it's really because we're all just a constant reminder of you. She's been miserable this whole last month - trying very hard to hide it - but miserable.”

Dean felt a different kind of panic rising as he contemplated Y/N being on the other side of the country, living her life a million miles from his.

She'd get married to someone else - someone who didn't become paralyzed with fear at the thought of needing her in his life. He'd win her over, he'd make her smile, make her happy. He'd give her children; he'd be the damn compatible husband she'd always wanted, and give her the little cottage and respectable life she deserved.

The exact life he'd told her to go and live just before he made love to her and then snuck out of the room before she woke, like a coward.

He looked at his little brother, desperate now for his help. “Shit. I walked away from her Sam. I left her a goddamn note cause I was too much of a coward to say goodbye to her face. Cause I knew if I spent another minute with her, I'd be so tempted to do anything she wanted, say anything she wanted, just to get her to stay. And I couldn't risk it.”

Sam gave him a scolding look and just shook his head.

Dean's voice was slightly forlorn. “What are the chances she forgives me for that?”

Sam shrugged. “Won't know till you try, coward.”

***

Y/N clutched the handle of her leather bag tightly, gripping it over and over, wearing it smooth from sheer worry. She recognized that traveling alone, to some remote California town she'd never been to was ludicrous and dangerous. But she just couldn't take it another day; she needed to get as far away as she could.

Living with Sam and Jessica everyday, watching them in their happy, loving marriage, was simply more than she could handle. The fact that occasionally, when Sam smiled or frowned or laughed a certain way, a tiny piece of his big brother would appear on his face, well, that was just the knife in her heart that made leaving quickly a necessity.

So, here she was, on a bench on the train platform, waiting for a train to roll in and carry her away from endless reminders of Dean. But even just sitting on the bench reminded her that she'd first met him while she was sitting on a bench - on that cool day last fall, when he'd burned his way into her life, into her heart and then into her bed. Unfortunately, he'd also burrowed his way into her soul, and she knew he'd never leave.

Even now she imagined that she heard him calling her name over the screaming whistle of the steam engine that was pulling up beside her; it was the train that would take her away from everything she wanted to leave behind. Though she knew she'd never manage it completely.

Y/N frowned slightly as she looked up; she thought she heard his voice again. Was she truly going mad?

But then she saw him, running through the steam on the platform, coming towards her. She jumped up, completely confused, but somehow feeling like she needed to be on her feet.

“Dean?” She asked as he reached her. “Why are you…? What-”

Dean interrupted her. “Don't get on that train. Don't go. I have a proposition for you instead.”

Y/N felt her heart plummet. “Dean-”

“Marry me.”

Her words died in her throat and she just stared at him, her eyes bulging as she tried to work out what was going on.

“Oh,” she said almost sadly, “I've actually gone completely mad now.”

But Dean was shaking his head. “No, sweetheart, I was the crazy one. I was the one who thought I could simply wish away, or will away loving you, but I should have known it was never gonna work.”

Y/N returned to being simply speechless, eyes wide and staring once again, as Dean continued, his voice sincere and ardent.

“Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I didn't stick around to say goodbye. Hell, I'm sorry I even tried to say goodbye in the first place. I'm sorry I was too much of a coward to let myself love you, or admit to it anyway. Seems like I didn't really have much say in the matter. Apparently trying desperately to not love someone, doesn't actually stop you from loving them. Who knew?" He said with a lopsided smile and a shrug.

Still smiling, he took another step towards her and his voice was strong and sure. "But I'm mostly sorry that I didn't wrap my arms around you the very first time I saw you, and absolutely refuse to let you go.”

“That's actually kidnapping!”

Y/N whipped around to see Sam and Jessica standing behind her on the platform with Lucy between them. Jessica slapped Sam's arm for his sarcastic comment.

“Shush. He's trying.” She waved at Dean and called to him. “You're doing great, champ! Keep going!”

“Give her the ring, Uncle Dean. Ladies like rings!” Lucy shouted.

Y/N started crying and laughing in the same breath, and nearly choked. But as Dean nodded at his niece and got down on one knee, tears won out and she started crying noisily.

He gazed up at her with a soft smile and slightly glassy eyes. “I wasn't planning to do this with an audience, and I have a lot to explain to you, I know, about why I was such an idiot and how stupid I was to be afraid of loving you.”

“Quit reminding her she'll be marrying a moron!” Sam called out again, and Y/N heard Jessica smack him again. But she couldn't take her eyes off of the massive ring that sat in the velvet box Dean opened and presented to her.

It was a Tiffany's box, she noticed, and inside was a beautiful diamond ring, with a small round emerald in the very center.

“I love you so much, Y/N, and I know I don't deserve you, but please say yes anyway.”

“Yes!” She shouted, taking the box from him and then throwing her arms around his neck, letting him stand up and twirl her around, laughing with him through her tears.

Everyone on the platform clapped happily, as Dean kissed her.

Sam covered Lucy's eyes but she pushed his hand away, clapping loudly at the little fairytale that had played out for her.

As Dean pulled back, he slipped the ring onto her finger and ran his thumb over her knuckles, before raising her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of it, just like he did the very first day they'd met. It still had the power to make her stomach flutter.

“Do you like it?” He asked, touching the emerald in the center of her ring.

Remembering her prediction that emeralds would always make her cry, brought on even more of those predictable tears. She was happy beyond measure that she'd been both right and wrong about that.

“Yes, I love it.” She said as she kissed him sweetly and then gazed into his bright green eyes. “And I love you, Dean. So much.”

“Thank God. Just...just don't stop. Please?”

Y/N nodded. "Promise." She whispered.

Dean sighed against her lips before claiming them once again.

***

The St. Louis World's Fair. Spring 1904.

“Lucy Winchester! You've had more than enough of that spun sugar now, come back over here and hold your brother's hand.”

Jessica ran after her six year old with her two year old in tow, until Sam grabbed him up and settled him against his chest. With her hands now free, Jessica grabbed a protesting Lucy away from the cotton candy cart.

Y/N laughed at her former student's frustrated little face and decided to try and help her sister-in-law out. “Luce come here; your cousin needs your help.”

Jessica let go of Lucy's hand so she could run back to her aunt and uncle. Y/N and Dean walked behind them a little ways, with their one year old, Melody, toddling somewhat unsteadily between them.

Y/N let Lucy take Melody's hand. “She loves walking with you and you're so good at showing her just how a real lady walks.”

Lucy beamed proudly as she immediately slowed her pace to allow Melody to keep up, and then walked very sedately to help her little cousin learn how to be a lady.

Jessica smiled brightly over her shoulder and mouthed, thank you to Y/N who laughed lightly. Dean reached over and took her hand now that it was free, swinging it gently back and forth.

Suddenly Y/N remembered Christmas day three years ago and how she'd imagined going to the World's Fair, and walking hand in hand just like this.

There were no cherry trees beside them and the crowds were fairly thick on the pathways around the fair, which meant they were jostled around a bit more than she'd imagined in her idyllic fantasy.

But the feelings she'd imagined back then were exactly the same. Family. Love. Belonging. She stepped closer to Dean and rested her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand tighter.

He kissed the crown of her head and then whispered to her. “Happy, sweetheart?”

She looked up at him and gave him a mischievous smile. “Happier if you'd kiss me.”

He pretended to be scandalized. “Mrs. Winchester? In public? In full view of the children?”

Y/N laughed happily, making her in laws look back at them and smile.

Dean leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “That's all my strict moral fiber will allow for.” He said in pretentious tones.

Y/N pouted at him playfully and he dipped his head to whisper against the shell of her ear, making her shiver.

“But Mel is sleeping in her cousins’ room with the nanny tonight. So later, in the privacy of our hotel room, I plan on kissing every writhing, shaking inch of your body until you -”

“Auntie!” Y/N was yanked back to reality as Lucy called to her, excitedly. “Melody said my name!”

Trying to ignore the raging fire her husband had kindled within her, Y/N smiled down at Lucy.

“Well, I'm not surprised. She loves her big cousin.”

Lucy smiled widely before she dropped Melody's hand to run up and tell her parents her good news. Melody started to fuss over her cousin leaving, until Dean scooped her up to sit on his shoulders; then she squealed happily, thrilled to be up so high.

Y/N just watched Dean for a moment, her eyes watering slightly as she thought about how heartbroken she'd been on that Christmas day so long ago, when she'd believed this life was forever beyond her reach.

Dean looked down at her and she picked up his hand again, pressing close to him.

“I love you, you know.”

His beautiful green eyes were warm and overflowing with happiness as he bent his head slightly, holding Melody tightly so she didn't slip, and kissed Y/N senseless. Despite his earlier moral protestations, his kiss was slow and deep and it stole all the air from her lungs.

He pulled back from her and the look of love in his eyes stole her breath all over again as he answered.

"I love you too, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead and spoke softly, for her ears only. "Thanks for teaching me how."

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aemondsbabe · 11 months ago

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A Promise is a Promise

summary: promises & phone sex || tom's trying his best to make it home to you by christmas, but a snowstorm derails his plans

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, breast/nipple play, very slight angst but happy ending, probably not historically accurate bite me, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: happy day eleven of 12 days of smuff and happy christmas eve to everyone who celebrates!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as a part 2 to Homecoming or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @rxyl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Your breath fogs up the window as you look outside one last time, sighing heavily as you watch puffy snowflakes rain down from the sky, scattering through the pale yellow shafts of light from the street lamps. You peer up and down the quiet street, frowning at the sight of all the twinkling lights and festive candles that decorated so many of the townhouses, feeling decidedly un-cheery this year.

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to torture yourself further, you pad up the stairs to your bedroom, trying to ignore the soft glow from the Christmas tree in the front room. Your footsteps sound much louder than normal in the quiet house since your parents were out for the evening, attending some holiday party at a friend's house, one that you were in much too foul of a mood to even consider attending.

You’ve hardly had the chance to change your clothes before the phone in your room starts ringing loudly, making you jump. Sitting on your bed, you roll your eyes as you reach for it, expecting it to be your parents or some friend, calling half drunk from a party no doubt.

“Hello?” You sigh, pressing the phone to your ear as you stare disdainfully out the window, watching more and more of the traitorous snow fall from the dark sky.

“Well, try not to sound too excited.” A familiar voice chuckles, instantly making you perk up.

“Tom?!” Your eyes widen as you press the phone harder against your ear, “Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you’d be home this afternoon!”

You can hear him laugh on the other end of the line at your rushed questions. “Relax, love, I’m fine,” he sighs, you can hear springs squeak softly in the background, like he’d sat down on a bed, “The train’s just got delayed, ice on the rails or some fucking nonsense, and with the damn snowstorm, well…” He sighs heavily.

“Delayed for how long?” You ask, crestfallen.

“Dunno, the man at the station said maybe a day, maybe two,” you can practically hear his frustrated sneer, “What with it being Christmas eve, everything’s just a damn wreck, apparently.”

“Oh…” You try not to sound too heartbroken, not wanting him to feel worse, “Well, did you find somewhere to stay in the meantime? I hate the idea of you sitting at the station.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “Some shoddy little inn. The train had to stop at some farming town in the middle of God knows where, but a bed’s a bed, I suppose.” You can hear two thuds in the background, no doubt him tossing his boots off somewhere carelessly.

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, Tommy,” you smile sadly, idly fidgeting with the bottom of your night shirt, well, really his nightshirt, “I wish you were with me, though.” You whisper, trying to ignore the sad little squeeze your heart gave.

“Wish I was too, love.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, happy to simply listen to each other breathe after so many months apart. You really are trying not to let it get to you too much, but he only got so many days of leave from the RN and once he got shipped back out… you dare not think about it too deeply.

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line and you furrow your brows as you listen, hoping the storm isn’t interfering with the phone lines too.

“Tom?”

“‘M here,” he reassures you, springs creaking again as he settles back on the hotel bed, “Was just taking off my shirt.” He cooed, making you roll your eyes as you picture his playful smirk, your cheeks flushing as you imagined that cheeky little head bop that followed most of his lewd comments.

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see.” You hum, reclining back against the many pillows on your bed with a small smirk.

“Bet you’d be falling all over yourself for it,” he laughs, propping up a knee, “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long without it.”

“Without what?”

“My cock.” He answers, voice confident and cocky.

“Tommy!” You squeak, giggling despite yourself, which makes him chuckle on the other end, “And here I was hoping months away would turn you into a romantic!”

“Fat chance, love.” He laughs heartily, smiling genuinely for the first time in months.

Again, a comfortable silence washes over the two of you, each of you clinging to the phone like it was truly a lifeline, feeling closer than you have in months although you’re God knows how many kilometers apart.

He sighs again, though this one makes you smile. It’s a familiar sigh, one he only does before he says something he knows will get a rise out of you.

“What’re you wearing?” You can hear his smirk, you can practically feel it on you as he speaks, his voice already low and raspy.

You can’t help the tittering little giggle you let out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush further. “Erm, just your button down, actually,” you say, shy all of a sudden as you squirm atop your covers, “The one you wore in secondary some days… oh, and knickers.”

“And knickers,” he murmurs, quiet for a moment before continuing, “My girl in my shirt n’ I’m not there to see it. A real shame.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, fidgeting with the small buttons lining the front.

“D’you have my shirt buttoned, love?”

“Yes?”

“You think you could unbutton it for me?”

The way he asks for it has your heart racing, excitement building steadily within you as you rub your thighs together, already seeking something to lessen the tension within you. Almost automatically, your hands reach for the buttons as you cradle the phone on your shoulder, holding it in place with your cheek.

“Yes, Tommy.”

“That’s a good girl, love.” He praises, chuckling lowly as a small, delicate whimper just barely makes it through the phone lines.

You scramble, all but ripping the shirt in two until finally the fabric falls away. You’re already breathing heavier, chest heaving enough to have the shirt slip off your chest instantly; your nipples harden quickly in the cool air of your bedroom, the small radiator only doing so much to heat the space.

“It’s unbuttoned.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to envision him doing the same.

“God, I wish I was there,” he sighs and your ears perk up when you hear a soft tinkling in the background, cheeks heating up at the thought of him slowly taking off his belt, “I miss those perfect fucking tits, lovely girl. Got off thinking about them every night.”

“Yeah?” You ask breathily, your fingers skimming softly over your stomach, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, already breathing hotly into the phone, “Pinch them for me, pretty girl, yeah? Like I would.”

You gasp and quickly do as he requests, not being able to hold off any longer yourself. You whimper into the receiver as you tweak your nipples, your eyes roll back in your head at the thrill that shoots down your spine and settles right between your legs.

“Fuck, good girl.” He praises again, sounding like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’re you wearing?” You ask breathily, lightly tugging at your stiff nipples still as you rub your thighs together, your center already aching, “What’re you doing?”

“‘M rubbing my cock through my boxers,” he sighs heavily, “S’all I’ve got on.”

The thought makes you whimper again, imagining him cupping his already twitching length through the thin fabric of his underwear. Your mouth waters as you picture a wet patch near the tip, his cock leaking at the thought of you.

“Tommy,” you sigh as your back arches into your own touch, “Can I?”

Your meek question makes him chuckle. “Can you do what, love? You’ll need to be specific.”

You whine this time, biting your lip as your cheeks flush. “C-Can I…” you start, still feeling so impossibly shy around him sometimes, “Can I touch myself?”

“Thought you were already touching your tits?”

“Tommy!”

“C’mon, pretty,” he laughs, licking his lips as he imagines how cute you must look, cheeks all blushed with embarrassment, “Y’know what I wanna hear.”

“Can I touch my cunt?” You murmur, voice high-pitched and breathy.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head lolling back against his pillow, “Yeah, y’can, love, lemme hear you.”

Mindlessly, your hand drifts down. You don’t even bother to take off your panties, too impatient to go to the trouble as you shove your hand inside. A moan is punched out of you at the first touch, your core already throbbing as you glide your fingers through your slick folds. Tom groans along with you as your fingers finally begin swirling around your clit, your thighs spreading further.

“What, shit,” you sigh, a shudder rippling up your spine, “What’re you doing now?”

“Got my cock out,” he rasps, his voice catching, “Thinking about you while I fuck my hand, God, I wish it was your tight cunt, pretty girl.”

You whine again, back arching once more as your fingers skim over your clit before dipping down to gather more slick from your dripping entrance. You all but see stars when you rub yourself again, core clenching around nothing.

“Wish you were here…” You murmur, breath catching as you move your hand a little quicker.

“Yeah?” He asks in a low voice, “What would you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently, like he was just at the end of the bed teasing you instead of lost somewhere in the countryside, “Want you to fuck me, Tommy.”

He groans, louder than he probably should in a small inn. Your face flushes when you hear him spit, imaging his cock glistening as he uses it to stroke himself.

“Christ, I miss that pretty cunt,” he mutters, breath catching, probably speeding up in time with you, “Get a finger in there, love, fuck yourself like I would.”

Obediently, you do as he says, rutting against your own hand as you unceremoniously push two fingers into yourself, marveling at how tightly your walls already clench around them.

“Fuck, Tommy!” You squeak, clit tingling every time your palm smacks against it as you fuck youself.

“God, that’s it,” he groans, “Keep going, fuck, ‘m not gonna last.” He warns, knowing it’s been too long since he’d last had any privacy.

“‘M not going to either,” you assure him, shaking your head to your empty room as if he could see you, “Feels too good, oh!” You gasp, your whole body tensing up as you crook your fingers up, expertly locating that sensitive spot within you.

The two of you pleasure yourselves together for another few moments, heavy breaths and moans passing between the phones. Finally, Tom groans lowly again and swears through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he pants, the slick sound of his hand streaking over his cock in the background nearly makes you unravel, “Cum with me, pretty girl, please.”

The whiny way he says please is your undoing and you finally break, calling out his name breathily as you arch against your sheets. Slick sounds fill your bedroom as you peak, breathless at the way your core clenches rhythmically over your fingers.

Tom isn’t far behind you, his rough groans only adding to your pleasure. You whimper when he hisses out your name as he finishes, envisioning the way he paints his lower stomach with spend, cock twitching against his palm.

You breathe heavily for a moment as you both come down before you dissolve into giggles, your sour mood from earlier almost completely gone.

“Fucked you dumb n’ I’m not even there,” Tom gloats, sighing as he wipes away his cum with his boxers, too tired to get up and clean himself off properly, “You’re gonna make me blush, love.”

“Tommy!” You groan playfully, admonishing him through a giggle, “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” He laughs tiredly, yawning quietly.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, the bed squeaking again as he makes himself comfortable, “Sorry love, s’been a long day.”

“I would imagine so,” you smile sadly still, twirling the phone cord around a finger, “I’ll let you sleep.”

“I’ll get to you tomorrow,” he promises, his voice heavy with sleep, “I swear, told you I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, glancing out the window to see snow still pouring from the sky.

“I mean it,” he murmurs tiredly, “A promise is a promise.”

You wake with a start, jerking up in bed as you look around blearily, unsure of what woke you. Your eyes narrow as you glance at the clock on your bedside table, too early still for even your alarm to be going off.

You jump as you hear a knock from downstairs, someone pounding at the door. Rolling your eyes, you slip on a robe before making your way downstairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you reach for the doorknob, tugging it open with a frown.

“Wha–” You stop in your tracks, gasping loudly.

“Y’gonna let me in or are you gonna leave me out here to freeze my bollocks off?” Tom asks with a grin, laughing when you practically leap into his arms and pull him into a suffocating hug.

“Tommy!” You gasp, clinging to him, “How did you, when did you?” You stutter, a million questions running through your mind. Finally, you pull back just enough to look at him, nearly crying as you at last look into his familiar blue eyes, “How?” You breathe.

“A very nice famer with a truck,” he laughs, holding you tightly to him, “Told ya I’d get home to you by Christmas.”

Not being able to hold off anymore, you press your lips against his, feeling warm despite the cold.

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440mxs-wife · 9 months ago

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Treasure Quest, Chapter 10: New Adventures (FIN)

Pairing: Captain Dean x Rhaya Payton (OFC) Other Characters: Benny, Sam, Jessica, and Baby John Winchester, Jack (mentioned). Lord Darius Payton, Connor (OMC's), Captain Keira, Darcy (OFC's).

Word Count: 5351

Warnings: Some Angst, Lovers' Quarrel, Misunderstanding, but there's a HAPPY ending (I promise)!🥰

Series Summary: Rhaya Payton is the daughter of the governor of Ochana. She grew up listening to her father tell her stories of pirates and treasure maps. At a gala one night, her stepmother, Carissa, announces Rhaya’s engagement to Ashton Kane, a wealthy nobleman. Only problem is, no one checked with Rhaya first. After overhearing plans made by her fiancé, Rhaya decides to go on the run and stows away on Captain Dean’s ship. What will happen when he finds her?

This Chapter: So, who is the Duke of Rosevale....?

Rhaya's troubles continue as her father has arranged a diplomatic reception for the new Duke of Rosevale. Unfortunately, meeting the duke doesn't go anywhere near as well as planned and leads to a verbal confrontation. A meeting in the courtyard later in the evening may hold the key to a resolution between them and a possible new adventure. Can their love be saved? Tune in to find out....Enjoy!

A/N: To all of you who have read, liked, reblogged, commented, or interacted with this story in any way: thank you. We have reached the end of the story for our favorite captain and governor's daughter. It has been my pleasure to bring this story to life for you, and I thank you all from the bottom of me heart. ❤️

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Rhaya entered her bedroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. She slipped off her shoes and flopped backwards onto her bed, then heaved a deep sigh. As she stared at the ceiling, she reviewed a conversation she'd had with her father about some affairs of state.

Earlier in the day, her father had requested a meeting to inform her of an upcoming diplomatic function. The event was scheduled to occur in less than two weeks, and he wanted it to be a formal one. This meant she'd have to be on her best behavior, which she wasn't really keen on, considering her current emotional state.

The purpose, he'd said, was to introduce the new Duke of Rosevale to his inner circle of associates. He also planned to announce him as Ochana's newest ally and business partner. Thus the need for a more ceremonial approach, and his reason for including her in the process.

While he explained the situation, her father watched as she fought to keep her facial expression somewhat neutral. He knew of her dislike for official functions, and her feelings of sadness at her captain's prolonged absence. In the end, her sense of duty won out, and she promised her father she would conduct herself properly when she met the new Duke of Rosevale.

***

Three days before the duke's arrival, Rhaya had just returned from an appointment where the finishing touches were being placed on her gown for the gala. She was walking towards her bed to relax for a bit when there was a knock at the door. After taking a seat at the foot of the bed, she called out "Come in!", and the door opened with Darcy on the other side. She was giddy with excitement, which raised Rhaya's curiosity, though she couldn't quite muster the same level of enthusiasm.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Our guests arrived in port early, and I was sent by your father to bring you to the main hall to meet them," Darcy explained. "He said to make sure you were presentable."

"Ha! That's a laugh. Rarely am I presentable, nor do I want to be, especially not for this Duke of Rosemont or whatever his name is," Rhaya muttered.

"It's the Duke of Rosevale, and your father said you have twenty minutes to get ready," Darcy warned.

"Ugh, fine. Let's go," Rhaya begrudgingly agreed and headed for her ensuite bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, she had quickly washed up, changed out of her pants and tunic, and into a more appropriate pale pink day dress. Darcy fashioned a princess braid across the back of Rhaya's head like a crown, with the rest of her hair left untethered. Her makeup was minimal and neutral in color, except for the pink lipstick.

Upon her arrival in the main hall, she saw her father deep in conversation with a few visitors. There was one man in particular who caught her eye, dressed in dark brown pants, which were tucked into knee-high black leather boots. He was wearing a burgundy-colored, long sleeved tunic with a hem that reached to his mid-thigh. Around his middle was a black belt and a sword hanging from it. From behind, she thought the man looked a little familiar. She shrugged off the notion, figuring she'd learn his identity soon enough.

When Lord Darius spotted his daughter, he called out to her and waved her over to join them. As soon as the visitor heard the name, he stopped mid-sentence and turned around. His eyes brightened when they landed on the woman who had been occupying his every waking thought for the past three months. As she approached their circle, he couldn't help but marvel at how her beauty seemed to have only increased since the last time they'd met.

Rhaya stopped in her tracks when she saw who was speaking with her father. What is Dean doing here? No one told me he was coming back, only that we were hosting the Duke of....her thoughts trailed off. It can't be.... she silently pondered.

Lord Darius' voice interrupted her train of thought. "Ah, Rhaya, there you are. Your Grace, may I present my daughter, Rhaya Payton. Rhaya, please welcome the Duke of Rosevale, though I believe you know him better as Captain Dean Winchester," he explained.

Rhaya caught Dean's gaze and held it for a few tense seconds until finally extending her hand in his direction. "Your Grace," she murmured, giving him a slight curtsy.

Dean's lips twisted into a sly grin as he curled his fingers around hers, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Lady Rhaya, it is truly wonderful to see you again. May I present my brother, Samuel Winchester, his wife, Jessica, and their newborn son, John. Also with me is my advisor, Robert Singer, and two members of my crew, Master Gunner Benjamin Lafitte, and Ensign Jack Kline."

Lord Darius and his daughter nodded to each of the members of Dean's entourage as they were introduced. Glancing at the faces of everyone, she was met with genuine happiness at seeing her again. Then she remembered her feelings of the last three months that had passed with little to no word from Dean, who had promised to return. "Excuse me," she mumbled before picking up her skirts and turning to leave the room.

"Miss Payton! Miss Payt--Rhaya, wait, please!" he called.

Rhaya was about halfway to the door when she stopped in her tracks. "Wait?? Wait?!? You want me to wait??" she whirled around to face him, glaring with angry, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. "For the past three months, I've done nothing but wait! For you!"

Lord Darius and the others exchanged somewhat shocked and awkward glances at his daughter's outburst of temper. They weren't exactly sure what to do, and they all preferred to be anywhere but there at the moment. "Rhaya, dearest--" he started.

"Papa, I'd like to speak in private with Captain Winchester, the Duke of Rosevale, or whoever he is, please," she spoke, fighting to keep her voice even. Her father nodded, and everyone filed out, leaving Rhaya and Dean alone in the room.

"Rhaya, please let me explain," Dean begged.

She held up her hand to silence him as she walked over to a nearby chair, her arms crossed over her chest. "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me, waiting for you to come back? The longer we were apart and the less I heard from you, the more doubts crept into my head. Some days, they were so loud that I couldn't ignore them, no matter how hard I tried. When you didn't return after two months, I had to concede that they were right, that I wasn't worth it and that you'd changed your mind."

"Sweetheart, I promised I would be back for you. I'm sorry that it took so long, but there was never any 'changing my mind' at any point. I'm here now, for you," he pleaded, taking a seat near her.

Rhaya sighed deeply and shook her head before continuing. "Come on, Captain, I'm not stupid. One look at you, a handsome, heroic ship's captain, off to find buried treasure. You're a true leader, strong, noble, who cares more for those around him than he does for himself. What's not to love about that? I'm sure wherever you go, women practically fall at your feet for even a chance to have something with you."

"But--"

"And then there's me. Only daughter to the governor of Ochana, who is automatically assumed to look down her nose at people. She's spoiled, entitled, unintelligent, with no discernible skills except how to spread gossip and keep up on the latest fashions. No one is falling at my feet for the opportunity to learn anything about me past those assumptions," she shook her head sadly. "Most men are only interested in courting me to get near my father. Their ambitions involve obtaining a slice of his power and influence rather than anything to do with me."

"That's not--"

"So, I hope you can see how I might interpret your delayed return as a change of heart? Realize that I don't occupy your every thought like you do mine? Or how--" she choked back a sob then continued. "How you preferred to return to someone from your past instead of explore the future with me?" she whispered.

"There is no one else, past or present--" he vehemently denied.

Rhaya stood up from her chair. "I know you didn't intend for it to work out this way between us, but maybe it's for the best. Perhaps we should call it like it is and remember the good times we had, formed through an unlikely friendship. We're just too different for this to go any further, and for that, I'm sorry. Good evening, Your Grace." She gave him a watery smile, dipped a quick curtsy, and left him staring helplessly after her.

Dean remained seated, his head in his hands, with his shoulders slumped in defeat. How did everything go so wrong, so quickly? he wondered. He was thrilled at the prospect of seeing Rhaya, to once again feast his eyes on her beauty and finally express his feelings for her. He had not expected his dealings in Alcaria to have taken so much precious time away from her. And now it seemed that such delays had cost him what he wanted most at this point in his life.

From the doorway, he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. When he looked up, he saw a member of the house staff, offering to escort him to the dining room as soon as he was ready. The man explained that Sam and the rest would soon be shown to the table as well. Dean thanked him and motioned for the staff member to lead the way.

***

Rhaya hastened towards her room, tears threatening to fall from her lashes. As she passed the dining room, she asked a staff member to tell her father that she would not be joining him. When the staff member expressed concern, Rhaya assured her that all was well. She explained that it was only a headache that left her feeling less than herself at the moment. The young lady wished her a swift recovery and promised that the governor would be informed of her absence at dinner.

Once inside her room with the door closed firmly behind her, Rhaya's composure slipped and the tears gave way from her eyes. How did it all go so wrong, so quickly? she sobbed. She should've been overcome with joy to finally see Dean, in person. Especially after the amount of time that had passed without one word from him.

Instead, she allowed her insecurities to get the best of her. She accused him of using her for his own amusement, which she knew in her heart wasn't true. At this point, she wouldn't blame him if he decided she wasn't worth the effort after all and returned to Alcaria without another word. Especially since she'd all but insisted that whatever connection they had was likely to have run its course. Those and other thoughts only served to restart the flow of tears down her face.

As the late afternoon sun gave way to the evening twilight, Rhaya lay on her bed, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. While she wondered if there was any way to fix what was broken between her and Dean, she heard a knock at the door. A spark of hope lit inside her, when she thought for a fleeting moment if her captain was on the other side. She couldn't help the flicker of disappointment that crossed her face when her sister opened the door.

"Missed you at dinner," Keira remarked. Rhaya nodded and mumbled an apology. "Yeah, your father conveyed your regrets to everyone for you not attending, said you had a headache?" Again, a nod, but no verbal response. "Rhy, honey, what's really going on?" she asked gently.

Rhaya heaved a deep sigh before launching into an account of what happened after everyone left the main hall. She explained her feelings to Dean and why she was so upset when he didn't return when promised. "I figured I had to be making it all up in my head, that I wasn't as important to him as he is to me," she confessed. "I thought there was no way I measured up to what he deserves, especially now that he's a duke."

Keira crawled up onto the bed to sit next to her and covered her sister's hand with her own. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but he is in love with you, Rhaya. That means he knows you and has accepted you as you are. I saw it every time he said your name or we told each other stories about you. He drove us all crazy on that treasure hunt, me in particular," she laughed.

Rhaya gave her a glimmer of a smile. "He did? How?"

"Every minute of the day, he bugged the hell out of me by asking me so many questions about you." Keira turned to her sister with a fond smile on her face. "He's the real deal, honey. Besides, he knows that if he hurts you, he has to answer to me," she declared, which caused Rhaya to laugh.

"Do you think I can fix this?" Rhaya asked with hope in her eyes.

"Hmm. I think it's possible. Might involve some groveling, but I have faith that the two of you can work it out," Keira replied with a wink.

***

After dinner, Dean went on a self-guided tour of the mansion, rather than heading straight back to his room. In the process, he found a courtyard and entered through the open double doors off the main hallway. The area felt like an oasis of calm, which was exactly what he needed after the events of a few hours ago.

In the center was a stone fountain, encircled by a ledge for sitting and listening to the bubbling water. Tendrils of jasmine vines climbed the outside walls of the mansion. The white blooms produced a heady but comforting fragrance during the evening hours. Could be useful, should sleep elude me, he thought.

Benny saw his captain leave the dining room while the rest of the group was sipping on coffee, tea, or whiskey. Jess excused herself early because it was time for John's feeding, while Sam remained behind for the after-dinner drinks and conversation. He noticed Dean was a bit withdrawn at dinner, leading him to conclude that the conversation with Rhaya didn't end well.

He watched as Dean lowered himself to sit on the ledge of the fountain, then tilted his head up toward the night sky. "Hey, there you are, Chief. Whatcha doin' out here? You're missin' drinks with Sam and the governor," he mentioned.

Dean laughed softly as he absently trailed his fingertips through the water. "Nah, not my thing. Good for Sammy, though." He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head gently. "Really made a mess of things, haven't I? I was hoping for a chance to clear things up with her, but she didn't make it to dinner. Guess she couldn't even stand to see me across from her at the table," he muttered.

"Chief, don't be so tough on yourself, and try not to read too much into it. Her father said it was a headache, so I'm sure that's all it was. Give her some time, I'll bet she changes her mind once she's had a chance to think about things," Benny replied.

"I don't think so, Benny. She all but flat-out told me that whatever was between us has run its course, that we're not meant to be together. Instead, she'd rather just remember the good times we had," he remarked.

"Is that what you want?" Benny asked.

"Of course not!" Dean blurted. "I want to be with her so badly it hurts. I'll admit, we didn't really get along at first, but once we got to know each other....she's amazing, Benny. Strong, kind, selfless, and I can't help but be captivated by her. She's tough as nails one minute, then sweet and compassionate the next."

Benny's heart went out to his friend. As upset as his captain was, he knew Rhaya was the only one for Dean. "I know you got to know her real well and you two got close, Chief. For that reason and so many others, you can't give up. You have to fight for her, at least long enough to tell her how you feel about her," he advised.

"How can I do that if she won't even give me a chance?" he exclaimed. "You know, as smart as she is, and as beautiful as she is, she also can be so--so--" Dean buried his fingers in his hair and growled in frustration as he searched for the right word.

"Stubborn? Headstrong? Infuriating?" a voice called from the doorway. Both men looked at each other in surprise, because the comment definitely didn't come from either of them. Their focus returned to the entrance to the courtyard to see Rhaya standing there, nervously wringing her hands in front of her.

This was the opportunity that Dean needed, so Benny decided to take his leave. On his way out, he paused in the doorway, locked eyes with Rhaya and gave her a reassuring nod. "Take care of him, chérie," he murmured. His hand gently landed on her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze before he disappeared from sight.

"Good evening, Lady Rhaya," Dean greeted with a quick bow, once he'd recovered his composure.

"Good evening, Your Grace," she replied softly. "You know, this is one of my most favorite places on these grounds. I hope you find it as relaxing as I do."

An awkward silence stretched between them as neither one knew quite what to say to the other. Dean was cautious, not wanting to blurt out something and send Rhaya scurrying away from his presence. Meanwhile, she needed answers, but didn't want to sound demanding. To do so would risk closing the door on any prospect of the two of them remaining together.

The two of them paced around the courtyard, deep in thought, only pausing briefly so as not to run into each other. Rhaya decided to take a seat on the stone ledge surrounding the fountain, with Dean following suit almost immediately after her. She kept her eyes on her hands folded neatly in her lap. At the same time, he studied her, trying desperately to find any clues as to her current state of mind.

The tension in air grew thicker with anticipation, until she broke the silence. She reached over to cover one of his hands with her own, but pulled back at the last second. "Dean, I want to apologize for being terribly unfair to you earlier. I'm sure that whatever kept you away from Ochana for so long must have been important. You're a man of your word, and you've never given me reason to doubt that. I'm so sorry for what I said to you," she confessed, still unable to meet his eyes.

"I had hoped for a warmer reception, considering the length of time we spent apart," he replied. "But I understand why you reacted in the way that you did," he hastily added, covering her hands with his own. "Sweetheart, please look at me," he murmured, reaching over to bring her face within his line of vision. "You deserve to be loved and cherished, and I'm sorry if I did anything to make you think otherwise."

Rhaya jerked her head away from his hand, instantly missing his comforting caress. "You don't have to apologize or say that," she replied with a shy smile. "I mean, I know I'm far too opinionated, I jump to conclusions, and I definitely speak without thinking first. Though, I really should work on all of that, because it leads to a lot of apol--mmpf--" Her self-deprecating ramble was cut off when a pair of plump, soft lips connected with hers.

Dean couldn't bear to hear any more disparaging comments made about the woman he loved, not even from the woman herself. So, he chose to resolve the issue in the simplest way he knew, while at the same time declaring his feelings for her.

The kiss started tentatively at first, as if he was giving her a way out, in case she wanted or needed to take it. As her mouth began to move more confidently with his, he could sense her relaxing into the kiss, so he chose to deepen it. He was rewarded when he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, begging for entrance and gave a slight groan when she granted it. A small moan of satisfaction escaped from her as their tongues battled for dominance.

One of his hands roamed up her side, from her waist to her back, while his other hand slipped around to tangle his fingers in her hair. A slight pressure to the back of her head gently kept them connected as he devoured her lips in a near-bruising kiss. Rhaya's hands traveled up Dean's chest, until she cradled his neck with both hands. Then her fingers began to twirl themselves around the curled ends of his hair, gently tugging on them.

When the kiss finally broke, they were both panting, each trying to catch their breath from what just happened. Dean leaned his forehead against Rhaya's as he attempted to return his heartbeat to a somewhat normal rhythm. Her hands moved back down to tilt his head up so he could see her eyes and realize the depth of the love she held for him.

"I'm in love with you, Rhaya. Exactly as you are, whether you're outspoken, or whatever, I don't care," he declared. "You're a smart, compassionate, kind, and absolutely beautiful woman who lights up any room she enters. It would mean the world to me if I can call you mine," he added.

"I'm in love with you too, Dean. Exactly as you are, and whether you're a duke or a ship's captain makes no difference to me. And I am yours, as long as you don't mind a woman who knows her way around a ship better than some fancy society function," she remarked with a nervous smile.

Dean glanced lovingly into Rhaya's eyes, his fingertips gently grazing her jawline. "Nah, darlin', I wouldn't have you be any other way. I knew you were meant for me when you threw that dagger at my head, but nailed my hat to the doorframe instead. Ruined a perfectly good hat, I'll have you know," he muttered teasingly.

Rhaya burst into giggles at her memory of that moment. "Great first impression, huh?" she observed sheepishly as she snuggled closer and rested her head on his chest. "I knew that first night you caught me out on deck in my nightclothes. Out of propriety, I was headed back to my room, but you asked me to stay. I'm so glad I did, as it was my first of our many astronomy lessons."

He wrapped his arms around her and sighed deeply in satisfaction when he felt her melt against his body. "Hmm, I remember that," he smiled as he recalled that night. She looked so ethereal that night, with the moonlight giving her strawberry-blond hair a rosy glow as it cascaded down her back.

The two of them stayed locked in each other's arms, with her back leaning against his toned, muscular chest. They sat beside the fountain watching as the moon rose over the hills in the distance. One by one, the stars came into view until there were so many it appeared as though someone painted the heavens in a fine metallic dust. Their excitement grew when a meteor shower began, which sent streaks of light dashing across the inky night sky.

***

After some time had passed, Rhaya pulled herself up into a sitting position and turned to face her captain. "Dean? I have a favor to ask of you," she began nervously.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he inquired.

"Will you....that is, when you....," she stammered, then took a deep breath to calm her frustration with herself before continuing. "After the gala and you return home to Alcaria....will you please take me with you?" she asked timidly.

Half a heartbeat passed before a beaming smile broke out over Dean's face, causing the crinkles around his eyes to appear. "I would be the happiest man in the world if you would return with me to Alcaria," he replied. "I-I was going to ask you, but I wanted to wait until it was the right time. What do you think your father will say?" he wondered.

Rhaya tilted her head in thought at his question. "A long time ago, Keira asked me once to run away with her too, and together we would sail the high seas. I think he would've been supportive of me, had I decided to go then, but I couldn't leave him with Carissa and all of her scheming. She probably would've convinced him to never let me come back," she muttered.

"Fortunately, she's no longer a factor," he smirked. Rhaya matched his grin and nodded, then shifted her position to snuggle further into Dean's chest.

***

The next day, Rhaya asked to speak with her father prior to the gala about an important matter. She met with him alone for afternoon tea while Dean waited outside the doors, in case she needed his support. The longer he waited, the more anxious he grew as he continued to pace out in the hall. His mind drifted to thinking that Lord Darius would forever banish him from Ochana for the mere suggestion of taking his daughter away from her home.

When he could no longer bear to wait, Dean turned on his heel and marched towards the door to the governor's study. Before he could reach for the handle, the door flew open. Rhaya and her father walked out, with the governor pulling him into a warm embrace. "Take care of her," Lord Darius whispered before releasing him. Dean nodded in silent promise to do exactly that and more.

Over the next week, Rhaya set about the task of packing her belongings for her move to Alcaria. She decided to leave behind whatever didn't fit into her largest trunk and one of her duffle bags. Most of her dresses were left hanging in her closet, since she wouldn't have much use for the fancier ones in Alcaria. Newer, more practical garments were already being made and would be finished by the time she left Ochana. Until then, her tunics and trousers would have to suffice.

The evening before his daughter's departure, Lord Darius hosted a gathering for Dean and his crew from The Black Diamond. Keira and Darcy were among the guests, as were Connor and any other members of the house staff wishing to say their goodbyes. Many toasts were made, as were promises of future return visits to the land she'd called home for so many years.

Everyone met down at the docks the next morning for the final farewells. Rhaya promised Darcy that she would come back to Ochana whenever she was able. However, in the meantime, she suggested for her friend to consider accepting Connor's offer to allow him to court her. This brought a deep blush to Darcy's cheeks at Rhaya's advice, followed by a shy glance in the captain of the guard's direction.

The most difficult goodbye was between father and daughter. On one hand, Lord Darius was at peace with his decision for Rhaya to leave the nest and find her place in the world. He knew she had a good man at her side, one who would take the best care of her and treat her the way she deserved.

On the other hand, he would miss seeing her bright smile and loving face every day around the estate. He knew the staff would take the utmost care of him and ensure to the best of their ability that all of his needs were met. The special bond between father and daughter, though, would be impossible to replicate with anyone else. The first few days without Rhaya would be among the hardest, but he knew this was for the best.

Lord Darius gazed fondly at his daughter. In his mind, it was only a short time ago that she was nine years old, deep in her studies but aggressively avoiding her math tutor. Now he marveled at the grown woman before him, of whom he could not be more proud. He held his arms out and she ran to be engulfed in his embrace. "I love you, Papa. Thank you for this amazing opportunity. I'll--We'll come visit as often as we can. Or, maybe we can arrange to host some sort of 'diplomatic function' in Alcaria," she grinned.

He laughed at her solution to enable him to visit her more often. "I'm sure we can work something out, sweet pea. I will miss you, though," he commented fondly as he glanced over in Dean's direction. "He's a good man, Rhaya. I had a rather lengthy discussion with him after you didn't marry Ashton. When the time is right, he knows he has my blessing," he winked.

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped as her cheeks blushed furiously at the implication of her father's words. "Papa!" she gently admonished. "It's much too soon for that, we're still getting to know each other."

Lord Darius shrugged. "Perhaps too soon, perhaps not. When you know, you know, just like it was for me with your mother. She'd be so proud of you," he responded with a watery smile. "I certainly am proud of you."

"Oh, Papa," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "I love you so much," she choked out.

"I love you very much, my darling daughter," he whispered.

Not wanting to intrude, Dean kept a few paces' distance away. As father and daughter gave each other one last embrace, he approached them and stood behind Rhaya, his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry to have to do this, my love, but we really must start our journey," he explained. He turned to Lord Darius with his hand outstretched, only to be pulled into a tight but affectionate hug from the man.

"Take care of each other. And remember, you always have a home here on Ochana," Lord Darius remarked gruffly, trying to hold back his tears at Rhaya's departure.

Dean nodded and gently took hold of Rhaya's elbow to guide her towards the gangplank to board his ship. They walked together, hand-in-hand, and when they reached the top, they turned to face the group on the docks. Dean waved goodbye, while Rhaya blew a kiss to her father before also giving a wave.

Once they were on board, the gangplank was removed and the docking ropes were released. The ship left port and began its return to Alcaria with one more passenger than what they arrived with. Dean wrapped his arms around Rhaya from behind as they stood near the bow of the ship while it sailed towards open waters.

"Ready to start your adventure, my love?" he asked.

"As long as I'm with you, I know every day will be an adventure," she replied with a beaming smile. "I love you, O Captain, my Captain."

"And I love you, my darling," he murmured near her ear.

***

Some years later....

"Grandpapa, will you please tell me a story?" seven-year-old Laila pleaded. She was in her pajamas and nestled under her blankets, but there was no way she could sleep without a story.

"All right, Laila," Lord Darius chuckled. "What shall it be this time, princesses and frogs, knights and ogres, or...." he trailed off with a smirk, knowing what she really wanted to hear.

"Pirates, Grandpapa! I want to hear about Mommy and Daddy's adventures on The Black Diamond!" she clapped. She could never get enough of his stories about her parents, and they were the best. He always injected such enthusiasm in the characters as he wove his tales of their adventures. And he could never resist an opportunity to entertain his granddaughter.

"Are you comfy, sweet pea?" Lord Darius asked. Laila nodded enthusiastically, and he took that as his cue. "Very well then. Once upon a time...."

FIN

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags:

@janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @lyarr24 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @jensengirl83 @wayward-dreamer @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride @ejlovespie @deandreamernp @emoryhemsworth @never--doubt @winchest09 @watermelonlipstick @makeadealwithdean @krazykelly @imherefordeanandbones @rooweighton @colereads @soaringeag1e @sams-sass @phoenixisred @muhahaha303

#pirate!dean x ofc #pirate!dean au #treasure quest

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fighterbound · 8 months ago

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KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME: jana

PRONOUNS : she/her but they/them is okay with me.

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION : discord is your best friend bc i don't access tumblr unless im at my pc ( some days i don't got energy for that). discord i got on my phone. i will say i am nervous when it comes to talking to others, so sometimes i either talk too much, talk too little, or take a while to reply back bc im thinking about what to say. know it's not you, it's me. i am an awkward turtle and totally not charming like naruto.

NAME OF MUSE(s) : this is a multimuse blog so there's several on here. mainly deal with nar.uto and b.nha beyond those two uhhh i have fe3h / diamond no ace / ff7r ( im getting to into it!)

BEST EXPERIENCE : seeing the results of continued interaction and plotting toward dynamics. feeling the general shift of my muses toward other muses and being like hey let's go bug them because they enjoy the company of that specific muse/blog. hitting that stride with someone else, where you both are on the same wavelength regarding your muses. sometimes it happens quickly, other times over the span of months and years of following one another. it's such a sweet moment seeing all the hard work of writing / plotting / interaction with someone and watching your muses growing together or reaching that sweet plot point you've been building up to. c:

RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS : lack of matching energy. if i plot with you and don't get anything back, that's one of the biggest dealbreakers. i will pull the weight for my muse(s) but i am not doing it for you. i like to think im pretty flexible in terms of letting it a slide in the beginning bc we're still figuring each other out and acting like awkward turtles but if i continue to feel that lack of energy then we're going our separate ways. i only have so many spoons to spend on here and i wanna make sure i enjoy them. also it frustrates me a lot when im asking questions, trying to get things going and just getting one word answers. i start thinking it's me and im doing something wrong. that never leads anywhere nice for mental health so, yep.

also lack of interaction. i have it in my rules if we don't interact generally within the first month then i will unfollow. again i let this slide sometimes bc life gets busy and we got all life to deal with. with that said, i generally try to reach out either by sending a DM or ask.

MUSE PREFERENCES: honestly i enjoy the softie characters and watching them grow into themselves and finding themselves. but uh i really only have one softie. the rest of them are assholes and sunshine assholes. so maybe my preference is assholes. idk. they just gotta call to me and i gotta feel for their story. yanno? or like their ship LOL

PLOTS OR MEMES : i generally prefer plotting, but not lot of it. i like to a get a general gist of direction then leaving everything else open-ended. bc really the muses sometimes don't follow the plan and i fully support following them into whatever problem their track wreck self is heading toward. i like memes, but sometimes i don't. and that's all me bc i want all the interactions to have some kind purpose, to keep building and developing our muses. but i know that's unreasonable expectation to have. plus memes are totally are great for exploring potential ideas, working out of the norm, and feeling each other out! so yess they're good but also sometimes i feel they don't go anywhere and im like did i waste time writing that? the answer is no, bc it's practice, it's a chance to explore. but can't help the way you feel at times.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES : generally short replies, i like the quickness to them. however i do enjoy long ones when they start to dig into the muse and pick apart their thoughts.

BEST TIME TO WRITE : who knows. generally it's the weekend bc that's when i don't work. also when im reading. if i go time without reading a book of fanfic then my writing insp is going to suffer. sometimes i can pull out replies during the week but that is raaaare.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) : little bit. the introverts you find on here are. the ambitious ones. the people pleasing ones. the ones struggling to find their place in the world and voice. little bits and pieces.

tagged: @fightaers & @dynmghts ( thank you for tagging me!) tagging: @vsagis / @sunsweets / @kiigan / @hatredcurse / @raisedcold / @soulsballad / @yookimi

#.j ooc #if you guys already did this sorry for tagging u again #if you don't wanna do this no pressure!! c:

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blainesebastian · 2 years ago

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mutually assured satisfaction (pt6)

words: 3,603 ship: austin butler x reader summary: reader’s agent approaches her with a PR stunt to date austin butler and promote both their careers. a mapped out plan, an electric relationship–what could possibly go wrong? notes: masterlist is on my sidebar :) thanks for any comments, reblogs, likes and asks! always appreciated warnings: not exactly SFW tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @kittenlittle24, @slowsweetlove, @namoreno, @strokesofstokes, @callthedarknessdown, @kibumslatina, @al-co-hol-youlater, @frogoerson, @dancer4j

You don’t hear anything back from Austin, which…you suppose shouldn’t surprise you with how you left things. You’re a fucking mess and if you were him, you’d cut your losses too. After all, just as you said, Austin isn’t your boyfriend—this relationship isn’t real. He has no obligation to you or be here for what you’re going through. Regardless of the words he said before he left your apartment, he can change his mind, you wouldn’t even blame him.

Stepping into your kitchen in your black dress for the funeral, you putter around to help your parents get ready for the wake, trying to count down the time on the clock of this terrible day. Your mother, Grace, reaches for your arm and squeezes to get your attention. Handing over a cup of hot mint tea, she gives you a small smile, fixing a curl near your cheek.

“Why don’t you go sit for a while—we’re almost done here, then we’ll head out.”

You swallow and lean back against the counter to put honey into your tea, “It’s better if I keep moving.”

She nods in understanding, pushing her hair over her shoulder, “How’s that boy you were seeing? Austin? He seemed really nice when we met him over Facetime the few times we called.”

This has to be the very last thing you want to talk about, somehow the mention of Austin making everything feel that much sharper, painful. You of course didn’t tell your parents about the PR relationship because they’d worry or worse, scold you, but it was impossible not to tell them about your so-called boyfriend when they could read or see things online, when they called and Austin was so often there.

“He uh…” You’re unsure of what to say for a few moments, not wanting to get into everything here, now, and yet at the same time just wanting to rip the band-aid off. Austin isn’t here because nothing between you was honest, it was just heightened emotions and physical attraction given the close proximity. That’s it.

“You didn’t break up, did you?”

And God, you can’t do it—you can’t tell her the truth about what’s really going on or how you felt so consumed with grief and loss that you pushed him away and now you don’t know what to do. How you’re confused and conflicted and you’re supposed to go back to reality in two days and deal with articles and rumors and real feelings that somehow complicate and fuck up everything.

You open your mouth to say something when the doorbell rings and you nearly sigh in relief because, “I’ll get it.” Your father is upstairs getting ready anyways and you need to leave this conversation immediately.

Shaking your head, you move to open the front door without even looking in the peep hole—and nearly melt right into the floor when you see its Austin. You blink once, twice, a breath catching in your throat because you don’t quite believe what you’re looking at. He’s standing there in a pair of black slacks and pullover sweater to go with it, the black booties you’ve seen him wear hundreds of times and a blazer. He’s got one duffle bag in his hands and his eyes are the warmest thing about him, that welcoming blue.

You just kinda stand there, unsure of how to even talk until the words finally burst forth, “What are you—how did—”

Austin takes a step forward, “Christina.”

Her agent, right, of course. Of course Austin would reach out to her about where you are, not wanting to bother you even though you sent out a series of desperate texts hoping he would reply. You didn’t expect this though, for him to come all the way here, out of his way. He continues to surprise you in the best ways.

There’s this whimpering noise that leaves your mouth that you’ll have to deny even making later as all the pent-up tears that have been on back-burner for today begin filling your eyes. Austin doesn’t waste any time, he moves to wrap you into his arms, drawing you close and squeezing tight. A relieved sigh empties from your mouth, mingled with a soft cry, your hands clinging to his blazer as you bury your face into his chest. The scent of his cologne mixed with something that you’ve come to recognize as inherently Austin.

Once you pull back, you let Austin step inside, running your hands over your cheeks. You didn’t even bother to put on makeup today because you already knew it was going to be like this all day, constantly wiping tears from your face.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” You sniffle, “At my apartment?”

Austin shakes his head, his hand resting on your shoulder, “Don’t even worry about it, I mean it.” He cups your cheek, running his thumb along the skin before pulling back.

Your mother comes around the corner, pausing as she sees both you and Austin. She instantly smiles, moving to greet Austin with half a hug that he quickly accepts. He has to lean down to embrace her, dropping his bag near the door,

“You must be Austin,” Grace squeezes before she pulls back. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you in person—Y/N didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“Just needed to finish things up with work,” Austin lies gently, his eyes slipping over to yours, “But I was always gonna be here. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Grace hums, picking up Austin’s bag to take upstairs. “Well we’re very glad you’re here. I know it means a lot to Y/N.”

You’re so overstimulated by the fact that Austin is standing here in your childhood home, flew here to be with you for your grandmother’s funeral, that you can’t even tell your mom that you can take his bag up to your bedroom. Curling your hair around your ear, you let her pass you to walk upstairs, leaving you and Austin in the soft silence of the foyer.

“I hope it’s okay I just showed up,” Austin says after a few moments, running a hand through his hair. You’re quickly coming to realize it’s a nervous habit of his.

You shake your head, taking a step closer to him. Reaching out a hand to touch his forearm, you squeeze a little. What your mom said was right, you are grateful he’s here.

“No, I meant what I said—I needed you.” And that’s so fucking hard for you to admit outloud, so difficult to let someone in, to feel and appear weak, that you need to depend on someone other than yourself. “I need you.”

Austin cups your cheek, curling your hair back behind your ear, “I’m here—m’not going anywhere.”

And it’s with that guarantee that you allow yourself to be vulnerable.

The day is incredibly long, but you figure that’s how it’s supposed to be. The funeral itself goes quickly, which you’re thankful for. Some nice words shared over a ceremony at the cemetery, standing in grass and trying not to let yourself dissolve into crying as the casket is lowered. You’re just thankful that there’s no paps showing up…you were kinda concerned there might be. Some people are always after that one story, that one image that no one else can get. But there’s security and precautions and luckily it seems like no one knows Austin is here either. You’re able to use him as an anchor the whole time, turning into him and closing your eyes as he rests his chin on your head, kisses pressed along your hairline every so often.

The wake at the house is manageable and maybe it’s because you’re busy helping your parents play host that it’s not as painful as you thought to mingle with friends and family of your grandmother and talk about her. You worry at one point that it might be uncomfortable for Austin but he blends in as if he’s always somehow been here, leans right into conversations, helps your parents with odds and ends things that’s mostly getting refills or taking out the trash, and most importantly checks on you without being overbearing. You realize that you don’t think you would have been able to go through today without him.

Letting out a short breath, you smooth your hands over your dress and make your way to the living room to find Austin to take a breather outside. Your teenage cousin is talking to him with hearteyes, definitely a crush, and a soft laugh leaves your lips as you approach,

“Rachel, you mind if I steal Austin for a bit?”

She smiles and nods, her cheeks blushing as Austin looks down at her, “I’ll be back, we can talk about that book you’re reading.” She brightens as if he’s promised her the moon.

Taking Austin’s hand, you walk with him through the house until you exit out of the kitchen back door into a small yard. There’s a swing set there that still works, a small quiet spot that you’ve always enjoyed—tonight’s no different. You grab one of the swings and perch yourself on it, smiling up at Austin.

“Think I’m too tall for this.” He jokes, having to duck his head to sit on the other swing. The metal creaks but easily holds both of them, Austin’s legs almost comically long as he stretches them out so it’s more comfortable.

You hum lightly, gently pushing yourself back and forth, looking up at your childhood home. It’s quiet between you two but not unpleasant, night sounds surrounding you along with the creaking metal, crickets and trees rustling. A small shiver runs down your spine but you enjoy weather like this, slightly crisp at night. You pull the sleeves of your dress down over your hands.

“Thank you again for being here,” You say, looking over at him, “I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” He offers you a small smile, “But you’re welcome.”

There’s so much you want to say to him, you’re not sure where to begin. In a few weeks, the PR stunt will be over, you’re supposed to be breaking up. Both of your careers have become bustling because of the relationship—phone calls for interviews, more Instagram and social media followers and interactions, more buzz created about the films you’re acting in. The stars aligned; the plan worked—so why does it feel like you’re somehow losing in the end?

Pushing yourself on the swing a moment, you let a long breath that flutters your lips, “We’re uh…supposed to break up soon.”

Austin purses his lips, the heels of his feet rolling in the grass and shifting himself back and forth. There’s a noncommittal noise that leaves his mouth before, “Right—two weeks?”

Yeah, that sounds right. You’ve kinda lost all sense of time lately, your body aches from lack of sleep and emotional exhaustion. And the endgame of this whole stunt? You’ve just pushed it out of your mind, other things filling your head because you have no idea how to feel about it. It’s like this impending train but neither of them is moving off the tracks.

“What do you wanna do?” You ask, the question hanging in the air.

Despite having an expiration date, they haven’t really formulated how it’s going to happen. Who breaks up with who, is it public or private, how do they get the news to spread and still maintain a decent amount of satisfactional drama? It’s very much a powder keg, capable of going haywire with just the wrong amount of pressure.

“I think…” Austin trails off for a moment, considering what he’s about to say, “I think I wanna make sure you’re alright first, get back home,” He shrugs, “Everythin’ else we can figure out.”

It’s not exactly a non-answer but it’s one you weren’t expecting either. But when he turns to look at you, those soft blue eyes settling on your face, you find yourself nodding. You’re not sure what you even wanted him to say—the set of different responses settle in your belly like lead, none of them satisfactory.

You pick yourself up from the swing and move to stand near him, looking down at his face. He stops moving, his one arm sliding around your waist as you sort of step between his legs. There’s encouragement to sit on his one leg and you do, the swing creaking but holding both of your weight. He smiles up at you, just a soft quirk of his lips, and you kinda like it like this—being a bit taller than him. That height difference he so often has the advantage of.

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, nose brushing along the curls of his dirty blonde hair. Austin lets out a short breath that tickles your neck, a small squirming sensation circling in your belly at that, your arm squeezing him around his shoulders. If you could pause time, sit out here with him for the rest of the night, you would.

But you know you can’t—you have to head back inside at some point and you have to fly back home to where reality lives. You just hope that Austin’s right, everything else they can figure out. Together.

The week you both get back, you throw yourself into your work, which actually turns out to help a lot. By Friday you’re exhausted, but in a good way, you end up feeling more like yourself. Grieving isn’t linear, there are terrible days for you and in balance there’s some really great ones too. You’re just trying to take things one day at a time, that’s the best way you think you can handle things.

Austin gets invited to a friend’s house party, because of course celebrities have those from time to time, and asks you if you’d like to come with. It’s not on your list of dates leading up to the breakup and he kinda gives this ‘no pressure’ vibe just in case you’re not feeling it. But you think it might be good for you? A party, some drinking, dancing, having a good time? Never hurts to let loose every now and then.

So Austin picks you up and drives, wearing a pair of black jeans, a button denim shirt and those same boots he loves. You’re wearing a little black dress with puffy sleeves, a pair of white booties, your earrings matching. There’s no pressure tonight to be anyone other than themselves and have a good time.

And that’s exactly what you plan on doing.

You take a few selfies with Austin and put them on your Instastory, the likes and comments almost immediate. People enjoy looking at him and you can’t exactly blame them either. His social media footprint isn’t very big but he takes one of the photos and reposts it on his story too—you try not to think about whether he’s doing that for the PR or because he wants to.

Shaking thoughts out of your head, you walk into the beautiful two-story house with him, his arm around your waist as he greets old friends and shakes hands with anyone new that he meets. Your eyes take in the tall ceiling, the pristine white paint, the glass windows overlooking rolling hills and sparkling lights of the city, and a variety of faces from Hollywood—some that you recognize, some that you don’t.

There’s really no rhyme or reason to tonight’s party other than just enjoying it and living in a bit of excess. You know it’s a bit shameful but you can’t help but wanting to throw everything to the wayside tonight, to enjoy your time with Austin, to drink a bit too much and dance, play games.

Having been here for an hour thus far, you certainly have done all the above, planting yourself on Austin’s lap on the couch as he talks to the friend throwing the party. He’s got a beer in his hand while you sip on a refill of some sort of mixed drink that’s too strong but it’s adding to the rose-colored tint you’re beginning to see the room in. Pleasantly tipsy, leaning your back against Austin’s front.

He smells so damn good, a kiss of sweat to his skin, heightening his natural scent and the sandalwood cologne he wears. His arm absently slips around your waist, keeping you in place as his friend asks him about upcoming projects and then dives into one he’s working on. You shift your hips back to get into a more comfortable position, chewing on the straw of your drink and you think it’s your imagination when Austin squeezes your hip.

But then you move again because your leg is falling asleep and Austin definitely tenses underneath you. You’re sitting close enough that you can hear him let out a short breath, even above the thrum of the music, his fingers digging into your side. Your eyes dart down to look at him, his jaw working as he attempts to pay attention and continue the conversation with his friend but…his eyes are a shade darker than usual.

He glances up at you, very quickly, before looking back at his friend and taking a sip of his beer. It’s within that moment that you become very aware of Austin’s body along your own, the heat of his skin, the way his chest feels against your back, the way his waist presses into your legs. And there, just there, you begin to feel heat pulse between your thighs, almost thick like honey. It traps air in your lungs, pulse quickening in your neck and you clear your throat,

“I uh, bathroom,” You say quickly, putting your drink down and crawling off of Austin’s lap to make a beeline towards your destination.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears as you close the door, leaning against the sink. You turn the water on and wet your hands, running them along your heated skin—the back of your neck, your cheeks, a brush over your forehead. You have never tried to deny that you’re physically attracted to Austin, of course you are, how could you not be? But then again there’s never quite been a situation like that either—when you could so clearly feel him and the reaction he was having because of you.

Shaking your head, you feel slightly dizzy. Just the alcohol, just the overwhelming proximity of your bodies and the mood of the night, nothing more. There’s a knock on the door,

“One minute!” You call out, slightly annoyed someone is already waiting in line to get in. Doesn’t this place have, like, three other bathrooms this person could go find? You’re not ready to leave yet, not composed to your liking at all.

The knocking doesn’t go away, so you let out a huff and move to yank open the door—and Austin is standing there. He doesn’t say a word, instead walking forward to press you back into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. There’s a brief moment of hesitancy, some shared breathing, Austin drawing his teeth over his lower lip—

And he reaches for you to kiss.

A soft moan leaves your throat almost automatically and the sound alone seems to encourage Austin’s movements, he deepens the kiss, his arms going around you. Your hands slip up and underneath his shirt to feel the heat of his skin and he continues to back you up until you bump into the sink. It’s built into a counter and you’ve never been happier about that as he lifts you up and sets you on the edge, slipping between your legs, your dress hiking a bit up your thighs. The kissing is becoming quick, almost messy, tongues slipping together as you feel him roll his hips against your leg.

You shudder at the sensation, wrapping your legs around him, drawing him in as close as you possibly can. There’s a fire smoldering inside of you, almost too much to bear, hands moving to undo belts and pants and sliding the fabric of your dress up and over your hips. Your head tips back, exposing your neck when Austin slides his hand down and into your underwear, fingers prodding, working you open. His lips find your neck, kissing along your pulse point, and you squeeze him when he maneuvers his hips and slides into you. There’s a moment of no movement, your head practically bumping the mirror and a short laugh leaves your lips.

“Ow,” You crinkle your nose, rubbing the crown of your head.

“You alright?” Austin lets out a breath of a laugh, his one hand rubbing along your shoulders.

You nod, looking down at him, hand moving to brush your thumb along his lower lip, “Don’t stop.” You whisper before kissing him.

And he doesn’t. The movement of your hips are fluid, quick, passionate, it doesn’t take either of you very long to reach your climaxes. When you do, Austin draws you closer and peppers a few kisses along your cheek, jawline, burying his face in your neck. Humming, you press your lips and nose into his shoulder, breathing him in, allowing your eyes to close. Neither of you move for a long moment.

This is not what you meant when you intended on letting loose to have a good time.

Only two more parts left! Also working on some requests :) thanks so much for reading! Appreciate all of you.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler drabble #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #mas series #mas

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deiitsukki · 3 years ago

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A/n:Okay this has been in my drafts since last year November, and I just stumbled and thought why not post it, and I forgot who requested this but Hi if you're reading this please reblog or comment so I'll give you a credits for requesting. so here ya go another Luffy smut cuz I love mah rubber boi s'much.

⚠️:Breast Fucking, Luffy Is a pervert, !spoiler alert!, Breast sucking, grammatical errors, a very OOC LUFFY.

Luffy×Fem!reader

Send request/ask anything

It has been two years since he last saw you, it has been two years since you guys parted and he wondered if you were alright, did good and got stronger with those past two years

He clearly remembers the terrified look on your face as you fought Bartholomew Kuma together with the members of Straw hat pirates, but you guys ended up parting each other and was bought to who knows where.

He feels so guilty about not being able to protect and save you 'His First Lady' as to what he calls you, but sooner later after the tragic death of his brother he realized that maybe it must be destined to you guys will part for awhile so you guys could rest and be prepared for the next adventures you and his nakama will experience in the future

And so He promises to himself that he will create a new generation for pirates and to get stronger and stronger as days passed until he surpasses everyone who is stronger than the strongest man. He crossed out the plan about After three Days You and his nakama will meet again instead The straw hats will not meet after three days but two years.

Two years have gone by and he's finally gonna meet you and his nakama. They're on their way to where the sunny is with chopper who came to pick them up with a strange bird with Zoro and Sanji behind him who Luffy met few minutes ago when he was trying to escape that audience he managed to gather.

He was finally able to spot the Thousand sunny his nakamas and you, the second he laid his owlish eyes in your figure his mind stopped working for a second as he tried to contemplate about the sight of you, you are so beautiful, so fucking beautiful he thought

The way the simple white bikini haltered top with lace strap and the low waist long skirt with slit to the side exposed and hugged the curves of your magnificent body, you look so stunning those are the words that came to his mind as he examined you more

Your body curves and hourglass have become more pronounced. You've become slightly taller, your hair becomes wavy andhas grown that it reaches your lower back, the warmth of your eyes already coming out as it become slightly droopy and your eyelashes has become more curlier. And Your breast goddamn he thought They have gotten much larger and Rounder as they were two years ago, you look so strong now compared back then.

He can't help but think about the perverted things he wanted to do to you. Sure he have seen a female's naked body before(I was talking about that one scene with Hancock.) But they weren't like yours, they don't make him hard the way your body does.

As they finally landed on the ship's deck safely the first thing that greets Luffy was his nakamas happy face, they looked so strong he thought. You came into his view and run to him with open arms, you jumped at him hugging him tightly telling him you missed him so much, the first this he came to face with when you jumped at Him for a hug

The first he came to face with was your breast he was squeezed in between your breast and he secretly thanked whoever the god is because fucking hell your breast is so soft he wanted to squeeze it,suck it and maybe leave a few marks? Who knows. and you smells so good. So intoxicating

He can't wait until you guys are at your shared bedroom that he surely will show you how much he misses you and that he was still in love with you after two years. As you guys were leaving sabaody for your new adventure to the new world he can feel his pants tightening at the mere sight of you . You looked so fucking gorgeous. So so fucking gorgeous.

As he was walking to your guys shared cabin he can hear you humming a tune. He exucused himself to nami and everyone faking a yawn and telling them that he needs to take a nap and that travelling from one island to another tires him out when really he saw you earlier going to your shared cabin because you've got nothing to do and it takes long hours or maybe days before reaching your guys first destination after two years

He opened the door and saw you sitting on yours and his shared bed with your back leaning on the headboard of the bed, you were reading some book from the island Bartholomew Kuma sent you, a kind old lady gave it to you saying she used to read it when she was a kid.

You noticed him standing in the doorway and you smiled at him muttering a small 'Hi' as you closed the book you were reading, he returned the smile and closed the door behind him, he slowly walked to you without any word and stared at your as he stopped in front of you and you gave him a small space for him to sit beside you, he took a seat beside you still staring at your eyes your smiled never left as you asked what's wrong but he answered it with a small chuckle and "Nothing"

You found his quietness strange because he was never a quiet person as you were sure that the whole grand line heard his "I'm Gonna be a pirate king" catchphrase. You were about to ask him what's up with him being quiet when he suddenly attacked your lips and groped one of your breast

You can't help but moan at roughness of his lips and the way he grope one of your tits, he take this as an advantage to pushed his toungue inside of your mouth, toungue to toungue fight now both of his hands are now on your breast

You broke the kiss for air but his hands remained on both of your tits still groping and squeezing them, he looked at you big owl eyes with nothing but lust.

"I missed you my lady" he said as he stands up quickly putting both of his legs in your side

"I missed you too Luffy but-" you replied but was cut off

"But what? You don't want me to show you much I missed you?" He said puppy dog eyes and with pout on his face

"But the others- they're outside, Luffy we can't-" you tried to reason but he cut you off again

"We can if you're not gonna be loud. So try not to be loud for me yeah?" He asked but he didn't wait for you to answer as he starts stripping you by slowly brushing his fingers into the strap of your white haltered top, he slowly took your top off and next thing you was that you're half naked Infront of him. He grabs both of your hands with both of his hands and slowly brought them to the side of your head

He slowly lowered his head to suck at your hardened nipple, you moaned at the sudden contact of his toungue on your nipples, his toungue swirlled at your breast also not leaving the other one as he exchanged from the other one to the other one, you tried to stop your moans and whines but failed to do so because it has been two years since you felt his toungue on your tits

He sucked the underpart of your left tits it surely did left a deep purple mark there, he rises his head as he lets go of your hands that was pinned in the sides of your head, he gesture you to squeeze your tits together and he told you to not let them go until he says so.

He slowly unzipped his pants freeing his hardened member with a leaking pre cum, he pumps it looking directly into your eyes

"Like it?" He asked with a smirk and you can't help but blushed and feel more wetter as you saw his cock, you were already wet from what he did earlier but seeing his cock again just makes you feel something

He then slowly slide it in between your squeezed breast and both of you moaned at the friction, your tits were so warm he thought, so soft, he then looked at your desperate expression. You were pleading for him to go faster

"Ugh! Luffy please- ngh- please Luffy!" You whined and he can't help but feel pride about the effect he have on you

"Please what My lady? Say it. Y'know when the king's lady needs something the king needs to hear it coming from his own lady-" he said in between pants and heavy breath "So what is it my lady? What do you want?" He continued and you can feel the smirk on his voice.

"Please fuck me-ugh- I've missed you so much!" You light screamed as you arched your back feeling his cock getting more hard on your breast, he chuckled and pick up the pace of his dick

He can feel himself shakes and getting more turned on as he saw your eyes rolled to the back of your head he moaned loudly but not loud enough for the crew to hear but for you to hear that he enjoys what the two of you were doing right now as he shoots his hot cum on your face.

He tried to steady his breathe as beads of sweats starts to form on both of your guy's face, he looked at you admiring you cute fucked up expression.

He liked- no he loved the effect he had on you, you were so desperate for him. You were so little when he hovers above you. When you were under him, writhing, moaning, whining and pleading for him to destroy you.

You look so ravishing. So stunning and gorgeous and if this is the only way to tell you that he missed you so much after two years, then he'll gladly do it everyday.

Afterall you missed him too right?

#one piece #one piece smut #one piece fluff #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat pirates #luffy fluff #luffy smut #luffy x you #luffytaro #monkey d. luffy × reader #op luffy #luffy × reader #luffy × y/n #mugiwara no luffy #luffy #straw hat crew

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

Text

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away)

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth @bfharry and @hardcandy-harry for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!!

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care. She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart.

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.”

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral. Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles #prince harry styles #Royal AU #Harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction fanfiction

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uponrightful · 3 years ago

Text

Coriolis Effect- pt.9 "Caf & Chain Codes"

A/N: I'm back.! Sorry for such a long wait... But thank you to everyone who took the time to check in on me, I didn't expect so many of you to do that! Anyways, enjoy part 9!

Reblogs and Comments are always my favorite! -Plus they help me out a lot-

***

Drowsiness muted the bright wake-up call Dutch was expectant to receive. Thanks to the slightly sweaty warmth trapped under the blanket, she stretched out slowly with a low sigh rumbling in her throat as her muscles protested. The bed was delightfully warm, but unfortunately lacked the heat that would’ve followed if it had been shared with someone else. The bright lights above and the low thrum of ships taking off from the landing pads outside jumpstarted her to sit up, and ignore the slight tinge of embarrassment she felt when Crosshair wasn’t laying with her. Shoving down that insecurity, Dutch made an attempt to find her bearing with a look around the bunk hall. All of the batch were still sealed inside their pods. Four red lights marking them occupied and unwilling to face the day. At least, everyone but Crosshair it seemed.

She looked over the side of the bunk to see his ‘Puncher hanging from its strap where it’d been since the night before; And aside from the fact that his armor was nowhere to be spotted, it left little idea to where the sniper had went off to or if he planned on returning. That same tug of nervousness burned in her throat. Dutch tried to calm herself by remembering his promise of being much harder to get rid of. Her better sense said it was all too possible that she’d mistaken his meaning after such a high-strung display of emotions last night, however that optimistic part of her was holding out for him to return before his absence gave real cause for concern. He could be anywhere, and suddenly Crosshair’s frustration from her disappearance last night was looking that much more understandable. The longer she sat wrapped up under the blanket the frigid possibility that he was going to leave her to rumble through her own emotions, the coldness of the bunk room didn’t feel as biting.

As if the smug bastard had planned for it to happen that way, the doors at the end of the hall opened to reveal Crosshair with a couple boxes balanced in one hand and two cups stacked in the other. This fresh from sleep, Duchess struggled to think about anything other than how demanding his presence was. Long lines and sharp edges made Crosshair every bit of a lithe soldier, and not even the mystery items he carried could detract from the feeling she got simply by looking at him. Not even the height advantage she had -three pods up from the floor- made her feel any more dominant under the heavy gaze that met her the second he entered the room. This morning, he didn’t seem too bothered with keeping his footfalls silent; The sharp click of his heels sounding off the walls and floor as he approached. Steady hands raised the two cups up towards her, his characteristic silence asking for her to free one of his hands.

“The bottom is yours.” He remarked quietly, already using his freedom of movement to start pulling away at the top half of his armor.

Only then did he remove his helmet and begin the short climb up to where she sat motionless, dazed and biting her lip in concentration. She was still thrumming with anxiety of his arrival, and although Hunter was the one with enhanced hearing Dutch was certain it didn’t take genetic enhancement to notice the caution she planned to implement for this conversation. Crosshair settled himself at the side of the bunk, his legs hanging off the free edge with his thigh making subtle contact with her crisscrossed legs. He reached for the cup she determined to be his and traded it for one of the boxes he’d brought along; Sitting it in her lap so the warmth could transfer through the blanket onto her legs. In her haze it took far too long for her to realize that her worry was far too quickly developed. Crosshair didn’t present himself any differently than he had before they went to sleep. Still not very talkative, but polite in his own unique way. A familiar smell of food wafted up from the box sitting in her lap and Dutch felt her chest tighten with appreciation.

Did he… bring me breakfast?

With a cautious sip from her cup, she tasted straight caf. So hot there was no mistaking it was fresh, and not a trace of sugar or milk anywhere. A careful glance up proved Crosshair was watching her reaction and she gave a smile from behind the rim of the cup. It proved to satisfy him -and although he moved his head in a disappointed shake- Dutch could tell there was nothing about her response that had actually bothered him. True to his persona, there was no real way of figuring out what he was thinking even if it didn’t match the expression on his face. These cups weren’t from the mess hall, and there was no way the food inside her box was Republic-made either. It smelled too good, and breakfast-in-bed wasn’t exactly acceptable on base.

He went and bought this… Gods, is this really the same Crosshair?

“I didn’t expect you to wake up this soon…” He grumbled quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup with a hard focus on it like there was actually something worth paying that much attention to.

Dutch smiled again, pushing a knee into his thigh lightly, noticing his quick glance at her. Those honeyed eyes looked just as soft as they had the night before. Just as warm with a startling contrast to the rest of his character. She wasn’t ignorant of his subtle meaning either; Everything about Crosshair was steeped in indirect meanings and snide comments that weren’t necessarily meant to be taken at face value. Although he was grumbling about her waking up early, it was his own attempt to not leave her alone that really effected his attitude. Dutch quickly set out to reassure him that whatever measures he’d undertaken to pull this off hadn’t been a failure.

“Honestly, I didn’t think I would either.” Her ears burned at the insinuation she was making so freely, but it was the truth. Crosshair had been thorough in his late-night mission to ensure she remembered him in all aspects: The skin on her neck was still tender, as were her thighs where it was almost absurd how easily she could feel the individual bruises in the shape of his mouth. Dutch was far too weak to deny the thrill it elicited, knowing personally that Crosshair wasn’t always scowling… Relishing in the satisfaction that his mouth’s talents exceeded simple acts like talking.

Crosshair huffed something close to a murmur before taking a sip from his drink, his gaze wandering over her face and down to the base of her throat. There his brows furrowed, and he took another drink. Dutch wore an old shirt, the collar stretched out of shape with little holes scattered all over the material. Every inch of skin above her collar was exposed, and apparently Crosshair wasn’t happy with something that he saw. She shifted a little, wondering just how many marks littered her skin for him to be looking at so cautiously. If anything -for Crosshair’s sake- she hoped they weren’t too bad; He had been exceedingly concerned with all of them last night and that was hours ago… ample time for them to get darker. Dutch could only imagine what she looked like without the aid of a mirror or something reflective to look in.

“You bruise easily,” He scowled a little, and Dutch couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious. She bit her into her lip harder, noticing a soreness there as well that wasn’t of her own doing. Quickly she came to the conclusion that he didn’t take well to the idea, and wasn’t happy that she couldn’t bear his particular type of intimacy well enough. “Should’ve stopped me.”

“What would you say if I told you I didn’t want you to stop?” She countered warily, noticing the slight raise of his eyebrows before they fell back into that slightly furrowed place they constantly rested at.

He waited a long minute before reaching towards her and tracing the swell of her bottom lip with his thumb, making a slow map over her jaw down to the sore muscles over the column of her throat, a soft sigh escaping his nose with a tendon jumping in his clenched jaw. The path of connected purple marks ended where she remembered him applying bacta; His undivided attention lingering there much longer before those sharp eyes returned to hers. Crosshair leaned just a little closer and pressed a soft kiss over the tender spot;

“I wouldn’t feel depraved for thinking you look so pretty like this.” He murmured softly against her skin, leaving just one more kiss before leaning away with both of their quickened breaths filling the quiet air.

Between her blushes and the irregular conversation between them, Dutch managed to eat somewhere close to half of her breakfast -finishing her cup of caf in half that time. It had been far too tempting to watch Crosshair instead; Paying attention to every little movement and the diminutive idiosyncrasies that presented themselves in his openness to her. He ate one specific thing at a time, working his way around his plate methodically. Like any other soldier he ate quickly, but seemed intent on holding himself back like he didn’t want to finish before she did. The second Crosshair noticed that she was closing the lid on her box, his eyebrows furrowed again and he restrained her from moving the box away from her lap. More than a little confused, Dutch mirrored his brow line with a questioning look thrown in his direction.

“You aren’t finished yet.” He shook his head, opening the lid back up and handed her the fork she’d abandoned in the box. Dutch was more than startled to see him so adamant, and accepted the fork with a hesitance to take another bite with how full she felt already. Only her silver-haired partner was uncaring, turning back to his own food with his attention split more evenly between his own caf and her progress.

“How much more do you expect me to eat?” She asked a little exasperated, feeling just a touch of nervousness with all of the possible responses he could give.

Dutch knew she wasn’t the slimmest girl on the planet, often restraining herself from a full meal in preference of looking a little more like the women in clothing ads and in holovids. Not to mention, being a soldier didn’t particularly allow for unhealthy habits like junk food and a lazy day on the couch. Since joining the Batch food was the last thing on Dutch’s mind and she didn’t particularly mind. It made her form a little more appealing to her own strict idealizations, and would ensure she didn’t look like she was spilling out of her armor. Duchess thought she held weight in what seemed like all the wrong places, creating a difficult appearance to view in the mirror when she wasn’t wearing her baggy jumpsuit or the forgiving pre-formed plates of her plastoid. And after last night, her figure was even more in question now that Crosshair was concerned.

“You were so tired you couldn’t stand. I expect you to eat all of it.” He gave her a dark look, speaking more to their midnight acts than his concern of anything having to do with her physical appearance or thinking that she wasn’t eating her fill on his account. “Now finish. You don’t want me to feed you myself.”

It was a great undertaking, but Duchess wasn’t about to back down from a challenge from Crosshair; Even if it was something as simple as him quietly fussing about her finishing her food. For the rest of the morning they sat in a pleasant silence, his honeyed eyes looking over her to make sure she wasn’t stalling to get out of it. After a whole-hearted attempt there wasn’t anything remaining in her to-go box and she turned it around to prove it’s lack of contents before shutting the lid and leaning back against the edge of the pod at her back.

“Are you satisfied?” At this angle all Dutch could see was the outline of his proud shoulders and forwent the urge to comment on it so she could take the -few and far between- opportunity to stare without permission for just a little longer.

“With you…? Never.”

***

Duchess was elbow deep in her datapads long before midday. Those chain codes had to start somewhere, and the best place to begin was right at the first four digits. Between her previous experience with every manufacturer within three sectors of Coruscant, it shouldn’t have been that hard to decipher where the shipments originated from. Unfortunatley her own words to the Batch were coming to haunt her in the most vexing way. The codes could be months old and it was all too possible that they were lost to any company database due to the constant demand for bigger and better weapons for both the Republic and the Separatists. Between multiple attempts to reach a few of her contacts at: Murr-Sonn, BlasTech, Krupx, and Balmorra’s main production factories there hadn’t been a single reply. None of her clearance codes allowed for access to the original chain codes that accompanied past shipments due to her transfer to field work, and not even making comms to the other two officers who’d been assisting her previous testing efforts on Kamino had been helpful. Regulations and security measures deemed her below clearance, and forced her co-workers to deny access to those records. Of course they tried to soften the blow with well-meaning wishes and ‘good luck’ with her new squad, but it wasn’t the least bit helpful. Dutch was just about to throw up her hands and start cursing an egregious lack of cooperation with all of the Republic’s inner representatives and business compatriots when Tech -who’d been holed up on his bunk all morning- gave a soft tap on her shoulder.

“You appear overwhelmingly distressed; Would another set of eyes aid you?” He asked rather hopeful, attention flitting between her sprawled collection of datapads and her face.

“Yeah, sure. I just hope you can so something more with these than I can.” Dutch knew Tech was far smarter when it came to technology, but even he didn’t know the whole story behind these codes yet. Even if she spent the entire day filling him in on the nuances of shipments and regulatory actions that kept weapons secure during and after transport it still wouldn’t solve the fact that she couldn’t get any more information until someone deemed her suitable to receive it.

“I see you have been in contact with your previous associates,” His eyes scanned the conversations glowing on the screen as he read through them, eyes popping up to look at her over the edge of the screen just as he reached the bottom of her one-sided transmissions. “If you needed archive data you could have simply asked me to do it for you.” A haughty tone marring his posture as if her unawareness was actually meant to be an insult to him.

“You can do that?” She sputtered, her mouth falling ajar. “But that’s… illegal isn’t it?”

Tech chuckled, reaching into the little holster on his hip and pulling out his own datapad like it was the Maker’s gift to the galaxy and he’d been the one blessed to wield it’s powers. For a moment Dutch checked herself, quickly coming to the affirmation that at this moment that box of wires and circuitry in Tech’s hands was very much a gift. Buttons clicked, and he would occasionally talk aloud as he repeated certain codes to himself or the occasional ‘hmmm’.

“This is a matter of questionable legality, however I am not of the disposition to think any less of myself for taking advantage of unsecured data that could result in a successful mission.” He paused to glance up, and Dutch grinned widely at him. For all his big words she couldn’t help but want to hear him say ‘Their encryption is shitty, and I’m going to make them pay for it.’

“Tech… I’ve never agreed with you more,” His eyes flashed brightly at her grin and light chuckle. “Now, show me what you found and if it’s anything like I’m hoping, I’ll tell you everything about chain codes that I didn’t go over on the Marauder.”

Her barter worked in her favor.

With a quick press of a button Tech’s constant stream of downloading data was being transferred onto one of her datapads. Everything from batch numbers to spec sheets was being loaded at her viewing pleasure. And at such a fast speed they had two fiscal quarters worth of information on all of her contacted companies within just a few minutes. Dutch made room for Tech on the floor by scooting all of her surrounding things to one side, patting the floor. Her welcome invitation didn’t go unnoticed, and despite being a little worried that she wasn’t going to be able to keep up with him at how quickly he was taking in all of this information; Tech quickly turned away from his little datapad and faced her.

“This should take around three standard hours to download to completion. Is that an acceptable amount of time to finish your explanation?”

“Yes. I think that’s going to be plenty of time.” She nodded, reaching for one pad that had some notes she’d written in her spare time between fielding comms from her testing partners in case this particular conversation came up sooner than later. A bulleted list would keep her on track, but wouldn’t leave Tech without opportunity to ask the questions she knew would come up.

“Do you mind if I…?” He motioned towards his little recording device, a little tinge of blush appearing on the tips of his ears.

Just like how that trooper Toast had been so nervous to simply say ‘hello’, there was no denying that the Batch were just as appallingly underdeveloped in being vulnerable; Even if it was the simplest of interactions. As if asking for help, or simply being human just wasn’t acceptable and it made them appear ineffectual. It was hardly an adequate response for Tech to get so upset over something as insignificant as a recording. Dutch was already aware that her first conversation with him in the cockpit had been stored somewhere in the goggled man’s bank of data; However it wasn’t that big of a secret that he recorded just about everything. During their mission she’d seen that little red light glowing right as they’d stepped off the ship, and she didn’t think anything more of it until they were safely in the ship and the light had been turned off. Only after he’d asked to take a holo did she realize that Tech had a particular interest in capturing everything on digital film. It was a quirk… and it made him wonderfully human.

“Tech, you don’t have to ask again. I’m more than comfortable letting you do that whenever you want. I don’t say a whole lot of smart things, but you might just catch something every once in a while worth holding on to.” She chuckled lightly at her self-deprecation, finding it a lot easier to make a slight joke instead of admitting to struggling all morning to do something that took Tech less than a few minutes.

“I shall warn you from now on. Is that a suitable compromise?” His head tilted just a little, pulling on her heartstrings at how kriffing polite Tech could be even when he wasn’t trying.

“Yes. That will do just fine.”

Three hours passed a lot quicker than she thought they could after answering -complex- questions from Tech, with even more complicated answers. There were a lot of times Duchess felt like her answers didn’t hold the exact information he was looking for, but he didn’t take the chance to mention it either -something she was certain he would have no problem stating otherwise. It came down to her saying what she knew, and allowing Tech either to understand, or struggle to figure all of this out on her own; Dutch knew damn well that without all of Clone Force 99 there was no kriffing way it could get done. However there had been quite a few hypotheticals thrown about that made both of them more than a little nervous.

Chains weren’t easily forged, and between his field experience and her own technical knowledge of how complex they were it had been suggested early on that finding someone who had experience forging could be of good help in figuring all of this out. Or at least shed some light where everyone else was in the dark. It was something to bring up with the rest of the team when they got back, but Tech had been very confident that there wouldn’t be much need for a vote on the matter once Hunter heard their shared feelings. For all they knew there could’ve been a downed freighter and the blasters were sold under the table by some scrappers who knew good and well how much the Separatists would pay for new -or possibly war changing- ordinance. That idea couldn’t be the only one they explored though, and Dutch had a biting suspicion that something much more close to home was going on.

The war was a constant back and forth on all fronts, and Dutch did well to cut out the miserable truth that every hours spent fighting meant thousands of troopers dying; But she’d done the math over and over in the time before Tech had offered his assistance. If all of these chains represented a shipment of ion neutralizers, there would be enough firepower to destroy the entire planet of Coruscant in just one go. And although ion weapons were one of the most highly guarded ordinances to be in possession of, Seppies had just as many lucky breaks as the Republic did. And that’s what had Dutch chewing on her bottom lip, and Tech bouncing his knee in concentration as he scoured over the remaining few files that were being downloaded.

“Tech, what if someone inside was behind all of this?” She asked near-whispering her uncertainty to keep everyone but Tech from hearing her. Stupid, considering no one else was in the room.

“You’re considering an act of treason?”

Kark it all Tech, you’re making it sound a lot less possible by asking it that way…

“I’m just saying... It would be almost too easy for someone on the inside to ‘accidentally’ lose a shipment of weapons. Not that they wouldn’t face some sort of questioning for it, but if they knew the right way to respond the blame would fall on someone else very easily.” She shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest in preparation for the outright denial of her suggestion.

“What is your evidence to suggest that is a high possibility?”

“Think about it. A shipment leaves a facility and it changes hands at least twice. Once from the manufacturer’s carrier, to a GAR-contracted delivery business. Only then does that shipment get loaded onto a freighter chartering to its final destination. Between shipment transfers, who’s to say that one or two crates don’t get smuggled away and the delivery count just gets adjusted based off an error,” Dutch could almost hear Tech’s brain working to play out the scenario, and there was more to her suggestion.

“And look at those codes again, none of them are in sequential order. That means whoever took them, didn’t take an entire shipment at once. They did it over some amount of time… So that means it wasn’t just a downed freighter.”

“I wouldn’t have considered it myself, but… There’s nothing I can say to discredit you.” He replied after a long pause, running a hand through his hair with a somewhat stressed sigh.

“You don’t sound particularly happy that I might be right.”

Tech gave her a very serious look, one that made it clear her suspicions were based in more than just a gut-feeling. That an inference on half-finished data was beginning to make enough sense that the goggled man was already feeling the pressure Dutch had the moment she mentioned an inside man.

“It just means we can’t trust anyone.”

***

Coruscant’s range hall wasn’t nearly as small as Kamino’s; Allowing for the slightest physical advantage for practice on the more extreme ideas that Crosshair could think up when regular sims just weren’t challenging enough. Without shooting benches the whole firing line was free of obstacles, making even the most physically demanding training possible. He could run sprints down and back until his hands were shaking, then demand himself to aim steady with a thrumming heartrate and heaving chest. If one of his brothers were around, they could make the contests trickier. Hunter liked to give orders near-impossible to see if he had the ability to complete them, Echo was a fan of manipulating the sims to glitch the targets around the room with his scomp link, Tech would call out positionings just as fast as he could to see if Cross could keep up, and Wrecker liked to throw dummy mines as targets. Laying there, Crosshair knew he rose to the occasion every time; But he’d never had Dutch on his mind when him and his brothers were playing those games.

Like every day since the first sight of Duchess, he had more than his practice on his mind. Not even Hunter’s creative challenges were drawing his thoughts away from Dutch. They had been at it for hours at this point, neither of them paying much attention to the chrono on the wall or how the numbers just kept changing. Every game they played slowly increase in difficulty but Crosshair wasn’t playing to win like normal. Today there was almost a feeling of penance that glued his rifle to his hands. He needed to bide his time and make certain that his doll had the time to recover. It wasn’t until right after she’d fallen asleep that he’d made up his mind to let her rest for as long as she needed to. Dutch certainly wouldn’t appreciate that sentiment, but he couldn’t justify tempting himself with her sweetness when he was still so hungry for more.

Seeing her sitting there all wrapped up in a blanket… sleepy eyed and waiting for him to come back. The simple pleasure of seeing her look relieved to see that he hadn’t left her; That look alone made his knees weak and his mouth dry. Those pretty smiles and uncharacteristic shyness this morning was enough to drive him insane. It was bad enough knowing she wanted his company -breakfast or not- but when she denied him being too rough, his restraint almost broke.

She really does look pretty marked up like that… He thought, half listening to Hunter’s latest challenge with images of purple and blue staining the skin all over Dutch’s throat.

Crosshair had hated seeing them at first, angry with himself for not holding back just a little bit better or at least keeping their placement just a little lower than her collar. The mere thought of hurting her was more than he could bear, and seeing his own form of possessive destruction had been grounds for instant guilt. But hearing Dutch say she liked them though...? That was far more than he could have ever expected.

In that moment it took everything in him not to groan at her demure tone and embarrassed flush. Overtly satisfied with himself, and enjoying the idea of someone else seeing her like that and knowing he was the only man who could touch her. Yeah, he didn’t like them at first; Only now he had to resist from marking her again. Another man might ignore how sensitive Dutch is; Maybe go far enough to take advantage of it and push for another round if they’d been presented with the opportunity he had been given this morning; But Crosshair knew he wasn’t that kind of man. Dutch would need time, and he would just have to be patient.

And be a little softer next time for Maker’s sake… She still looked half-dazed this morning after you lost your fucking cool and decided to sink your teeth into her like a rabid dog. He chided himself for acting that far out of manner.

So after spending his remaining daylight hours working his patience in more ways than one, he was almost thankful to hear Hunter say something that didn’t have to do with the targets down range. The sergeant was looking down at his comm, studying whatever missive had been sent with a look Crosshair knew only came about when orders were being given. They were coming in a day early, but he wasn’t about to pass off General Kenobi as someone who liked to procrastinate.

“We have full permission by the GAR and Jedi Council to proceed. Clearance to load the Marauder will be granted in half a standard hour,” Hunter was already shutting down the range sims, half repeating his orders and half reassuring himself of the mental checklist that was beginning to form in his mind. “Just enough time to gather everyone and get prepped.”

“We’re low on supplies, any chance the prestigious General gave us access to the armory?” Crosshair wasn’t a huge fan of leaving on such short notice, however getting away from Coruscant was the optimal cancellation that could be offered as of present.

Hunter had his back to him, an amused chuckle shaking his shoulders as the final few sounds of running equipment in the room began to fade into silence. Cross knew his comment about Kenobi wasn’t particularly funny, especially to Hunter, who always made it clear that disparaging higher ranks was not acceptable - at least in when in mixed company. However his brother wasn’t keen on leaving his humor undisclosed.

“The General was more than happy to have the Weapons Director take care of it…” Crosshair rolled his eyes skyward, sensing just another one of Hunter’s unappreciated conversations beginning to take form as they exited the range hall.

“Something funny about that?” He humored Hunter just enough to stay within some semblance of cooperative measure; The last thing he needed was Hunter’s bad attitude.

“Well, last I remember… An access card is required for proof of identity,” Hunter shot Cross a sideways glance, an eyebrow raising in silent question as to whether or not he was still in possession of Dutch’s card. Unfortunately, Crosshair could hear it knocking up against the blaster cartridge in his ammo belt. The metallic clink over his hips solid proof that he would have to return it to her. Worse yet, admit to the fact that he had never given it back despite having no use for it any longer.

***

Dutch was out of the bunk hall within just a few minutes of Tech relaying Hunter’s comm. Without the same depth of gear as the Batch, it didn’t take long for her to get halfway to the armory with her backpack attached to her backplate and her blasters comfortably secured to her body.

There was that familiar buzz of anticipation, the same one she’d felt before their first mission and all of those that had come before with her old squad. Her throat was tight, and her legs felt just a little weaker with each step she took towards the armory. Dutch had spent the entire day going over theories with Tech, and now that they were being given the go-ahead a day ahead of schedule, there was a large part of her that felt woefully unprepared and wary of speaking to anyone that wasn’t part of the Batch. So many questions were still unanswered, and although Dutch didn’t put much stock in the belief that the Batch thought she was wholly prepared for any situation, she was near close to stumbling over her words when she was met by a security trooper at the door to the armory.

“I’ve got a shipment order in for Clone Force 99.” Thankfully the words came out smoothly, far more professional than she had been expecting them to.

“Hand over your access card and we’ll make this quick.” The trooper held out his hand awaiting a quick transfer, only now it was Dutch really felt like she was floundering to keep up appearances.

How could I possibly forget that I need my access card? It’s not like I wasn’t talking about this exact kind of thing with Tech just a few hours ago, honestly sometimes I’m such a kriffi-

“Looking for this?”

Duchess whipped around to face Crosshair, his helmet shielding his eyes with her access card pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The silver edge of the card shining sharply in the lights above them, casting a rich black shadow over the sniper standing intimidatingly before her. He looked deathly still, hardly moving even though she knew he was breathing. Just like early this morning, she caught herself staring at him and all of the sharp lines and commanding tones he used when in the presence of anyone aside from her. Crosshair didn’t look -or sound- particularly irritated that he was roped into this situation, but Dutch felt her embarrassment heighten when his head tilted to the side at her silence.

“Must’ve left it somewhere on the ship.” She tried to play off her quiet demeanor as she took the outstretched card from his hand, hoping that Crosshair would play along instead of mentioning that he’d been carrying it around for no less than a month at this point.

“On my bunk.” He stated smugly, just loudly enough to ensure that the trooper paying witness to their little interaction wasn’t overly innocent of the dynamic playing out before him. Dutch’s face flamed as she turned to face the unhelmeted trooper who was currently avoiding eye-contact with either of them.

Thankfully, the silence was broken when the scanner beeped, confirming that Dutch was -in fact- who she claimed to be. The trooper guided them down the halls, not that it mattered much to her; She’d spent a lot of time here before she was transferred to Kamino, making every dimly lit hallway a sort of déjà vu. This time around though, there was a silent shadow just a few steps behind her, making it difficult to focus on more than the feeling of Crosshair’s stare burning into her backside. He was making it hard on her by walking so softly, making his distance impossible to gauge without glancing over her shoulder and alerting him to the effect he was creating so easily.

“Mind me asking what a civvie is doing with a spec-ops squad?” The trooper ahead of her cleared his throat, trying to make conversation instead of walking in the stifling quiet. Part of Dutch was happy to answer, but the smarter half knew that Crosshair wasn’t going to take kindly to any reg taking much more than a passing glance at her.

“I was stationed here as the Weapons Director for a while, then got transferred to Kamino. After my duties were fulfilled, the GAR saw fit to send me for live testing with a squad.” She purposefully left out her initial time with the army, and the stretch of time between her old squad and her promotion. This trooper -nor Crosshair- needed to hear any of that considering the tensity already choking out easy conversation.

“Director huh?” The trooper looked over his shoulder at her, a feeling of appraisal fell over Dutch under his gaze. “Can’t imagine a little thing like you testing heavy infantry guns. Some of them have to weigh more than you.” He chuckled, loosening up a little when Crosshair didn’t say -or do- anything to deter him.

“You’re not the first to think so, definably not the last.” She sighed, rolling her eyes without any surprise at the trooper’s appraisal.

“Don’t misunderstand me, ma’am. I’m not discrediting your work. It’s just… surprising to see a woman doing a job like that. I haven’t met many girls, but none of them are predisposed for handling guns.” His head shook a little, bowing at his admission.

Dutch couldn’t help but smile a little. He was embarrassed, and doing what he could to seem nice without exposing himself to be as inexperienced as they all knew him to be. For what it was worth, Duchess appreciated his honesty and hoped that this trooper kept that sweetness about him.

“It’s probably a good thing you haven’t met a girl like me trooper. You can ask my squad, I might know guns, but I’m still more trouble than I’m worth.” She turned the last corner, waiting to hear anything from Crosshair. But nothing came of her veiled comment except for a little chuckle from the reg.

“Seems to me that your sentiment isn’t shared,” He pointed to a loaded transport speeder, stacked high with ammo crates and a few smaller boxes she recognized as ration supplies. “It was nice to meet you and part of your squad Director.”

Crosshair had been staunchly silent throughout all of this, and Dutch was beginning to lose to ability to discern the difference between a real shadow and the sniper lingering in her blind spot. After the trooper excused himself to tend to the front office, she felt Crosshair’s presence at her back double down heavier than it had in the darkened hallway. She tried to make her way to the crates, opening the lid of one to check its contents in a habitual way that was meant to hide her nervousness. She overlooked the contents, counting and recounting according to the information Tech had given her before she left. Seeing as nothing was out of place, Dutch turned around; Leaning back against the speeder like the option to linger here with Crosshair was a luxury she could participate in.

“Busy day?” She didn’t really expect much of an answer -if any- for such a useless question. However she couldn’t help but wonder where he had spent the day, or if there were more than a few things that had demanded his attention. Suddenly Dutch felt a little jealous… wishing whatever that might’ve been hadn’t called him away from her.

“Something like that,” He shrugged a little, taking a few non-committal steps forward. Still not within arm’s reach but just enough to make her want to close the gap. “You?”

“If you count answering a million questions from Tech as eventful, then yeah. It’s been a very busy day.” Dutch couldn’t help but show the frustration she felt. It pulled down on her shoulders and made her brows furrow, making for what she knew to be a less than soldier-like picture for Crosshair to be looking at.

“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it was no problem.” Dutch could visualize the smirk on his face, wondering just how he had come to be so arrogantly smooth like this. Crosshair’s communication skills were lacking, and cryptic at best; Compliments that somehow didn’t give her the full appreciation for her work, yet teased her with the knowledge that he knew exactly how difficult playing 20 Questions with Tech was.

She just rolled her eyes, huffing indignantly as she pulled herself up over the edge of the speeder to sit on the empty edge that hadn’t been stacked with boxes. “Come on, let’s get this stuff back to the ship before I have another retrieval request sent in for me.”

Just when she thought that was going to be the end of their little conversation, Crosshair proved once again that a timeframe and mission could certainly be ignored as long as he was the one calling the shots. He closed the space between them, slipping between her spread legs with long fingers spanning over her thighs. Dutch watched carefully, swallowing to try and release the knot she felt forming there.

“Do you think a recon squad was sent after you?” His tone was dangerously low, and Duchess smiled all the while; There was something wonderful about the way he gave her so many opportunities to succeed.

“I never said anything about a squad…” Dutch couldn’t help but reach out and trace over the lines molded over his armor plates covering his stomach. They flexed slightly with his breathing, forming to his toned abdomen but not enough that she could get the same sensation as last night, where nothing but a shirt had separated them. She hoped he didn’t mind, but when he didn’t back away she took it as his unique form of an invitation. “I know one man who could do it alone.”

A static crackle emanated from Crosshair’s speakers, masking whatever sound he had really made in response. However his grip on her thighs tightened, making it crystal clear that he liked the subtle praise. In any circumstance besides this one, Dutch might’ve pushed her luck a little more; Maybe say something more on his talents, or just simply say that he looked kriffing good shadowed by the armory’s dim floodlights. There was one thing she did want more than anything though;

“Take off your helmet.” It wasn’t a question, but she posed it softly enough that the option to decline was still available. She knew he didn’t feel comfortable around the regs, and without some control he certainly wasn’t going to be receptive.

Slowly, he lowered his head towards her, and automatically Duchess realized he wasn’t going to do it himself. If she wanted it from him, she’d have to make the effort to get it. She shook her head a little, and reached to slip her fingers under the edge of the bucket. It felt much heavier than her own, and she spent just a flicker of her time looking at the sharp paint marking the crosshair over the left side of his visor. There was no doubt he did the design himself, the straight lines marking a typical fineline reticle that matched his tattoo, while she knew firsthand that his rifle used a rangefinder style with stylized bordering that opposed the minimal sight area. The rangefinder jutting up proudly from the side of his helmet was another mystery… what it looked like on his HUD display with -or without- the red and yellow veiwplates would go unanswered unless the miraculous situation of her wearing his bucket came to pass. Duchess spent so much time around weaponry that learning about the ordinance itself translated into information about the person who chooses a particular item. Especially when it comes to those who are very strict in their chosen weapons.

For the entire Batch, that life lesson had been proven highly useful, yet conflicting at the same time. Hunter preferred his vibroblades over any blaster, should he have the option. It reinforced the use of his heightened senses and how easily detecting electromagnetic currents in the droids he fought were. He didn’t need a blaster when every movement of an attacker was marked by a particular synapse in the droid creating the motion. Wrecker liked explosives far more than any demo expert or pyrotechnic she’d ever met; It spoke to his desire to make big impacts where it counted, and the open-armed way he shows emotions and other significant thoughts -although not expressed eloquently. Tech could dual wield like Dutch did, but often didn’t due to his datapad being just as deadly when detonating droid-poppers and reprogramming locked doors. He relied on his brain just as much as he did physical skills, and put more influence into his mind than aim. As for Echo, he somewhat benefitted from his scomp link, but it was more than obvious that he would prefer having his hand back instead. The amount of times she caught him lashing out at droids with his scomp during their mission detailed just how much he wanted his other hand to be useful for more than data connections.

As for Crosshair, there was much to be said about the conflict between his fighting preferences and his personality. His primary weapon was highly sensitive with a soft trigger that didn’t dimple the skin of your finger when firing. It didn’t agree with his aggressive personality, but somehow there wasn’t a conflict when it came time to perform. His tattoo and paint were minimal at best, but his -modified- scope held unnecessary detailing in the sight that could otherwise draw his eyeline elsewhere. Crosshair liked being thought of as simple, but there was far more than meets the eye once there was an opportunity to see the signs hidden in the lens of his scope. Even his reflector disks attached to his belt were a nod to more than his talent as a marksman; They were homemade -no doubt by Tech and Crosshair- but gave insight into the demand for precision at all times. If he didn’t place the disks right where they needed to, the entire shot would fail. Even one attacker in the wrong place could end the ricochet just short of completion. Crosshair never did anything without purpose, but Duchess could see how the struggle for perfection damaged what confidence he tried to bolster with sarcasm and arrogance.

“Was that all you wanted?” His annoyance was all a bluff, but Dutch didn’t call him on it. Instead, she looked at the black ink over his eye, reaching slowly as not to startle him, so she could trace over the permanently stained skin.

“No,” She smiled softly, her voice slipping just above a whisper. “What I really wanted was to see those pretty eyes.” Without his helmet, now sitting in her lap, the growled sigh that had been distorted by his modulator was left beautifully unfiltered. Crosshair didn’t particularly sound the same as other men she’d had experience with, but Maker… Dutch couldn’t deny his gruff sound of appreciation sounding far superior to any response she’d elicited in the past.

Her soft touches eased over his brow line, finally smoothing out those unbudging wrinkles that appeared when he scowled. He didn’t lean into her very much, but his fingers had hooked themselves under the lip of her armor, rubbing against the material of her blacks mirroring her easy touches. Time slowed, and they sat there in silence; Both of them taking what they needed from the other without the frenzied rush from last night. The sound of Crosshair’s comm made them both jump back, startled and in Dutch’s case just a little more dazed than she would ever care to admit.

“Crosshair, times up. Loadmaster isn’t going to wait much longer.” Hunter’s voice added the final nail in the coffin of the moment, Dutch grumbled under her breath, wishing she could’ve had just one more second.

“Tell that reg to shove it up his-”

“Enough, vod.” Dutch grinned widely, noticing just how attuned Hunter was to the sulking tones and quick temper that his brother held. It was all too easy to assume this wasn’t the first time a conversation like this had taken place; Maybe even this exact exchange.

Crosshair shot her a glare, but it didn’t dampen her amusement. Not even him ending the comm could keep her smile from fading. Dutch still didn’t understand why he didn’t like the regs this much, but she wasn’t keen on asking with his irritation building back up. She felt a little disappointed after working so hard to get him to soften up, but he didn’t disappoint. He reached to take his helmet from her, and brought the other hand up to grasp her jaw. Softly, he guided her face towards his; Bending down with his mouth hovering just a breath away from hers.

“What do you want now, doll?”

Dutch bit her lip, weighing her options. There were quite a few things swirling in her mind that just weren’t available with the rest of the Batch and the Loading Squad waiting for them. But she didn’t want to push him either… For all his stony confidence, there was still question as to how comfortable he was. It was just as new to her as it was for him, and crossing a boundary that hadn’t even been set yet was the last thing Dutch wanted to do. Crosshair didn’t strike her as the type to get too upset over a genuine mistake, but she wanted to be careful.

“Whatever you’ll give me Cross.”

His fingers pressed harder into her jaw, not enough to hurt but unyielding. It was pure Crosshair, and Dutch smiled when his lips crashed down onto hers. To her slight frustration he held her steady, not allowing for her to push back into him. She whimpered a little, fighting back against his hand until his thumb brushed over her chin; Dutch opened up gladly, melting forward and following his lead. He wasn’t the least bit hurried, his tongue gliding over hers and softly nipping at her bottom lip. Her palms fell flat against his chest, sliding up until her fingers felt buzzed hair at his neckline and began gently running her nails through it. And just when she thought she felt him start to fall into it he stepped away.

His honeyed eyes were blown wide and darkened. His heaving chest rising just quicker than normal and his one hand holding his helmet was white-knuckle tight. The other hand rubbed over the back of his head for a moment before he quickly shoved the bucket back over his wild expression and regained whatever command Dutch had taken so easily. With all the grace of a sniper, he slid into the pilot’s seat and drove them out of the armory, one hand fumbling in his ammo belt before holding something out to her.

The access card.

Dutch smiled, leaning up towards him and taking the card. For a moment she held onto it, looking at her ID and the new scratches that had been made after traveling in his belt for so long. There was a thin layer of blaster soot covering the white surface, and a few smudged fingerprints that were far too big to be her own. Flipping it over, she noticed small tally marks in a row along the bottom. Fifteen marks altogether, grouped into sets of five. They were tiny, but just as straight at the paint on Crosshair’s helmet. She looked up at him, wondering just what these marks meant and why he’d decided to tally them on her card. Not that she cared in the slightest, if anything she wanted him to keep it; That way he could keep track of whatever it was he’d done fifteen times before now.

She reached up again, and reached towards the pouch he’d pulled the card from. Crosshair stiffened, one hand pulling back away from the steering controls and his hips reflexively pulling away. Dutch shot him a little smile, holding up the card before reattempting to place it back where it rightfully belonged. He relaxed just a little, lifting his hips just enough that she could reach his belt and slipped the card back in before securing the snap on the pouch.

“It looks like you’ve used it more than I have…” She gave him a look somewhere between understanding and curiosity, hoping her own silent conversation was as easy to read as his own were. “You keep it, until you don’t need it anymore.”

***

Tech hadn’t stopped talking since the ship broke into hyperspace. It was all to do with finding a source that had knowledge of forging chain codes, and how Duchess and himself had a suspicion that a Republic affiliate was to blame. Over and hour had passed since Hunter had posed the simple question of ‘Did you find anything in all that data?’ and Tech was still rambling to the point that Crosshair was debating on stunning him just long enough to hear himself think.

He didn’t doubt the possibility of a traitor pulling shipments, especially after all the evidence was laid out -consequential at best- however. That still didn’t account for why the Separatists had been so lazy in wiping their databases. Based off the information on the base they’d infiltrated, it had been left in a hurry because of an attack that had been fronted by General Skywalker and General Windu. That particular information made the theory of an inside man that much more believable considering that Seppies never abandon a base that well-hidden without a kriffing fight. If a Republic officer was captured on the grounds, the entire plan would have failed the second those shipments were discovered.

“I suggest we ask around, and find out if there’s anyone who remembers shipments of Republic munitions being sold in short supply.” Tech finally took a breath, ending his spiel in a suggestion that everyone had already come to about an hour ago.

Crosshair looked to Hunter, seeing a mix between glazed over boredom and deliberation on his face. There was something to be said about the sergeant’s patience and how Hunter hardly ever interrupted Tech; Instead letting someone else have the honor of stalling the scientist out of his lectures. Realistically, Crosshair knew that should something happen to Hunter, leadership would fall to him; That’s why Cross was highly protective of his oldest brother. It had as much to do with consistency and it did loyalty. His brothers always took their responsibilities full force, and naturally Hunter was the best suited for the task of helping their mismatched talents meld into the well-oiled war machine they came to be. There was never a moment of real peace and quiet, but all things considered, Crosshair wasn’t the least bit unsatisfied with the position that he held now.

After a long span of thought, Hunter nodded. “Fine, we’ll start there. Any idea where we should head first?”

Tech looked just behind Echo in the co-pilot’s seat to where Duchess was sitting cross-legged, her blasters unstrapped and sitting in her lap. She went wide-eyed, no doubt surprised that Tech was putting her on the spot. Crosshair could tell they’d already talked about it, and whatever she’d suggested previously had seemed like a suitable option. It only served as reinforcement that Duchess was the most knowledgeable about where to find people who opposed the work that she did before joining them.

“I mentioned Lothal to Tech earlier.”

“What’s there?” Wrecker asked, just now joining in on the conversation for having spent the last hour somewhere in the ship to avoid Tech’s ramblings.

“Lothal has a large illegal trade. It’s driven by war technology and advancements that wouldn't reach civilian purchase for tens of years.” She explained confidently looking between all of them with big, hopeful eyes that made Crosshair want to put in the coordinates and fly them there himself.

“I thought they only sold ships.” Echo jumped in, not quite denying her claim but simply questioning the data itself.

“That’s just what they get caught selling. You can’t really hide a TIE fighter in Lothal City like you can crates of weapons. I’ve personally had a shipment get hijacked on its way to Coruscant; They tracked it back to Lothal, but by the time they figure it out they’d already been sold.” Dutch sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Turnover on weapons are just as fast as production. If you don’t have the newest, you’re bidding to get them.”

“It’s a start. Without some type of information, we’ll be debating for so long we never sort this out.” Hunter took back control, giving Tech a quick order for the coordinates to be set.

Crosshair had been perfectly happy to stay silent until there was no mention of the one thing he was certain would be talked about. This trip wasn’t anything compared to others before it, but that was before Dutch was part of the squad. Until now, none of them particularly worried about running into a little trouble, or even a substantial gunfight for that matter. But someone needed to mention it, and if Hunter wasn’t thinking that far ahead, Crosshair wasn’t going to let it slip by and risk getting his doll injured.

“Separatists are buying, that means a squad of clones asking questions isn’t going to be very well received.” He stated flatly, noticing the way Echo tensed and Tech began quickly working at his datapad. Even Hunter gave it a long pause, before turning to look at him with a message that said ‘You don’t care about asking, it’s what happens after that.’.

“It’s highly unlikely that our presence will be noticed by any enemy forces.”

“Tech is right… There are a lot of different sectors in Lothal City that facilitate illegal trades, and not just smuggled military property. You can buy anything there.” Dutch nodded, rubbing her hands together nervously and sending a soft look up in Crosshair’s direction.

“So we go in, have a look around and when we start running into our target area then we start canvasing.” Hunter said quite decidedly, shooting another look in Crosshair’s direction for some approval before calling the plan a go before they finished up for the night.

Cross gave a short nod, not particularly happy with the arrangement as of yet but not badly enough that he felt like giving a competing idea. When they landed specifics would be given, and then he could voice an opinion if one was necessary. The one he feared most was Hunter taking Dutch along with him and Echo instead of assigning her with him. But until then he could only hope his ori’vod was as observant as he claimed himself to be; Even if that meant admitting that he liked Dutch enough to not want her on-mission with anyone else.

With his personal approval, the plan was agreed upon and Hunter called for lights out. Not that everyone had to sleep necessarily, but with Wrecker on board, lights out just meant no loud kriffing noises that would keep everyone who wanted to sleep, awake. Echo bid his goodnight right after Hunter, giving Tech the guarantee that he would be up for shift change and poking at Duchess with his scomp before disappearing into the back. Crosshair sneered at the little exchange, hating how Echo had taken to her so easily. It had nothing to do with jealously, or even his desire to keep the interaction from happening again. Just the simple fact that Cross couldn’t bring himself to act like that made it all the more irritating to see.

He watched Dutch stand next, arms reaching high towards the ceiling and her back arching as she gave a long stretch. Her weight shifted side to side, making her hips sway just enough to make Cross set his jaw. He’d spent the whole day trying to keep his distance, only to have Hunter’s comm save him from making a scene in the armory, and now sat captivated by her doing something as simple as standing up. She asked Tech if he wanted her to take his shift so he could sleep, only to frown a little when he declined.

Such a sweet girl, why did you ever take a liking to me? He mused, thinking of all the men in the galaxy that could give her the same affection she gives everyone else; Dutch chose to let him take hold on her instead.

She sauntered past the chairs, a hand coming out to brush alongside his lower leg hanging off the side of the crate with a little smile as she walked past. Crosshair hadn’t particularly given her any real idea of how to navigate affection with him, and for the most part there wasn’t really any way he knew how to communicate it. But somehow or another she had figured it out flawlessly. To a certain degree he should’ve expected her to catch on quickly, no matter how little he helped. Duchess really did live up to her name, bitter as it sounded in his mind. He wasn’t too upset for how the regs had noticed her queen-like mannerisms hidden behind green jumpsuits and two DC-17’s.

Sleeping arrangements had been adjusted since Dutch was aboard and there really wasn’t enough space for even four people to sleep comfortably. Two makeshift hammocks had been strung up in the back of the ship, making just enough room for one person to man the flight controls while the others slept. As for Crosshair, the top bunk of the three provided in the hull was normally saved for him. It allowed him the room to sit and clean his rifle until he couldn’t ignore the draw of rest. And tonight was unlike any other.

He sat on the bunk, his rifle stripped and laying in the same order his trainers had shown him as a cadet; A new-to-him oil rag in his hand and a boar brush sitting just off to his right leg. It was the third time today his gun was to be cleaned, and for all it was worth, he still wasn’t getting his mind off Dutch. She had made a trip to the back of the ship and collected her datapad, and for the majority of the evening spent it with her face lit in a bright blue glow with a look of concentration that proved to interrupt Crosshair’s own focus.

Duchess was about as stubborn as Tech it seemed; Especially when it came to this mission in particular. Every second of spare time she had was spent scouring over the information Tech had relayed to all of them earlier as if all of it was new. She’d been chewing on her bottom lip for ages, and he was certain that if she didn’t give it a rest soon her eyes would blur and she’d make her lip bleed. Her armor was long discarded and sitting atop her backpack in a neat pile, alongside her blacks that had been switched out for a pair of grey sweatpants and the same t-shirt she’d worn the night before.

Crosshair was halfway finished with his second pass over his rifle parts when Echo roused from his hammock in the back of the ship and stumbled through on unsteady legs to relieve Tech. It was only then that Duchess looked up from her datapad with a sleepy expression, and hauled herself off the chair she’d been sitting in, once again, stretching out like a loth cat after laying in the sun all day. She caught Echo just as he passed by, clearing her throat and smiling up at him weakly;

“Can I take your shift for you?”

Crosshair couldn’t help but scowl when she offered. It would’ve been different if she hadn’t already asked Tech, or maybe slept a little then asked Echo. He knew she was trying to prove herself in any way she could, but taking hyperspace watch just wasn’t something any of them thought she needed to share responsibility of. And both Echo and himself knew she was far too tired to stay awake for the whole shift even though there was virtually a zero percent chance of anything going wrong.

“Get some sleep Dutch, we’re going to be here for a few days… relatively. Just let us take care of it for now.” As any reg would’ve, Echo was exceedingly polite in denying her, giving a smile and moving past quietly as not to wake anyone with the sound of his boots clanging against the durasteel floor.

Duchess just nodded, and watched her feet as she slipped through the hull. Either not noticing that Cross was still awake, or too tired to have any more conversation for the rest of the night. Nevertheless, he put his rifle back together without pulling his attention away from Dutch getting prepared to crawl into one of the hammocks hanging limply from the sinch bolts on the celling.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She jumped a little upon hearing him speak, answering the question of whether or not she thought him to be awake.

“Going to get comfortable… read over these files again.” She murmured half asleep, looking at him with heavy lidded eyes and fluttering eyelashes.

And I thought you couldn’t get any prettier…

“No, you aren’t. Toss the datapad and come here.” If he didn’t sound just a little stern she wouldn’t listen; Even this close to passing out he knew she wouldn’t listen to an order without some type of pushback.

Duchess looked down at the pad one last time, and sat it down in the hammock with a heavy breath blowing out her nose. She tilted her neck to the sides, low pops sounding on each side as her vertebrae gave way after being stuck in the same position for so long. Quietly she sauntered over, her socked feet silencing any sounds that could wake up Hunter who was on the middle cot, or Wrecker who was on the bottom. Her height presented a little problem, but after a couple of attempts she’d found enough support to pull herself into his rack without causing a disturbance to the others.

Crosshair shifted himself back, resting his back against the wall and spreading his legs with a pointed look in her direction, silently guiding her to crawl between them. Her warmth spread across his body in seconds, heating up the slight contact against his legs. The bunk wasn’t quite deep enough, so his feet hung off the edge; However he didn’t want her falling off or feeling unsafe so he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tight to his chest. Duchess gave a little hum, wiggling her shoulders against him, already trying to get comfortable. With a light smirk, he reached for his rifle; Sitting it across her lap and handing her the scrap of fabric he’d been cleaning with.

“Your punishment; For not cleaning your own when I told you to, and for making me scope every inch of Coruscant to find you.” He whispered quietly, bending down close enough to feel her ear against his lips; Feeling her breathing quicken just for a moment before settling back down. He knew she was tired, but this was the only way he knew how to keep her with him without coming outright and asking.

He had to give her credit, she immediately reached for the pin just above the trigger housing -which would begin the process of stripping it down- however he reached around with his other hand, stopping her.

“I thought you said clean it…” She tried to twist around to look at him, but once again he’d chosen to keep himself hidden as best he could. He couldn’t look at those sleepy eyes for very long the way it was, but when they rested on him, that was a whole new kind of challenge to overcome. And tonight, he didn’t have the patience or strength to push down those feelings.

“Just the fingerprints doll.” He gave a little hum of laughter, entertaining her sleepiness with a reminder of how sweet she’d been when he found her in the med bay. Only now he had every intention of making sure she didn’t leave this bunk until it was absolutely necessary.

Crosshair watched every movement she made, how even though she was on the verge of falling asleep, each motion of the cloth was meticulous. She started at the barrel, working it over every slope and ridge with small fingers that made the task much simpler for her than it was for himself. Every cleaned section was kept away from her bare skin, making certain that none of the oils on her hands would be left behind once she was done. On occasion she would make a little grumble, if a particular spot wouldn’t shine like the rest; And after the third time, he finally spoke up about it.

“Ablative coating is wearing off, it won’t shine up anymore.” She simply nodded, moving down past the mounting rings on the scope and focusing a lot of time at the cartridge slot where he knew she expected there to be blast residue on the inside.

Crosshair was more than surprised to see the care she took in doing the job, of course it wasn’t really necessary considering it had been spotless when he handed it to her. Nevertheless, he could tell there was something other than her punishment keeping her awake. Every so often she would look up to where her datapad sat; It would glow to life every so often, pulling her attention away just enough that the hand working over the rifle would pause for a moment. There was something about it bothering her, leaving Cross fumbling with ideas as to how to ask her about it. He glanced around, looking to see if anyone was watching before he broke the silence again.

“What’s on your mind doll?” He leaned closer to press a kiss to the nape of her neck, reveling in her weight sagging even further into him. Another soft kiss fell just behind her ear, then one more a little further down on the column of her neck.

“M’ afraid of not finding them in time… Can’t quit until the mission is finished.” It was a fitting response, not just for its present answer, but for the simple fact that she hadn’t given up on cleaning his rifle either. Duchess didn’t quit, and of all people Crosshair felt that he knew that feeling better than any of his brothers did. The pretty little thing never denied a challenge, no matter what she was dealing with.

So kriffing tough… Just keep going sweet girl, you’re almost done.

“You can’t think about a mission when you don’t have clean weapons.” He teased softly, running his hands down her sides and over her thighs were his fingerprints were still visible from last night. He brushed over each one, leaning back down to kiss her temple.

“Good thing mine are polished.”

Kark if she didn’t find a way every time. Crosshair squeezed a little on her thighs, huffing out an indignant laugh. Leave it to him to find the one woman in a whole galaxy who wouldn’t let him win even once. But after a moment, he realized that Duchess was probably the only woman who had enough resilience to look past his brash comments and find some semblance of his real meaning behind it. . Then be quick enough to make him think twice before coming back for a second try.

She was past the trigger guard when he counted her third yawn. At this point he would’ve let her stop if she wanted to. But assuming she wasn’t lying, he suspected that she wasn’t going to quit until she was satisfied. The back end wasn’t much of a task, with the majority being a poly plasti that wouldn’t benefit from the oiled rag, Dutch finally leaned back, holding the butt end of the stock on her knee.

“Finished.” Although he couldn’t see her face, he could tell there was a sleepy smile on those pretty lips.

Crosshair relented, gripping his rifle by the stock to avoid from marring her work and leaning to rest it on the floor, leaned into the corner of the bulkhead. Between his legs, Dutch stirred a little, shifting onto a hip and trying to push herself back onto her knees. He caught her by the hem of her shirt;

“No you don’t. You’re not going back down there to keep me awake with that datapad all night,” He grumbled, noticing the pinch between her brows and the slight irritation that made her lips flatten into a harsh line. “Tech is bad enough, I don’t need you making it worse.”

He readjusted himself a little better to lie down, letting go of her shirt and reaching back to prop his head up with his hands. Dutch was still between his knees, but hadn’t really grasped what he was getting at yet. Not planning on making it any easier, Crosshair closed his eyes and decided to be patient, or wait for her to make a move.

“Then what would you like me do Crosshair?”

“I don’t care.” He replied flatly, letting that nasty habit of acting like a prick take over. Internally cursing himself, Crosshair hoped his attitude hadn’t pushed her too far.

It took her a moment, but she eventually decided to slip between him and the wall; Laying on her side with her back facing him in a last-ditch attempt at defiance. Her body heat was utterly addictive, and although he knew he’d have to face some questioning for it in the morning, he pulled her into him; Her chest tight to his back and a knee bent up high enough to fit between her thighs.

“Not enough space for that…” He complained quietly, masking his personal desire to have her as close as he could. Cross knew he was being self-conscious, and being kriffing unbearable about it, but Duchess didn’t make say anything on the contrary.

There wasn’t a pillow, so he sacrificed one arm for her; Slipping it under her head, and keeping his other arm wrapped tight around her middle. Her lower abdomen peeked out from her shirt and his hand slipped under it. The sensation of her supple skin under his calloused palm feeling more like silk on lava rock. A happy sigh emanated from her, instantly settling his tenseness and melting away his fear of her asking him to move away.

“Goodnight Crosshair…”

“Say it again.” He demanded, forming it as more of a plea in his head than it had come out.

“Goodnight?” She asked cautiously, her hand coming to rest against his; Her thumb rubbing over his knuckles.

“No.”

“Crosshair.” She repeated it fucking perfectly, her voice low and soothing on his soul.

“Again.”

“My Crosshair.” It was whispered this time, but still every bit as mesmerizing. Duchess said his name like there wasn’t a curse that followed it. Unlike the regs and nat-borns who saw him as a defect and spoke his name like it left a sour taste in their mouth. Duchess said it with care: Soft sounds and a gentle enunciation that he never heard before, and was certain he could never find anywhere else again.

He loved hearing it, and the contented rumble of a chuckle was the only sign that he accepted her possessive statement. He dipped his head down, placing one more kiss on her temple only to find that she had already fallen asleep. Her soft breaths and relaxed expression creating a perfect picture that Crosshair wished he could keep forever… Maybe tuck it up in his helmet and pull it out when recon missions stretched out for too long. Just a little reminder that not everything in the galaxy wanted to use him, or kill him.

Pulling her just a little bit closer and resting his chin atop her head, he truly felt like he could sleep. She would be safe here. Protected from all sides, and unless someone was confident enough they could wake her up without him noticing first, there was no chance of her leaving this bed until both of them were good and ready. Here, he didn’t have to worry about what they would find in Lothal City or the fear that his doll would get hurt in the process. Until she woke up, Crosshair could do what he wanted to more than anything: protect his girl.

“You’re my Duchess.”

READ PART 10

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#crosshair #ct 9904 #clone trooper crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #reader x crosshair #clone x reader #reader x clone #ofc x crosshair #crosshair x ofc #the bad batch #tbb #clone force 99 #star wars the bad batch #star wars tbb #Coriolis Effect #uponrightful #uponrightfulwrites

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whoseafraidofliloleme · 3 years ago

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Invisible Chapter 10.

Summary: YN YLN has always been third in Class 2-5, right behind Lee Su Ho and Kang Soo Jin but with both of them having left Saebom Highschool, this is her time to shine. That is until Han Seosangnim asks her to tutor Han Seo Jun. A guy who doesn’t even know she existed.

Ship: Han Seo Jun x Female Reader.

Word Count: 1872 words. Another one under 2k, I am proud.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated with any reactions or whatever you want to say. Again I really don't know where I am going with this.

Taglist: @thealexalcala @hayateotaku

Anyone interested in being added to the tag list, just let me know 😊.

True Beauty Masterlist

Chapter 9.

(Im obsessed with this dress. This is what YN wears to the ball.)

Chapter 10:

Soo Ah looked around at her classmates. Not everyone was here yet, YLN YN and Han Seo Jun were taking their time to come to this outing. Well, her classmates and Kim Cho Rong and Song Si Woo. Those two were honorary members of Class 2-5. More times than less, these two boys were around.

Especially when the planning for breaking YLN YN and Lee Hae Sung’s friendship. To be fair to them, they were a big part of that and being close friends of YLN YN. Yet here they were now a part of this class outing.

Then again, Song Si Woo and Jung Hyun Ji had something going on. Well Soo Ah, Ju Kyung and YN shipped them. From what YN told the other two girls, Hyun Ji and Si Woo had feelings for each other but it was just a matter of time for them to get together.

According to YN, she had been waiting for years for Hyun Ji & Si Woo to become a couple. Whenever the topic of this couple was brought up, YN would claim to be the captain of their ship.

This past week, Ju Kyung and Soo Ah went out of their way to tease YN about Seo Jun. In the last few days, Seo Jun was going out of his way to make his feelings obvious. Yet YN stubbornly refused to believe that this was Seo Jun showing her that he had feelings about it.

Hyun Ji eventually told Ju Kyung and Soo Ah, that YN was insanely oblivious when it came to guys. The three girls had a good laugh when Hyun Ji shared the story of how YN’s ex-boyfriend had to jump through hoops because YN was just so oblivious to his feelings for her.

Seeing Seo Jun coming from afar. Soo Ah waved and started calling his name. Everyone else followed her lead and soon the group was shouting Seo Jun’s name that by the time he got closer. They all quickly stopped shouting when they saw the look Seo Jun was giving them for shouting his name like lunatics. Yet when they noticed he was alone, the chatter started again about where YLN YN was. Since they were the last ones to come, the class had just assumed they would be coming together.

“Yah, shut up all of you. YLN YN will not be joining us, I know nothing more than that. If anyone has questions about it, don’t ask me,” Seo Jun glared at anyone who even looked like they would ask him something. Even when you told him that you weren’t going to be coming to this outing.

Seo Jun being the idiot that he is didn’t ask questions. If he had, he might have figured out a way to get out of this outing too. Unfortunately, he was here stuck with his annoying as hell classmates and from the looks, he was getting. All of these people were going to be teasing him about YN.

“Well since Seo Jun is here, I guess this is a good time to say that I have to go. In my defence, I’m meeting up with someone none of you bars Si Woo know, and he didn’t have any other days free to meet up” Hyun Ji said quickly.

The second she finished; everyone was shouting over each other again. Hyun Ji sighed, she knew there was no way she could get out of this. Even YN, when Hyun Ji revealed to her about who had reached out. YN had told her to just not go to the outing. In times like this Hyun Ji regretted not listening to her best friend.

“Wait if you’re not staying then Si Woo isn’t either I guess,” Soo Ah said looking at Si Woo who was making his way to Hyun Ji from where he had been standing with Cho Rong. Without saying anything Si Woo just nodded his head trying to look cute. Soo Ah rolled her eyes at him but waved her hands. In a way dismissing the two of them.

Hyun Ji gave Soo Ah and Ju Kyung hugs before grabbing Si Woo and running off in the opposite direction of where the class was going to go. Seo Jun sighed, this day just got much worse. The two relatively sane people of this group had just left. Now he was left with these crackheads and he regretted waking up to even come to this outing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As much as your friendship with Hae Sung was on the rocks. You weren’t about to break a promise you’d had with him since you were 12. Sure, Hae Sung had even told you that you didn’t have to come to this annual ball that his mother had every year. But you had found the perfect dress for this ball.

This dress had let such an impression on you. After seeing the dress in the window shop, when you were casually out with Hyun Ji and Hae Sung. Eomma was against buying this specific dress, something about it being expensive and that you didn’t have anywhere to wear such a formal dress. It wasn’t until you begged Joon Oppa that he helped convince your Eomma and went with you to buy the dress.

Wearing the dress now, nothing could bring you down. Clothes don’t make a person, you wholeheartedly believed that. But there was just something, about wearing this dress that made you feel like a princess.

Hae Sung and his Eommoni complimented you. That was that. Back to the usual. Hae Sung’s Eommoni took Hae Sung away to get him to meet and greet people. You were left to become wallpaper for the rest of the night. Miserably standing there at the food table. You were used to being treated like this. You would’ve stopped coming years ago.

Yet you had promised Hae Sung and it never mattered to you. This Ball was always an excuse for you to dress up and breaking a promise with your best friend wasn’t on the top of your to-do list. Granted, Hae Sung regularly broke promises you made with each other. Then again you never really got mad at him about it. So, who really was to blame for that.

As with years before you went to the food table. Got a plate of the finger food that was offered and just watched the people around you. Over the years, you had gotten used to people around you chatting about things and not caring that you were there. When you first started coming to these, boredom set in quickly and you tried to talk to people. That didn’t end well for you and one time, you said the wrong thing to the wrong person. Which had the night ending with both Hae Sung and his Eommoni shouting at you. And you crying in your Eomma’s arms once you got home.

That was the end of you trying to get along with any of the people at this event. Since then, after greeting Hae Sung’s Eommoni and her taking Hae Sung with her. You would go to the food table, get food and not leave that area until Hae Sung came to take you home. It was sad that in a dress that made you feel like a princess. You couldn’t dance with anyone and have a fairy tale moment.

However, it was probably good that no one cared for you. Since you didn’t want to awkwardly tell someone that you didn’t want to dance with them. That would most likely lead to you being kicked out or get shouted at again. The one person you wanted to dance with was Seo Jun. Sadly there was no way that he would be at this Ball.

You were lost in thought, not paying attention to your surroundings. So, when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You jumped but still turned around to see Han Seo Jun smiling at you.

Your mouth opened and closed. You were shocked. Seo Jun was here. This was unbelievable. Putting your plate down, you pinched your arm and yelped at the pain. Seo Jun laughed seeing your reaction to him. He almost did the same when he saw you standing across the room.

His legs started moving before he could stop himself. His manager was still talking to him, yet he didn’t care. The girl, who he was always thinking of was at this Ball. Looking like a princess and there was no way that Seo Jun wasn’t going to be your prince for the night.

Seeing you up close was even better. Normally you were beautiful to Seo Jun. Dressed to the nines, you were stunning, something ethereal. Seo Jun almost felt like he didn’t deserve to be in your presence. That’s how much of an impression you left in that dress. The smile you had just added to your beauty and Seo Jun made it his mission to keep that smile n your face tonight.

“So why are you here,” you asked Seo Jun. Once you finished giving him a once over. Seo Jun in a suit was deadly and you didn’t know how you were still talking.

“Managernim practically demanded that I come to this Ball, something about more exposure for me. Thought I’d be bored to death but with you here looking like a princess, this is turning out to be the best night of my life” Seo Jun winked at you. You blushed at his words and hit his arm to deflect from his flirty words.

“Well since you are here, want to dance?” You were dying inside. Where was this courage coming from? Just a few days ago you were sobbing in his arms over Gong Jae Yi. Yet here you were asking him to dance with you.

Seo Jun smiled and held out his hand. Leading you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the room. Slow dancing with Seo Jun. This felt like a dream and you were still waiting to wake up from this dream. Seo Jun was smiling, and he was whisper singing the words of the song to you.

You knew Seo Jun could sing but hearing him now, in such an intimate way. You were thanking your lucky stars. This was what you had wanted, to be the princess with your prince for one night only.

All too soon, the night was over. As you were leaving, another bout of courage had you going towards Seo Jun and his manager before you left. You bowed at his manager, who smiled at you.

Turned away from you and Seo Jun to giving you two slight privacy. Not caring about anything you smiled brightly at Seo Jun, said good night, and kissed his cheek as a way of goodbye.

Before hearing Seo Jun’s reply, you left as quickly as you could in your dress and heels. When you reached Hae Sung, you knew he wanted to say something, but you just shook your head. There was no way you were going to listen to Hae Sung’s rants against Seo Jun right after you had kissed him on the cheek.

Chapter 11.

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shreddedparchment · 4 years ago

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A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.” You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

#bucky barnes x reader #castaway au #winter soldier x reader #a world of our own #awooo #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #bucky x reader fanfic #bucky x reader fic #bucky x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fanfic

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hoodedguitarist · 4 years ago

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Think you can Hide from Me? Part 3

Once again, Gif aint mine I just REALLY LOVE IT. It’s one of my favorite scenes of him.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Summary: You infiltrated, the plan fell into chaos, Boba is mad at you, you’re catching feels, lots of time skips and some ANGST.

Warnings? None... Really not yet at least. Slight DinxReader if you squint. This just got a lot more feelsy and I got a whole lot more invested in this than I expected to. Which honestly seems to happen a lot to me. NO SHAME.

I really want to thank everyone who has liked, favorited, reblogged, and followed! You’re all amazing and make me feel amazing too. It means a lot to me that everyone is enjoying my writing. My inbox is open and I’ll even make a Tag List if anyone is interested!

Part 1: The Infiltrator

Part 2: The Distraction

Part 4: The Reunion

Part 3: The Regret

You should have known that plan was going to go off the rails. What you didn’t know, however, was that Boba was going to end up being a casualty of it all as well, and by complete accident.

Sure, you’d been caught with the others, sure you’d been sentenced to death with the others… And oh yes Boba was pissed… Very pissed. You didn’t need to see his face to tell that he was because instead of riding in the barge, he was there to personally bind you and hold you on the way to the Sarlaac pit.

Standing next to Han and Luke was going to make this conversation very awkward, but it needed to be said.

“Ok… So you’re mad at me, right?” You said out loud. Both of them glanced over at you, but you felt Boba’s hand tighten around your shoulder and yank you backwards into him. “Ah!”

“Mad is an understatement, sweetheart,” his modulated voice hissed.

“Ok, that’s fair… I’m sorry I lied to you about the whole work thing. Really, I am.”

“Uh… (Y/N)?” Han questioned.

“Stay out of it Han,” you snapped quickly. “You too, Luke. Mind your business, both of you.”

The two backed off and tried their best not to pay attention to whatever you could possibly be talking about with the bounty hunter, someone they considered an enemy.

“Was fucking me a distraction too?” Boba growled. Now the boys were really trying not to pay attention.

“No, actually, that part was real,” you turned your head to look at him over your shoulder. “I was telling the truth when I said I’d wanted to do that ever since I saw you, and still do, if you’ll have me.”

“I think that was your last roll in the sheets, princess. If you manage to make it out of this alive somehow, I’ll know and I’ll find you,” he threatened.

“Hm, sounds fun,” you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning. “If you make it out of this alive, I’ll come back and find you too. Do we have a deal?”

Boba scoffed and you figured he felt pretty confident that this was it and you were going to die some horrible death inside the belly of this beast.

“Deal,” he finally answered.

Han and Luke both cut their eyes over at you and you shrugged. “I told you two to mind your own business.”

~*~

Things had happened so fast. One minute you were about to be shoved into the pit, the next Luke is jumping around doing Jedi stuff and mildly impressing you. You didn’t have time to admire, though, because you were struggling with one of Jabba’s guards while Han and Chewie were getting into it with Boba.

Somehow, you were trying to manage not getting killed but also trying to watch Han’s back because he was still blind, and now Chewie who had been shot… But also Boba because you really didn’t want him dying on you either. It was a weird situation all around.

You struggled with the guard and managed to land a hit, but then a blaster fired out of nowhere and hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards and into the pit. You were startled and turned to look where the shot came from, and sure enough you saw Boba’s blaster smoking. Your heart jumped into your throat and he simply nodded to you… Until he turned his sights on Luke.

You heard Chewie howl something out, heard Han get jumpy.

“Boba Fett?? Where??” He whipped around and smacked the bounty hunter right in his jetpack, which malfunctioned and sent him flying.

“Han what the hell??” You yelled over the chaos.

“I didn’t know he was right there! I can’t see!” He yelled back. You looked over the railing rather desperately, just in time to see the bounty hunter roll into the Sarlaac pit.

Well… That was a damn shame...

~*~

Five years had passed, and the Empire was defeated. Ghosts and whispers still lingered, but the Rebellion no longer needed you. It was now the New Republic and you didn’t really have any interest in politics. You said your goodbyes to your friends, the true heroes, and went back to being on your own.

You weren’t on your own for long, however, seeing as how you got caught up in chaos with another Mandalorian. This one was different, however. He had a kid with him. You didn’t mind babysitting during the really dangerous stuff but at the same time you sort of missed the chaos. After a while, the kid wanted to be everywhere his dad was so you were able to tag along.

Being with them led you back to Tatooine, to a small place known as Mos Pelgo. You wanted to help Din get the kid back with his own kind and when they spoke of another Mandalorian in Mos Pelgo, you couldn’t help it as your heart jumped and your hopes spiked…

Especially when a ghost appeared in the doorway wearing Boba Fett’s armor.

You tensed beside Din, and he glanced at you briefly.

“Boba…?” You questioned carefully, letting your eyes run down the person in front of you. He was tall, much more thin. There was no way…

“ ‘Fraid not, darlin’,” the ghost answered.

First, you felt the icy cold stab of regret and loss all over again, then you felt the heat of anger bloom in you. Both you and Din were ready to throw down with the Marshal for entirely different reasons.

“Take it off,” Din ordered.

“Or I will,” your voice was a low warning, surprising all parties involved.

“I think I wouldn’t mind that,” the ghost now known as Cobb Vanth smirked at you.

“Yeah you say that now until you’ve got a knife in your back. Where the hell did you get that? And don’t say Jawas. That armor belonged to someone. Someone I knew!” You snapped.

“I don’t know what to tell you, honey. Anything else would be a lie. I did get it from the Jawas.”

A growl slipped your lips and you took a step forward, but Din grabbed you first. In the end, everything worked out in your favor. Cobb gave up the armor in exchange for help against the Dragon that plagued Mos Pelgo. When the two of you and the child were back safely on the Razor Crest, there were several times when Din would catch you gazing at the old armor, running your fingers across it, leaning your head against the empty helm.

He even thought he saw tears…

Finally, one night, he managed to carefully edge the story out of you. It was a little difficult, but you managed well enough.

“It was just supposed to be a fling, you know? No strings attached, just to say I did it. But there was just something about him, something else that drew me to him. I wanted him to live, I tried to protect him but so many things happened that day, and so many things went wrong way too quickly…” Your voice caught in your throat, but you laughed despite yourself. “I ended up catching feelings for this fucking bounty hunter after he supposedly died.”

“It’s possible those feelings grew from guilt,” Din said calmly. “Thank you for telling me and trusting me with this. I’m sorry this is bringing you so much pain.”

“Oh they most definitely grew from guilt, but then when I saw his armor, hope grew. He had to have come out of it. He’s got to be somewhere, I just don’t know where… And I don’t know if he’ll kill me on sight, so you might want to get ready for that too.”

“(Y/N) when are we not almost killed on sight?” There was a hint of amusement to his voice, and it made you smile. “I think we can manage,” he assured you.

“Yeah… Let’s hope…”

~*~

Seeing the armor hit you hard, but being on top of that mountain with Din and Grogu and seeing Slave 1 come out of the atmosphere and into the sky really did a number on you.

“Oh shit… Oh shit…” You muttered.

“What? Who is that?” Din looked over at you.

“I… I don’t know. It used to be Boba’s ship but there’s no damn telling now. I haven’t seen that thing in years. Somebody could have scavenged it or something.”

“Well we need to figure it out, come on,” he waved for you to follow, and you did so, trying your best not to seem too eager.

Unfortunately, that eagerness faded with the blaster fire, and the both of you took cover behind a rock.

“I’ve been tracking you, Mandalorian.”

That voice… It made your heart thunder in your chest. Masked by a modulator or not, you could tell it was him. You tensed and Din noticed. He looked over at you and you looked at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You gave a quick nod.

“It’s him… It’s Boba…”

“So not a Jedi… Great,” he whispered. The both of you eased out from behind the rock and you got your first good look at him. He was dressed in black robes, the hood thrown over his head, weapons strapped to his back.

“Boba??” You couldn’t stop yourself as you called out to him. He reached up and pushed his hood back, revealing a scarred face. It did nothing to deter you, however. He was older, but you were still just as attracted to him as you had been years ago. He stepped forward and moved closer, his eyes never leaving your face. It made you a little nervous. “If you’re going to kill me then ok, just do it, but I want you to know that I’m sorry first,” you said quickly holding your hands up. “I’m sorry for what happened that day.”

“Surprised to see me alive?” It was a simple question. No dark tone or anger.

“Relieved is more like,” you admitted. “I looked for you, for any sign of you after the war was over, but I never found anything. I knew somehow, though. I knew you’d survived, but I didn’t know if you’d want to kill me or not.”

“You know me well enough, girl. If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it right after I crawled out of that pit,” his eyes roved down you and you felt that old familiar rush, that feeling of playing with fire again. “It’s good to see you, princess, and we’ll talk later. For now, we need to talk about my armor that your man made off with.”

@pinkiemme @chadillacboseman If you need me I’ll be in the trash compactor thanks.

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years ago

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What if...? Part 7

So, vote came in with an overwhelming landslide for two parts instead of a giant part 7. Too bad you’re getting a giant part 7 and a part 8 and... I’ve given up. Whatever the final number pf parts this ends up on, it’ll end up on. You lovely LOVELY enablers are just adding fuel to the fire. Your comments and reblogs are such an inspiration, thank you! <3 <3

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7

“I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with this.” Davarax drawls after Dulsissia had dropped off Corin for training and Barthor has to be called over twice by Paz before he’ll stop talking to her.

Dulsissia gives Davarax her sweetest smile. “I’m just being a good influence on him.”

Davarax hums, crosses his arms and turns to watch Paz drill the others through the warm-up before the training can begin.

Fighting back a laugh, Dulsissia turns her focus to the children as well and she tilts her head slightly when she sees Paz correct Corin’s posture and awarding him for getting it right with a nod and a pat on the head before moving on to Din, who seems a little jumpy today and Paz wraps his arm around him while saying something that has Din nodding and his shoulders relaxing a little. “Davarax?”

“Mmh?”

“Has Paz always been so protective of them?” Dulsissia has observed him with other kids in the Covert and usually Paz radiates hostility and tends to behave like he’s superior to them all. She’s seen him be downright rude. Very different from how he is with the rest of Davarax’ children.

“Towards Raga, yeah,” Davarax replies, “but Din is what knocked him into a complete parental tip-yip towards anyone he deems a member of his group.”

Feeling another soft rush of emotion, Dulsissia glances over at the Mandalorian next to her. “Truth be told, considering how his father behaves,” Dez Vizla had not impressed her with his manners during Paz’ birthday and revealed where the boy has his occasional arrogance from, “I’m amazed he knows how to be this sweet. I haven’t met his mother yet, is that who he takes after?”

Davarax doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his weight uneasily and uncrosses his arms to cross them again with a different arm on top. “Paz’ mother walked out on him and his father two days before Paz turned five years old. She left the Tribe to be with some guy who owned some shipping company. It’s not something we talk about out loud, so… don’t.”

Stunned, Dulsssia cannot believe what she’s hearing. “She left her son behind?”

“She wanted a fresh start and leave the Mandalorian life behind.” Davarax replies, uncomfortable.

Realizing she’s standing there with her mouth open, Dulsissia shuts it and turns back to stare at the children. The idea of leaving Corin behind when she planned to escape from Macero had never once entered her mind. Dez Vizla does not appear to be as cruel as Macero, but still…

This time Dulsissia stays in the room when they train, curled up comfortably in a corner and dividing her attention between the Mando’a dictionary and the children. She’s feeling lazy today and just wants to be near her son and the ones who has become so very dear to her.

Despite the fact that Davarax is teaching them to fight, the mood is so light and the air is so filled with comfortable belonging that Dulsissia finds herself relaxed and time just flies by.

She’s almost a little sad when Davarax calls for the end of the session.

Getting up on her feet, stretching a little, Dulsissia adores the sight of Corin huddled up with the other children and talking with nothing but excitement and happiness in his eyes. She is a little surprised when he comes running over to her, usually she has to drag him out of the room, but he quickly reveals why.

“Mom, Barthor is going to show us this machine he made in his room. Can I go? Can I?”

“I’ll walk Corin back.” Paz promises.

“Me too.” Din pipes up.

“Me too!” Raga shouts.

Laughing, Dulsissia looks down at her big-eyed boy and tries to put on a strict face. “Food in one hour.”

Nodding so eagerly it has to hurt, Corin darts over to the other children at superspeed, before she has the chance to change her mind. “Let’s go!”

The group trample out of the room like a herd of wild tauntauns and she saunters over to the man left behind. “Looking at the stuff you have them doing, I feel like giving up. I’ll never be that good,” Dulsissia confesses with a smile.

Davarax bends down to pick up up a towel from the floor. “You will. Just give it time. And do the work.” He makes a displeased grunt when he straightens back up and rolls his right shoulder in an irritated manner.

“What’s wrong?” Dulsissia asks, instantly worried. It’s not a sound she’s heard from him before.

“Nothing.” Davarax sighs and rolls his shoulder again. “Just my shoulder acting up. I pushed things a little too hard during Fighting Corps training yesterday.”

Dulsissia knows there is not much she can do for this far too capable man who saved her and her son and keeps showing them so much kindness, but maybe she can ease his pain a little? “Sit.”

Davarax looks over at her, confused. “What?”

“Sit.” Dulsissia repeats, pointing at the floor to underline her order.

He hesitates, but then slowly sinks down to sit on the floor. “Why…?”

“This,” Dulsissia taps a finger to the armor on his shoulder, “pauldron, is it? Off.”

Still visibly confused, Davarax reaches up and detaches the pauldron. “Dulcy, what are you-”

“I’m no expect, but… I do know how to ease tense muscles a bit.” Dulsissia refuses to think about why she knows how to rub out muscles tense after hours of a rigid posture in uniform. Another stupid thing she’d thought might bring them closer together back then. “Let me know if it hurts too much.”

“I think I can take it.” Davarax replies without trying to hide his amusement.

“I know you can, that’s not why should tell me.” Dulsissia gets on her knees behind him so she reach his shoulder and starts feeling around to get the correct grip before she starts massaging. “I want you to tell me because I don’t want to hurt you. And suffering through the hurt in this case wouldn’t achieve anything. It’s just silly. You don’t become a better fighter by putting yourself through pointless pain, my good Sir. It’s just-”

“Silly.” Davarax says, still horribly amused.

“Yes. Exactly.” Dulsissia pushes a little harder and finds where she can feel a tight tendon. All the layers of his underarmor makes it a bit difficult, but she starts to work on it. “I don’t know why some thinks it is cool to pointlessly ignore pain. I get why you might have to in a fight, but this? It’s so-”

“Silly.” Davarax concludes, half-laughing.

“Yes!” Dulsissia declares, giving his shoulder a light slap.

In a flash, Davarax twists, gets his right arm around her waist and hoists her forward and around to land across his lap, her back cradled by his left arm. “Hitting people in the shoulder causes pain, you know?”

Initially startled by the abrupt change of her position, Dulsissia relaxes in his grip and gives him a sweet smile. “You can take it.”

“Hmm.” Davarax hums. “I’m not sure. I’m a delicate soul.”

She giggles. Dulsissia can’t believe she giggles yet again, but being around him… It’s like forgetting all the bad stuff in her life and just being hopeful again. “In that case, how can I make it up to you?”

“I have a couple of ideas.” Davarax replies, his low voice a sweet caress.

Curious and a little giddy, Dulsissia lowers her eyelashes in a coy move she hasn’t used since… ages ago. “I’m listening…”

“One, spend a couple of hours with me tomorrow. Just you and me. No kids. No interruptions.”

Dulsissia feels heat rising in her face. She can’t think of a better way to spend a couple of hours. And considering that Corin spends most of his time with Din or the other kids these days, he probably won’t mind it much if his mother is too busy to hover. “Okay. We can do that. A-and what’s the second idea?”

“My second idea…” Davarax’ right hand moves up to slide behind her neck and he bends down so his t-visor hover right in front of her face. “A kiss to make it better?”

Her heart flutters like crazy. Dulsissia is fairly certain her face is approaching a rather unflattering shade of red by now. “We can do that too…”

“Yeah?” Davarax’ hand caresses her neck.

Dulsissia swallows, already a little breathless. “Yeah.”

She feels his left arm tightening behind her back, lifting her a little up and against him, at the same time as Davarax’ right hand moves up to cup the back of her head. A couple of months ago, she might not have seen the point of a simple forehead touch, but now? Now that she slides her own arms around his neck and meets him halfway, the two of them holding on and curling up together like one, feeling them breathe together, betting even their hearts are beating in synch, she can only pity her old self.

Lifting her feet, Dulsissia tries to make her way from the kitchen area over to the refresher without stepping on a child. All of Davarax’ children are currently present in her and Corin’s quarters and they lying on their bellies on the floor, entirely focused on a boardgame Paz had brought. Dulsissia glances down at the boardgame as she manoeuvrers her way through the minefield of children. It appears as if Din is giving Barthor a run for his credits. No wonder he looks so grouchy.

Well, there is one child not lying on the floor and that is Raga, who has clearly lost interest in the game and is merely sitting on Paz’ lower back while braiding some cloth into yet another hair tie to her growing collection.

Dulsissia almost makes it to the refresher, knowing she’s going to need the time to do her hair and try to make herself look good, when there is a knock on the door.

Sighing, seeing how none of the children are going to open the door, even her sweet Corin is too busy cozying up with Din to notice, Dulsissia enters the minefield yet again and struggles her way over to the door.

Huffing, she pushes the hair out of her face just as she presses the button and the door slides open to reveal Davarax.

“Oh.” She blinks surprised. He’s not supposed to be here for another hour. “I thought…”

Davarax sighs and looks down. “Listen, there’s been a change of plans.”

Dulsissia can tell from the tone of his voice that it isn’t good news. She absently crosses her arms and braces herself. “What’s happened?”

He doesn’t lift his visor. “Nevarro is not our only Covert. We have several. And we keep creating new ones, to have room for more people and in case of emergencies.”

This makes sense to Dulsissia, so why does his words make her body tense up?

“She’s sending me and someone else to a new location to eliminate a threat and set up a new Covert.” Davarax finishes.

So, he’s going away again. Dulsissia feels a heavy weight of disappointment drop into her stomach but she forces herself to keep a brave face on. “It’s for the good of the Covert. I understand.” She clears her throat. “How long… do you think it will take?” Two weeks? Three? More?

“Six months.” Davarax replies, lifting his t-visor to look at her at last. “If everything goes according to plan.” But the tone of his voice also says he has no faith in that happening. He sounds… tired.

“That’s…“ Dulsissia has to clear her throat again. “Okay. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. We’re starting preparations now.” Davarax shakes his head. “That’s not the worst.”

Now she feels a jolt of actual fear. “There’s something worse?”

“She’s sending Dez Vizla too.” Davarax says. “And he’s insisting on bringing Paz along.”

“What?” Dulsissia exclaims and Davarax grabs her arm, so she lowers her voice after a quick glance back at the children now watching them with curious looks. “He’s twelve.” She hisses. “It’s not safe out there for him.”

Davarax merely shakes his head again. “I know. I voted against it, but they think I’m too soft on ‘my kids’.” He lets her go and takes a moment to simply lean against the door frame, as if he hasn’t the strength to stand upright by his own power, then he straightens and looks into the room. “I have to tell him. Send him out to me?”

For half a second, Dulsissia wants to say no. She wants to shut the door and refuse to open it for him or that horrible Vizla man, but then her brain kicks in and she gives a faint nod. This isn’t something Davarax agrees with or even wants to do, but he is helpless to prevent it and it is best Paz hears it from him.

Leaning against the wall of her room, looking out into the hallway through the open door, she watches as Davarax talks to Paz over by the door to his room. She can tell the moment Paz realizes what Davarax is explaining to him by the frantic shake of Paz’ head and when he knows there is no way to escape his father’s command by the defeated slump that follows Davarax’ comforting hand on his shoulder.

It’s in the middle of the night, but Dulsissia can’t sleep. It’s hours since Corin cried himself to sleep and she can tell by the sound of his even breathing that he’s finally found peace, but not her.

She keeps staring up at the ceiling. Everything inside her is a churning turmoil.

Davarax is leaving. Paz’ father is dragging him into danger. And the other children are miserable.

She is miserable.

Why now? There weren’t that many new souls in the Covert. And why Davarax? The leader could have sent anyone. Was it because of Dulsissia? Was this her revenge for Dulsissia not heeding her warning and staying away from him if she didn’t take the Creed?

What if she will never see Davarax again? What if something happens and he never comes back home? That is one thought she cannot stand.

Dulsissia takes care to make as little noise as possible as she sneaks out of bed and tiptoes on bare feet over to the door. Never before has a door made as loud a whoosh as the one her door now makes. Cringing, she looks over at Corin, but he’s still asleep. Good.

The hallway is cold, she’s just wearing her simple nightgown, but she can’t risk getting dressed in case it would wake Corin up. The door whooshes loudly again as it closes behind her, she waits but doesn’t hear any sign of Corin waking up so she walks over to knock on Davarax’ door.

He’s probably asleep. He should be asleep She hopes he’s asleep. He needs sleep to be rested for tomorrow.

The door slides open, revealing a fully dressed and armored Davarax, who seems as puzzled to see her as she is to find him awake. “Dulcy? What’s wrong?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” She hears how it sounds like an accusation.

Davarax’ helmet pulls back a little. “I don’t know. I…. Thinking too much, I guess.”

Dulsissia deflates. “Can I come in?”

That seems to puzzle him even more and he hesitates before taking a step aside and gesturing her to come in. “Sure.”

Dulsissia walks inside. It’s strange, now that she thinks about it. She’s had him in her room countless times by now, but she’s never been in his.

It’s a nice room. Small, but tidy. He has a neat row of vibro-blades on the wall. Two blasters hanging there as well. She suspects what those things on the shelves up above the bed are not decorations, but some kind of explosive devices. Clothes are neatly folded and stacked on a chair in the corner or the room with a bag on the floor next to it. The only hint of luxury is the large bed at the very end of the room, with bright white sheets and a thick fur cover.

Then she sees the most beautiful holo-picture of Paz, Raga, Barthor and Din standing on a writing desk. It hurts her heart and makes her at peace with her decision to be here.

“Dulcy?” Davarax asks, sounding a little worried. “Talk to me.”

“It’s going to be a lot longer than six months, isn’t it?” She says.

Dulsissia hears him sigh somewhere behind her. “Probably.” He takes a step towards her. “Listen, you will still be safe here. You and Corin. You can still make a life here. A-and maybe even meet someone else…”

“I don’t want someone else.” Dulsissia states. “I want you.”

She hears him step closer. She feels his gloved fingers slide down the back of her bare upper arm, as if he’s afraid to touch her but wants the contact too much to be able to stop himself. “Dulcy…”

Dulsissia turns her head a little in his direction and Davarax instantly backs up a couple of steps.

“Sorry…” He sounds a little shaky. “Sorry. That was crossing the line. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“When Din broke his nose, you took off your gloves to help him.” Dulsissia says. “So you can take off your gloves.”

“Yes.”

“Not including your helmet, can you take the rest off?”

A moment’s pause. “Yes.”

Dulsissia turns to face him, still strangely calm. “Do you want to? Now?”

Davarax stands frozen, but he can’t hide the hitch in his breath. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” She replies. “Now please answer my question; do you want to take them off?”

Another moment of hesitation and this time Dulsissia can tell his eyes are moving over her. She knows if she was to see her own reflection, she’d see a woman without any make up, in a shapeless and sleeveless white nightgown that barely reaches her ankles, sporting unkempt and wild hair. She wonders what he sees. Because she notices how Davarax’ hands clench into fists, like he has to stop himself from reaching out for her.

Finally he gives her his answer in a quiet, almost shameful whisper. “Yes.”

Nodding, pleased they want the same thing, Dulsissia reaches up and slides the nightgown off her shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. “Then take them off.”

The sight of her seems to knock the air out of his lungs for a second, then his hands move to start removing his armor, his clothes, and not once does he take his eyes off her.

Dulsissia watches as more and more of him is revealed and realizes she had been right; he really is lovely all over. Beautiful. With his golden skin, finely tuned muscles and battle scars.

Once his body is as bare as hers, he waits for her to decide what happens next and she walks over to him. Placing her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as hers, Dulsissia savours the heat of his skin and wants to place her lips to every scar. So much pain is written on his skin. “I’m guessing you Mandalorians have some secrets when it comes to this as well?”

“Some.” Davarax replies in a hoarse whisper, strained with the effort of keeping still.

She looks up at him. “Will you show me?”

He does.

And for a while, all she can think about it how good it feels, how good he feels, the heat of him, the weight of him, all of him. Her whimpers mixed with his half-choked groans. Her fingers digging into his back and his hand gripping her hip. And she will never ever forget the feeling of him shaking apart in her embrace, allowing himself to crumble, trusting her to put him back together again.

After, she holds him to her chest so he won’t see the tears in her eyes as she thinks about how that they might not ever have this again.

Dulsissia stays as long as she dares, but eventually she sits up and scouts for where she’d dropped her nightgown. She has to get back before Corin wakes up.

Davarax’ bare fingers trail down her back. “Marry me.”

Blinking surprised, she looks back at him. “What?”

On his back, sprawling carelessly, barely covered by sheets, Davarax moves his hand to cup her face. “Marry me.”

Now it is her turn to huff a laugh and Dulsissia lifts a hand to cover his. “You definitely need sleep.”

Davarax sits up and leans forward to place his forehead to hers in a sweet kov’nyn. “Marry me.”

Dulsissia swallows hard, memorizes the feeling for a little while, then she gently pulls free and gets out of bed. “I’ll wait for you.” She walks over to where she can pick up her nightgown and puts it on. “I won’t be with anyone else. You have my heart.” Dulsissia looks over at him. “But I can’t marry you. I’m never getting married again. I’m sorry.”

Davarax sighs, looks down and then back up again. He nods. “I understand.”

Dulsissia tries to smile but fails. She draws a deep breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Davarax nods and he merely watches as she leaves.

They are standing by the door leading into Nevarro city and Dulsissia is doing her very best to be strong for the children. She, Corin, Din, Raga and Barthor are lined up to say their goodbyes to Paz.

Poor Paz, all dressed up in travel gear meant for a grown man and looking utterly miserable.

Corin is hiding halfway behind Dulsissia’s leg, he hasn’t done that in months, while Din is the first to step forward toward Paz.

“You promised…” Din whispers, pale and scared. “What if they come while you’re gone?”

“They won’t.” Paz replies in a shaky voice, placing a hand on Din’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. He tries to will conviction into his voice. “Okay? They won’t.”

Before Din can say much of anything, Raga rushes forward to throw her arms around Paz’ torso and sobs out loud as she buries her face in his chest. Not letting go of Din, Paz closes his eyes and bends down to place a kiss on Raga’s hair before resting his cheek against the curls and wraps his other arm around her.

Dulsissia has to look away and blink away tears of her own.

“Don’t go.” Raga barely manages to say through the heaving sobs.

“He has to.” Barthor says quietly and with no small amount of sadness himself. He reaches out and runs a gentle hand up and down Raga's back.

Paz lifts his arm from Raga’s back and holds it out so Barthor can move in and then he hugs them both before pulling Din close with his other am. A second after getting the three in place, Paz lifts his head and opens the arm he has around Din again, wiggling his fingers for Corin to join them.

Corin doesn’t hesitate. He darts over and squeezes in tight next to Din, letting Paz lock them with his arm as he does with Barthor and Raga.

Dulsissia discretely wipes at her eyes and looks down just as Paz lifts his gaze to her. He can’t really fit all four in his embrace, but he’s trying his very best. “You…” Paz swallows hard and tries again. “You have to look after them for me while I’m gone. Understand?”

Raga sobs even louder. Din’s fingers are digging into Paz’ jacket.

“I promise.” Dulsissia replies, even as everything in her rebels at the fact that this little boy, Paz is just a child himself, should feel such a responsibility. He’s too young for such a weight.

The sound of heavy footsteps makes her look over and soon Dez Vizla enters the hallway, followed by Davarax, and the leader of the Vizla clan doesn’t even pause as he walks by his son. “Paz. Let’s go.”

Raga wails even louder. Barthor backs away, so does Corin, and eventually a reluctant Din, but Paz has to pry Raga off himself and he more or less shoves her at Dulsissia before he runs after his father, failing entirely to hide his own tears.

Dulsissia restrains Raga, desperately trying to run after Paz, and looks over at Davarax standing there. “You keep him safe, Davarax. Whatever it takes. You hear me? You keep him safe and you make sure the both of you come back to us.”

Davarax nods. He looks at each child in turn, then sighs and crouches down. “You hear that? I’ll keep Paz safe. I promise. And we’ll be back before you know it. Then we will all be together again.”

Barthor cautiously approaches him. “Don’t forget us?”

Davarax reaches out and gives his hair a light ruffle. “Never. Not as long as I live.” He then looks over at Din. “I will be back, Din. Trust me.”

Din merely stares down at the floor.

Corin is next to approach him. “I will look after mommy until you get back.”

Davarax does his little trademark huff-laugh and taps Corin lightly under the chin with a finger. “I appreciate that, Corin. Thank you.” He then reaches out a hand and puts his palm gently to Raga’s back as the little girl is clinging to Dulsissia’s leg and crying so hard her small body is shaking. He has no words that will take away her pain, so in the end Davarax straightens back up, hesitates, looks at each of then in turn once more, then he walks away.

The door closes behind him and he’s gone.

Feeling a deep hollowness spreading inside, Dulsissia absently bends down to pick up Raga. “Let’s go.” And she carries the heartbroken soul, while the other three morose children walk behind her.

Davarax made sure to get one of his friends from the Fighting Corps to step in to train the children, if only twice a week. And Decco takes over Dulsissia’s training, which makes it a lot less fun and brings a lot more tough work instead.

“You’re as bad as he was.” Decco grumbles, crouching next to where Dulsissia is squirming on the floor after she got sent flying there by the other woman.

“As bad as who?” Dulsissia asks, wondering whether she can be bothered to get up or not.

“As Davarax.” Decco straights up and shoves at Dulsissia with her boot. “He complained when I trained him too. Now get up.”

Dulsissia remains where she is and frowns thoughtfully. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to be your mother so don’t make me put you over my knee.” Decco threatens. “Get up.”

Dulsissia scrambles to her feet.

It doesn’t take more than two days before Davarax’ absence takes its toll, though. Dulsissia is surprised to find Din’s mother on her door one morning, asking her with resigned worry if her son was there. He’d disappeared some time during the night and no one knows where he is.

“He’s not here. Sorry.” Dulsissia says and the Mandalorian wanders off to ask the next person.

Considering her options for a moment, Dulsissia looks back at where Corin is sitting on his bed, reading. “I need to go check something, sweetie. Can you be a good boy and stay here?”

Corin shrugs. He’s clearly not heard what the question was about, otherwise he’d be running around looking for Din too. Good.

“Okay then. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.” Dulsissia slips out and closes the door behind her before heading down to the storage room Davarax had revealed to be Din’s hiding spot.

At first she can’t see him and Dulsissia is a bit relieved she hadn’t told his mother she knew where Din was, but then she takes a step further into the cluttered room and a blanket across an old pilot seat moves.

“Din?” Dulsissia steps closer and she chokes on a startled sound when the blanket goes flying, revealing Din curled up on the seat and holding a sharp piece of metal out in a defensive move.

Once the shock is over, Dulsissia cautiously approaches the boy. “Din, it’s me. It’s just me. Dulcy.”

Blinking, as if in a trance, Din finally seems to actually see her and he slowly lowers the weapon.

“Are you okay?” Dulsissia asks, daring to crouch down next to him, seeing how he’s still acting rather dazed. “What are you doing down here?”

“I thought…” Din mumbles, looking around, frowning confused. “I thought they were here?”

“Who, Din?” Dulsissia reaches out and cautiously eases the weapon out of his hands. He lets her take it, looking increasingly distressed and confused.

“Them!” The boy gulps for air. “The droids. They’re going to kill us all. Like they killed my mom and dad.”

“There are no droids here, Din.” Dulsissia puts the weapon away and then gently brushes the hair away from his sweaty brow. “No droids. You’re safe.”

Din shakes his head and his eyes brim with tears. “No. I’m not! He said he’d keep them away and they stayed away, but now he’s gone away! Him and Davarax both! And now the droids are going to come and kill us all!”

“No…” Dulsissia inches up to sit next to him, wrapping an arm around the shivering boy and hugs him close when she hears the first quiet sobs he’s trying to hide. “No, baby, no. You’re safe here in the Covert. We all are. The droids won’t come for you or any of us. It’s going to be okay.”

She sits with him until the tears dry up and Din is able to function somewhat normally again. He’s tired, exhausted and cold, so she ends up carrying him back to his parents.

Forget about the fight training, Dulsissia suspects the muscles she might get is from carrying these children around.

Din makes a miserable sound when she hands him over to his father, but doesn’t fight it. Dulsissia wonders if maybe she should have just brought him back to her room instead, suspecting Corin might have had a calming influence on him, but it wouldn’t be fair to Din’s parents.

“Thank you.” Din’s mother says, sounding both relieved and as exhausted as the son.

“Listen,” Dulsissia decides to risk it, “Din and my son have gotten very close. They are very fond of each other. If you need help with-”

“I appreciate you bringing me my son, but the day when I need help from an outsider is the day you can take my helmet.” The woman snaps and the door slides shut in front of Dulsissia’s face.

Huh. Rude!

It takes about two weeks before there is a knock on Dulsissia’s door and she opens it to find the teacher with the stinky room standing there with a firm grip on Raga’s arm.

The little girl is staring defiantly down at the floor and the man is taking short, angry breaths.

“You think she’s innocent and manageable? You manage her!” The man yanks Raga forward so she stumbles inside the room, “Enjoy!” and stomps away.

Shocked, Dulsissia slowly turns away from staring at his back to looking at the miserable looking child standing in the middle of the room. Raga is rubbing her arm where the man’s hand had been grabbing her and her lips are trembling.

Corin is sitting on his bed, wide-eyed and scared to move.

“Oh, baby…” Dulsissia sighs and closes the door. She walks over to Raga. “Are you okay?”

She nods, but keeps staring at the floor.

Dulsissia crouches down and wraps her arms around her. It takes a little while, but eventually Raga relaxes and leans against her.

Bribing her son and Raga with treats and a new story on the datapad, Dulsissia uses the opportunity to sneak off and talk to Raga’s parents.

Raga’s father doesn’t say much, but Raga’s mother points inside their room, over at where three other children are wrestling on the floor, screaming and pummelling each other. “I hear what you’re saying, Dulcy, but I got my hands full here. I don’t have the time or energy to deal with Raga’s antics right now. My boys are about to take the Creed and I have at least five other assignments I have to finish. Just… send her home. I’ll keep her here until Davarax comes back.”

One of the boys cries out in real pain and Raga’s father turns his t-visor towards them. “HEY! Calm down! The first one who breaks something on someone gets their ass kicked by me!”

Blinking, Dulsissia has to gather herself for a moment before blurting out an idea she comes up with on the spot. “How about I look after her for those hours of school? I can teach her some stuff? I mean, that would be better than her just staying at home?”

Both of Raga’s parents look at her for a second, then the mother says, with no small amount of dry disbelief; “You’d do that…?”

Raga’s father follows it up with; “Why?”

But then there is a thump and something shatters on the floor and the man stalks off inside the room. “Right. That’s it! Who did that? Get back here!”

“No killing!” Raga’s mother shouts after him before turning back to Dulsissia. “I can’t pay you.”

Dulsissia nods. “That’s fine.”

Sighing, Raga’s mother shrugs. “Sure. Fine. Go ahead.” Then there is the sound of some kind of ruckus and she mumbles that she has to go. “I said no killing! I will kick the ass of anyone who dares to die today, I am NOT cleaning that up!”

That is how Dulsissia ends up having Raga around almost as much as Din and her own son and why why she ends up approaching the last of Davarax’ children; “I need your help.”

Barthor looks up from his datapad. He’s sitting in the corner of the common room. Alone. As usual.

“With Davarax and Paz gone, I’ve promised to look after Din and Raga in addition to my own boy and I have no idea how to entertain them or what to teach them or… I need someone who knows stuff to help me set up some sort of activities so they won’t kill each other.” Dulsissia says.

Barthor lowers his datapad and smirks. “You just don’t want me to feel left out when you guys have fun.”

“That too.” Dulsissia admits. “But mostly I really do need your help. All the stuff I used to do as a kid means we have to go outside.”

Barthor considers it, then nods. “I’ll help you.”

Davarax and Paz have been gone for three months when a messenger appears on Dulsissia’s door and hands her a small box with her and the children’s names on it. It’s from Davarax.

The children all get a large lump each of what looks to be a mix of sugar and something even more sweet, to their utter delight as none of them had tried this particular kind before, and Dulsissia finds a cylinder-shaped container within the box with her name written on the lid.

Opening it, Dulsissia gingerly eases out its content into her hand and her eyes instantly well up with tears at the sight of the beautiful wildflower. She places her free hand over her mouth to muffle a faint cry of how much she misses him.

“Mom?” Corin asks, sounding anxious. “Did Davarax do something wrong?”

“No, baby.” Dulsissia whispers, placing a soft kiss on the flower’s delicate petals. “He did something perfectly right.”

After that, she gets an idea. It takes no small amount of courage, but Dulsissia scrounges together the ingredients she needs, slips her blade into her pocket, her blaster into the lining of her pants, and then she goes back up into Nevarro to sell her cookies again.

It takes her several weeks to save up the credits and another one to manage to purchase it, but finally she can gather the children in her room and tell them they are going to record a holo-message to Davarax and Paz.

The children eagerly ramble their words, simple everyday things that has happened to them, and Dulsissia wraps it up by telling Davarax and Paz that they are both sorely missed, to be careful and come back home soon. She knows Davarax will see the flower in her hair.

She packs the small holo-projector with the message into a box along with some cookies and then hands it over to the Mandalorian in charge of communication.

A couple of months later, another small box is delivered to her room and Dulsissia feels a jolt of excitement when she sees the holo-projector inside.

Dulsissia gathers the children and they all huddle together in the room to see the message.

The holo-image sputters slightly as it lights up but then stabilizes and the image of Davarax from the chest up comes into view.

“Greetings from the new Covert.” His voice declares and Dulsissia doesn’t realize she squirms with delight along with the children at the sound of him. “Thank you for the message and the cookies. It really brightened our days.” Davarax turns his visor and gestures someone over. When Paz steps into view, Raga makes a tiny sound. He looks tired, but unharmed.

“Hey.” Paz says, a little awkward, and goes silent until Davarax nudges him. “I, uh, hope you liked the sweets. They got plenty of that here. So that’s good. Uhm. Wish you guys were here.”

With that, the final words a rushed and emotional thing, Paz steps out of frame and Davarax turns back to focus on them again.

“Barthor, I’m expecting your project to be done when I get back and to see it operational. Din, I know this is tough for you, but I’m proud of you that you’re doing so well. Raga, I’ll talk to your teacher when I get back, don’t worry about it. I got your back, remember? Corin, good job, you keep looking after your mom.” Davarax then leans back a little and his voice changes tone from gentle to a far more mischievous one. “Okay, Dulcy, this is when you pause the message and usher the kids out. The rest of this message is just for you.”

Dulsissia’s hand flies out and she presses the pause button while her face flares up red.

The children all whine in disappointment, but Dulsissia shows no mercy. All she can think about is what Davarax will say. “Out. Now. Go play. Food in thirty minutes.”

“But can’t we please stay?” Corin pleads. “We won’t tell him we heard.”

Raga tilts her head, raises her eyebrows, not convinced that this isn’t something she’d like to hear.

Corin frowns while Barthor drags Raga up on her feet as well. “But… Mom doesn’t do grown-up kissy stuff.”

“Oh, sweet angel, she definitely does.” Dulsissia corrects him, gesturing for them to hurry up.

She’d feel guilty if not for the comical look of disbelief on Corin’s face as the others drag him out and how curious she is to hear what Davarax has to say.

The door has barely closed before she activates the message again.

Davarax waits a couple of seconds then he tilts his head. “They gone? Yeah? Okay.” He leans forward again. “I miss you, Dulcy. I miss you like crazy. Dez punched me twice in the head yesterday because I couldn’t focus. It’s been too long. I can’t stop thinking about you. Things haven’t gone smoothly here, like I suspected, and I fear I may shoot the next one who causes trouble and keeps me away from home. From you.” He exhales a laugh, leans back and shakes his head a little, as if he can’t believe his own words, before he focuses on her again and sits back up. “I’m running out of time on the holo, but there is one final thing I wanted to say; Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His voice is so wonderfully soft at that, before the smile returns to his voice. “I know you don’t speak Mando’a, but now you have a dictionary. You’re a clever girl, Dulcy. Look it up.”

The image flickers as he leans forward and reaches out and then he’s gone.

Heart racing, so emotional she can barely breathe, Dulsissia wants to hug the holo-projector close and cry her eyes out at the same time. She needs him back. She misses him like crazy too!

But no time to cry, she has a message to decipher.

It’s not easy juggling four children, training with Decco, sneaking up into Nevarro to sell her cookies and deal with everyday challenges as well, but it keeps her busy and prevents her from sliding into self-pity.

Plus, the challenge of Davarax’ message is a delightful distraction.

Dulsissia could just play the line for Decco, but that wouldn’t be right. His words was for Dulsissia and Dulsissia alone, so she decides to try to write down the words as she hears them and go from there.

It takes a bit of work and a bit of time, but the reward? Oh, Dulsissia can hardly believe it.

He loves her. He just told her he loves her. He will carry her in his heart forever.

The abrupt marriage proposal had seemed like a spontaneous thing, born out of residual oxytocins and the distress of having to leave, but even after telling him that can never happen; he still loves her.

Dulsissia is not proud of it, but she spends the next ten minutes just crying. She’s feeling too much and it’s the only way she knows how to deal with it. Once that is done, when she feels calmer, that’s when Dulsissia has to find some discrete way of letting him know she feels the same.

If she was a Mandalorian, she would have sent him a weapon, right? But she’s not. And he’d said he preferred her cookies anyway. So…

Dulsissia records a message with the kids, adds her own after like he’d done to her, telling him just how much she misses him too, that he has to be careful and adds the word she’d learned and rehearsed saying just for this moment; ner cyare.

And in the box, she adds a small bag with a cookie meant for Davarax alone. A cookie shaped like a blaster.

It becomes something to look forward to, something that makes the wait a little less torturous, those packages with these short messages from Davarax and Paz. Visible evidence that they’re alive and sweet, reassuring words that the connection between them all are still there.

Then comes the day when it’s been a year since Davarax and Paz left. A whole year! How is that possible? And it’s been three months since she heard from them. Decco reassures her that the two are fine, otherwise the Covert would have been buzzing with news, but still… she doesn’t like it.

The explanation comes three weeks later, when Corin and Din come running into the room and startles Dulsissia in the middle of wrapping up her wrist, still swollen and stiff after yesterday’s training accident.

“They’re back!” Corin blurts out.

“The ship just landed!” Din adds, equally excited.

“Who? What are you two talking about?” Dulsissia asks, fastening the bandage with a frown.

“Paz and Davarax, of course!” Corin shouts, as if he can’t believe he has to spell it out.

Dulsissia jolts as if someone just punched her in the stomach. She can’t breathe. They’re back?!

“We have to go meet them.” Corin says. “Right, mom?”

She automatically looks over at the mirror she can barely see in the refresher room, thinking she should pretty herself up before Davarax sees her, but Dulsissia realizes that she can’t wait. She looks back at the boys. “Get Barthor. I’ll get Raga.”

It’s not long after that that they are gathered up by the door to Nevarro, where they had said their goodbyes. The children are eerily quiet, just stares at the door, but Dulsissia can’t blame them. She is failing to find a single word of reassurance.

They wait. Seconds tick by. Minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

The door opens. Dez Vizla steps inside, barely deigns to send a glance their way as he walks on, and then; there he is.

Davarax appears, stepping inside and is just… there. He’s there. Real, alive, breathing, there.

The children rush forward. Dulsissia can’t move. She can’t anything. She’s frozen in place.

Crouching down, Davarax greets the children with a delighted laugh and accepts everything from hugs to semi-angry shoves for staying away so long, and only once they have started to calm down does he cautiously glance up at her.

Dulsissia tries to smile, but her stupid eyes well up with tears again.

Davarax straightens back up and walks over to her. He barely has time to open his arms before Dulsissia rushes forward and throws her arms around his neck, hugging the man with a touch of desperation. She bites her lower lip hard to hold back the sobs, just holds on tight. Dulsissia loves how his arms goes around her waist to pull her impossibly close while his helmet burrows against her neck.

For a little while, they are allowed to hold each other and linger in the realness of each other, before Dulsissia makes herself lean back a little. Her hands slide over to cup his helmet to hold him still so she can lean her forehead to his.

Davarax shivers at the contact. His arms are still not letting her back away a single inch.

They might have remained like that for ages if not for Dulsissia being distracted by Raga rushing forward with a happy sound and she looks over just in time to see the girl throw her arms around Paz and be hugged tightly in return.

Placing a hand against Davarax’ chest, Dulsissia eases herself away from him and watches the boy with no small amount of unexpected sadness.

It’s Paz, there is no doubt about that, she’d recognize him while being blindfolded, and he more than confirms it with the arms eagerly reaching out for Din and Corin and Barthor to join as well, but Dulsissia can’t help mourn the fact that she’ll never see his sweet face again.

Paz is wearing the trademark blue Vizla helmet.

That brings a lot of mixed feelings to Dulsissia, but right now she decides to focus on the fact that her two boys are finally back with them. They are alive, unharmed and back where they belong. She pushes the thoughts away and smiles at Davarax. “Welcome home.”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Baby Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #What if

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bakuroo-writings · 3 years ago

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Self Ship September Day Seventeen: Video games with Mattsukawa Issei x female reader, heart dividers made by @doinmybesthere

Warnings: none for once, i think. Just no beta. 18+ ONLY MINORS 17 AND UNDER AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI (i.e. do not like, reblog, comment, or follow).

Word count: 677

Tongue sticking out in concentration, you button mash as you fight the 2D character on the screen while Issei casually presses a variety of buttons, setting of a series of power moves from the two player fighting game you’re playing.

He has a smirk on his face and, in his familiar drawl, comes, “why are you so cute?”

Eyes narrowing at the screen, your reply is casual, “call me cute again and I’ll murder you,” button mashing continuing to avail.

“No, you won’t,” comes from his lips as the giant, red “GAME OVER” flashes on the screen, your character lying on the ground.

You press the replay button, “try me.”

“Babe, you haven’t been able to beat me yet. Plus, you’re too adorable to murder me.”

Letting out an exasperated huff, you quickly shoot him a death glare, button mashing again as you simultaneously try to throw Issei off his game by nudging his side with your elbow. . . which only made you lose again.

Seeing the pout on your face, he pulls you into his lap, caging his arms around you, “Okay, babe, I’ll teach how you to play.”

Leaning back to press your back against his chest, body heat and the scent of vanilla tobacco surround you, his calloused fingers cover yours as they press buttons to show you the actions and explain what they do, deep voice rumbling in your ear. The vibrations from his voice send a shiver down your spine.

“Got it now, babe?”

His question reaches your ears and you stutter out a “Huh? What?” as you attempt to refocus your eyes, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You weren’t even paying attention, were you?”

“I was!” You pause before continuing, “At first. . . for a few seconds. It’s not my fault! You distracted me with your handsome voice and your sexy hands and your stupid cologne invaded my nose!”

A pillow hits your face and you gape for a moment before lips graze your ear, “You were supposed to be paying attention to the lesson, babe, not thinking about my hands touching you or my voice deep in your ear.”

You let out a gasp and almost give in, almost let him win, until you realize he did this one on purpose. Leaning in to press your lips against his, your hand snakes back for a throw pillow on, milliseconds before connecting your lips, you bonk it on top of his head then quickly get up and run to the other side of the couch.

“Oh, you are asking for it, babe. It’s so on,” he jumps over the back of the couch, his own pillow in hand, as you shriek and run away.

It’s a fruitless effort, given that his legs are longer than yours, but you try anyway. You both get in a few shots, yours being the most recent, so you run away yet again. Unfortunately, you don’t notice that he dropped his pillow and is holding his hands up, instead. Turning your head back to see how close he is, your eyes widen when you see it and shriek, knowing what he’s planning, picking up speed down the hallway.

He catches up to you and, tackling you to the bed, tickles your sides as you let out shrieks of laughter interspersed with shouts of “stop!” and, eventually, he thankfully has mercy on you. Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he looks at you, in awe of your beauty.

Pressing his lips to yours gently, he whispers out softly, “I love you.”

Your heart swells until he opens his mouth again, “But you still won’t be able to beat me,” followed by him getting up and strolling to the living room, your game awaiting you.

Letting out an annoyed groan, you shout out, “Matsukawa Issei, you are so going down!”

The only response is a hearty laugh and you may not beat him today. . . but you have forever to try, you think, as you twirl the silver ring around your finger.

General taglist: @chibishae34

#haikyuu x reader #mattsun x reader #issei matsukawa x reader #mattsun fluff #matsukawa issei fluff #matsukawa issei x reader #🦊.onyx's writing #🍨.September Sweetheart Sundae

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years ago

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Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note: Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending. Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series! For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while! If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets. My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions. My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys. @sammy-jo1977 , my sister from another mister! Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes! Love you all! Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all! If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye. Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see? Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish! Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing: Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary: Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse. When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings: Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos. I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War. The SNAP never happened because, reasons.

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion. Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling. Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it. By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind. It was dangerous. Weak. And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself.

Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail? What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it? How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property. With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth. Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless. And he felt everything. The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly. Anger. Loss. Lunacy. Loki learned a hard truth in that moment. He was a monster. A freak. A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong. Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further. To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane. Why bother anyway? All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision. What was grief to a goblin? What was horror to a monster? What was love to a villain like him? An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination. A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces. Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance? Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness. In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger. Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell. No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely.

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path. If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad. Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny.

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way. He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother. And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised? He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined. And Loki wasn’t just good at it. He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki. Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary. Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard. When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler. He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister. Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over. They were his people, after all. But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially. What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design. On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure. Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words. And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that Loki had made a commitment of sorts. One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family. This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself. Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time. Patience. Motivation. It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait. Loki was learning to wait everyday. Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet. Was it easy? Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise. Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes. Loki was simply going to be better. Not perfect. No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark. So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem. In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew. That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant. That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god. Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive. You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating. Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises. But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted. You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat. Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same. Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck. “Loki?” “Huh?” Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi! Yes, Pepper can see you now. Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing. Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently. Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you. Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you. His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk.

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.” Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly. Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited? Never! It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.” At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great! I have faith in you both. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki. Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now. Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too. I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome. Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat. And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths. You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small. His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?” It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer. You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were. No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would. He begged. “Please? I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye. Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him. Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish. I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party. You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj. But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark. And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice. Loki was more lighthearted, more available. He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings. Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him. If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla. It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning. A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again. Loki remembered what you were wearing. He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes. If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala. Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported. The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall. How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom. Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne. It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own. Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean. Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard. Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time. It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop. I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.” Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.” Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart. Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound. Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise. Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle. He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it. But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.

"Darling, please. We have to go." Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you? He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always. And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need. Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard. I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive. You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands. Shall we?" With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees. Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready? Darling?"

"Oh… yes. I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work." Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking. In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!" And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth. The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form. All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think? This jacket weighs a ton." Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird. It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest. Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off. The house was empty. Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger. When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime. Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush. He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought. There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore. Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead. He had lost. Captain America had been bested. Beaten. And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night. Steve was alone. Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating. The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy. Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.” Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room. His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes. All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall. Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you. In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays. Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor. The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace. A pretty, ancient, carved cameo, heart shaped locket. He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed. ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up. You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own. It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change. You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-” You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will. I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.” You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight. Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.” It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table. An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated. All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet. There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell. It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky? That you? You back?” Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?” Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before. This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking. This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed. Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel. Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way. Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?” Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t. He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No. Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around. Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat. There’s nothing for her here.” To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you. “That’s not true!” It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back. They left with nothing, Steve. She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-” Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain. We're here for a necklace... the necklace. Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down. Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-” From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal. Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.” The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house. The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve. For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast. How about you?”

“Um… sure. Yea, ok. Breakfast.”

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast? Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…” You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade. That wasn’t enough to stop Steve. He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that. Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-” Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie. You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll. Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less. Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set. Something false and fake. A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly. Clearly he had something on his mind. “Steve-” “No. No. Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver. “When I saw you… No, that’s not right. Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad. It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true. When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life! And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did. I waited years for you, ya know, doll? Years. And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend. An ally. Someone you could trust… someone I could trust. I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me. I just wanted to make you smile again. But she had other plans. Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful. And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick. Like you, I thought that Loki was gone. Missing. Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve. I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out? I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first. That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop. Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures. You would also know… well, everything you know now. That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever. There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away. If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here? And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me. I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed. Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t. It was for me. I wanted you, so, so badly. I didn’t care what strings were attached. And we built a life together, you and me. I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports. Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email. Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve. I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?” With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night. It was going to happen last night. Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me. I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet. He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything. The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival. I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved. I could say that it was my duty. I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve. You really will. There’s a person out there waiting for you. And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow. An illusion. Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches. It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong. Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve. I really do... “ What more could you say? Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now. Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha. At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower. I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.” Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really? And how are you going to breach the building? They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises… Fury is no fool. Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard! I’ll figure it out when I get there. Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door. Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession. Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you; it was enough for Loki to commit murder. He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki. Wait. I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help? I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go. Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-” His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.” Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough. How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh? That’s where you want to go?” Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…” Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom. For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh. But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan. At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after. What did Fury want? How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well? What is it? Weapons? War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.” That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes. Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you. Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next. Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy. An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.” Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening. A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal. Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough. Making enemies of your friends. Threatening the people you loved. Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench. “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me. Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him. Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding. Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember. Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding. The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers. None was needed. Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open. “Look. I know I’m not the guy you want on your side. I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be. Not for you-” Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki. But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.”

Around you the morning gained strength. Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics. Without moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America. Nodding decisively, “I do. I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us. He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that. For now, we trust Steve. Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey. I… I have one other thing to show you.” Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving. Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?” The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed. Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered. In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours. I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know. Still-” “I can’t, Steve. It’s yours. Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid. It’s done. Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno. Think I might need to be alone for a bit. Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes: @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote

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