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privateanxieties · 3 years ago

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you sure you don’t have superpowers? Part 2 (final)

Synopsis: On the matter of restraint, Peter would place himself on the god tier, except when it comes to her. He’s never dealt with it before, this feeling, but what he can’t deny is that they’re both in the same boat. After all, she did just say she wants to eat him.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns); fluff, friends to lovers, romance, just a tiny bit steamy but no overtly sexual content.

Words: 5.5K

Part 1

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In all the years he's been alive, Peter's never known a spider to be capable of holding one's gaze.

Except this one seems to be fucking blinking at him, almost in challenge.

Or that's what it looks like from the glass jar in which they encased the little beast, anyway.

There they were, back at his place to figure this entire mess out, when she very visibly froze in the middle of the conversation, eyes fixed on a spot behind him.

He doesn't want to linger on how the creature made a fool out of every one of his reflexes; it's enough that the endeavor of catching it took the greater part of an hour to finalize.

The first major problem is that this spider has not died like the one that bit him did mere hours, maybe less, after injecting its venom into his bloodstream.

And now? Now he's subtly trying to conceal a mind stretched thin by the disturbing implications of this entire affair.

His best friend. Another genetically engineered spider. The uncertain future.

Peter doesn't know how to calm her. He tried explaining things, starting from the very beginning, but that only accentuated the sense of doom. He recognizes the stress on her face as a type he hasn't felt in a long time: oversensitivity is kicking in.

He doesn't understand the delay between the bite and the appearance of mutations, but he isn't ruling out differences in gene manipulation. After all, he got bit over six years ago. Oscorp has had time to reorganize and improve.

The biggest problem of all is that they seem to have figured out a way to replicate his dad's spiders without making use of Parker DNA.

He hopes they have. Because if it isn't the case, then the situation is much worse than he even dares to think.

It's why he can't reveal the entire truth to her - the possibility of her DNA disintegrating from incompatibility with the spider gene is just not something he wants to consider, let alone inform her about.

Still, she looks fine. She looks healthy, especially to his eyes. He's noticing changes in her appearance the same way he noticed them in his own: strengthened muscles beneath smooth skin, an increased heart rate, and better dexterity.

Shinier hair. Sparkling eyes. An intoxicating scent whenever she walks by.

In short, the odds are stacked against him in every way. He can't fix this, he definitely couldn't prevent it, and now he can barely think his way through their options with her standing so close.

Why is she standing so close? And why does he like her exactly where she is?

She hid behind him minutes ago, using him as a human shield against the spider, but she has yet to leave his side as he looks through his father's old papers. He knows there's nothing of use in there, but he has no other avenues to explore.

Well, not any he can reasonably propose.

"Anything?"

Her voice is soft. It, too, has changed a bit in the past few hours. She hasn't said much in a normal tone, and he fears it's because she's getting a little lost in her thoughts. He knows how she is - once something has gone wrong, she believes everything else in a series of events will too. He can't imagine what her mind might be weaving -

Fuck's sake. Get it together Parker. Weaving? Really?

He shakes the thoughts out of focus, and it doubles as an answer to her question.

"Oh"

He sighs.

"Look, bud… I'm sorry. This is my mess. I never thought you'd get tangled up in it. I'm sor -"

"Peter… stop. You've apologized a million times already. There's nothing to forgive. I don't think there is, and if I'm saying it's ok, then you can at least believe me. We're ok, right? We'll figure this out. You're my best friend; if you can't help me through this, then who can?", she says. There's kindness infused in every word, but also fatigue.

He allows a smile to form, momentarily abandoning the documents he's sifting through in favor of taking her hands in his. They're on the floor of his bedroom, not face to face but side by side. It's reminiscent of ancient times, only, their challenges back then were things like passing P.E.

It's weird to think that both of them could now run the dreaded mile in a minute.

In theory. He's only going off of his own tested abilities, and he'd be a really bad scientist if he just assumed hers are the same.

"I'm here for you, you know that. We're gonna figure it out. Just wish it didn't happen to you.", he confesses.

If he had been more thorough, and if he had pushed further when Oscorp advanced its experiments, they wouldn't be here. He let them get away from him, and now she's suffering the consequences of inaction.

"Hey… look at me."

A hand comes to rest on his cheek, and he leans into her touch without thinking, eyes closed and breath slowing. Still, he decides to grant her request.

She shuffles even closer, left knee touching his right and her other hand finding its way to the side of his neck. He doesn't think it should feel this compelling, her touch. It's almost mesmerizing, how alert to her presence he is.

Her eyes search his insistently, but they're as soft and comforting as ever.

"It's not the end of the world. Whatever this is, you're gonna teach me and I'm gonna learn. Just like school, yeah? Get your tutoring cap back on.", she jokes.

When he replies, his words are muffled into her palm.

"Doin' pretty well already."

"Yeah?", she lights up at his assessment.

"Yeah. My first day, I broke so many things. I freaked out at every noise. You're holding up great.", he speaks quietly, bringing his hand up to cover her own on his cheek. He feels calm, almost serene.

"Well, I did break some stuff. And I freaked out earlier.", she points out.

"Mmhm… you did. Never heard you scream like that."

She bumps his knee with her own in admonishment.

"Don't make fun of the underdog. I'm extremely vulnerable right now.", she pouts.

"I could throw a car at you and you'd be ok."

She blinks once or twice, head tilting to the side in thought. He hopes she isn't getting any ideas, because he's seen that look many times in his life, and never have things ended well for either of them.

"You've had cars thrown at you.", is what she says however.

"Yeah?"

"Peter!"

"What?"

"You're in mortal danger. All the time. Oh my god… I just realized - that time Spider-Man had a building dropped on him? Or when he caught the tail end of that helicopter - oh my god, Peter!"

A forced huff escapes when she tackles him, and compared to her other hugs, this one feels… a little tight. Somewhat bone-crushing, he's even say. He suspects that her bursts of strength might be emotion-triggered.

"It's alright - I'm super durable, I promise.", he manages, though breathing isn't as easy as it was before.

She responds by burrowing further into his shoulder, and it strikes him without notice: a strange sensation, but irresistibly powerful. His arms come up to wrap around her, maybe tighter than they usually would. His nostrils are filled with her scent. He can smell nothing other than her, warm and familiar.

A surge of intense possessiveness takes hold of his brain the instant he catches the scent from the crook of her neck. His entire body feels electrified, eyes closing in foggy bliss.

Terrible mistake.

Too abruptly for it to be a normal reaction, his thoughts veer into scandalous territory. Her touch is so vivid over every inch of his skin that it's covering, but the worst of it is centered in his shoulder. His shirt has somewhat scrunched up, allowing a faint trace of her cheek and lips to come into direct contact with bare skin.

It feels like fire.

"Pete?"

Her voice vibrates through his entire body, bringing every nerve to attention. He realizes with half a brain working that he'd do anything she asked in that moment. Anything.

That should be enough to shock him out of his stupor, but it isn't. He's completely at the mercy of whatever she chooses to do next.

"I don't think I can let go.", come her uncertain words, driving another dagger into his every vein.

It's perfectly fine if she can't let go from his perspective.

"I think I'm stuck… to you. I don't know what I did. I'm sorry."

She sounds adorable. His mind is dancing on a cloud made of the same stuff as her sweet voice. He's losing his grip on sanity with every passing moment. What is happening to him?

"Please don't be mad. I really don't know how to let go. Help me."

Tires screech in his brain. He's just been dunked into a freezing pool. He moves with purpose he's never felt this strongly.

"You need to relax. Think of something that makes you feel safe, yeah? Let your muscles loosen up.", he instructs gently.

His voice is rougher than he's ever heard it, and the shiver that runs through her replicates throughout himself. It takes a few tries of her squirming and sighing, but she does eventually remove herself from him limb by limb. Moving back to her own spot on the floor, she sighs a final time.

"Whew… that was wild. I felt like a magnet. Is that how you feel?"

He feels… cold. Uncomfortable. Empty.

"Peter?"

He gets up with a jolt, backing away until he can't feel her scent pervading the air in his immediate vicinity. Moments pass in uncertainty, but little by little, he comes back to himself. Somewhat.

He's so fucked.

"Is everything ok? Talk to me."

No. No, no, no. This isn't happening. His eyes can't look away from her.

"Something's wrong. This… there's this - you can't feel anything?", he asks, fumbling over his words and feeling like ripping his hair out just to be able to concentrate.

Every single one of her gestures is picked up on and registered in his mind, but he isn't processing anything. He just knows how she's feeling without wondering or deciphering body language. What is this?!

She raises both brows, but soon breaks eye contact with a tisk.

"Um… I mean, there's a lot going on, right?", she asks, and he knows she's dodging the question. He knows she noticed something too.

"No. No, sweetheart - I need you to be honest with me. How are you feeling?", he presses, already losing his patience. All the possibilities are torturing his analytic mind.

She seems to ponder his desperate request, looking anywhere but at him and chewing on her bottom lip. She's restless too, he can tell.

"Well, um… When I hugged you just now? And I couldn't - let go? I think I…", she begins, pausing and frowning.

"Yes?", Peter urges.

When she looks at him abruptly, his heart freezes at what he sees in her eyes.

"I felt like I wanted to eat you."

A forced laugh escapes his lips unbidden, and he's just a little closer to insanity.

"What?!", he exclaims, shock coloring every letter of the word. It doesn't resemble a sound a human might make. He can see that she isn't joking, and nor is she smiling. She is one hundred percent serious.

"I don't know what's happening. I promise it wasn't like, a conscious decision. I just felt so weird, like it - like you - pff. I was so close to you, and you smell like nothing I've ever smelled before, and I just had this urge to bite -"

She doesn't finish, clamping a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and unblinking.

Whining starts a fraction of a second later.

"Oh my god! Oh my god, Peter, I am so sorry, I don't know what's going on with me. I don't know why I said that! Hmph, this is so bad… so bad.", she rambles, and he notices that her pulse is through the roof without even paying attention to it. He's automatically, at some point, tuned in to her every signal of distress.

He's going to burn Oscorp to the ground.

Well. After he's made sure this situation is under control.

He doesn't know how to go about doing that, however, except for one way that may or may not have just occurred to him. With decisive steps, he heads back to the kitchen, where the spider has been isolated per her request. He hears her follow after him some seconds later, and he wonders if it's due to the same ludicrous urge to not be too far away. He's actively fighting that urge right now.

There it is.

The worst creature to grace the earth since the very one that bit him. Little shit devil.

It rests unassuming on the bottom of the glass jar, though to Peter's great surprise, it does turn when he approaches and goes to grab the clear cylinder. Holding it up to eye level, he glares with all his might, as if that is somehow going to fix the problem they're facing. Well, at the very least, he hopes there's some unknown communication pathway between arachnids, and he hopes he can access it so as to direct many expletives at this particular spider.

Funnily enough, the spider doesn't seem to understand when death is wished upon it.

No matter. Death will be coming all the same, when Peter dissects its insides and makes an antidote from whatever he finds in there. Grabbing a knife from a nearby drawer, he punches a small hole through the aluminum lid of the jar before heading over to the sink.

"What are you doing?", she asks from the doorway.

He pauses, turning to look over his shoulder with annoyance. It isn't meant for her, but he can't help it.

"Drowning it. I need to open it up and figure out if there's something to reverse this - "

"No.", she interrupts, but he isn't sure he heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, no. You're not drowning her."

"Excuse me? Her?"

Has she lost her mind, or has he? Is this real?

Why is she coming towards him like that? Why - why is the hair on his arms standing up?

She stops only half a foot away, arms crossed and expression harsh.

"You heard me, Peter. You're not drowning her. Give her here."

Oh no. No… this - she isn't herself. This is beyond his understanding. Not an hour ago, she wouldn't even look at the fucking thing, and now she's asking to hold it? This is something else, something terrifying.

And he's still fighting against himself to resist giving her what she asks for. Just like earlier, whatever she says in the imperative, he feels he has to accomplish.

It's horrific, the thought that Oscorp may have engineered something of this sort. Mind control.

But it isn't just mind control, is it? No, because it doesn't seem to work the other way around. It's only her, having this effect on him.

"Look, if you don't want to see, that's fine. You can go back to my room, but I need to figure this out. You said it yourself, this is bad, yeah? Look at what's happening to us. I feel like you're a second away from hitting me. You just called a spider whose species we don't even know a she. How do you know the gender of the spider, sweetheart? Think about it!", he tries, but when her face falls even further into determination, he knows the battle is already lost. He isn't reasoning his way out of this with her.

"You can figure this out without hurting anyone. You're brilliant, and I trust you, but I'm not letting you do that."

They're locked in a stalemate for what feels like hours, staring each other down with increasing intensity.

She lunges for the jar he's still holding above the sink.

Dodging proves harder than he's used to anticipating from her, because her movements are lightning quick and even, dare he say, more nimble than his. He hates to admit, but it makes sense, in a very traditional sort of way. Are they really reverting to baser instincts now, where males are stronger but females more agile?

Way to make this even worse.

Although, his theory of mind control is proven correct: no amount of demanding that she stop pursuing him around the kitchen deters her, yet her own exclamations that he give it here and stop moving have a really terrible effect on his psyche. He's playing this on hard mode, a game of tug-o-war unfolding in his brain between what he knows is best and his desire to just do whatever she says.

It's that acute struggle that distracts him for just a second, but alas, a second is all it takes.

When she lunges forward again, it's with considerable strength behind it, spotting an opening in his concentration and seizing it. Peter doesn't move away in time, but he does attempt to switch hands, throwing the jar in the air from right to left and lifting his arm up high to catch it.

It's a futile attempt, because her reflexes counter it. Midway through her jump, she reaches an outstretched hand for the jar, managing to divert its path before it can reach Peter's left hand.

It goes flying somewhere behind him, and she attempts to catch it, forgetting that she also needs to catch herself.

There's a clash of broken glass, and a grunt from the force with which she barrels into him. Still, he's fast on his feet, sticking to the floor before she can topple them. His arms come around her waist, chin lifting to avoid collision with her forehead.

What happens next is a chain reaction.

Her harsh breaths resound in his ears, and her scent is once again all around him. When moments pass with no inclination to separate, despite the obvious disaster that just occurred a couple feet away from them, he heaves a sigh into her hair.

It's comfortable here. It's also scorching.

With her palms spread out on his chest and her face hiding between them, he's beginning to feel another surge like the one from before, only this time, it's tinged with something more than possessiveness.

Gulping discreetly when she lifts her head, he steels himself in order to meet her gaze. It's an unnecessary action, because her eyes hold no anger, nor do they regard him with disappointment.

No, the way she's looking at him subconsciously works his brain into a frenzy, albeit a vague one. He can't pinpoint any specific feeling, only an instinct brought about by her sparkling orbs.

Kiss her.

He falls prey to the command.

Peter's lips crash onto hers with passion he's never shown before, moving over the soft flesh with fervor that consumes every inch of his mind. His arms pull her impossibly closer, molding her to him and stealing a gasp from her chest. Her arms come up to lock around his neck, a tiny whimper escaping that he swallows greedily, tilting his head for better access. It isn't enough. He needs more, and his body moves of its own accord, tongue peeking out to lick her top lip, moaning in contentment when she parts them.

He'd suck the air from her lungs if he could, he realizes with detached horror, but he's too far gone to stop himself. He's never felt anything of this magnitude, and it doesn't help that a fantasy he's had for years turns out to crumble next to the real thing.

Her lips moving in tandem with his sends pulses of electricity down his back, or maybe it's her nails scratching at the nape of his neck and stirring trouble in other places. When he sucks on her bottom lip and plunges his tongue back into her mouth without warning, her moan ends him.

She's pressed against him, everywhere. Her skin is searing hot even through her clothes; it's worse beneath, he finds, one hand from her back moving under the thin blouse she's wearing.

He notes with delight that her lower back is extremely sensitive, because the noises that singular touch produces make him want to do more.

More, more, more.

He needs -

"Ow!", she exclaims, parting from his lips but moving no further.

Peter feels like crawling over broken glass.

"What is it? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, baby."

She shakes her head, but she isn't looking at him. Rather, she's staring down at their feet, and what he can see of her face doesn't reassure him. Neither do her next words.

"I think the fucking thing bit me again."

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The spider is dead.

It is most definitely, one hundred percent deceased, belly up on the kitchen floor, where it's been forgotten in favor of another crisis.

Over on the couch, she's having full body shivers like she's just been dunked into a frozen river. The three blankets he swaddled her in do nothing to help, and neither does the tea, because she can't stop vibrating for long enough to sip any.

At least she's fully conscious this time, because he cannot bring her to the hospital again. Twice in under 48 hours is cause for suspicion, and it's not like they could do anything for her anyway, just like last time.

Still, it doesn't mean Peter is any less inclined to panic. He's asked about seventeen questions with regard to her state already, and she's only answered eight or nine, pointedly looking away when they veered into the realm of ridiculousness.

Now, he doesn't know what to do or how to help, watching her like one might watch a wounded puppy they can't assist in any way.

"I'm not - dying. Stop looking at me - like that.", she asks, but the chattering of her teeth is severe enough to impede her speech. Thankfully, he's right next to her on the couch.

"What am I supposed to do? Look at you! I feel useless. How could I let this happen twice? It's my fault you're like this, and now who knows what'll happen? This is serious!", he defends, wanting to impress upon her just how fucked the situation is.

"I know that, P-Parker. What do you think, that this - is a picnic for me?", she glares, holding the blankets even tighter when another bout of violent shivers travels her body.

"No! That's the opposite of what I think!"

"Then - make y-yourself useful and - hold me.", she whines.

Peter does nothing.

He's shocked that he does nothing, but mostly he's shocked that there is no more ringing in his mind at her words.

"Say that again.", he asks. His serious face doesn't get the point across, but he doesn't blame her in her state.

"What, you want me to beg? Classy.", she scowls.

"Sweetheart, I'll hold you all night if you want, but I really need you to ask again. Trust me. It's important.", Peter explains, eyes boring into hers. She rolls them once before doing as he said.

Nothing. There is nothing happening anywhere in the corners of his subconscious, and for the first time since yesterday, he feels a glimmer of hope, even if she doesn't appear happy at his smile.

"Come here"

Two of the blankets need to be removed in order to make room in his arms, but the shivering doesn't amplify - another good sign. He isn't even sure she's entirely cold; rather, this might be more than a somatic symptom. Nudging her to stretch her legs out on the sofa, he tightens his arms around her upper body as she lays across his thighs.

Some shuffling later, she's finally comfortable, and she blinks up at him, leaning her head against his stomach.

"Better?"

"Mmhm. A little."

She's still shivering, although now it's less hypothermia and more… wet cat.

"What's gonna happen to me?"

The question pulls at his heart none too gently, and he struggles to put together an adequate response. He doesn't know, and he can't lie to her.

"I'll fix this. I promise. Even if I have to web up every scientist at Oscorp, I'll make this right.", he vows, running a hand over hers.

"You can't leave me here."

He wouldn't. Not in a million years. As long as she's in pain, or distressed, or even just in mildly low spirits, Peter isn't going anywhere, and he says as much. His promise curls her lips upwards in a gentle smile, and she nuzzles the side of her face into his shirt. The action doesn't provoke the same response out of him; there's no more electrifying prickles all along his spine. At least… not any more than usual.

He's back to being regularly flustered at her touch.

The realization does nothing for his nerves, however, when he thinks of the conversation they'll inevitably have. For now, though, he stays focused on the present so he can keep an eye on the progression of her condition.

They remain like that until her trembling subsides, and it isn't long before a yawn has her blinking slow and disoriented. He can't resist mirroring her, contagious sleepiness infecting him, but he shakes it off in favor of a check-in. He has hope for improvement.

Before her eyes fall shut, he wakes her with a squeeze of his arms and pulls her to sit up, drawing yet another yawn from her lips.

"What is it?", she mumbles.

He shifts in order to face her better, bringing up an arm between them - his left, just in case he's wrong about this.

"I need you to grip my arm, as hard as you can."

She's nonplussed.

"Grip your arm… for reasons?"

"It's called the scientific method.", he corrects, seeing a smile corrupting her composure.

"The science of stupid, you mean. What good is a broken arm? You saw what I did to the TV. You bragged about bench pressing police cars.”

"Just trust me. I have a feeling. I'm 83 percent sure you're back to normal.", he assures.

"That's still a giant margin of error. I'm not doing it.", she shakes her head.

"Ok, well - how about this: just start easy, and increase pressure gradually. I'll stop you if it's too much."

She considers it with a full pout, and he's endeared by the fact that she's so hesitant to hurt him. Earlier, she was just about ready to impale him over the attempted murder of a spider.

Removing the blanket from her shoulders, she lets it fall around her waist and takes his arm in both hands, one near the other in the middle of his forearm. Checking one more time by looking into his eyes, she starts squeezing with great concentration.

It's adorable.

That, and her touch is feather-like, a smirk forming on Peter's lips when he sees the realization slowly dawn on her face.

"You don't feel fluffy anymore!"

He sputters, caught off guard by her surprised remark.

"Excuse me? I'm not fluffy."

"I never said you were, I said you felt fluffy. Now you're back to… rock, or steel or whatever tickles your ego more.", she teases. Maybe he was too obvious when he puffed up his chest.

Tone it down, Parker.

He makes a face in response, and in a moment of childishness, she sticks her tongue out at him, but it's not the right move. It's not the right move, because he remembers that he now knows what she tastes like. What it feels like to kiss her. He knows exactly what that tongue can do, and he looks away in embarrassment. Maybe a good amount of shame, too.

He feels like he took advantage of her, because she wasn't herself earlier. It's quite obvious he wasn’t himself either, but between the two of them, the experience fell on his shoulders. He is the one who should've known better, who should've exercised more caution and not let himself lose his mind to the rhythm of her lips.

However delightful they may be.

He kissed his best friend. The woman he cares about more than he'll admit to her, and more than he even should, now knows that he isn't perfectly innocent or as gentlemanly as she always accuses him of being. No, Peter Parker had a moment of weakness and now -

"I'm sorry I kissed you… you know, earlier. It's uhm - it was on instinct, really. It's just that… that feeling came back and I couldn't stop, but I understand if you feel uncomfortable."

He's shaking his head before she's even finished talking.

"Sweetheart. I kissed you. I promise you this, that was on me. And if you were feeling out of control, then I definitely shouldn’t have been kissing you. The only one here who has reason to be uncomfortable is you. I'm sorry."

Hey eyes are fixed on his as if looking for a flaw in his words or maybe his entire being; he isn't sure, because he can't tell what she's thinking at all. He doesn't recognize this new honesty in her, if that's even what it is. She just seems to be regarding him with unprecedented openness, her body completely angled towards him, arms resting on either side of her thighs.

"I don't feel uncomfortable."

A pause. He doesn't catch his breath when he has the chance.

"If you kissed me, then I kissed you back. And I wasn't as out of control as you make it seem."

Her whisper reaches the deepest parts of his heart to ravage whatever the words find there. Desperation, shock… hope? They all envelop him at once. She is still holding his gaze captive.

"I wanted to kiss you, Peter. And… I wanted you to want to kiss me."

His lungs are burning, but he dares not give them relief. Not until…

"And I still do."

Some things are difficult, especially when one meanders about, wallowing for years in feelings they can't or won't rid themselves of. Some things take more than they give, and it's only when one breaks that the other finally stops. Some things… take time to blossom.

Nothing is easier, or more equal, or more beautifully complete than the union of their lips.

Slow and soft, it moves them to their core: a passion far superior to the one experienced in their hazy spell.

Yet, Peter has trouble giving himself completely to it.

"You mean that?", he mumbles, out of breath against her mouth, feeling her nod fervently.

"You want me?"

"I want you.", she confirms, barely finishing before he takes her lips again.

His kisses are short and frantic, unable to stop himself from uttering the things he's kept bottled up for years. They come spilling into her mouth, the most intimate place he could confess them.

"God, I love you."

"I was so worried."

"Thought you'd - mmpf - thought you'd hate me"

With a gentle push against his chest, she looks into his eyes, lips swollen and breath uneven.

"Why would I hate you?", she asks, allowing him one more kiss when he doesn't immediately calm. Peter leans his forehead against hers tenderly, caressing her cheekbone with the knuckles of his right hand.

"Because I put you through this. Because I lied about who I am. Because I kissed you when you were vulnerable."

There's a spark in her eye.

"Well first, I bought the berries. The spider was in my crate, that I bought, for a pie I wanted to make with you. Second, mm, yeah - that one's on you, but I'm not holding it against you. I understand, and I support you through it, as long as we promise to not hide things from each other from now on."

It’s his turn to nod like a madman.

"Good. Promise. And third, I don't think this point needs refuting, does it? But if you'd like more peace of mind, I'm giving you permission to kiss me whenever you'd like, because I love you too."

With that, Peter can finally let himself be swept off his feet by the culmination of their attachment, moving back into what was quickly becoming his favorite spot to be.

It's unclear to either of them how long they spend in each other's embrace, or how many more kisses are shared, but it's alright, because they have years of pining to make up for.

Strange, that the most unlikely of events would lead them here. While there are more details to investigate and a meddlesome corporation to topple, Peter can do all that in due time.

For now, he has his favorite girl, and a back catalog of questions he'd like to find the answer to.

She recites them for him all night, bringing both of them just a little closer to enlightenment.

- fin -

A/N: Here it is, the much requested part two. Hope you enjoy! As usual, I welcome your feedback however it may arrive. Thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a great week ahead.

Taglist: @ifilwtmfc ; @edgycatx

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teddi-too · 3 years ago

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Male Minotaur x Gender Neutral Reader (NSFW)

A/N: Lemon, 18+, my goodness this plot doesn’t make sense but it’s just a vehicle to the spice, ya know?

Finally, time away from the city, from work, from everyone. Sure some of your friends thought it was weird you wanted to rent a cabin in the woods for a week by yourself but it was heaven to you. Your job has been stressful lately and with working from home it never really felt like you got a break. You needed to get away, actually away. Out of your home. A chance to decompress and refresh.

You brought several books with you, some playing cards, and your laptop for when you broke down and needed a screen. The nearest residence was the owner of this cabin and that was nearly a mile away on the other side of the property. You were deep in the woods and you felt comforted by the seclusion. The cabin had everything you needed, a small kitchen that you loaded up with groceries from the nearest town, a surprisingly large bathroom with a huge whirlpool tub, a cozy living room with a gas fireplace, and the bedroom was a cute loft that you had to climb up a ladder to get to. There was a desk near the front window that you could sit and eat or play solitaire at and a small table and chair on the front porch.

You settled in and made yourself a cup of tea and sat on the porch. It was a long drive and by the time you had checked in, stocked up on groceries and unpacked, the sun was beginning to set. Instead of popping up to make dinner right away, you let yourself just watch the sunset sitting on the porch. The trees were so thick outside the cabin, you couldn’t really see the sunset but it was nice seeing the color change in the trees. The darkness seemed to swallow up the thick forest and you felt comforted knowing you were truly alone.

The next couple days were simple and lovely just like you had hoped. You slept in, made good meals and laid on the couch reading. But your favorite thing to do was to sit on the front porch and stare out into the woods. There was something healing about breathing in the fresh air and letting yourself do nothing.

The third day passed by just the same except when you were on the porch eating your dinner, you felt differently than you had before. You didn’t feel the same emptiness from the woods that you did before. It almost felt like something was watching you. You stared at the treeline, scanning for movement and trying to convince your quickening heartbeat that you were, in fact, alone. You stared at the treeline so long you must have gotten dizzy because you swear you saw some greenery moving on its own. A mossy mass of...rocks or something behind the trees looked like it had moved. But that would be ridiculous. Rocks don’t move, moss doesn’t breathe...even though that’s what it definitely looked like it was doing.

Your throat was dry and even though you felt a little silly, you called out anyway.

“Hello? Um...trees-forest? Are you...alive? Are you...watching me?”

What the fuck, you immediately thought. Did you just talk to the forest? You stood up and started to gather your plate and silverware.

“I’m sorry.” You heard a faint, low voice respond. You froze in your tracks, eyes widening to try to see anything in the dusk. “I just liked watching you. Please, don’t be scared.”

Ok, yup. Three days in isolation and you have started hearing voices. You thought for sure it would take longer than that, you thought you could at least make it a week and be ok. You closed your eyes tight and then opened them to scan the treeline again. The mass of moss and rock you had eyed earlier was now gone. Your heart sank. You began to stop forward towards the edge of the porch.

No, stupid feet. The other way. Inside. Inside!

“Who are you?” you called again, your voice slightly shaky. You heard some trees groan, some leaves shook, and then out between two trees emerged the most beautiful creature you had ever seen.

It was tall and broad, its body rippled with muscle and its skin was a cool greenish gray that mimicked the woods around it. It had the head of a bull, with ivory horns extending upward. It had a thick, shaggy mane framing its face that stretched down its neck and covered its shoulder. It’s torso looked like a human man albeit with more muscles than any action movie hero you had ever seen. Your eyes followed along its thick arms down to its hands which nervously turned over and over each other.It’s middle section melted back into the same mossy looking fur of its man and its legs returned to a more bull-like anatomy ending in large hooves. It...he...looked exactly like a minotaur out of a fantasy novel. His face was kind from what you could see, his mane hung shaggily over his eyes a bit. He had to be over seven feet tall. How he had hidden himself so well among the trees was a mystery.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. You just are so beautiful...I couldn’t help but watch you.” he said, his deep voice getting smaller and smaller as he finished his sentence until watch you came out as a whisper. You were so mesmerized by this creature any fear you had before subsided.

“It’s ok, do you have a name?” It felt like an odd question, considering it was clearly an intelligent creature that spoke your language but you didn’t know what else to say. What are you? seemed like a terribly rude thing to say. The creature shrugged.

“No, I’m…” he seemed to be searching for words, “the guardian of this forest. Which mostly means I just live here.” You chuckled and he looked at you with a small smile. You told him your name and explained that you were just visiting for a few days. The minotaur knew this cabin well, he liked to come and see who the visitors were. Though, you learned, most of them weren’t as quiet and respectful as you. Most of them came to binge drink and make a mess for a weekend. It made him happy how often you just liked to sit and look out at the forest, his forest.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Are there more like you?” you asked, smiling. He seemed to light up at your comment for a moment before the spark dimmed a bit.

“You really think I’m beautiful?” he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “I’m...the only one that I know of. I’ve been alone since I was a calf.” You frowned at the sadness in his voice.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said and began to walk towards him. He backed up a few steps as you got close. “I’m sorry, should I...keep my distance?”

“No, it’s just...most people are scared of me or...want to...hurt me.” he said while looking at the ground. He massaged his bicep and you noticed a dark scar stretching across his arm. “I usually stay away from people but…I feel drawn to you and I'm not sure why.” He didn’t move further back when you continued to step towards him.

“I’m so sorry people have been cruel to you. I would never hurt you, I...you’re so…” your words trailed off. You felt drawn towards him too. You looked back at the cabin, wondering if he could even comfortably come inside. While you were looking away, he had closed the distance between you. You turned and looked up at him. You reached your hand out to touch him. There was tension pulsing between your bodies. You wanted him, you couldn’t explain why you wanted to give yourself so freely to him but you did. You were so certain of it.

The fur around his neck and upper chest that had looked almost like grass and moss from far away turned out to be soft and thick and cool to the touch. Your fingers could nearly disappear into it. He lowered himself so that you were nearly face to face. You stroked him softly from cheek to chest playing in his fur. Your light, wanting touch seemed to relax him and he began to lean towards you. He snout nuzzled into the crook of your neck. He breathed in your scent deeply. You felt a long, thick tongue lick up your neck. It was warm and heavy on your skin. It caused an electric and staticy feeling to pool in your lower abdomen. You realized quickly how badly you wanted him--to explore him, touch him, feel him.

He pulled away and looked at you earnestly with wanting eyes. His strong hands danced up and down your arms and you weren’t sure if he was reassuring you or himself. You smiled at him and nodded your head, closing your eyes and moving in to kiss him. He circled his arms low around your waist and returned your kiss. Before you realized it, he had pulled your feet off the ground and was holding you against him. He straightened himself and you put your legs around him. He so smoothly and effortlessly navigated your height difference to make it so neither of you were straining to meet each other. Pressing against his body, wrapped in a deep, sloppy kiss your body couldn’t help but react to him. Heat moved throughout your body, concentrating in your core and desire took over you. Holding tight to the giant creature, your hips began to writhe slowly against him.

You broke from the kiss every so often to check in on him, cupping his jaw in your hands, placing small chaste kisses on his snout, moving your hands through his mane and rubbing his chest. Never parting for long before returning to his mouth.

“I want you--need you,” you said breathlessly. He leaned over and layed you gently on the hard ground and crouched down onto his knees. He stilled himself for a moment and then reached out his hand to you.

“I want you to touch me but...I know that I’m...different” he trailed off, his eyes breaking contact with yours. You sat up and closed the distance between you once again and kissed his chest and ran your hands over his muscled body.

“Please, believe me when I say I want this...I want you. You’re beautiful.” You weren’t sure how else to convince him that you were being sincere so you took your hands away from him and began to remove your clothing. His jaw dropped slightly and his eyes moved all over your body as he took in the sight. He cooed compliments about your figure, your skin, your complexion, he babbled on and on until you were naked in front of him. When you had finished taking off your clothes you looked at him and noticed he was palming his crotch. You touched his arm gently and he moved his hand away to let you see.

The bulge you barely noticed before had grown bigger and there was a small opening that wasn’t visible earlier. You reached out and traced your fingertips along the opening. It was warm and slick. You cupped the bulge in your hands and began massaging it. Looking up at his face, his eyes were closed tight and he was nodding his head compulsively. His fists were balled up, settled on his hips. He was used to his own hands being his only source of pleasure but he wanted your touch to be what undid him this time.

As you massaged him, the tip of his penis began to push out of the sheath. The head was round and thick, red and glistening with his own slick. You continued to work the sheath, watching in awe as his full length pushed itself out of his body before falling heavily against his thigh. His cock was long and thick and your body pulsed with your need for it. He parted his thick, muscled thighs, spreading his knees apart further to give you better access. You took a deep breath and your body tightened at the sight wondering what it would feel like to be stuffed with his cock.

You slowly trailed your fingers along the top of his hard cock before encircling it in your palm. It was heavy and warm, your fingers could barely meet around its girth. You dipped your head lower and dragged your tongue along his member. It was sticky with the cooled slick from his sheath.

After teasing his length with your tongue, you took him into your mouth. He was so thick, the corners of your mouth felt stretched just taking the tip. You slipped your mouth as far down the shaft as you could and began to suck, bobbing your head lightly along his length. You breathed in through your nose, trying to relax your throat and mouth to take more of him but he was just so large. You resigned to focus in on the head of his cock where you could more easily create suction with your mouth. You stayed there teasing his tip until you could taste his precum begin to weep. His hips jutted forward instinctively, choking you on his length. You pulled away with a cough, drool falling from your mouth.

You heard him clear his throat, attempting to regain his composure. You smiled up at him and began to move your hand up and down his shaft to extend his pleasure. You reached out with your other hand cupping his testicles and rubbed over one then the other with your thumb. The only sound you could hear was his heavy breathing and his choked back groans. His large hands reached down towards you, pawing at you with no real intention. He was overwhelmed with the sensation of your hands working him.

His hand cupped your chin gently and pushed lightly on your shoulders to signal you to lay down again. Inching forward on his knees, he grabbed your sides and lifted you up onto his hips so he could reach your entrance more easily. You could feel his hard cock digging into your back and you laid, exposed and vulnerable against him.

He took his large thumb and stuck it in your mouth, you sucked on it slowly moving your head in an exaggerated way that drove him wild. He pulled back his hand and used his wet thumb to start massaging your entrance; slow large circles just next to your entrance. A cool electric feeling stretched out from your sex throughout your entire body. After teasing your entrance, moving closer and closer with his thumb quickening his pace he moved his hand away, leaving your desire falling off a cliff.

You whined at the loss of his touch and tried to move your hips to show your need. He smirked, moved your body up on him further and dipped his muzzle down towards your sex. His breath was hot and heavy as he moved his snout over sex wanting to take you in with all his senses. He nuzzled your entrance with his lips briefly before opening his mouth and laying his strong tongue against you. His tongue was wide and flat and moved over your hole with a heaviness that left you wordlessly begging for more. His drool mixed with your own slick left you sopping wet and pulsing with need. He worked the outside of your entrance for a dizzyingly long time before dipping his tongue into you. You could feel his cock twitch beneath you and you knew you both wanted all of each other.

He tasted you, moving his tongue in and out of you, lapping over your entrance until he was confident you were ready to take his large cock. He longingly moved his hands over your body as he repositioned you. You reached for his cock and stroked it a few more times making sure he was at the same height of his desire as you were. You stared intensely at one another, your bodies pulsing with anticipation.

He lined himself up with your entrance and you felt his thick cock press against you.

“Please” you whined, not able to take the slow pace any longer. You knew he wanted to savor this but your body needed him so badly. He pushed into you slowly and you let out a loud gasp as your body clenched and spasmed trying to take him in. Your eyes stung with tears as he continued to move into you, stretching you to your limit. When he got to a place where he felt like he couldn’t push in further, he slowly moved out of you; then back in again. He picked up his pace just slightly moving in and out, working you open with his cock, pushing deeper in as he thrusted.

He grunted quietly as he continued to move faster and faster and you returned with your own moans. The wet sucking noises of him fucking you filled the cool night and your body felt like it was swimming in pleasure. You tried moving your hips in pace with his to multiply the friction your bodies were experiencing but he was so big and you were so overcome with bliss you got lost in the feeling.

Making you thunder back into the present moment, you cried out loudly as he placed the heel of his hand into your stomach rutting into you with even more strength than before. The added pressure of his hands on your torso made you see stars and your first orgasm ripped through you without any warning. Your body felt hot and sparks pricked all over your skin as he fucked you through your orgasm, never slowing down. You tried to catch your breath and steady yourself but he began fucking you even faster, pushing into you nearly past your limit as he chased his own release.

“I-want to see me all over you” he stuttered out, a grunt and thrust punctuating each word. You nodded wordlessly, your head dizzy as your overstimulated hole spasmed around his cock. He pushed into you a few more times before he pulled himself out of you and let you drop roughly to the ground. His voice strained against his desire as he grabbed his cock and started stroking himself. Your body buzzed with anticipation and you started fingering your hole waiting for him to finish all over you.

His head thrashed, horns cutting wildly through the air, suddenly reminding you of his bull upper half. His pace was erratic as he worked himself to the edge, he stuck his hips forward to move over your body and he came with a roar. Thick ropes of white-hot come erupted from his cock and landed on your torso. He continued to stroke himself, moving his hips as he came, sending his seed all over your neck, face and on the ground around you. His whole body seemed to spasm and he fell forward on to his hands, breathing heavily and hovering above you. The sight of him coming sent another shiver up your body as your hole pulsed around your fingers, desire still swimming around you.

After pausing for a moment, both of you quiet in your blissed out state, he placed a hand on your chest, fingering his own seed admiring the mess he made of you. He placed a come covered finger over your lips and pushed into your mouth, watching your reaction as you tasted him. You sucked his release off his finger.

“How many more days are you here?” he panted, still catching his breath. You laughed and put your arms around his thick neck. Your body felt completely drained of all strength and you weren’t sure you’d even be able to lift yourself off the ground right then.

“Do that again and I might never leave.”

#exophilia #teratophillia #terato #monster lover #monster x reader #monster fucker #minotaur #minotaur x reader

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice.

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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tangledinmdzs · 3 years ago

Note

Hi there! So this is my first time requesting so is it ok to request for LXC, JC, SL and XXC where they save their s/o from a fierce corpse or monster in soulmate au?

hi!

sure thing, i will do my best to deliver!

here’s your request~

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Lan Xichen

(telepathy soulmates)

your aid in night hunts was very particular and special

that being, to tend to injured cultivators

you were not to fight,

as your juniors told you

and as your soulmate, Sect Leader, Lan Xichen, had also reminded you

but now,

when the fight came to you,

(that being the vengeful demon that had struggled out of the exorcism circle and crashed into your tent)

how could you not fight?

with only your medical skills to guide you, you throw potion after poison with your best aim

as stronger cultivators help injured ones escape

y/n! y/n! you have to leave!

but the demon is vicious

and even though your medical supplies are strong

they are no match for the demon’s hateful spirit

you shield your head just as the supply boxes are thrown at you, falling to your knees when a particular one slams into your legs

the demon howls happily, preparing itself to ascend on you just as a smooth sound crescendos across the havoc

at the notes of the xiao the demon withers and screams in agony, and disappears out of the tent to escape

you attempt to stand but gasp as the pain that makes your knees buckle even from the slightest bit of weight

the tears fall out of your eyes unconsciously, and they blur your vision

so you don’t notice the tent flap roughly tugged open, or realize who has ran towards you, kneeled down beside you

only when your tired body is pulled against soft robes, do you realize that you are not alone,

“i’ve failed you, the demon...”

even though they are just your thoughts Lan Xichen hushes you, uses his robe sleeves do dab at your tears,

“you have not failed me, you are alive. that is what’s most important” Lan Xichen promises, holds your teary stare

he lets you hide your face in his chest, shelters you from the world

Jiang Cheng

(color blind until meeting, soulmates)

you shouldn’t be here

with your world in monochrome, the forest path leading to your village had always had an ominous air to it,

you are sure that the forest would be beautiful, if you ever were to meet your soulmate and see color

but now, in the dark of night

everything was ominous

you had lost track of time picking wild berries and mushrooms

and only now when you are walking along the worn path

do you realize that the evening was slipping into night time

as the last rays of the sun disappear behind the tall pine trees,

you feel more lost

more fearful

especially when the air becomes so silent, you can only hear your own breath

especially when suddenly,

something seems to be following you

you dare take a glimpse behind just to catch a shadow, a fog, something

it is unclear, but it scares you

and you run blindly

run, run run run run, off the path, deeper into the forest, if only to get away from the sound of the thing crashing and howling behind you

you trip on your run, the dark of the forest floor and the late night blending in together

your fall sends you rolling down a small incline,

enough for pain to shoot up your arms

and for you lay motionless once the world is no longer spinning in your vision

as you lay there, you wonder if you would even be given a grave, your death unknown as it would be

just as your vision darkens entirely,

a light of purple, like a thunder strike, lights up the forest

and everything falls silent

Song Lan

(red string of fate, soulmates)

the red string at the end of your pinky had always stretched out mysteriously before you

you’d never follow its path before

and having grown up in a small secluded village,

it didn’t really seem like a feasible option

all of these years alone, living and going about the same routine

there was a semblance of acceptance

but as you’re faced with the gaping jaws of a vicious dog/wolf demon

you can’t help but feel unlucky

you want to scream, for any kind of help

but your village is still too many paces away

and the path that you had taken had always been empty

you cover your head, cornered as you are

and pray that at the very least, death could be painless

you cover your eyes, hold your breath

and for the longest time all that seems to surround you is the noise of your impending death

but then,

“are you alright?”

it is another human voice, a soft gentle, human voice

and your hands come off your face

and you open your eyes

the man that stares down at you has a cold serious, but not unwelcoming face

and you stare at him for a beat before skittering your eyes away, landing on the red string of his own hand

it is short

and you wished that your distance was just as short

you bring your hand to your lap, and after another moment realize that the string

is connected

Xiao Xingchen

(pain detection soulmates)

it is nothing particularly winding as much as it is surprising

Xiao Xingchen had always had a very high pain tolerance

as a strong cultivator, it is a must in his technique

but the pain that he was suddenly feeling now,

was an incredibly deep, humming warmth against his side

it felt as if his own qi was being taken, even though that can’t be possible

it takes Xingchen a moment to remember the haunted inn at the small village he was currently in

and the supposed demons-

Xingchen leaves the shop that he is in quickly,

runs through the town as the feeling in his side burns all the more

he runs to the near outskirts of the town,

bursting through the rickety doorway of the haunted establishment

Xingchen hears a muffled breathing, shallow breathing and lunges at the demon

even without his sight, Xingchen can sense the demon clearly, his gut hasn’t proved him wrong

and when it is slain

the quietness of the inn lobby makes him wonder

makes him unnecessarily fearful,

as a cultivator he is too familiar with death

yet...

Xingchen drops to his knees, hand reaching out blindly, painfully until he meets soft but torn robes

your hand is cold when he holds them, though when he feels your wrist there is hope again at the sluggish tug of your pulse

as Xingchen concentrates and pours his own spiritual energy into you

the pain in his side gradually lessens,

disappears

and he barely questions why

#mdzs #mdzs request #mdzs requests #mdzs anon requests #mdzs imagine request #mdzs scenario request #mdzs headcanons #mdzs reader insert #mdzs reaction request #mdzs lan xichen x reader #jiang cheng x reader #mdzs song lan x reader #mdzs xxc x reader #tangledwriting

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quirklessthot · 4 years ago

Text

Nomu-Sitting

request: This is kinda kinky... but the reader has been desperately horny for a while but Shigaraki has been too busy, so the reader takes matters into her own hands and has a nomu screw her. Shigaraki walks in about half way through and ends up taking a seat to enjoy the show. (Feel free to ignore this, I won't be offended! But like, thank you so much if you do ♡!)

👁👄👁

i changed up some things, instead dabi asks reader to look after the nomu he’s supposed to be watching since he has better things to do

warnings: 18+, monster-fucking, dub-con/non-con, voyeurism, degradation, cheating (?)

He… it… the nomu stares at you, unblinking. Well, you’re not sure if it’s staring at you. The tiny black pinpricks of its irises seem to almost go in separate directions. It definitely took notice when you had entered the room, if its low growl and sniffing at the air were any indication – but had no other reaction once you were standing a few feet in front of it. You tilt your head to the side to test your theory and to your childish delight it copies the action, huffing out a breath at your laugh.

With broad shoulders and biceps bigger than your head, the hulking behemoth makes an imposing figure. Even hunched over the way it is, the difference in height between you two isn’t easy to ignore. Dabi’s words of warning ring in the back of your mind: ‘Whatever you do, don’t get too close to it. Not grabbing distance, anyway.’

But the docile giant in front of you is nowhere near as scary as it was made out to seem.

You take a step forward and tentatively reach out a hand to pet the side of its face, just shy of its chin. It responds with a pleased rumble that vibrates up your arm, and cranes its neck to get closer.

What was Dabi even worried about, you wonder, smiling to yourself. The nomu is almost like a puppy. A massive, deformed puppy with the strength to crush a truck with its bare hands but… it’s cute, in its own way - exposed brain matter and all.

The sense of security you tricked yourself into is immediately shattered when you feel a hand grip your waist – so massive in size it easily dwarfs you. Trying not to panic, you attempt to take a step back. “Alright big guy, I think that’s enough for now,” you say, voice light.

You pray it can’t smell fear.

Of course, it doesn’t listen and instead pulls you closer with way too much ease, pressing you right up against its bare chest. Its body is almost uncomfortably warm and you’re not sure if it’s the radiating heat or the threat of harm that has you sweating.

You’re openly trembling now, biting your lip to keep your whimpers in. You don’t want to scare or upset it with any sudden noises; the nomu is strong enough to squish your head like a grape and you’d prefer to stay alive.

This is fine, you desperately try to convince yourself. It’s just curious. It’s not going to hurt you.

…right?

You can’t hold back the whimper when the nomu presses its beaklike mouth against your neck, tongue slithering out to lave against your neck. The muscle is big, slimy with saliva that quickly coats your neck and jaw, dripping thickly to drench the collar of your shirt. You shudder.

Too preoccupied with trying to not dry heave at the feeling of monster spit all over you, you fail to realize the reason it grabbed you. Pulling you a bit closer, it brazenly begins humping you, the movements of its hips becoming progressively more frantic and aggressive. You’re shocked into stillness by the heavy weight of its hard cock rubbing up against your stomach. Even through the layers of clothing, you can tell that it’s much bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. This is so fucked… a distant voice in your head echoes.

You nearly jump out of your skin when it suddenly lets out a guttural growl, clearly becoming frustrated with the lack of proper stimulation.

“Shh… It’s ok,” you say, voice lowered into what you hope is a soothing tone.

You try to pry yourself away but the nomu responds with a snarl, grip tightening to the point of pain. You wince and immediately give up on moving. It’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

Despite your reservations, your eyes find themselves shifting towards the tent in the monster’s pants. You gulp, looking around the empty room guiltily. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little curious…

Shaky hands reach down to unbutton the monster’s pants, a feat considering what little space there is between you two. The movement of its hips drag the khakis down until they fall into a heap at its feet. What is revealed has your eyes going wide and your jaw slackening in shock. The veiny column of flesh is massive – almost as thick as your wrist and topped with a large, bulbous head steadily leaking sticky precum that is smeared against your hip with every thrust.

Almost without even thinking, you grab ahold of its dick and begin stroking. The generous amount of precum makes the slide easy, almost slippery. This placates the beast for a short time – enough to at least let you out of its vice-like hold – but soon it’s made clear that your hand is not enough.

Without much preamble, you’re lifted off your feet and turned around, now facing the gray walls of the nomu’s containment room. You let out a surprised squeak and cast a nervous glance downwards to see the head of its dick peeking out between the plushness of your thighs.

It ruts into the warmth of your clasped thighs for a while before angling upwards, immediately becoming annoyed with yet another barrier- this time it’s your clothing in its way. Large hands begin groping at your pants before tearing into them as if they were made of paper. The flimsy material of your underwear doesn’t stand a chance against the hulking behemoth and they soon join your shorts on the floor in tattered shreds.

You cry out. “Wai- wait, no! Stop! Stop, let me just--”

Your words are cut off when the nomu rears its hips back before pushing forward. The first few thrusts miss their mark, bumping up against your sensitive clit instead, but on the fourth attempt the head of it’s cock catches on the rim of your entrance and that alone has your breath catching and your mind going blank. The feeling of it pushing in soon snaps you out of your daze and you begin struggling anew. You reach a desperate hand behind you but pushing against the monster’s chest felt like pushing against a solid brick wall – utterly pointless.

Even with you struggling and flailing limbs, it manages to work its cockhead past the ring of twitching muscle, and you feel like you’re being split in half with just the tip in.

It’s too much. It’s too much and you need to get away.

But the nomu keeps going, forcing inch after agonizing inch into your tight, (barely) wet heat.

You let out a broken gasp when it bottoms out, cunt clenching down hard on the too-large intrusion and body going slack in its hold. Even with the unnaturally copious amounts of precum it’s producing, the stretch is uncomfortable.

The head of its cock is shoved up against the mouth of your cervix with every push and you’re not sure whether you love or hate it, but it’s definitely a feeling you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. It’s hard to ignore how good the mindless fucking is starting to feel and after two consecutive orgasms, you’re wet enough that the slide of its dick is much easier. Wet slaps echo off the walls of the large, barren room. And for a while it’s the only sound, overlaid by the monster’s grunts and pants and your own high-pitched whining and moans, until the door is opened.

The grating of heavy metal against concrete brings you out of your haze, raspy, like the voice of the person opening the door.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? I had to ask Dabi if he knew where you were sulking. Are you done being a bi—”

Shigaraki stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. The lewd scene playing out before him robs the words right out of his mouth. It’s not every day you see your half-naked girlfriend getting fucked silly by a nomu, after all.

He stares.

You stare right back, mortification quickly overpowering your arousal.

This interruption goes completely ignored by the nomu, who continues to rut into you from behind.

“Tomura! I can— ah!” You try to come up with an excuse but at that exact moment the nomu gives a particularly rough thrust that has you seeing stars, powerless to keep your eyes from rolling in your head.

Shigaraki curses under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away. He should be angry. Furious, that not only would you fuck someone else but a mindless nomu of all things. The thought alone should have his blood boiling. But the blissed-out look on your face as you’re handled as nothing more than a fucktoy by a creature twice your size has his blood instead rushing to his cock.

Without a word, Shigaraki closes and locks the door behind him, before advancing towards you, face dark and unreadable. He grasps your face in one hand, pinky lifted, squishing your cheeks, and jerking your head up so that you’re forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“You filthy fucking whore,” he laughs, chapped lips spread in a mean grin. “That desperate to be fucked you couldn’t even wait?”

The harsh words have your eyes watering, tears just on the edge of falling, but they do nothing to dampen your arousal.

You moan in reply, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “T-tomura…”

Shigaraki sneers, letting go of you to reach down and pull out his own half-hard dick, giving his palm a long lick, and begins to stroke himself. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?” he grunts, giving the head a squeeze. “Now look at you. Stuffed with so much cock you don’t even know what to do with all of it.”

He continues to berate you as he jerks himself off, taking delight in your embarrassment.

It’s a relief when the nomu finally cums with a roar, holding your ass right up against its stilled hips. The huge cock twitches and pulses inside of you, unloading what feels like gallons of hot cum right into your womb. You groan out a few unintelligible noises, brain turned to mush, as one last orgasm is pulled from you, thankfully much weaker than the previous ones. You’re so out of it you don’t even notice when Shigaraki steps closer, hand on his dick speeding up until he’s groaning and painting your face with his cum.

Panting heavily, you wearily glance up at Shigaraki, a plea to not share a word of what just happened to anyone already on your tongue. He doesn’t say anything as he tucks himself back into his pants but just by the look in his eyes and the barely concealed smirk, you can tell you’re never going to hear the end of this.

#y'all don't look at this; don't look at me #i gotta say i didn't expect to be outed as a monster-fucker this early in my tumblr career #dubcon #dubcon tw #shigaraki x reader #nomu x reader

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theramseyloft · 3 years ago

Text

7/9/21 Loft Notes

Brightheart ate yesterday.

Not doing the sick-hunch, but DEFINITELY fear-hunkering in the farthest corner.

Gave both antibiotics this morning.

She keeps looking at the food like she wants some, but may not be willing to eat with me in the room.

Articulate enough to preen around behind her wing.

Preened her tail for a bit.

Ate a few bites of food.

I have to hold the back of her head to get her oral antibiotics down safely.

Understandably, that's stressful and hurts.

Had a brief nap, and is now preening on one foot.

Doing aaaaalllll the stretches.

I think I can go out to the loft now and not worry so much that she'll have crashed when I come back in and I'll have missed the window for humane euthenasia, causing her to suffer for nothing.

Just confirmed that Spangle's owner has been found!

He was gracious enough to allow her to hatch and wean her peeps before she goes home, but he has been looking for her and is relieved to have found her.

Patron: "A bit sad to lose her from the loft, but it's wonderful to have found the owner, and one who was missing her at that. How often have we seen, "No, we don't want them back?" "

Rollers aren't supposed to navigate, and apparently the mark of a good flier is birds that come back to their hand. Their breeders usually want them back, if you can find them.

He actually sought me out for Luxie. So, once her peep is on the ground, she has a home that won't actually try to fly her.

Couture tread Amiga.

She was trying to entice Thistle, but did not protest when Couture tread her instead.

Oh! Violent kisses!

Thistle is a liiiittle old fashioned for Amiga.

She kissed him silly and immediately dropped and presented.

He needed to finish displaying and circled her twice before treading her.

Now she and Couture are violently making out.

By which, I mean he doesn't even get to do the show off preens before she just steps up and forces her beak down his throat.

Couture is SUPER into that and they'll just feed back and forth without breaking the kiss for like a full minute.

Ok.

The older Harli gets, the less I think she's Satin's.

Patron: "Good thing you decided to keep her then?"

Yeah.

I think she's Leonard's.

She's spread.

Y'all need to see Lucy's magnificent bosom.

Patron: "Lucy you need a bra ma’am"

Foob has its own goddamn gravitational pull.

Patron: "lucy, the newest character in the dead or alive volleyball game"

(Furry artists, this is how you design a female bird with a realistically gigantic bust.)

Brightheart got their second doses of internal and external antibiotics.

While I was working in the loft, they ate about half of what I gave them.

Poos are good and solid.

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rent-a-bat · 3 years ago

Text

Drabble #4

Promt: #14 “Stay with me”

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

A/N: And its alive!! My end-of-semester baby! Felt like a fever dream to write it, but i still love it. Will my son ever be happy? I don't know. Will this try to make up for that? Probably not.

Enjoy!! Hope you like it and let me know what you think.

No one really knew, even the people who did their best to help. They were all pretending, their sympathetic smiles and fake words of encouragement, the sentiment wasn't there because most of them have never experienced it, at least not yet.

Losing someone was common, a tragedy that makes you cry, looking for console with those you have left, but losing everyone was worse, especially in Gotham, where the streets are harsh and for a child alone, they are harsher, it cares not for the weak and if you're trying to stay alive, the only thing you can do is toughen up.

The life you had ended with a bang, or two, could have been three if you hadn't been fast enough, the bullet only hitting your shoulder, but your parents weren't so lucky as they fell to the floor with a shot in their chest. The sounds of the police coming closer alerted by the shots, made the robbers flee before they could do anything else, leaving you for dead.

After leaving the hospital, the things that followed are still a blur, too much for your mind to truly comprehend even after all these years.

After a couple of years on the streets, with your fare share of fights, doing everything you had to survive, a fateful night came when you met face to face with the Batman, the way he looked at you and the sound of his voice as he handed you a card for Wayne Industries still gives you chills, but not because you were frightened, but from understanding, he knew your grief like it was his own.

The next day, a seconding meeting came and it was none other than Bruce Wayne, charismatic as everything you'd expect a billionaire to be, and there was something in his voice too, you'd heard the story, he also knew how it was, but there was something else, the way he said it made you think of someone else.

And just like that, barely a week since your first encounter, your new life began.

Being with the Waynes wasn't like you thought.

It took you a while to get used to it, the attention, the press, the people. Outside it was all publicity, the media trying to get a hold of you, anything they could get their hands on to sell and make money, a new gold mine. But back in the mansion, it was anything but, still it was a new place to be and new people to meet. In the streets this would have meant a new place to fight, to win your place, new people to watch out for, and a whole lot to be wary of, until your place was set. In the mansion no one stole your food, none took your stuff, there was nothing to hide and no one to hide from, it felt overwhelming. You were brash in the beginning, even when you knew all they wanted was to help, and still, they stayed with you. You met them little by little, first Alfred and Cass, then Damian, and Tim, and Dick. The rest of the kids, of your family, and on each set of eyes, the same emotion looked back at you, you all understood, you had all lost something, and yet, no one felt the same, not like yours, until you met him.

It was only a matter of time until you knew their secret. Until you finally found why Bruce had reminded you of someone all those months ago, because Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same. It was a shock, but not unbelievable, it all had to come out in a way, the anger and the pain, you understood the need to fight, either for yourself or for those who couldn't, even if the city had taken from you, you still gave back, fighting so that they wouldn't suffer like you.

It was with that same feeling that you asked him to train you, you still wanted to fight, and that was the only way you knew. So he did.

You were down the cave when the roar of an engine startled you, taking you out of the lull you've been for the past hours, threatening to make you sleep while on duty.

It took you weeks to convince Bruce to train you, to let you join him in the fight and twice that time for him to finally let you close, or as close as a computer would allow. All that time you trained, mind and body. Every goal he set, you surpassed it, getting better and better each time, you did all you had to, but it was never enough. One night, after finally reuniting all your courage, you asked him the thing that kept bothering you.

“Why won't you let me help? You keep me here learning all that stuff, training day and night, and for what?” your voice a mirror of your feelings.

“Because you're not ready”

“ I am!”

“No. You're not, you still need practice, training.”

“But I AM! Why won't you let me at least show you?”

“Because last time I let someone help without being ready, it became one of my greatest mistakes.”

Somehow, what he said didn't sit right with you. You knew who Bruce was talking about, what happened and how it ended, and if you two had felt the same, then it wasn't a mistake, not for him, not for you and that bothered you the most.

You turned around to see who had arrived, the engine was not one you've heard before, but no alarm was set off. Your breath got caught when you finally looked at him, a sound leaving your mouth before you could help it, making him turn. He was imposing, nothing like the stories, no, he was more, the red on his chest matching the color of his helmet, shining brighter with every step as he made his way to you.

Everyone in the city talked about Batman, Nightwing and Robin, every criminal feared them. But in the streets it was him, the Red Hood, the one you felt the closest to, even without knowing him, the one you could relate to. And when he finally took off his helmet and your eyes found each other, you understood. No one really knew, even those who have lost too, no one has shared the same pain, the one only Gotham could give, no one until him. Because in his eyes you could see the same fight, of losing everyone, no one to console you, of having everything taken, and still coming out victorious. And he found the same in you.

“You must be the new one.” he said with a smirk, arms crossed as he looked at you. “I’m Jason.”

You matched his pose, not letting him intimidate you. “And I'm y/n.” you said, raising a brow, daring him, a challenge.

The laugh he gave you as an answer was one of the best sounds you've heard since coming here.

The time you spent with him from then on was something you could hardly put into words. The one connection you were looking for since you came here was finally there and you weren't going to let go.

After hearing from you of Bruce’s refusal, he began to train you, if Bruce couldn't give you what was needed, then he would. Everything he did was the opposite of Batman, he was harder, relentless. This was the real training, the one that saves lives the way Gotham needs, even if it isn't what it wants. And like things tend to happen, problems arouse.

The first time you fought with Bruce he was there with you. You wanted to learn how to handle a gun. You should've known better before telling him, you knew how it was with him, how against he was about it all, but you wanted it so hard that the thought just slipped. That was the first time he shouted at you, too. You could barely listen to his words as something broke when he began. The way he raised his voice, how he kept coming on to you. He made you feel small, his anger pressing on like a mist, taking the air away from you, bringing back things you thought were gone.

You panicked, your breath was coming ragged, burning your throat, your eyes, it reminded you so much of how it was back then that you didn't know what to do. The warmth of his hands and the steady beating of Jason's heart as he held you became your only anchor, you could tell he was shouting, but you had stopped hearing, the ringing on your ears too loud. You barely came back to yourself when he took you away, still holding you in his arms as you reached his bike and the two took off. The wind on your face making you breath again, as tears rolled down your cheeks, his presence at your back your only console as you cried. You had too many memories of the streets, each one worse than the other. He let you cry as you rode through the city and another more when you finally came to a stop. His arms warm as he held you like he knew, because he too had lived through it.

The fights between you and Bruce increased after that night, a growing tension as your beliefs crashed. It was hard to stay there as time went by, so when Jason offered to go with him, his hand stretched towards you, you gladly took it.

It was after a few nights with him that it happened. A scream woke you from your sleep, your body quick to meet the source before your mind could catch on. Not because of the scream, but because of the feeling that rumbled in your body when you heard it.

You reached Jason's room in a heartbeat, fighting to stop your panting as you got closer to him.

His bed was askew, pillows on the floor and the covers were everywhere. He was thrashing around, fighting something you couldn't see. His breath was ragged, like it was hard to breathe, sweat covering his body and face were his brows furrowed, eyes shut tight. He was having a nightmare.

You came closer to him, unsure of what to do, of how to help, you wanted to make it better but at a loss of what to do.

You hand grabbed for him before you could think of it, and before you knew your hands were on him, shaking him, trying to wake him up.

"Hey" you said in a soft voice, " Jason, it's okay." Your touch firm as he kept fighting.

"Hey, Jason, wake up. It's ok, you're ok"

His movements became more frantic, you had to hold him harder to keep him from moving.

"It's just a dream. You're having a nightmare." You kept pleading with him.

Your hands went for his face, barely grazing his cheek before you were turned around, back hitting the mattress. Your arms on a vice grip as he pinned you down with a hand.

"Jason? Wha-" the other coming for your neck, keeping you from talking anymore, holding you down.

He was laying on top of you, his breath coming fast, his eyes glazed, not fully awake.

You tried to break free, moving to get him off you. The movement only made him grab you more firmly, almost choking, so you laid still.

Slowly, you reached for the hand in your neck, watching carefully for any reaction. When there was none you started to rub circles on his wrist with one hand, while the other rubbed down his arm, soothing, trying to make him wake.

"It's okay." You said it over and over, like a mantra.

"It's okay, Jason." Your voice barely whispers. You stopped to catch your breath. He wasn't choking you, but his weight on your chest and the pressure on your neck still made it hard to breathe.

"Just come back to me." Something clicked in him at that, a recognition in his eyes as he looked at you, before the heaviness on your eyelids made you close your eyes.

"Y/n.." your name came out of his mouth in a breath, soft, barely a whisper.

Your eyes opened once again when his weight shifted, his hand and body leaving you as he backed away toward the end of the bed.

You rubbed at your neck, careful not to let the discomfort show on your face.

"I'm sorry." He was hunched over himself, his arms around his legs trying to make himself smaller, voice pained as he apologized. His eyes fixed on the floor.

Your heart broke at that. Carefully not to startle him, you made your way towards him. He jumped when your hand touched his cheek, but didn't move away from it, so you touched the other, taking his face in your hands.

"Jason." You said his name in a low voice, your thumbs rubbing gently as you tried to make him look at you.

He lifted his face after a while, his eyes quick to find yours. You smiled down at him, relieved that he was fine.

"It's okay." You said once more, waiting for an answer as you looked at him.

Seeing he wasn't going to answer you gave his face a last touch before letting your hands fall to your sides.

"Try to rest, Jason." You said after a while, making your way to the door. A hand stopped you before you could move, gentle, as he tugged a little to make you look.

"Wait." He said at last, still soft. You turned to look at him, his eyes almost pleading as he spoke again. "Stay with me."

You stayed still for a while, your eyes still fixed on him. Seeing you say nothing he let go, moving his hand away before you moved, your hand taking his firmly.

"Okay." your fingers interweaving as you tugged him back to bed. He followed you in silence, his body sagging with relief at your answer, like he couldn't believe you accepted.

And how could you say no. He was your friend, your teacher, your partner, he had taught you so much, he had become so much, and maybe, in the future, something more.

You could talk later, when you both have rested and he's ready, and you will listen to him, for as long as he wants

For now, as you sat on his bed, his hand secure in yours, the warmth of his breath tickling as you both went back to sleep.

It was enough.

Tag list: @togasknifes @thelindalorian @fizassyeda @apric-t @brightjimini @candlestudy @dickgraysonsscrumptiousbooty @lovingfartballoon

Message me if you want to added to the list!

#jason todd #red hood #batman #batfamily #dc comics #dc #dc imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd imagine #jason todd red hood #red hood reader insert #red hood x reader #red hood imagine

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sillyguyhotline · 3 years ago

Note

17. “How is any of this ok?” with Joe and Sara maybe?

dude im gonna be completely honest i havent written anything in like a month so i think the quality isnt gonna be great but here goes nothing

God, Sara missed the feeling of home.

Every semblance of familiarity and comfort she’d once found in the town she’d grown up in, the house she’d spent her childhood running through, now felt chillingly foreign.

Perhaps it was the heavy burden of knowledge weighing fresh upon her shoulders: ASUNARO’s corruption seemed now to peer slyly around every corner, no matter where she went. She still didn’t know how much of the town had rotted away under its grasp, how much of the town its poison had pervaded… but she was probably better off not knowing.

Whatever was left of Midori, that miserable mix of pulsing blood and electronic emotion, had been ground to bits inside that coffin… but Sara couldn’t ignore the creeping fear that his burning, ever-present gaze would appear out of nowhere and terrorize her again.

But he wouldn’t. The death game was over, and they’d promised they would never hurt her or any of her loved ones again.

Most of the loved ones she still encountered day-to-day, gruesomely blood splattered and sitting like corpses propped up hastily in a corner, would be safe no matter if ASUNARO was fresh on her tail or a thousand miles away. What a cruel price to pay for safety, to never be hurt again.

They still lived on if Sara closed her eyes tight enough, if she listened to the twisting words of the hallucinations and let them convince her she was monstrous. But the second she dared to open her eyes, she knew they’d be dead again. Life worked in terrible ways, and that was all there was to it.

Joe’s house had always been a second home to her, ever since the two of them became friends. Joe was the farthest cry from Sara in terms of social interactions- it had taken at least 3 months for Sara to trust Joe enough to invite him over, but Joe had insisted she hang out at his house the very same day they became friendly enough to exchange more than a sentence with each other.

There was a certain sort of comfort to the warmth of his house, the constant scent of cooking food pervading the air and the little trinkets scattered in every corner. No surface of his house went without decoration, in its silly little way. It was full of pictures, too, some carefully framed and some dangling from the wall by pushpins, but Sara got the sense that none of the photos went unloved. Most of them were occupied by an orange-haired man, often carrying a younger Joe (back when he was still sporting that atrocious crew cut). Sara always assumed it was his dad, but thought it would be impolite to ask… particularly when the weeks stretched on and Sara had yet to meet that mysterious orange-haired man.

Eventually, pictures of Sara began to join the collage on the wall- pictures taken as she butchered yet another pop song during karaoke, or when they went out to get food, or when she mistakenly sat down on a traffic cone during gym (after many protests from Sara, he took that one down). As silly as the pictures were, and as obvious as it was that Joe had waited for the most embarrassing moments to take them, it was sort of sweet in a way.

Joe’s mother was always kind to her, though there was a constant weariness in her eyes that Sara always felt a bit uneasy about questioning. Sometimes she’d let the two of them cook things in the kitchen, but more often than not they’d go up to Joe’s room and screw around in there, with video games or music or the 50 times Joe tried to persuade Sara to climb out the window and sit on the roof with him before she finally agreed.

As rare as it was for Sara to agree to sit on the roof, it was even rarer for Joe to agree to study with her, much to Sara’s chagrin. Joe had always walked a fine line between passing and failing, but Sara had to admit he walked it well. When she did manage to convince him to study, though (usually the day before final exams), they’d sit on the cushy couch in his living room and somehow manage to bother each other as much as possible while feigning concentration.

The couch hadn’t changed after several years- Sara could tell that much the minute she sat down on it and avoided the urge to break eye contact with Joe’s mother. It was still well-worn, a couch that likely should have been replaced at least a decade ago but had never really been disposed of. Loose threads were protruding from the cover, drawn out from years of visitors fidgeting with them.

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the slight motion making her sink deeper into the couch’s soft cushioning. She’d only spent one minute in the house and was already sweating, whether from the heat of the home or the thousand-yard stare of the woman sitting across from her.

Ryoko was there, too, sitting to Sara’s left and gazing listlessly at the well-trodden carpet beneath her feet. …Ryoko.

Sara cast a hesitant glance around the room, duly noting the photos covering the walls. Not a single one of hers had been taken down, but several more photos had appeared with Joe’s beaming face featuring prominently in them. Joe’s presence was always enough to fill a room even when he wasn’t speaking; it took a lot to fill in the gaps left by his absence.

God, she missed him.

The wind whistled against the window-screen; Sara had memorized the familiar creak of the wooden window frame being lifted up to welcome in the mild autumn air. Sara had always thought of autumn as a beginning- she loved summer as much as any other kid, but as the haze of the weather began to wind down she was quick to grow impatient and look forward to the school year, to being productive again. Joe had always disagreed with her.

“Fall is the literal death of fun,” he’d complained once, walking home with Sara after finishing the first week of school. “Couldn’t they have pushed back the first day of school by, like, another week? You think if we got enough people to sign a petition, they’d give us an extra week of summer?”

“Oh, come on, we both know even if you had an extra week of summer you’d just be complaining a week later,” Sara had teased back.

The death of fun. It certainly felt like that, Sara decided. She’d never feared the looming darkness of fall and winter quite so much before. But now, she supposed, there was no sunshine who’d weather it with her.

“Well… Sara?” Joe’s mother spoke up, voice hoarse with the sound of repressed tears in her throat. Sara recognized the sound all too well.

There was no resentment in the woman’s eyes when Sara made eye contact with her. No anger, no frustration, nor had there been any in her measured motions when she welcomed Sara into the home. It didn’t take any words for Sara to tell that there was no blame to be foisted upon her.

She was still Joe’s best friend.

“I’m sorry to have dragged you out here on such short notice.” The woman’s voice was weak. “I don’t know all the details of what happened, of course. Haven’t heard anything, aside from the little tidbits the police told me when I dropped by the station.”

Sara’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of the police, at the idea of them pleasantly answering her questions as though they weren’t just as complicit in that tragedy as ASUNARO had been.

“And…” the woman glanced down at her hands, toughened from a lifetime of working. “I know something terrible happened to you. The circles under your eyes are darker than midnight, I know it’s so selfish of me to be dragging you out here, but… I haven’t slept a wink for weeks. Been so worried about Joe, and about you too.”

She nodded in the direction of the black-haired girl who hadn’t spoken a word the entire time. “Ryoko’s been worried about the both of you, too. Your parents weren’t answering the door, so she went to me. I hope you’ll forgive the two of us for disturbing you, Sara, but… you have the answers the police won’t give us, don’t you?”

God, her gaze was piercing.

“...Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

It was taking everything in Sara’s power not to look at the vacant seat to her right. If Joe was there, he would have been laughing and lightening the mood, completing the circle that had been left so jarringly empty.

But they wouldn’t have been having this conversation if Joe was there.

Ms. Tazuna nodded slowly. “This means the world to me, Sara. Don’t forget that.”

Sara did her best to muster a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

The woman gave another nod, eyes defocusing as though even now, she wasn’t quite sure why she was there. “Alright. Alright. Well, then…” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Guess I should get right to the point, yeah? Is he… is… how is he…?”

So she still hadn’t quite let go of that little thread of hope, even after seeing Sara return home safe and alive with no best friend in tow. Who was Sara to judge? When hope was the only thing to cling to, it only made sense to cling to it like a lifeline.

Sara twisted her hands, the same old nervous habit she’d had for years, and wondered briefly if she’d picked it up from Ms. Tazuna. How terrible it was, to carry the news that nobody, much less any mother, ever wanted to hear.

“I… I’m sorry, Ms. Tazuna. He didn’t make it out alive.”

Sara hadn’t expected the hush that immediately fell over the room. She’d expected immediate tears, the grieving cry of a mother in pain. Instead, the room became muffled, still as a painting captured in time.

Slowly, Ryoko looked up from her bitten-down fingers, eyes rimmed red already. Ryoko had always been an emotional person, the only person Sara knew who could fluctuate from full-on sobs to cheerful giggles in less than a minute. Sara was so unused to the look that was now filling her eyes- cold, solid misery. As though there were no tears in her eyes left to cry, no more tragedies to bemoan. Just a deep and horrified comprehension of just how many things in her life had gone wrong.

And, slowly, Ms. Tazuna began to cry.

Tears had become so uncomfortable for Sara to bear witness to. Was it selfish of her to look away? It couldn’t be, not when every raw sob reminded her of the art student seeing her first (and certainly not last) death, of the broken sibling openly weeping over apologies gone unspoken, of the unknowing siblings screaming their throats out with pleas for death so the other could survive.

Especially not now. Not when every tear rang in her mind as a reminder of cold tubes piercing her best friend’s chest, of his corpse slumping and falling in a pool of blood, because oh god he wasn’t supposed to have lost so much blood, how was he supposed to live without it, of the clickclickclickclickclicking rising in volume while her attempts to save him grew feebler and feebler.

Her hands were bloodstained, no matter how many times she tried to scrub them clean. Those dreadful hands of hers had failed her, failed Joe, failed the women sobbing openly in front of her.

She swallowed back the apologies that always rose in her throat as Ms. Tazuna rushed to sniffle back her tears.

“I… god, I… he’s really gone?”

Sara couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Please… please tell me it was a peaceful death. He didn’t… suffer too much, did he?”

The resounding wave of clicks flooded her mind. “It was as peaceful as I could make it. I… he smiled at me, right before he died. I’d… very much like to think that means he was happy when he died.”

“What happened?” Ryoko’s voice came out rough, the first of it Sara had heard in weeks. “Joe told me, after our date, that he was going to walk you home, and then neither of you showed up at school the next day. And now… it’s been three weeks? And Joe… Joe’s dead? What the hell happened, Sara?”

“God,” Sara mumbled, mesmerizing herself with the twisting motions of her own hands. “I’m not sure if you’d even believe me if I told you. I don’t even know if I believe what happened myself.”

“I’d believe anything.” The sentence was firm. “I just want to know what happened.”

Sara nodded wearily. The familiar weight of her bright orange ponytail was notably missing- the day after she’d escaped, she’d demanded the hairdresser cut her hair short and crisp. She shuddered every time she thought about the ponytail brushing against her neck as she spent each argument screaming and protesting for her life. Even worse was the memory of how carefully Joe had styled her hair, forsaking his usual clumsiness to braid every strand with a remarkable tenderness. She didn’t want to remember any of it- even though, as the locks went cascading to the floor, she was reminded starkly of Keiji’s bleach-stained trauma response.

“For some reason, something to do with the mafia, we were kidnapped. And pulled into a death game. There were twenty of us, including me and Joe. I- I’m not going to get into all the specifics. It’s going to make me sick to my stomach if I do. But… they made us play this sadistic fucking game to narrow down the competition. Based on cards. Joe drew a bad card, and… they executed him.” Something in Sara’s throat tightened as she finished speaking, and she fell silent.

“Just like that?” His mother’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “How… how’d they kill him?”

“I’d rather not say.” There came the gushing sound of blood pulsing through the tubes. “He didn’t suffer too long” - she hoped - “but it was a gruesome way to die. I don’t want to think about it, please understand.”

It took a moment for his mother to register the words and nod, face still painted with horror.

“Why… how did the two of you even end up there in the first place?” Ryoko spoke up again. “You said something about the mafia? How the hell are you two connected with the mafia?”

“I don’t know how I am,” Sara responded immediately. “It must be something with my family. I couldn’t control any of this, I swear, but… Joe wasn’t meant to end up there at all.”

Ryoko paused. “He… he wasn’t meant to end up there?”

Sara swallowed back the lump in her throat. “The game… it was something that was being prepared for ages. There weren’t just a few ragtag kidnappers behind it, there was an entire organization. Even the police were involved. They ran AI tests, hundreds if not thousands of them, trying to calculate who’d be the most likely to win. And… when all the numbers came back, the person most likely to win… was me.”

She spread her arms wide, baring her sins and her cruelties to the world, and in that moment felt distinctly like the angel of death Keiji had branded her to be.

“They needed something to drag me down, I guess. Make the odds more balanced. So they dragged Joe into this fucking mess. I guess they thought that him being there would keep me steady enough to make everything fair.” A cold hand, dripping with tendrils of phantom blood, caressed her chin with a lethal grip. “...They were right.”

Ryoko’s gaze had gone cold again. “So Joe died just because you cared about him? What the fuck kind of death sentence is that?”

Sara shook her head numbly.

“Why did it have to be him?” The heartbreak in Ryoko’s voice was clearer than day. “So many people love you, Sara, why did it have to be him? Hell, I’m your best friend too, aren’t I? Why couldn’t it have been me? I’m a much worse person than Joe ever was, I deserved to be in his place way more. Couldn’t they have killed me instead?”

Sara winced at the growing desperation in her best friend’s voice, the raw crack she knew all too well. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me. Sara could have almost fooled herself into seeing a crisp aquamarine when Ryoko’s hair flashed into the light.

“Ryoko… it could have been.”

The girl fell silent.

“They had files on you too. They knew how close we were, they knew how much you meant to me… but Joe was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And they fucking killed him for it.”

Oh, how she wished she could go back to that balmy early-autumn night, see the smile on Joe’s face and listen to his lighthearted laughter again. The desire to keep one’s friend safe had become a crime deserving of a death sentence.

Ryoko’s eyes remained locked to Sara’s, devoid of any dullness. In the look they exchanged was a deep, sinking understanding, one that had nauseated Sara to the core the first time the realization struck her.

It was by no crafty strategy that Joe had died instead of Ryoko, no favoritism biased against the kindest person either of them would ever know. It was a simple, terrible twist of fate. Ryoko could have taken his place had she done something as inconsequential as offering to walk Sara home instead.

But she hadn’t.

It took everything in Sara’s power to avoid wondering what would’ve changed if she had.

“How is any of this okay?” Ryoko broke the silence weakly. “They killed him- they could have killed me, too. He was seventeen. Seventeen. How did anybody let this happen? How did this happen, Sara?”

“I- I don’t know.” Ryoko’s wrath was simmering; even though Sara knew truly that she wasn’t the subject of the anger, she still felt scalded. “I miss him so much, Ryoko. I watched him die, and nothing in my power let me save him. I miss him, Ryoko, I miss him every waking minute of every day. We were supposed to escape together and get out safe and pretend this never happened, but…” the tears were beginning to well up again. She couldn’t bear the thought of breaking down in front of anyone, especially not over him.

“I’m going to go make some coffee,” his mother interrupted suddenly. She’d been noticeably quiet, but the still-fresh streaks of tears painted down her cheeks told the story she didn’t need to vocalize. “Some coffee, and some snacks. And we’ll keep talking from there, alright? Do you guys have your phones?”

The two girls nodded uneasily.

“Please… find any pictures you have of him. I want to make this wall as bright as possible.”

Without any other words, she hurried out of the room, and it fell to silence once more. Outside the window, the cool autumn breeze began to stir the leaves in the air, gusting forward to brush against Sara’s cheek just as the hallucination had done mere minutes ago.

And the Tazuna household began to feel more like home again.

#is this worth publishing to ao3 #idk #gonna put it in the tags im feelin risky tonight #yttd #joe tazuna #sara chidouin #ryoko hirose #joesara #i guess #i just tag anything joesara at this point even if it's not outright romantic #idc whether it's romantic or platonic honestly #theyre them #and thats all that matters

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beskarberry · 4 years ago

Text

Silver and Steel

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 2 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

It was then you noticed the open wall next to you. The steel panel was slid open to reveal a vault packed corner to corner with more firepower than you had ever seen in one place. Your eyes roamed from blaster to rifle to flamethrower, noticing that not all of them were made for five fingered hands. This wasn't just an armory, it was a trophy case.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 7.5k

Content warnings: ALOT. Descriptions of violence (a little spicier than canon) blood mention, near death experiences, hurt/COMFORT, fluff, smut exhaustion sex, top!reader.

A/N: I hope y��all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it but yeah PLEASE READ THOSE CONTENT WARNINGS!! It all works out ok in the end! Also good chunks of this was inspired by a particular filk song called Call the Navigator which I’ll link in the replies so the external link doesn’t ef up my post.

<-Previous Next->

"Med pack... junk....junk....spotchka?....is that all you've got?"

You were bent over a deep supply crate, your legs barely touching the ground while you dug through what you had hoped would be the food stock. There were several banged up tins of rations and a handful of miscellaneous junk, but nothing that looked real food. You were clean and dry after your shower, but the energy that had been spent in this very supply room just an hour or so earlier had to be replenished. "Where’s the rest of it?"

The silence coming from the cockpit was expected, but still frustrating. With a huff you grabbed two food tins and made your way through the old ship towards the ladder. At the top though a small antechamber you found your new comrade seated in the pilot chair, fussing with the buttons on the console. On either side and slightly behind his chair were two other passenger seats, though the one on his left was missing a good deal of padding. The cockpit was poorly lit save for the lighted console and the dusty starlight overhead. Though you were in the air, you could tell you were still on Tatooine. Hooray. Why are we still here? The great Dune Sea stretched out on all sides, sparsely dotted with sand people villages, but you couldn’t see any of the large space ports such as Mos Eisley or Mos Espa. In the ships’ darkness you couldn't tell what the lumpy thing was in the other chair, probably blankets or laundry. You went to toss it off the seat when a pair of huge black orbs peeped out from the heap of fabric.

"The fuck is THAT?!" You rocketed backwards, dropping the food tins in the process. The bug eyed creature made a soft cooing noise and lifted the rest of the blanket off itself, allowing two gigantic green ears to pop into view. It didn't look like a threat, in fact it looked kinda cute, but you knew it could still be dangerous. A pair of stubby three-fingered hands made grabby motions at you, the little creature giggling at your bewildered face. " Where'd you find this thing, is it some kind of pet?"

"He's not a pet." Finished fiddling with the console, Mando turned in his chair to readjust the blanket that had slumped off of the small beastie. It squealed happily and wiggled in its comfy cocoon before noticing the food tins that were still on the floor. He pointed the tiniest claw at them and chirped at you, demanding to be fed. "You'd better give him one of those before he gets mad."

It took you a moment to process what he said before scooping one of the tins off the floor, peeling back the lid and placing the dish in the seat next to the little thing. He greedily scooped the mystery mash into his tiny toothy mouth, gibbering between bites. You picked the remaining tin off the floor and leaned against the door frame, watching it happily chow down.

"If it's not a pet then what is it?"

"He's my..." the Mandalorian paused, fishing for the right words to say, "...he is my child."

That was not at all the answer you expected, if he had said emotional support gremlin you would have been less confused. The baby was still making a mess of his dinner, almost dropping his plate before Mando snatched it and set it carefully back in his lap. You had seen first hand that there was a human under all that metal plating, and your tired brain fizzled trying to make the connection between the two very different beings. Mando could tell by your puzzled face that he had some explaining to do.

He told you the tale of how he had been charged to bring the baby in as a high credit bounty, but after he used the reward to get new armor he went back and stole the child away from its captors. He talked about the Mandalorian concept of a 'foundling' and that he himself was one too. At some point you had popped your food tin open and started eating, though you were so captivated by his story that you couldn't remember doing so. When he'd finished you set your empty dish on the busted chair and gently held your hand out for the child to grab with one mush covered paw, who babbled excitedly at his new friend.

Behind you his parental guardian was rigid, ready to take you out if you made one wrong move against his precious cargo. Though he had been the one to steal you away and forgo freezing you in carbonite he still didn’t exactly trust you, your reputation as a hunter-killer was what had driven your bounty so high. He knew you were disarmed, but what else could you be capable of? However, you weren't paying mama-hen Mando any mind. Instead you let the baby play with your hand a bit before he returned to his food. You decided that the only place left to sit was on the floor. Squished into the tiny space between the passenger and pilot seats was cramped, but it gave you a fantastic view out the rounded transperisteel window into the vastness of the night sky.

“Your story sounds awful familiar.” You turned your attention to the metal clad man, watching him fidget with the steering controls. “You abandoned a guild reward for anothers wellbeing, like I did. Someone that didn’t deserve to be dragged back in cuffs. Is that why you picked up the puck on me? Some kind of kindred spirit something or other?”

“We’re nothing alike.” He was watching out the window, focused on flying the ship to unknown destinations, but he was bouncing the leg farthest away from you. So when the cogwheels turn in your head, the machine moves somewhere else. If you hadn’t experienced his human body first hand you could have easily convinced yourself he was a droid.

“Now that’s not true. You told the guild to get fucked because your moral compass was pointing the other way. I didn't just let that quarry go y'know? It was more than that. There was... there was someone she had to get back to. And the New Republic was just gonna lock her ass up and for what? It wasn't right." You remembered that Togruta woman, pointing a blaster at you with tears in her eyes and her belly swollen with a child that did not belong to the man she was being forced to marry. A few thousand credits weren’t worth another child being made an orphan, and you gave her your ship to escape in while you led hunters on a wild-bantha chase away from her. You knew it drove the guild insane but you wouldn’t have it any other way. A tiny green foot poked itself out from under the blankets by your head, bringing you out of your reverie. On reflex you tucked it back into the safety of his blankies.

Though you thankfully didn’t remember much of your early childhood, you knew you had come from Corellia. You didn’t know if you had parents or siblings, but there had been many other young street urchins in your alley behind the shipyard, and all you had then were each other. You never planned on having any kids yourself, but they were still something to be protected. At all costs, if necessary. “I’m guessing this little dude is happy with that decision.”

Mando had begun to take the ship closer to the ground, it was almost totally dark outside but you could see on the radar there was a large mountainous formation up ahead. Carefully, he landed the beat up craft on a sturdy outcropping of rocks, kicking up whirlwinds of dust and sand. Far out over the sand you could see a collection of lumpy looking ruins that were slowly succumbing to the march of the dunes. You guessed this was where your quarry was hiding out.

The baby was starting to get sleepy, his huge eyes disappearing slowly as the weight of his eyelids became too much. His little head rolled forward, threatening to toss him off his seat. Your big mean bounty hunter heart couldn’t take it, so you scrambled to your feet and scooped the baby up in your arms, sitting down in his seat to get him situated in your lap. He fussed and squirmed a bit, but you had learned a no-fail trick from the Corellian ship builders that would often help to sneak orphaned children onto their ships and off that skughole of a planet towards a better life. Many years ago they had done the same for you.

“Oh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.

Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.

But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,

That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.”

The songs you knew were often sang by whole crews of starship sailors, loud enough to shake their durasteel walls, but you dropped your voice low and soft to turn the star-shanty into a lullaby. The baby was watching you with glittering eyes, he had stopped his wiggling and curled up tightly against your chest.

“So call the navigator, set the course and go!

We've stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.

Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh

And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by”

A tiny yawn betrayed his wondrous eyes, and he gave up and closed them shut, rubbing his little hands on his face. You lowered your voice to almost a whisper.

“I've seen a million beauties and I've known a million fears,

And life is what I've found between the laughter and the tears.

Still I will sail the last frontier through worlds both tame and wild,

And marvel at their strangeness with the wonder of a child”

Soft snores were your only applause, the baby having drifted off mid stanza. You hummed a few more lines of the song to be sure he was asleep. The cockpit was as dark as the surrounding sky, but the glint of silver caught your attention. Starlight reflected off the beskar plates in a way that made the black of his visor seem darker than the heart of a collapsed star, and just as deadly. The Mandalorian was watching you intently, completely motionless.

The precious moment with the baby had made you very forgetful of the dangerous situation you were actually in. You had been captured, you were this man’s prisoner and yet here you were all cozy in the chair with his adopted son in your lap. You glared back at him, matching his fierce gaze when the little green bundle moved to get more comfortable, one tiny hand catching claws in the top you were wearing; a tunic that did not belong to you.

“Here, you take him then.” Your voice was hushed so as not to wake the child, and you raised him up gently to try and unhook him from your shirt. Immediately there were two gloved hands coming to lift the baby off of your lap. He was a monolith of leather and metal, but the way he pulled his son in close was so gentle that all the ferocity of his profession dissipated like mist. Mando carefully tucked the blanket under the sleeping little baby and wrapped him up tight before slowly turning away from you and the flight deck to head down the ladder in total silence, leaving you alone in the dark.

You watched him go, the top of his shiny silver head disappearing into the floor. Without the sounds of life in the cockpit the quiet of the night weighed heavy on your ears. He still hadn’t told you why he had kept you out of the carbonite, all you had done was let him use you as his personal play-thing... and maybe murder off some of his bounty hunting competition, but that wasn’t much to go off of. You had done worse for much less. Put your skills to better use, that’s what he had said. Absently you toyed with the end of your sleeve, no, not your sleeve. His sleeve.

That was another thing, what reason did he have to show you hospitality when his first interaction with you had been so violent? Binding you and marching your ass through the desert after he had fucking shot you. Your escape plan had almost worked, ha! All you would’ve had to do is tire him out and run but that had backfired entirely. The apex of your thighs still thrummed with sensation, warm and blissful. Though you’d had lovers in the past you usually didn’t still feel them so deeply afterwards. The smell of the fresher soap still clung to your body and clothes. Clutching at the collar of your sweater you pulled it to your face and breathed deep, letting the heady scent of it fill your lungs.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.” The modulated voice coming from the ladder startled you from your guilty indulgence and sprang you to your feet, but the source of the voice was already back down the ladder. You sheepishly followed suit.

“You plan on telling me what we’re up to exactly?” Down below the Mandalorian was loading himself with ammunition, each and every slot on his many bandoliers was packed to the brim with charges. His pulse rifle was slung over one shoulder, clanking up against a new piece of equipment you hadn’t seen before. Some kind of jet pack maybe.

“I have two bounties to catch on Tatooine. One of them conveniently fell into a sarlacc pit. The other one's hiding out down there." A bounty fob blinked red in his hand; quick flashes indicated that the target was close by. “If you help me with this, you’re off the hook. I’ll tell Karga you’re dead and the guild will stop sending hunters after you. But-” He turned to face you, he was holding your beat-up old back pack by one ratty leather strap. "If for one second I think you'll turn against me, I'll take the half credits for your corpse."

"You're one to talk!" You hissed, storming up to the gunslinger with the ferocity of a lothcat. "You kidnapped me! I didn't ask to be here."

The man in question didn't budge under your verbal assault. "Do we have a deal or not?"

He forced your backpack into your arms to accentuate his point. You ripped it from his grasp and stormed to the other side of the cabin. Everything was still inside; a pack of bacta patches, a few mementos, three busted tracking fobs and some blaster charges. Speaking of blaster-

"Where’s my gun, Mando?" Your question was answered when you turned back to face him. He was holding it by its barrel, extending the grip towards you. You met his visor with contempt, but took the old blaster from him carefully as not to cause a misfire. It would be nice to not be on the run from a guild you had pledged your loyal services to for so many years, that now wanted you delivered back to them in carbonite; and you knew that Karga would trust his favorite hunter. The life of a moisture farmer wasn’t what you dreamed of when you escaped Corellia. Fuck that. "Yeah, it's a deal. One hunt and I'm gone."

If he didn't want you to ogle his wares he should have closed the panel, but instead he joined you at the wall, picking up some extra plasma cartridges and a vibroblade with a curved handle, which he pushed into your hands. "Will that be enough?"

Either you trust me or you don't, pick a side, tin can. You didn't answer him right away, opting to pull a chest holster and another couple of blasters down from the wall. You cinched the holsters tight and tucked a blaster in on either side, slung a disruptor over your back and stuffed the knife in your boot. Once you had everything in place you stuck your fists on your hips like a superhero with a confidant nod. "Yeah, that should be good."

Mando was watching you with intensity, his visor going over each of your weapon choices. He tugged on your holsters’ cross straps to make sure they were secured. You rolled your eyes at him, "I know how to dress myself, sir."

No answer. Typical. He stopped fussing with your straps and turned back to the wall, selecting a heavy multi-ammo bandolier. He stepped closer to you, wrapping both arms around your waist to fit the belt in place on your hips. You tried to convince yourself that it was the cool beskar of his chest plate pressed up against you that sent a shiver down your spine. The physical contact was over as quickly as it had been initiated, and then he was back in the vault fishing out the tiny silver explosives that fit neatly into the circular latches on either side of your belt, handing them to you without a word. Finished with his selection he pressed a few buttons on his vambrace, one to slide the armory shut and another to summon an egg-shaped hover crib to float to his side. Inside its shell the child was sound asleep, a heart-melting smile on his tiny little face. As adorable as he was, you furrowed your brow in confusion.

“Is he coming too?”

“Where I go, he goes.” Mando said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He strode back to the supply crate you had been digging through earlier and packed a handful of rations into a bag for the journey through the dunes. Cool desert air gusted into the stuffy cabin as the access ramp fell open, and the three of you headed out into the darkness of Tatooine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your dreams were hazy and feverish, shots of blaster fire flickered through the fog from unknown assailants. The smell of blood and blast plasma strong in your nose even while unconscious. You saw the sneering face of a Twi’lek twist in agony and purple blood painted his face before he winked out of existence, replaced in your mindscape with bloody hands. Your hands. Then there was cold beskar on your cheek and strong arms hauling you from the carnage. Harsh wind in your ears and the ground spiraling away beneath you. The howling wind so loud you couldn't hear the questions being barked in your face. Pain, the smell of burning skin, then nothing. You felt objects moving frantically nearby, and something soft and green was pressing into your ribs. Your eyes, heavy as they were, fluttered open to see two huge black orbs staring up from your side where bright red blood was staining the sheets under you. Is that ... my blood?

“Hey green bean...what’cha up to?” Your voice was hoarse and weak, scratching its way out reluctantly past chapped lips. Talking made your head pound, you reached up to cradle your aching skull when two leather tipped hands caught yours and held them steady.

“Easy... Don’t move too much. Please.” Your hands were gently set back down at your sides, shooting pain up your arms. A large black and silver body was hunched beside you, frantically sticking bacta patches to your skin.

“Mand...do? What…what happened?” Your voice was barely a whisper, so faint the recycled air of the cabin threatened to whisk it away.

“You got the bastard, but that fucking Twi' managed to get a shot off in your gut point blank before he went down. You shouldn't have survived that but you did.” Is that a compliment? He was wrapping a long gauze bandage around your arm, fixing the bacta patches in place so they could do their thing. It hurt, but not as much as you thought it should have. Down by your side the child had rolled into you face first, passed out cold next to an emergency cauterizer. Mando nodded at his sleeping son, “And if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead for sure.”

The baby? How is he involved with this? Thoughts echoed loudly in your skull, and you decided that thinky time was over. The little guy had the right idea, you should sleep now, embrace the comfort of the dark behind your eyes, let it swallow you whole.

“Hey hey hey! Not yet. Stay with me, ok? You need to drink something. Here.” An armored hand slid under your head, urging you to sit up just enough to take a drink out of the metal canteen pressed against your lips. “You need to stay awake, just for a little while.” Cool water graced your dry mouth and dripped onto your chin. Embarrassed by your mess you tried to wipe the droplets away but once again your arms were halted in place. A rough piece of fabric dabbed at your face.

“I’m not a baby, Mando. I can take care of myself.” The creeping sting of blast-burn that still scalded your skin told you that might not be true. The bacta was just starting to seep into your bloodstream, but it would take some time to work its magic.

“I know that. I was with you down there in the fray. A rancor would have been less terrifying to face than you. But right now I need you to hold still.”

Another compliment? Or was that sarcasm? You’re losing your edge, tin man. You tried to roll your eyes but the effort made your head spin; you glanced around the cabin, trying to avoid meeting the visor that was pinning you to the cot. Strewn about the floor of the ship was what was left of your holsters and weapons, splattered with red and purple blood. You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like one belt had been blasted to smithereens, torn strips of leather the only indication it had been there at all. Farther away you saw a dark block in the carbonite freezer. The Twi’lek from your nightmare was frozen solid, though from his limp posture you guessed he had stopped moving long before he was put in the chamber. One of his long lekku had been cut clean off, and even in carbonite you could see the wound was fresh. Something long and curved stuck victoriously out of the center of his chest. Your vibroblade, lodged to the hilt in his sternum.

Mando was still kneeling on the floor by your side, and though you couldn’t see his face his hunched shoulders gave you the feeling that he was distraught. He still had your head resting in his palm, his thumb absently toying with your hair. Maybe it was the bacta running through your system that made you start to feel warm and gooey on the inside, but the sensation of his hand on your scalp felt... nice. Nice to be touched in a way that wasn't just for survival. Though you had already felt his hands on your body this was something else entirely. Sincere. Maybe it was just the first time somebody near you wasn't trying to kill or capture you. You foolish girl, you've already been captured. Are you so lonely that a gentle touch makes you melt? Maybe it's you that's losing your edge.

"You should have left me for dead, cashed in on that half credit reward."

"That is not The Way." His mantra was rehearsed, spoken as easily as he drew breath, but you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Well... thank you for not letting me bleed out.” You could see the top of the baby's green little noggin still curled up against your side, though the part of your ribs he was leaning on didn’t have a single mark. You looked for the blast wound that Mando was supposedly talking about, but aside from a handful of plasma burns your skin was smooth and healthy; the pool of dried blood under you was the only indication anything had been there at all. What kind of mando magic is that? And what did he mean about the child? Your first thought was how disappointed you were there wouldn’t be a good scar. Your second was realizing your top was missing. Shreds of it were still on your shoulders, but the front had been ripped off completely to get to your vanished wounds. Mando seemed like he didn’t even care, he had been so focused on patching you up that the idea of modesty was thrown out the window, but you couldn’t help teasing him. “There’s not a scratch on me, Mando. You just wanted me topless, didn’t you?”

His thumb on your scalp froze, his visor going from your face to your chest with rapid snaps. Without letting your head drop he used his other hand to tear his cloak from his back and throw it over you and the sleeping baby. “Better?”

Party pooper. “Yes, thank you.” Why is he being so nice? He must have ulterior motives, right? Why keep me alive if not to cash in on that bounty? You decided to push his buttons some more. “This bed sucks. Is this why you're so crotchety? Because you sleep on this Maker-forsaken thing? It’s making my back hurt.”

The cot you were on was spartan at best, more of a cloth covered bucket than a bed. It was recessed into the wall opposite of the armory, bits of machinery and droid parts hanging over the space above you. There wasn’t much of a gap between your head and the durasteel plating of the ship’s hull. Your teasing was rewarded with a long, tired sigh. The hand that cushioned your head moved down to your shoulders, pushing on you so that you sat up straight. You scooped the baby off of your side and into your arms, trying to ignore the dried blood from your wounds that stained the sheets before swaddling the sleeping bean in his father’s cloak. The metal man rose from the floor, letting go of you just long enough to remove his cross-belts and unlatch his chest plate, setting them on the floor with a dull thunk. He squished himself between the wall and your back, his dorsal plate scraping loudly without its cape. He scooched one armored leg around you until it was between your hip and the wall on your side, pulling you into his lap and turning his whole body into a pillow, letting your torso rest on his. He was used to the sharp metal bed frame, but that didn’t mean you should be subjected to it.

“Is this ok?”

You could only nod, your cheeks flushing red with a mix of emotions. It was more than ok, his formidable body was warm and comfortable. His arms wrapped around your waist, helping to support not only you but also his foundling. The spice of him was strong now with him on your back, worn leather and metal and that damn fresher soap that was making a fool out of you. Underneath his steady breathing the sound of something rhythmic caught your attention, it was quick and faint, but unmistakably the sound of his heartbeat. His heart is racing. Listen to that engine purr.

Behind you a man with a name you may never know watched your chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, not with lust but something unfamiliar though not unwelcome. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, whether from the ordeal of keeping you alive or the fact that you were in his arms again he couldn't be sure. He sighed, trying to convince himself to calm down, but the deep breath he took only flooded his senses with the essence of you, threatening to melt the beskar off his head with the heat rushing to his face. He couldn't help the way his fingers traced over your skin, careful not to undo any of the bacta patches. He jumped slightly when your hands found his, but the weight of the child still in your arms made it difficult to reach your fingers. The glove you were touching was suddenly empty, and a bare hand snaked out from under the cloak that kept you modest. With the press of a button the child’s pram floated its way over to you from the supply crates. The baby’s adopted father carefully lifted the sleeping creature off your lap and into his hover crib, another button press on the vambrace and the shield door slid closed.

His hand returned to the safety of the cloak, pulling the other glove off before finding your fingers again. His skin was so warm you couldn't help but imagine his hands somewhere more intimate. Evil, evil bacta... Maybe you wouldn't have to.

"I should thank you properly." It was impossible to hide the tiredness of your voice, but he was close enough you only needed to whisper. His grasp tightened around you, your once plush pillow was now a rigid wall of muscle.

"You should go to sleep." the sound of his baritone words so close to your ear made your skin prickle. Too late for that. Slowly you guided his hand down your belly until your tangled hands bumped into your belt line. A low growl rumbled out of the modulator. “Cyar'ika... you need to rest."

The alien term of endearment made you hum, but you ignored his words of warning and pushed his hand under the tough fabric till his fingertips found your heat, both of you gasping softly at first contact. His free hand fumbled with your button, and after some difficulty you undid it for him along with the zipper. With space to work, with his wrist moved freely, lazily rolling a calloused fingertip against your clit; remembering his lesson from the first time he experienced your body, his touch was light as a feather.

There wasn’t much you could do for him in the position you were in, so you leaned back against him and relaxed, letting him enjoy you at his own pace. The bottom of his helmet was pressed into the crook of your neck, and though it was sharp you could feel something warm and soft underneath it. So there is a real man under there. Scruffy stubble brushed at your skin and sent goosebumps down your chest. Under the beskar his eyes followed the prickling trail that lead under the tattered cloak you still wore to your breasts, watching the way the fabric pointed where your nipples grew hard for him. His other hand couldn’t resist finding its way to your pert peaks, rolling them between his fingers in that way he knew flushed you with heat. Soft gasps rewarded his ears as he worked at your breast and clit, rubbing them in tandem. Your hips rolled into one hand and your back arched into the other, urging him to help you build your climax. He obliged, adding a second finger to pinch your clit softly between strong digits until you fell apart around him.

The pressure that was building behind you and pressing into your spine told you that if you wanted more from him you would have to give him a better angle. You started to get up, but the hands on your sensitive spots held you in place.

“What about your injuries? I don’t want to hurt you.” What injuries? There’s nothing left! His voice was filled with sincerity, a far cry from your first encounter. You didn’t answer him, instead you found each of his hands and squeezed them with a hum, asking him to trust that the bacta had set in and made you comfortable enough to move from your impromptu med bay. He slid his fingers out from your burning core, dragging the wetness from your cunt over your skin until his palms were on your back, helping to push you up off of him. The teeny tiny bed frame made it difficult to spin yourself around until you were facing him, and even more difficult to kick your pants off as you passed over top of him, but he never took his hands away from you to keep you steady until you were seated in his lap.

Straddling his waist you rolled your hips over where his cock was hidden from you, making him shudder under your legs. His arms glided from your knees to your hips, languidly making their way up your sides and past your breasts to the last remaining tatters of the black knit sweater he had allowed you to wear. Hooking a thumb under its ruined edges, he slid it up over your arms and cast it away into the darkness of the ship. His hands went right back to working at your breasts, massaging them like dough in time with your grinding hips. You took a moment to admire how he looked underneath you, his remaining armor glinting in the hazy ship light as his hands searched for every sensitive inch of your chest. You knew from legend that his helmet could never be removed in front of you, but you’d never heard anything about the rest of his clothes. Where his chest plate had been was a strappy flak jacket dotted with magnetic fasteners. Your hands went slowly to the first clasp, and the hands that were so indulged in you froze, his body stiff between your legs.

“Is this ok?” The irony of you repeating his question from earlier back to him made your lips turn in a sly smile.

“Y-yes.” His voice was nearly imperceptible, and you realized that he was shaking. You looked to his visor, watching him nod in consent before you continued. He dropped his hands to your hips, pulling down on your thighs and rutting up into you while you busied yourself with the complicated under armor until it fell away at his sides, revealing a pair of suspenders and an identical black knit tunic as the one that had been shredded off of you. You didn’t have the energy to peel every article of clothing off of him, so this would have to do. Without his cloak bunched around his shoulders you were able to see the flesh of his throat, so warm and inviting that you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You bent down to nibble at the exposed skin, and the filthy moan that rattled out of the helmet sent shivers down your spine. The taste of him was exquisite, better than you could have imagined under all that fabric and leather. The overwhelming cocktail of his scent straight from the source made you bold. You kissed your way around the edge of his helmet where the metal met his skin until you found his pulse point and made good on your desires. His body convulsed when you bit down, sucking at the tender skin until you left blooming marks that would be there for days.

“Cyar'ika... Please...“ There was that word again, you didn’t know what it meant but the way he breathed it like a prayer felt like warm honey in your belly. Releasing his tormented neck you ran your hands down his broad chest until your thumbs bumped the leather suspenders that lead you down to his waist line where you were able to tug the edge of his shirt free, giving you a delicious window of his tummy; well-muscled and dusted with dark brown hair.

“What’s wrong, tin man? Nobody ever touch you like this before?” He was still shaking while you ran your hands under the edge of his shirt and through the soft treasure trail of fuzz from the top of his belt line to the bottom of his ribs. He couldn’t answer you, his breath caught in his throat at the sensation of your hands on his skin, but you were starting to put the pieces of his puzzle together. No, probably not.

You decided not to torture him any longer. The fabric of his pants was nearly stretched to capacity and wet with your slick. You had to stretch one leg out onto the floor to get enough of a footing to lift yourself high enough off him that you could free him from the canvas prison. His cock nearly burst out of its confines, and your face flushed red at the sight of him standing proudly at attention, twitching in your hands with a flood of shimmering precum made just for you.

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths forcing their way out of his modulator before you’d even taken his length. You used your hips to notch him at your entrance and his grip on your thighs clenched like a steel trap. Slowly you lowered yourself onto him, letting him fill you until you were stretched wide. Your eyes met his visor, though from the way it was tilted you knew he was watching himself disappear into you. His arms wrapped tightly under your ass as he thrust into you hard enough that he lifted you off the cot, quickly scooting both your bodies down the bed until he was flat on his back. You tried to stay upright, but his pounding soon had your head spinning until you were falling forward into his chest, digging your arms around his shoulders in a way you were becoming familiar with. Your hands found their way to the back of his helmet to where his hair line started, sneaking a few fingers under the metal edge to tangle in his curls. The Mandalorian’s hands were on your waist, holding you in place while he rocketed up into you, filling the ships cabin with the sound of wet slaps. His thick cock hit different from this angle, grinding up against the sweet spot deep inside you with each rut until you started seeing stars behind your eyes. He could feel you building up around him and he quickened his pace until you were gasping his name.

“M-mando! I... I’m gonna....” Your muscles coiled with heat until you burst, your sweet cunt fluttering around his still pumping cock until he went cascading over the edge of ecstasy with you, his helmet vibrating with a guttural roar. His feverish body shook, giving you a few short thrusts to milk the cum from his cock until it spilled out from where he was lost inside you.

His shaky arms held onto you so tightly, as if you would blast away into space if he let go. The endorphins flooding his head made him want to pour his heart out and tell you everything, bare himself in body and soul for the first time in his life. He wanted to tell you how nice you had looked in his clothes, how the loose knit fabric draped over your breasts was a work of art; even more so when you were standing before him armed to the teeth in his hunting trophies. How seeing you slice that fucking Twi’lek to ribbons was more graceful than any ballet. The sight of the bloody hole that had been burned into your side had made his skin crawl. Mando wasn’t ready to explain the child’s healing powers, he barely understood them himself; but if it wasn’t for the baby he would have been burying your corpse instead of tending your wounds. Instead of experiencing your living body like he was now.

His heart fluttered at the thought of his foundling healing you with his baby sorcerer magic, his tiny green paws pushed on your side where the blood was spilling from your wound. The thought of you dying for his bounty made him sick, but pride flushed the sensation away when he thought back to that first day with you up in the flight deck. How when his baby boy was restless that you acted, not with malice but with tenderness and care. He'd never wanted to rip his helmet off faster in all his days than when you sang his son a lullaby, the sweet tune of it filtering through his sensory equipment, and he longed to hear it as it was meant to be. In that moment he had been entranced, but the fierce glare of his visor had made you feel threatened. He didn't want that. He wanted to make you feel safe. The same way you had made his child feel, the same way you made him feel now. Like the galaxy itself couldn’t tear you from him.

But the ugly truth was that soon it would all end when you both went your separate ways. All the feelings he wanted to confess to you died in his mouth, leaving a bitter taste that brought him back to reality. You still straddled his waist, and though the blood had long since left his cock it still sat neatly in your heat, letting him feel your gentle heartbeat around him. Carefully he pulled himself free from the apex of your thighs and rolled you both sideways onto the unforgiving cot, letting gravity shuffle you down until you were nestled in the crook of his arm. He couldn’t help brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, meeting your half lidded eyes with his own behind the visor.

“I don’t think I can get to the fresher this time.” Your voice was barely a whisper, and the edges of sleep crept unbidden to your eyes; the traumatic activities of the day finally winning over your endurance. “You’re probably going to have to burn these sheets.”

Mando hummed with indifference, though for you he would burn all of Tatooine down if you asked. All the lovely thoughts that had danced through his mind came rolling through again, haloed in the warm light of afterglow. Only one made its way past his lips, sneaking out of the helmets’ modulator like a prayer.

“How does the song end?”

“Mmm?” You were so close to sleep, so cozy and full of cum that you knew would be a fun mess for morning-you to clean up. You wracked your brain trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. The star-shanty? “Why, do you need a lullaby too?”

“N-no. Just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.” Liar. The calloused hand gliding up and down your spine brought the original contract you made with him ringing through your skull. One hunt and I’m gone.

“Leave? I’m not going anywhere until I see you tell Karga face to face that I’m rotting in a sarlacc pit. No take-backs. That old dog will probably dance when he hears he won’t have to part with his credits and I want to catch it on holo-corder.”

The rumbling sigh deep in his chest sounded more like an engine powering down than a mortal man, and it told you more than words ever could. The arm you had around his chest was met with strong fingers that intertwined with your own. He doesn’t want me to go. Who are you, Mandalorian?

“Tell me anyway? Please?” His arms tightened like a fortress around you. His words were distant, echoing out from somewhere in dreamland instead of right by your ear. Alright you big softie, if you’re going to beg me. You sighed heavily against him, trying to recall the songs of your distant past.

“The nights are long between the stars, and lonely too for me,

I wonder how I might have fared with home and family.

But the bonds of friendship I have formed will last my lifetime through,

Security is not for me, my dreams are all of you.”

The same soft snores that had been your original encore with the baby now ghosted in your ear, muffled by the mysterious beskar helmet but still unmistakable. Like father like son.

The weight of his arms around you was like nothing you had ever felt in your years on the run. You had traveled so far and met so many living beings but not once had you let another share your bed while you slept. You could get used to this. The thought was the last you had before sleep overtook you, your body slumping against his while you dreamed of silver and steel.

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benjithecosmo · 2 years ago

Text

A Blooded Vase

TW: blood, stitching, derealization, depersonalization, mentions of murder, mentions of death, touch

This work is owned by me and created by me. If any of the trigger warnings make you feel uncomfortable, please do not read. I hope you enjoy!

There was red stuff in my hair. I gently reached up to wipe it off my brow, as it was dribbling down the side of my face. It was warm. It smelled like pennies. It was blood. I closed my eyes before opening them again, thinking, waiting, wondering. The rest was still.

I felt hands grab my arms and hoist me up. I let them do as they pleased.

My mind was in my body, but my body was not my own.

“Oh, darling, you’re all right,” someone spoke softly. I felt a cloth press against my temple. It was the man next to me. My lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. I let them do as they pleased.

They laid me down gently upon a bed. A woman in a white coat came rushing in. Voices bustled around the room, but everything felt silent. My mind was very still. I couldn’t think of anything except for a blank canvas.

The woman grabbed a needle and thread, and I didn’t flinch as it repeatedly pierced my skin. The man was still there, dabbing at the blood. When he pulled it back it was saturated in red. Once more, my lips parted, yet I couldn’t think of anything to say.

I wanted to close my eyes, but they were as wide as the sky. I realized I hadn’t blinked in a long while.

“Can you hear me, dear? You’re ok,” the man whispered. I feared that if I reached out for him, my hands would merely faze through his flesh, like a ghost. So I stared into his eyes, and I spoke without recognition.

“I bled.” I blinked once, then twice. My mouth had moved on its own. Of course I had bled. But it was all a phase, everything I do and say only exists in this pocket of time. One that isn’t real. Right now, my actions have no consequences.

“Well of course you did, dear. Now you’re all better.” He reached for a new handkerchief to continue blotting my wound. The woman had finished stitching, and was putting away her materials.

For some odd reason, I grabbed his wrist. His eyes blew wide, but not as wide as mine.

“Darling, I’m just trying to help,” he spoke softly. I didn’t let go of his wrist.

“Don’t call me that.” With my other hand, I snatched the handkerchief from his hand and threw it with all my might. It seemed so childish. The piece of cloth merely fluttered in the air before landing on the edge of the bed. I was surprised that it had felt like smooth cotton in my hand.

“I don’t believe in any of this.” Once more, my mouth spoke on its own. I threw my legs over the bed and abruptly stood up. A sense of dizziness overtook me, making me reach for my head. So it was just a dream.

“Dear, please sit back down,” the man spoke. He put his hands on my shoulders, but they felt like an irritant. I wanted them off. He shouldn’t have been able to touch me.

“Get off!” I shrieked, yanking myself away. There didn’t seem to be very much emotion behind my words. Afterall, they weren’t my words at all. They were already lost within this dream. No one would remember.

I quickly headed towards the door, body as stiff as a board. “Darling, wait!” The man called out. He scurred up to his feet in an attempt to catch me. I slammed the door in his face before bolting down the hallway. “Please!”

For some odd reason, there wasn’t a single emotion resonating within my heart. My mind and soul felt like a white sheet. A ghost, a robot, something that wasn’t quite there. Something that wasn’t really alive. I knew I was here, present in these old halls, but everything around me stretched into the abyss. My body was not my own. It surprised me that I could touch the textured wooden walls.

Someone was after me, but I could care less.

If I was murdered tonight, I wouldn’t feel it.

Time faltered in these stages, as did your surroundings. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t register pain, couldn’t laugh or smile and make it feel meaningful. A sliver of time that would soon fade into the background, like a dwindling dream. But when would it end? Who knows.

I passed a mirror.

I touched my face, my stitches, a single drop of blood was still making its way down my temple. I had never seen my eyes so wide. I don’t think I could’ve closed them even if I wanted to.

Then there were footsteps. Quick, nimble footsteps. A person rounded the corner. It was her. Her dress was long and silky, and her hair was done in neat pin curls. Her golden fingernails gripped a blooded vase. She smiled at me, perfectly red lips against perfectly white teeth.

She stepped towards me. My hands weren’t even sweating.

“Hello, darling.” I knew I wouldn’t feel it, and I knew I couldn’t die. But perhaps that was just a distant dream.

#writing #short story #story #horror #psychological horror #mystery #thriller #writerscommunity #write #trigger warning #emotional triggers

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a-little-ray-of-fantasy · 3 years ago

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"I understand your pain" - A Billie Bust Up fic

AO3 link

Billie stared at the ceiling, trying her best not to shift her gaze away not even for a second. Wait, was that the window banging? Maybe if she just... No, she told herself, no distractions! Even a sudden blink of the eyes would be a mistake! Out of all the places she visited during her travels, he had to be here.

Oscar rubbed his head into her hand, whimpering while looking at her with sad eyes. Billie allowed herself to give the little fox a half smile and a pet.

Suddenly, Billie felt her bell ringing: she gingerly tinkered with it to answerer it. The moment she did, the familiar, warm voice of her mentor was heard, their voice filled with worry.

"Billie, it's me, Aristotle. Are you still there?"

Billie wasn't able to reply right away; far from wanting to be impolite in front of the kind axolotl, or make them worried, she nevertheless felt it hard to tell them she was, infact, still intent on staying in the castle.

"...Billie, I-I know you wish to see Arthur again. Believe me, so do I. But he's not here. I've visited this mansion so many times during my travels in hopes to find him too, and..."

Aristotle took one second to try to collect themselves, and even then their voice was close to cracking.

"I-I was never able to sense his presence in this place. It pains me to say this, but I'm afraid it won't be different, this time."

Billie chocked back a sob before replying, her eyes filled with tears.

"But he has to be here! There's so many ghosts in this building, one of them has to be my father! If only I were able to see them all, maybe I could recognize him!"

Aristotle's voice stayed silent for a moment, while Billie did her best to keep her composure. Finally, they were heard again.

"I understand your pain, Billie, but it's almost evening, and everyone is starting to get worried..."

"Just a little more time, please Aristotle? I need to do this."

A sigh came from the bell, before Aristotle continued.

"Alright Billie. You can stay a little longer, but the moment the sun starts to set, it's best if you and Oscar take your leave: at night there's so many creeps around, and as much as you've improved so much with your magic since we first met, it's still too risky for you two to go around on your own. We'll be waiting for you in the village: I've prepared some hot chocolate for your arrival. If you want, we'll talk it over together, is that ok?"

Despite her eyes still warm with tears, Billie cracked a smile. "Thanks, Aristotle."

A light chuckle was heard.

"Anytime, my dear. I'll be seeing you soon. Take care!"

And with that, the bell fell into silence. Billie took a moment to sigh, rub her eyes and return her gaze to the ceiling above. Many ghosts of all shapes and sizes where hovering about, letting out delighted ghoulish moanings, without a care in the world, barely noticing the small goat staring at them with sad hope.

Was Aristotle right? Was it true her father wasn't here? But what if he were? Would he look like he did when he was alive? Would he recognize his own daughter, all grown up?

Billie sighed again. "I was really hoping to find you here...", was all she could say before hearing a familiar, high-pitched voice that sent a chill up her spine.

"Whoo were you hoping to find~?"

The sudden appearance of Barnaby took Billie by surprise, making her gasp a little before turning her head: she was staring at the ghost owl's face, his long neck stretched so to look at her in the eyes with an amused, and jambled up, expression.

"Barnaby, what the heck! You startled me!"

Barnaby merely chuckled at her surprise, all too used to such reactions from people.

"Were you by chance hoping to find me? Oh, you sillyhead, I've been here the whole time!" He paused to playfully stick his tongue out. "Infact, I've been here for a loooooong time to begin with! Hoo-hoo-hoo~!"

Billie just stared at him; the battle she had with the ghost owl not too long ago did nothing to change his extravagant ways: he didn't even take his defeat in bad stride, surprisingly enough. Well, she figured, considering all the fun he had in tormenting her beforehand, it was fair to believe it was all even between them. At least Barnaby promised he would've stopped with the whole "Would you like to die?" idea, and she really hoped he was an owl of his word.

"Actually" she replied, while returning to her previous activity "I was looking for my father".

Barnaby's face jolted in confusion, all his features returning to place as his neck snapped back to its original lenght.

"Your father? Why would he be here?"

Billie kept her gaze upwards. "He died a long time ago, when I was just a baby. All I know about him has only been told by others: my mother, my mentor... The only reason I know what he looks like is thanks to the photos we hanged in my home, but it's not the same: I've seen so little of him, and that was too long ago. All I'm able to remember was his laughter." She began to smile. "I remember it was warm, loving and calming. Sometimes even just thinking about it makes me feel better." Her smile fell. "But that's all I managed to keep in my heart. With your home filled with so many ghosts, I was hoping to see him, at least once."

Barnaby just stared at her for a moment. His mind started to itch, for a reason even he couldn't explain; his momentary confusion was put to a pause when he heard a noise of indignation from the little goat, making that itch stop. Oh well, I'm sure it wasn't important, he thought to himself with a smile.

"Nghh, but these ghosts are being so stubborn! Why can't they just stay put just one second?! It's like they don't care about anything!" Billie was growning more and more fed up with these wisps: the more she tried to focus on them, the more it seemed they kept on hovering out of her sight just to make fun of her. To think she used to be scared of those pests...!

Her huff of annoyance was enjoyable to watch, to Barnaby's bemusement, especially if it was about some obvious knowledge about ghosts' carefree nature.

"Why, that's how ghosts are, dearie! The moment you're dead, you don't have to care about anything anymore! No worries, no fears, no regrets... It's all in the past! And like all that is past, it all fades away~! Just like us ghosts, after all! Hoo-hoo-hoo~!"

To such response, Billie suddenly felt tense with a frightful thought: if what Barnaby said was true, that would've meant Arthur could very well have lost all memories of his past life, and all his beloved ones. Aristotle, his wife, his daughter... everyone.

"All... fades away? Even all the memories of the people they loved?!"

Here's that itch again. This time it felt stronger and irritating, yet Barnaby decided to just ignore it, despite of how annoying it was. Why couldn't it just go away?!

"It's all part of the course, of course!" He giggled at his own pun. "After all, why hold on to memories of people you can't even hold near anymore?"

Billie grew only more agitated by the second. "But-but how can you consider that a good thing?! You-you can't just forget the ones you loved just like that! I mean-You! You too are a ghost! Can't you remember anyone you cared about?!"

Barnaby, up to that point, was merely watching the little one getting all worked up about the whole ordeal with an amused grin. Living beings, so attached to life! Such a lovely, if futile, sentiment, in the face of the inevitable eternal slumber. He was ready to give her the answer that would put all her uncertainties to rest, when suddenly his itch grew at his strongest, and he couldn't ignore it anymore.

He felt the need to hold his head between his tallons: was he feeling pain? No, impossible: he's been a ghost since as far as he can remember! Then why...? His mind started to be plagued by various scenarios; fragments that he wasn't sure how they were tied to each other to begin with. A warm-lit room, a blossoming garden, a lab table filled to the brim with potions and magic tomes... Suddenly, he heard the faintest sound of laughter: a light, cheerful and happy laugh of someone he swore he never met, and yet felt so familiar, even loved and cherished. Something deep within him felt the wish to listen to that beautiful sound forever. Before he could properly focus on it, the laughter came to an abrupt finish as it got covered by a loud noise, so booming and deafening that shocked him to the core: next thing he knew, he was back to reality. He didn't notice he had started hyperventilating, or that Billie was looking at him with a worried expression.

"Barnaby, what's wrong?! Are you ok?!"

Barnaby stared at her, as he tried, without success, to catch his breath. He barely remembered what just happened in his mind, but he could clearly feel something within that made him suffer, something that the living would associate with the feeling of pain. He felt his eyes starting to leak, as he struggled to reply to Billie, not daring to look at her any longer.

"I-I-I don't know. I-I can't remember..." As his urge to cry grew stronger, Barnaby started to hug himself with his wings, in hopes to find some needed comfort. Billie's presence wasn't helping things: by his own admission, it was never pretty when he cried, and having someone looking at him in this state made him feel even less at ease. "I can't remember anything..." was all he could utter before covering himself completely in his ghostly plumage, hoping for the pain to leave him at once.

For the longest time, Barnaby felt only joy from the lack of memories, at last unbound by life and all the worries it'd entailed. And yet, this time out of all, he swore he were able to catch a glimpse of something, anything, that he once were able to hold dear, only to lose it at once. The more he thought about it, the more the already fickle hold he had on this memory slipped away; and the more tears flowed from his eyes.

And it all started with that little goat. How pitiful, he thought, breaking down like this in front of her, after all the teasing he gave her. He should've minded his own business and ignore her. "But no!", his inner thoughts reprimanded him, "You had to pry on her problems and entertain her ideas! And look what it led you to: crying a river over something of which you can't even remember anything about, and won't have anymore! Can't you be any more pathetic?! Oh, that's right: you're crying right in front of this little guest! Your pity party must be such pain to watch for her: she'll just leave you alone, like everyone else. No wonder you don't have any friends, if you costantly drive them away with your overblown ways! That's what you'll ever be: a sad whisp with no memories and no friends; just give up already! The sooner you'll accept it, the less it will hurt!"

"STOP!!" Barnaby finally snapped to that inner voice, as he cried harder: he didn't want to think of how the moment he finally had a friend, she was going to run away from his exaggerated manners, leaving him alone just like everyone else who came to his mansion always did. He didn't want to be reminded of the memories he didn't have anymore, of his beloved... Right now, he just wanted to stop existing altogether. "Just... stop..." he kept on repeating, hanging his head lower, his eyes, ears and mouth drooping as they followed the slow movement along.

Meanwhile, Billie was left looking at Barnaby, all tuckered up in his wings. She gazed upon him as he was trying to calm himself down, unsure of what to do: one part of her wanted to reach out and give some form of comfort; and yet, she also didn't want to invade his bubble, and make everything worse. She was all too aware of how so many villagers, back in her village, instantly had tired or weary looks on them the moment she approached them to ask them to join her on a new adventure, or To talk about all the things she had seen during her latest explorations. At first Billie paid no mind about it, but overtime she took notice, and began wondering if her approach was too much for people. Even after meeting Lou and Lily, who truly loved spending time with her on her adventures (dangers not witstanding), and after beginning her magic training with Aristotle, she often felt she had a habit of coming off too strong to many of her neighbors. And, right now, just like those times, Billie felt she went too far with Barnaby with her earlier questions, fearing she unknowingly touched a nerve during her earlier agitated state of mind. Ok, in all fairness, she had no idea such words could affect him so much; but still, she felt guilt for her earlier moment of insensitivity, and was afraid of upsetting Barnaby even more, were she to come closer to him.

Timidly, she turned to Oscar. "Hey Oscar? What do you think I should do? I messed up already, I don't want to hurt him more than I did already..."

The little fox looked at Barnaby, then at Billie, and started whimpering. Billie nodded in understanding: regardless of what happened, she couldn't just leave the ghost owl in this time of need. She had to set things right and help him: it's what a hero would do, she told herself... and also a friend.

As she started to move forward, Barnaby's yell was heard from his tuckered form, which startled her: was it against her? Billie got more tense, but kept going. As she got closer, Billie heard small mutterings mixed with sobs coming behind his wings: it felt like Barnaby was whispering to himself, not even noticing her presence. That's when Billie realized he was stuck in an internal loop, detached from his surroundings. The young goat gulped: this was going to be harder than she thought. As Billie tried to think of a way to approach Barnaby, her mind went to Aristotle's words, and how they were able to bring her comfort as she was hoping to find Arthur. Billie's thoughts went about the axolotl, and how much sadness they had in their voice during their call moments earlier: they too had to deal with Arthur's departure, many years ago, and she was told the two of them were so close together... Billie really hoped the axolotl had been able to have someone that comforted them as they were able to do for her: losing a father was hard already, but losing your longtime beloved friend... it must've felt too much to handle.

The little goat looked at the sobbing owl: maybe, she thought, such words would've been of help for him too, especially if, by his earlier words, he also struggled with remembering a loved one just like she did. "I guess we're not that different in that regard", she silently mused to herself.

She carefully got closer to Barnaby as she put a hand on his wing: as much as she didn't want to overstep her boundaries, she honestly couldn't think of any other option that could work. Billie took a deep breath, and hoped for the best.

"It's ok, Barnaby. I understand your pain."

Barnaby slowly peeked between his feathers, shifting his droopy gaze to the little goat, finally noticing her: she was still there, looking at him with sympathy, not a trace of ridicule nor fear on her face; that alone comforted him a little, despite his now long gone memory he wasn't able to reach anymore. But what truly shook him from his echo chamber were her words: for the first time since a long time, he felt understood, and that sentiment was enough to lift up his spirits, even if just a bit. Without a word, his beak forming a wobbly, small smile, he stretched his neck once again to Billie's level, and got closer to her as she embraced his head, her own eyes filling with tears once more. Oscar got closer too, and nuzzled himself between the two, joining them in their hug. The sun was starting to set, and the ghosts kept on floating carelessly, but Billie figured that she could stay just a little longer.

"Thank you."

#Billie Bust Up #Billie #Barnaby #Aristotle #Oscar #Fan Fic #My Fic #Personal Rambles

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cappsikle · 4 years ago

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It’ll be ok // fred weasley

Pairing: fred weasley x reader

Summary: the world just seems a little too heavy, but luckily, you have him by your side.

Warnings: it gets just a tad heavy mental health wise / not all of it is proofread so please forgive that

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Hey guys!! Sooo this is my first ever fic on tumblr! I would just like to dedicate this piece to @ickle-ronniekins as it was her and a bunch of talented writers that inspired me to get back to writing, and I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for them!

Also if you like this fic please reblog! It would mean a lot if you did!

This fic is just a huge projection from my own feelings, quarintine has got me in my feels, and I’m sure everyone could do with some Freddie comfort. Enjoy!! <3

-----

There you were, hunched over various textbooks and pieces of parchment that seemed to cover the whole table. Fred looked up at the clock on the wall above the fireplace and then back down to you. Something in his eyes changed as he walked over to the table, quickly bidding goodnight to George and Lee as they headed up to the dorms.

Fred sat in the chair next to yours and he couldn’t help to just take a minute to admire you. But from glancing at you now, Fred knew that something wasn’t right. From your usually very well-kept hair that now looked as though you ran your fingers through it at least a hundred times throughout the night to your joyless and sunken eyes, eyes that used to hold all the joy and spark Fred loved most about you, but are now just dull and almost... lifeless.

For a while now, Fred had noticed small changes in the way you’ve been acting recently, and it wasn’t even just him, all your other friends had taken notice as well, but no one knew what to do. It wasn’t until this very moment as he watched you tire yourself out with work that he realised just how much had changed, and he felt a pang of guilt for not talking to you about it sooner. So, in the softest voice he could muster, Fred tried to coax you from your work whilst placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Hey, love. ‘S getting a bit late, reckon we should head up to bed?”

Your head snapped up at Fred as he spoke, only now taking notice of his presence, but you then quickly looked back down to continue scribbling mercilessly on the parchment. You needed to get this essay done before tomorrow, otherwise, you’ll slowly but surely fall behind on everything else. You can’t let that happen,

“I’m sorry Fred, I really can’t. I have to finish this stupid essay for potions”

“For potions? Isn’t that due next week?” You looked back up at Fred, your eyes widening as you became more distressed.

“I-I know but if I get this done now then I can use my time to focus on other assignments. I’ve fallen behind and I need to catch up.” Fred slowly nodded his head in understanding. It seemed like a good enough excuse, hell, he’s been in this exact position before, pulling his fair share of all-nighters for assignments due the next day, but when Fred looked deep into your eyes, there was something there that he couldn’t quite place. Desperation? He wasn’t sure.

“Look, love, you’re wearing yourself thin. You need a break”

You don’t know why, but suddenly you’re very irritated. It’s possibly due to how much sleep you’re getting, well, more like lack of sleep. You don’t know why, but suddenly you’re snapping at him “Fred, I don’t need a break so can you just please leave me alone?”

You don’t want to look at him, for the fear of seeing a look of hurt or the resentment that’s bound to be there you’re not sure you can take that sort of thing, so you lower your head and quickly wriggle your arm free from under his hand.

Fred tried not to feel offended, he really tried, but you removing your arm from his touch just nicked him in his chest. He knew you didn’t have a problem with him, he knew this was something that seemed too out of his control, but he just wished he knew what to do to make you feel better. Maybe giving you some space should help.

“Okay... I’ll head to bed then. Try not to stay up too late, yeah? I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight” Fred placed a quick and gentle kiss to the crown of your head as he stood up and walked towards the stairs. Before ascending, he looked back towards you still slumped in your chair, and an unsettling feeling crawled its way into his stomach. With one final look, he walked up the stairs towards his room.

Once Fred left, you chucked down your quill in frustration and rapidly ran your hands through your hair, pulling at the roots in distress. You hated this. You hated how you get annoyed at things that shouldn’t annoy you, you hated how it was impossible to get a good night’s rest, you hated how your mind just wouldn’t. Shut. Up. And what’s worst of all, you loathed how you keep pushing the one person who seems to give a crap about you. It’s not like there’s a lot of people who do.

A sharp pain nestled in your chest, but you tried to ignore it, you always did. You weren’t even sure what it meant. Anxiety? Guilt? It was probably a mixture of both. You didn’t know how, or when, you allowed it to get so bad. With Umbridge slowly taking over the school alongside her vile punishments (you’ve had your fair share of them), the upcoming N.E.W.Ts that you needed to ace and the stress of keeping up with the DA meetings. But that doesn’t even seem like the half of it. Every little inconvenience had the power to ruin the rest of your day.

You couldn’t deal with it anymore, with any of it. You just wished there was a way to make the world slow down to grab your bearings, to just actually breathe. You released a big sigh and grabbed your quill again, but the tip doesn’t even touch the paper. It’s stuck, just like you. Eventually, you fold your arms on the table and rest your head on them. You know you must finish but maybe... just five minutes won’t hurt. Just five minutes.

---

Fred lay awake on his bed, staring up at the ceiling for merlin knows how long. That weird feeling in his stomach didn’t go away, something just felt extremely off. Fred checked the watch located on the table beside his bed. It was pretty late; he’d been awake for at least a couple hours. Knowing that he wasn’t going to be getting any sleep anytime soon, Fred threw the covers from his body and gently got out of bed, careful to not wake any of his sleeping roommates.

By the time he made it down to the bottom of the stairs, he was already wishing to be back in bed, however, what he saw made him stop in his tracks. You were still there, this time unmoving with your head resting on your arms and your deep and even breathing. Why were you still here and not in bed? As carefully as he could, Fred walked over to your sleeping self and gently laid a hand on your shoulder squeezing just enough to rouse you.

After a few more gentle squeezes you started to stir awake. Fred almost felt bad for waking you, but he knew that you would have a much better time sleeping in an actual bed than a desk. You lifted your head and Fred couldn’t help to admire the sheer adorableness of your sleepy form. Your hair was dishevelled and sticking up in a few places, your cheek was red from where it was resting and the tiny noises that came from you whilst you stretched. However, as much as he’d love to stare, he knew he had to take care of you, or at least get you to bed.

Once you had done stretching, you looked around the table until your eyes landed on an arm, which trailed all the way to Fred’s face. You were taken aback at suddenly seeing his face next to yours, but you quickly calmed down upon looking into his soft eyes, the glow of the fire making his brown orbs look more alive and opening.

“Hey,” Fred said, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Hi,” you smile back. For a moment, when you looked into his eyes, you felt warm, like you were safe, you always did. You loved Fred, you loved him so much but often at times you caught yourself doubting whether or not you deserved to be with him, and each and every time Fred did his absolute best to prove your thoughts wrong. Looking into his eyes, you just get that feeling... the feeling of coming home to a warm bed after a cold day. Sometimes, you feel as if your heart might explode from the amount of love you have for him, you couldn’t even out into words. But that warm and safe feeling was quickly diminished and replaced with dread once you looked down to the mess that was sitting on the table. Darn this stupid assignment.

“Crap, I can’t believe I fell asleep!” you groan as you shuffled through some of the parchment, trying to find the one you needed.

“Hey, hey, hey, slow down there” Fred placed his hand on top of yours, trying to stop your erratic movements. “Don’t you think it’s time to take a bit of a break? It’s nearly two a.m.”

“Fred, I can’t just ‘take a break’, I’ve got too much to do,”

“And it’ll all still be here after you’ve had some sleep,”

You released a groan in frustration and turned to face him, your irritation getting the better of you. “Don’t you get it? That’s the problem!” your voice started to rise with each word, the stress and lack of sleep catching up to you. “If I stop now then I’ll fall behind and I just can’t let that happen, ok? So just back off.”

“Hey,” Fred grabbed your cheeks in both his hands and guided your face, so you were looking at him. Seeing your widened eyes and reddened cheeks concerned him, as this was just so unlike you. What happened to this happy-go-lucky and incredibly bubbly person go? The person who had the purest soul than anyone he knew? You just looked... tired. He knew he had to tread carefully here if we wanted to crack all your walls to understand what the hell is going on.

You moved your hands up to try and remove his from his face, but his grip tightened ever so slightly to make your attempts futile. “Look, I’m worried about you. All this,” he tilted his head to the side to gesture to everything on the table. “it isn’t like you. Please don’t hide away, because you know I’m here for you.”

You both stayed silent for a minute, his hands holding your cheeks and yours resting on his forearms. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, you just crumbled. Your face scrunched up and your breathing became erratic as you looked down to hide your face from Fred’s gaze. You leaned forward so your head was resting against his chest, letting out a few silent sobs as you just... broke. At the sight of your crying figure, Fred immediately jumped into action. He removed his hands from your face and wrapped his arms around your waist, carrying you over so you sat in his lap. One of his hands trailed up to stroke your head as his other maneuvered your legs so they wrapped around his torso, your head pushing further into his shoulder.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to get as close to him as possible. You just needed the warmth that constantly surrounded him. After a few minutes of tears and whisperings of sweet nothings into your ear along with Fred’s comforting touch, your breathing started to return to normal, and your sobs turned into the occasional hiccup. You weren’t really expecting to have a total breakdown, you honestly thought that you had things under control, but when you looked and Fred and he looked at you, you knew you couldn’t keep everything bottled up anymore.

Fred was the first to break the silence, “d’you wanna move to the couch? It'll be comfier”. The only response he got was a small nod of your head, you not really being able to trust your voice enough to speak. So, Fred stood up with you still wrapped in his arms as he carried you over to the couch in front of the fire, grabbing the spare blanket and wrapping it around you and himself. It was like a nice little cocoon of comfort and warmth.

And for a while, you two stayed like that, basking in the silence and the warmth the fire provided. You knew you needed to say something, you just didn’t know what exactly you could say. Fred was in the same boat. Should he make a joke to try and make you feel better? That always did the trick. But... something about tonight just told him to leave it on the backburner for now. He slid his arm underneath the blanket and stroked up and down the expanse of your back, hoping to relax your tense muscles. Occasionally Fred would turn his head to place delicate kisses on your forehead, cheeks, nose... basically anywhere his lips could find.

God... what did you do to desrve someone like him? Someone so boisterous and loud, but also understanding and gentle when he needed to be. As the minutes ticked by, and Fred’s hands continuously moving across your body, you finally found the courage to speak up.

“Sometimes I just feel like...” you trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“like?”

“like nothing is going to be ok. Like no matter how hard I try, or pretend, I’m not going to be ok,” your voice caught in your throat as you buried your head into his shoulder, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the world threatening to beat you down. A silent tear trailed down the side of your face, but you hadn’t made any attempt to wipe it away.

Fred sighed through his nose, and he swore a piece of his heart cracked when your voice did. He knew you were struggling with something, but he was just never sure of what or how bad it was. He only wished he could just take all your pain away, even force it upon himself if it meant that you’d get the chance to be happy.

“Oh love, I had no idea. I’m so sorry”

“It’s okay...” you half-shrug your shoulder, removing one of your arms from around his neck to quickly wipe the corner of your eye “no one really knew, so it’s fine”

There was a moment of silence as the both of you tried to catch up with your thoughts, until Fred finally spoke up, a strain in his voice, “no, it’s not fine. I hate that you’re feeling like this. Please, is there anything I can do to help you?”

You shrug your shoulder again. To be completely honest, you weren’t even sure if there was anything he could do. You've barely even figured out what you can do for yourself. However, there was one thing you knew you needed, the one thing that could help you through anything. “Just be here, and hold me?”

Fred placed his lips to your forehead, leaving them there for a bit as he gave a gentle kiss. He breathed deeply through his nose and spoke the words against your forehead. “for you, my love, anything.”

With those final words and his fingers slowly tracing up and down your arm, you felt for the first time, that maybe, just maybe, things might turn out ok.

-----

whew and there we go!!! My first fic completed!! I honestly have no self control when it comes to word limits, my teachers hate me for that... oopsies! anyways I hope you all enjoyed that, if you guys liked my work feel free to send in any requests!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!!

- Mills

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley imagine #harry potter #sad vibes #soft boi #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #reader insert

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not-all-dead · 4 years ago

Text

angstpril day fourteen: nightmares

CW: reliving trauma, panic attack, swearing

fic under the cut

Cold, everything was so cold. Her body felt heavy as she was dragged from a small guarded room to the pavilion outside. She was forced onto her knees, her hands pulled tightly behind her back.

She could hear every tiny movement. Her head hung low as she listened to the crashing of waves in the distance, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the occasional call of birds. Soft footsteps all around her. She’d have said was almost a beautiful scene had she not known better.

She listened, and she waited. She knew what was coming. It was the same every time, the bliss before the nightmare really began.

His footsteps were heavier than the others’, his clothes looser and louder. The wind whipped his robes as he walked up behind her, taking his sweet, sweet time moving to stand before her. He placed a finger under her chin and forced her head up, the air around them suddenly stilling.

She stared up at him, glaring at his emotionless mask and hollow eyes.

Now it’ll happen, she thought to herself.

That’s how it always went.

But something was different tonight.

As she watched him, he started to change. His body changed first, taking a form all too familiar to her, before his mask fell to the ground revealing his face.

And instead of Amon standing there, it was her mother.

“I couldn’t be more disappointed,” Toph said, staring coldly down at Lin.

“You’ve failed me. You’ve failed everyone.”

Lin closed her eyes, expecting tears to fall. None came. When she opened her eyes again, it was no longer her mother in front of her, but Kya.

“I really did love you, you know. But this time,” Kya paused and everything around them changed.

Suddenly the Air Temple was gone and they were on the beach on ember island, their friends laughing loudly in the distance. Kya’s hair was brown again, her face younger and smooth. She still stood above Lin, lifting her chin with a single finger.

“This time,” Kya repeated, the landscape around them changing again.

Now they were in the middle of a ballroom, masked faces twirling gracefully around them. The lights dimmed suddenly, plunging them into darkness.

“This time,” She said one last time, the air temple behind her returning and the cold biting down to Lin’s bones.

“You’ve gone too far,” Kya released Lin’s chin and walked around to stand behind her.

When a hand reached down and yanked her head back, it was Amon looking down at her again. His icy hand gripped her neck while he stared blankly down at her, raising his other hand above her. He stretched out his thumb and brought it quickly down towards her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the sensation that was about to rip through her body.

She sat bolt upright, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. She glanced to her left to see Kya sleeping peacefully. Her vision blurred with tears and she tried to stifle a sob, pushing herself gently out of bed. She made her way to the bathroom as quietly as she could, not wanting to wake Kya. She closed the door behind her and turned on the light, hunching over the sink.

Her hands gripped the edge of the sink tightly as sobs shook her shoulders. She’d tried to calm herself down and almost managed to stop crying several times, but bits of the nightmare rushed back and she broke down all over again. It was just before she started sobbing again that she heard a knock on the door.

“Shit,” She muttered before opening it, looking up at Kya with red and puffy eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I tried not to wake you up,” Her voice broke and she took in a shaky breath, her vision blurring with tears again.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Kya said, pulling Lin into her arms.

Kya held Lin until her sobs quieted, stroking her hair and rubbing her back. When she was no longer shaking, Kya pulled back.

“Come back to bed,” She said softly, cupping Lin’s scarred cheek in her hand.

Lin nodded and followed Kya back to their bed, curling into Kya’s chest and draping her arm over her torso.

“Do you want to talk about it? Kya asked quietly.

Lin lay quietly for a minute before responding, debating whether to say anything or not.

“It was the Amon nightmare again,” She paused and shifted, finding Kya’s hand and taking it in her own.

Kya hummed in response, letting Lin play with her fingers. After what felt like ages, she spoke again.

“It was different this time, wasn’t it,” She placed her hand on top of Lin’s to stop her fiddling.

Lin sucked in a deep breath.

“Yeah,” She said, moving her head to look up at Kya.

“He turned into my mom, and then you. My mom said I’d failed, and you… you said that I’d gone too far. That you couldn’t forgive me this time,” A tear slipped down her face and she moved her head again, looking down at their hands.

“That sounds awful,” Kya lifted her hand and interlocked her fingers with Lin.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Lin squeezed Kya’s hand in response.

“Thank you,” She breathed, closing her eyes and relaxing against Kya.

“I love you,” Kya whispered a moment later, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you too,” Lin replied before they both drifted back into deep, dreamless sleep.

———————————————

She knew exactly what was happening. She could feel the fog seeping into her skin, filling her lungs, clouding her vision. It took over her senses first, then creeped into her mind. It made her dizzy, then tired, then started showing her all the things she didn’t want to see.

A man she’d found half dead in a cave when she was only twenty one. She hadn’t been able to save him no matter how hard she tried.

This isn’t real. Just wake up.

A woman and her baby, both dead after complications with the birth. It had been her first and last delivery, at twenty three.

It isn’t real. Wake up.

A handful of pale villagers, their eyes sunken and skin almost green. She’d done everything she could to heal them, and had kept the virus from spreading to anyone else, but had lost every one of them. She’d been twenty seven.

Just wake up.

A twenty nine year old woman, the exact same age as her, drained and lying in a pool of her own blood. They’d been travelling together for almost a year. She’d found her too late, and healing the wounds caused by her own blade had done nothing compared to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Wake up.

Jerking out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night to the screams of the others in her hotel. Nearly suffocating trying to get out of the fire. Being the only healer despite being just thirty four. Losing nearly half of the people pulled from the burning building.

Please.

Watching her friend step over the edge of a cliff at thirty seven, a year older than her. Screaming his name and running down the path to the bottom, only to find him crumpled. She tried anyway. Nothing brought him back.

Kya.

Visiting Air temple Island at forty one only to watch her father dying slowly. She was the last one to see him alive. She tried to bring him back. She failed over and over again until someone pulled her away from him.

Kya, please.

Teaching waterbending in the South Pole. Her youngest student, a boy not older than four years old, falling through the ice. Her forty eight years of life somehow still not being enough to give her the ability to save him. The wails of his mother when she had to tell her what happened.

It isn’t real. Wake up.

Coming back to Republic City and going to Lin’s apartment with the intent of confessing her feelings. She’d found her bleeding in the bathroom. She’d never been so afraid, and had somehow kept her alive. She’d been fifty three, but felt like a child again.

Kya, wake up.

Four years later finding Lin the exact same way a second time. The same fear gripping her, her hands shaking as she healed her again. She’d barely been able to breath.

Please, please wake up.

She’d barely been able to breath.

She couldn’t breath.

The air was too thick.

It was the panic filling her lungs when someone she loved got hurt. It was the smoke in that burning building. It was the guilt that grew with every person she lost.

It was the fog infecting her body, her mind.

She was suffocating.

Kya.

She couldn’t breath.

Kya.

She was shaking.

Kya.

The world was becoming fuzzy.

Kya.

Why was everything shaking?

“Kya, please,” Lin’s voice was the first thing she heard when her eyes snapped open.

Kya’s vision was swimming, tears streaming from her eyes. She pushed herself into a sitting position, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. Her breathing was shallow and fast, the lack of oxygen making her light headed. She flinched when Lin placed her hand on her back, relaxing after a second and letting her softly bring it up and down. Lin let her be for a second before recgnizing that she needed help getting out of the attack this time.

“Kya, can you look at me?” She moved so that she was sitting cross-legged in front of Kya.

Kya shook her head almost imperceptibly, keeping her stare locked on her feet.

“Alright, that’s ok. Let’s start with five things you can see,” She reached up to pull one of Kya’s hands away from her legs, squeezing it in an attempt to encourage her.

Kya’s eyes moved up from her feet, tracing around the room. Her eyelids fluttered as she did so, threatening to close every time she looked somewhere new. After a moment her stare returned to her feet and she opened her mouth to speak. It hung open for a moment before it closed again and she shook her head.

“Hey, its ok. Do you want me to get your notepad so you can write instead?” Lin watched Kya hesitate before nodding.

“Alright,” Lin stood and walked two steps to the bedside table, pulling the drawer out as quietly as she could and grabbing Kya’s small pad of paper and pen.

She walked back to Kya, who had moved so that she sat cross-legged with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Her breathing had improved slightly, but she was still clearly in her state of panic. Lin sat across from her again and placed the notepad and pen on her lap.

Kya closed her eyes for a second before pulling her arms from around her. She grabbed the pen with a shaking hand, glancing around the room again before scribbling a collection of words on the paper. Lin took the notepad and read the notes out loud, looking around as she did so.

“The window, the rug, me, your hands, the blanket. Perfect,” She smiled reassuringly at Kya and handed the pad back.

“How about four things you can feel?” She rested her hand on Kya’s knee.

Kya nodded and used her other hand to rub the blanket quickly. She then touched Lin’s hand lightly, ran her hand through her own hair, and rubbed her fingers on the paper. She wrote down the four things she’d touched and gave the pad to Lin again.

“The blanket, the best hand ever,” Lin couldn’t help but laugh, looking up at Kya, who had a tiny smile of her own shining through her tears.

“Your hair, and the paper. You’re doing great, Kya,” She gave the paper back and reached forwards, wiping one of Kya’s cheeks.

“Now how about three things you can hear?” Kya stared at the paper, listening, before she wrote anything.

“Your breathing, cars, Jin from next door’s radio even though it’s the middle of the night,” Lin laughed again and grinned at Kya.

“Amazing. Two things you can smell?”

Kya took in a deep breath through her nose, closing her eyes to focus on the smells. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and she inhaled again, blinking twice before writing.

“The ocean, home. Perfect, you’re almost there,” Lin put her hand on Kya’s knee again as she wrote the last one, not needing Lin to tell her what it was.

“Toothpaste,” Lin read, squeezing Kya’s knee slightly.

“You alright now?” She looked up at Kya, who’s breathing was now a little shaky but much more evened out.

Her eyes were no longer glazed over, and she wasn’t crying. She smiled at Lin, grabbing the pad from her one last time.

Thank you, she wrote, lifting Lin’s hand to her lips.

“Talk in the morning?” Lin asked, sensing that Kya needed time before she’d be able to voice her thoughts again.

Kya nodded gratefully and tucked the pad back in its drawer, patting the bed next to her. Lin crawled under the covers next to her, hugging her and holding her hand as they both fell back asleep.

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heavenseed76 · 3 years ago

Text

Contentment

Rating:G

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Summary: Daryl saves Paul from certain death and some truths are revealed

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death, canon-typical violence

When mothers lift cars off their children it is not because their love or fear make them super strong. It is because adrenaline will make a person immune to the sensation of pain. Their muscles and tendons are often irreparably damaged. Human beings will tear themselves apart for the people they love. Daryl Dixon was no different.

He couldn’t recall how he was able to get to Michonne’s horse, nor how he hauled the limp form of his friend onto the horse with him. He was vaguely aware that he could hear Dog whimpering somewhere behind him, punctuating the sound of another horse beside him. In his arms, Paul Rovia, wrapped in a saddle blanket, armor long forgotten, slumped forward. Every few minutes Daryl could feel the man tense beneath his arm, locked as if it was welded across Paul’s chest. The man in his arms was in pain, barely breathing, but thankfully alive. Daryl couldn’t think beyond getting Paul back to Hilltop, to Enid, to safety.

Riding in the fog made a trip that would have taken eons stretch even further. There was no sense of distance, nothing to mark the passing of the miles. The trip, longer still holding his friend’s life in his hands, seemed like a dream: the ubiquitous nightmare where you try to reach someone at the end of a long path and the faster you run, the further away they become. With each gallop, Daryl could feel Paul’s life spilling out onto his chest, his arms, soaking the blanket he was wrapped in. He could feel the labored breath, deep pulls of air that went nowhere. At first Paul held on to Daryl’s arm as they rode, though they eventually fell away, too weak to hold on.

Through the fog, Daryl heard Aaron yelling for the sentries to open the gate at Hilltop before Daryl even saw the walls. Aaron kicked his horse into a sprint and easily passed Daryl’s horse. Seeing the end in sight, Daryl pressed his own heels into the flanks of the beast on which he rode and urged the animal to go faster. He followed Aaron straight to the medical trailer, where Enid and Alden were already helping him off his horse.

“No!” Aaron kept the wiggly bundle in his arms from slipping and motioned to Enid and Alden to help Daryl. “Get Jesus!” Without waiting for them to acknowledge him, Aaron rushed into the medical trailer.

Daryl brought his horse up short next to Aarons, and then there were too many hands, too many faces below him, pushing and pulling at Paul. At Enid’s insistence, her eyes full of dread and sympathy, Daryl broke the iron grip he had around Paul and let him slip gently into the waiting arms of Alden and Siddiq, who wasted no time making room for Henry and Kal to help carry his pale body into the trailer. He dismounted Michonne’s horse, letting someone with gentle hands take the reigns from him. He stood staring at the door, behind which two of the people he cared for most in the world could be dying, or worse, turning… Along with his beloved Dog.

He felt familiar hands on his arms, attempting to turn him aware from the trailer, and distantly heard soft words filter through the fog filling his mind, urging him to come away. Hot, angry tears spilled over and silently marked his blood-stained face and suddenly he was unable to catch his breath. He wanted to rush in and pull Paul back into his arms and never let go. If he died… If Paul turned… he needed to be there for that. But Aaron was in there, and he wanted to keep his friend from suffering that end alone.

“Daryl, come get cleaned up.” Carol’s voice was a solid mass he could anchor himself to, as his grief threatened to let him float away like ashes. He started to let her lead him into Barrington House, when Aaron came through the trailer door.

Eyes red, brows pulled in to etch lines of worry into his forehead, Aaron quickly made his way to Daryl.

“Dog’s gonna be OK. Paul…” Aaron’s voice wavered, but he swallowed and carried on. “Paul’s fighting. His lung collapsed and he lost a lot of blood.” Without warning Daryl pulled his friend into his arms, and with a sob he had been holding in the entire journey, Aaron hugged him back, fingers fisting in the worn leather of his vest. Watching them, the lump in Carol’s throat grew, and she had to cover her mouth with both hands to keep her cry from tearing a hole in the comforting bubble the men had made.

***

The sun burned away the fog that had settled over Hilltop, and the morning promised a beautiful day ahead. At a picnic table near the medical trailer, Aaron and Daryl sat vigil, their backs against the edge of the table top. Aaron absently cleaned his prosthetic arm with a rusty can of WD40 and a ragged bandana he kept for the express purpose. Like the Tin Man. Daryl thought. They were both clean, in clothes that didn’t smell like gore. Carol had not been able to coax either man into eating or trying to sleep.

“We’ve wasted so much time.” Aaron sighed and set the rag he’d been using aside. “This is a big damned wake-up call.” He was used to companionable silence with Daryl, used to holding up both ends of a conversation, so when Daryl didn’t respond, he just kept talking. “We’ve been lucky. To make it this long. But this world is still just as dangerous as it ever was. I feel so stupid…”

Daryl chewed his bottom lip, listening. He had been there when Aaron dove head first into being a father to Gracie, burying Eric’s death deep beneath the needs of a tiny, new being. It occupied his mind, it gave him an outlet for his affection and focused his energy. It did not, however, fill the gaping love-shaped void left when Eric’s corpse walked off into the woods. It was one of the many ways Daryl felt he had failed everyone in his life; it was one of the many reasons he walked off into the woods That Day, and didn’t look back. The seams holding his family together tore open That Day, and try as he might, he alone didn’t have the strength to stitch it back together. Neither did anyone else, apparently.

“I did it for you, you know.” Daryl said, his voice gravel in his throat.

Aaron turned his expressive blue eyes to Daryl’s, not having expected a two-way conversation. “Did what?”

Daryl looked away, unsure of himself. “Saved him. I know you two… I know he means a lot to you. I saw Dog attack that walker, and heard you yell, and I just, I don’t know man, I just couldn’t let him die…” Meeting Aaron’s eyes he said, “I didn’t want you to hurt no more.”

Something sparked in Aaron’s chest. Affection, love, gratitude… he didn’t know what or how many of those things he was feeling. He stared at Daryl for a long moment. There was only one thing he could think to say. “Thank you.” Aaron pressed infinitesimally closer into Daryl’s warm shoulder with his own.

Daryl nodded, glad he could make his friend smile, even if things didn’t turn out as well as they hoped. It had been hours, and except for Alden leaving to give Enid and Siddiq room to work, and getting Alex to come in to better assist, there had been little news of Paul’s welfare.

“I know you’ve been coming here to see him.” Daryl shifted nervously. “He make you happy?”

A man of few words, Daryl could say so much with so little effort. It took Aaron a moment to understand what Daryl was asking, and when the implication of the question hit him, he felt like he had been slapped. He scooted away from Daryl on the bench of the picnic table, so he could fully turn to face Daryl.

“You do know we’re just friends, right?” Aaron’s frown returned, and Daryl didn’t know how to respond. “We’re not… we’ve never… Jesus and I are good friends, that’s all.” Aaron watched confusion slide over the hunter’s face. If Paul weren’t dying behind the door of the medical trailer, Aaron may have laughed. “You know Jesus is… he’s in love with you!”

“No.” Daryl sat up taller, and Aaron could nearly see the walls being built around the other man.

“Yeah. He’s been in love with you since he brought you home from the Sanctuary! Daryl, how could you not know?”

The hunter stood, defiantly staring his friend down. “He don’t.” He tried to turn away, but Aaron was right there.

“He does. That’s what I meant! We all have to stop wasting time we might not have, Daryl!” Aaron grabbed Daryl’s bicep and swung around to face the stoic man. “I know you. I know you both. And if there’s anything I’m sure of, its that you two belong together. Even if I was interested, that man’s heart belongs to you!”

It was if the last brick fit into place in the fortress of Daryl’s heart. The realization that not only did Aaron see how he felt for Paul, but that Paul felt the same for him, and had made it a known fact. Overwhelmed with the severity of this revelation, Daryl’s dread swelled, and he felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the world. The truth Aaron spoke filled his eyes with hot tears, of shame and joy and sickening worry. Seeing all this take shape in his friend, Aaron pulled him in for an awkward hug.

The harsh slap of the trailer door snapping closed brought the men up for air. Standing on the steps to the trailer was an exhausted Enid, covered in blood. Neither could move, holding their breath.

A smile bloomed on the woman’s face as she said simply, “He’ll be OK.”

***

In his own bed inside Barrington House, Paul Rovia looked smaller than Tara had ever seen him. The trip up the stairs and into the bed had worn him out, and he fell asleep almost immediately. He didn’t even flinch as she started a new IV in his hand. She watched him, his breath shallow and lips twisted in a pained expression. He was pale, his eyes sunken. Laying in his bed with only a bandage across his chest, his strong body laid bare and vulnerable, Tara took stock of all the things they would have lost if the man in front of her hadn’t made it home. Despite his reluctance, Paul was a good leader, and she tried every day to convince him of it. People loved and respected him because he was willing to go outside the walls and risk it all to strengthen them.

“How is he?” Daryl’s low rasp shook Tara from her reverie.

“Exhausted. He’s got some pain killers, so he’s comfortable enough to sleep.” Tara covered Paul in a thin blanket. “Come in. Sit. I’ll be back in a bit to check on him.” Sheepishly, Daryl entered the room, letting Tara give his arm and affectionate squeeze as she went past.

It had been several days since the cemetery, and Daryl had barely slept. Seeing Paul gravely injured had shifted something inside him, something Aaron had nudged to hang just the right way.

“Gonna keep watch on me?” Paul’s voice was just a whisper on his lips. He turned his palm up on the bed, an invitation.

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, slipping his big hand into Paul’s smaller one. “Feelin OK?” He let his thumb caress the top of Paul’s hand.

Paul nodded, then winced, which Daryl caught even though he tried to hide it. “As long as I don’t move. Or breathe.” He gave a Daryl a thin smile. “You’re too far away.”

Daryl slipped off his boots and lay down beside Paul, mindful of the bandage across his chest. “This OK?”

Paul hummed affirmatively. His limbs were heavy, though he positioned himself close enough to lay he head on Daryl’s shoulder. He laced his fingers together with Daryl’s between their bodies. He could feel the other man relax against him, and if he hadn’t been so exhausted, Paul may have quipped at Daryl to make him blush.

“I’m sorry.” Daryl placed a firm, confident kiss on Paul’s forehead. “Wasted too many years. We have a chance now and I ain’t gonna fuck it up.” He reached over and felt the smooth skin of Paul’s temple with the back of his hand, reveling in the new-found ability to show his affection.

Paul took his hand, kissing the palm and then holding it to his chest, just above his bandage. “You better not. I love you, Daryl Dixon, but you know I will kick your ass.” Paul’s lips quirked up on one side and he peered at Daryl through heavy eyelids.

Daryl huffed a laugh and kissed Paul’s head again, snuggling into the warmth of the other man’s presence. They fell asleep, Paul holding Daryl’s hand to himself, so the hunter could feel every beat of his heart. That is where Dog found them, limping on a bandaged leg, letting Aaron help him into the bed to curl up at their feet, content.

#thewalkingdead #twd #daryldixon #twdfanfiction #desus #paul jesus rovia #twdaaron #gayfanfiction #7daynosmutchallenge

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