#is my room still blue does the floor still creak so particularly when you step off the front stairs

[strawberrystepmom]

every time I think about my childhood home I have to lie down pensively for fifteen minutes and stare at the ceiling

[jamespottersmixtape]

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

 Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway. 

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

[duskamethyst]

broken reverie.

a/n: he’s not wearing glasses in this one.

word count: 3.9k

genre: smut, nsfw, college AU

warnings: taboo rs, slapping, spanking, choking, face fucking, brat taming (kind of), slight degradation, creampie, age gap (nanami reaching 40)

pairing: professor!nanami x f!reader

summary: professor nanami calls you to his office to ‘talk’ about your terrible performance in his class.

maybe you went too far.

or else you wouldn’t have ended up in his office. 

but is this the outcome you coveted? yes.

the door creaks behind you before it closes again as you sit and wait in front of the big wooden desk. you were kind of excited when he told you to come and see him at his office earlier but now you’re having a whirlwind of emotions making your stomach churn and you don’t dare to look around to face him– even though he’s going to be sitting in front of you in a moment.

his shoes clack against the floor as he strides and sits on his chair. the air in the room feels dense when the male doesn’t say anything; as if you’re not in his presence to begin with.

he looks exasperated. a long, deep breath is emitted through his nostrils as he loosens up his tie from the collar. you only gawk at him in awe as he does so, but quickly snap out when he finally shifts his gaze at you. 

“so, are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he finally breaks the silence. the deep, husky tone of his voice fills your ear and you hope he doesn’t notice your thighs press against each other almost immediately.

“tell you.. what?” you mentally slap yourself. you’re clearly aware of what he’s insinuating but you’re suddenly lost for words. there’s a huge difference between seeing him in class and being alone together with him. it’s even more nerve wrecking than you imagined and oh god, is his ac broken? because it suddenly feels hot.

nanami raises a brow, evidently unamused. “i had the courtesy to make time for you when i should be having brunch now so i don’t appreciate you playing coy.” 

you gulp audibly, “i’m sorry, sir.”

“if it’s not clear to you yet, i’m talking about your grades.” he opens the drawer under his desk and pulls out a pile of paper before slamming it in front of you. you blink in surprise and flip through the pages, though you know you don’t need to see it when you already know what lies on them. there are a lot of red circles on the papers, namely yours, with huge unpleasant numbers on the corner ranging from 12% to 25%. 

then he takes out another file which you realize as your student record throughout your semester and the subjects you currently take. 

“i find it odd that you scored well for your other courses.” he skims through the pages. “you certainly didn’t cheat, i can tell.”

“no, of course not.”

“then, what’s the problem here?” his tired eyes bore into you as he waits for you to answer or come up with whatever excuse.

“well, i–” 

“you’re doing it on purpose.” he snaps.

it’s as if time comes to a stop. your cheeks heat up with humiliation and you can’t bring yourself to continue to look at him in the eyes. although you’re aware that your silence means compliance, you’re still jumbling up words in your head to deny his assumption. 

“are you going to tell me i’m wrong?” 

“yes– i-i mean–” you stammer.

“then enlighten me.” he glances at the branded watch donned on his left wrist. “we have time.”

you shake your head, “i have another class soon.”

“skip it.” he quickly retorts. “i’m sure you have no problems with that. your grades are doing well for that one, but certainly not mine.”

sweat starts to form on your palms as you look down on your thighs, purposely avoiding his eyes that hold nothing but so much intensity. you’re weighing between two options; to keep on bluffing or come clean. you don’t think that nanami would let you get off the hook if you keep on lying and you’d definitely be bombarded with more questions, yet the outcome of the latter would be so embarrassing and you don’t know if you can live it down for the rest of the semester.

you’ve fantasized about being alone with him but.. not particularly this way. 

gathering courage and taking a deep breath, you decide it’s best to just tell him the truth.

“you’re right,” you feel your ears burning, hands clammy. “i purposely failed your class.”

lifting up your head, you see the male grinning lopsidedly in his seat. maybe he’s pleased that you’re not wasting his time anymore, you’re not sure, he’s not easy to read.

“wasn’t that easy?” he folds his arms in front of his chest. “i have my own speculation but i wanna hear why you did it.”

“um,” you look down to your hands again, also half wondering what kind of bold assumption he has in mind. “i was dared by my friend.”

“wrong,” he scoffs. “and look at me while you’re talking.”

you sigh defeatedly and nervously fix your gaze. if you’ve learned one thing now, it’s that your professor doesn’t have tolerance for bullshit and he knows one when he hears one.

“i-i did it for.. attention.” 

“my attention?” he emphasizes, maintaining his stoic persona to mask his amusement of finding out that his speculation turns out to be indeed true.

you purse your lips in a thin line, nodding your head quietly. nanami remains to stare at you as he ponders in silence. you can hear your heart beating rapidly in your ears and you want to break eye contact so badly but you’re certain it wouldn’t be wise. 

“all that, just for a crumb of my attention?” he spits with a hint of venom in his voice. “are you happy with what you did?”

well, you’ve imagined him punishing you on his desk, fuck you raw or spank you with his belt until your ass turns red– not some serious interrogation.

“no, sir.” 

nanami props his elbows on the table, hands clasped under his chin to keep his head up. the air around him becomes even more threatening but it somehow manages you to feel even more aroused, making your toes curl in your shoes. you definitely need to get out soon.

“you know, if i have even one student failing my class, i could get into trouble and be questioned for my performance.” he starts. “to have you doing that for your own selfish incentive is unacceptable, don’t you think?”

“i’m sorry.” you mumble with meek.

“besides that, you might have to retake this course again for your next semester and it’ll waste your time– or..?”

you stay silent to let him continue.

“or you were intending to be in my class again so you can see me?” 

“y-yes.” you bashfully admit after one silent moment, knowing that lying will take you nowhere. “i’m sorry, sir.”

nanami chuckles, finding your naivety to be rather entertaining. never has he ever met a student like you, outwardly expressing their interest in him by failing their paper. he’s not too sure what you’re trying to get out of him but maybe he can put one and one together. it’s pretty common that younger women have an attraction to older men like him and your classmates are.. well, not exactly the best looking either. 

“are you?” he smirks cynically. “do you have any idea how many students i have to monitor? how tiring my job can be?”

“yes. it was inconsiderate of me. i’m sor–”

“show me.” nanami cuts you off and leans back on his chair. maybe he can push you a little bit, he thinks. you owe him this anyway.

you blink, perplexed. “what?”

“you kept saying sorry.” he undoes two of the buttons on his blue dress shirt and spreads his legs apart. “talk is cheap. show me.” 

you do a double take as he taps his thigh and waits for you to come over. you have the faintest idea of what he’s implying but your body freezes and your brain short-circuits as if paralyzed.

“you chose to lie again? you’re not really sorry, are you?” 

“no, no! that’s not it. i just..” 

an ongoing battle takes place in your mind– sure that this is a part of your deepest, darkest fantasy yet you’re just baffled over how quick nanami catches on to it. now that your debaucherous dream has become a vivid reality, you don’t know which is the right step to take. 

“but if not now, when?” a soft voice in your head whispers. if desire could embody a voice, you think this is it. gentle, yet seductive as if it attempts to give you a push to pluck and have a taste of the forbidden fruit. 

“how much longer do you have to touch yourself to the thoughts of your professor before you go to bed?”

“although this could be a one time thing, at least you’d know how it feels like.” 

you slowly get up from your seat and make your way towards him. nanami’s eyes trail up at you, down to the floor then back up at you; gesturing you to get on your knees.

you settle between his thick thighs and look up at him timidly through your lashes before you bring your hands to undo his belt.

“no hands.” he quickly demands. 

you lick your lips as you figure the structure of the belt and how you’re going to take it off without the aid of your hands. the taste of cold metal and leather instantly invades your palate as you feebly use your teeth to tug the front loop of his belt. your head shifts awkwardly side to side until you finally get to catch the buckle between your teeth, pulling it hard before the belt soon unfastens.

nanami only observes you indifferently from above, yet the large tent in front of you doesn’t conceal the excitement he currently possesses. 

you take a deep breath before you continue on succeeding your quest. you twist your neck as you find and tug on the fabric loop that holds the button.

“i know you’re a smart girl.” he praises as he rests his hand on top of your head while you struggle to lift up the zipper with your tongue and grasp it between your teeth. the simple praise inflates your confidence and you become more eager to complete your task so you can claim your awaiting prize.

with valiantness, you finally lock eyes with him as you pull down his zipper completely to reveal the huge bulge pressing against the fabric of his briefs and the tip slightly poking out from the top. 

“hm? you still have to take it out, no?” he smirks as he notices you gape at the outline of his cock. 

you quickly pull yourself together and lean back up to the stretchy band on his waist. he hisses when he feels your tongue purposely graze against the flushed tip before you pull down the briefs by force to reveal the one thing you’ve been desiring for so long. 

you press your thighs together as a dull ache forms in your core from the sight of his thick cock standing proudly in front of you. it’s nothing like you’ve ever imagined– it’s better and you’ve finally found it worth going through all that trouble of failing his class (and using your mouth to take off his pants).

“this is what you want, isn’t it?” he sneers, titling up your chin with his fingers, brushing your lips with his thumb and pulling the bottom lip apart so he can see a row of teeth.

“y-yes, sir.” you gulp and breathe as you wait for his next command. 

nanami’s lips tug into a conceited smirk, “suck.” 

leaning down your head to the base, you flatten your tongue underneath the shaft and slowly drag upwards in favor of reveling the veins on his hard cock. nanami lets out a sigh of content when he feels your tongue licking his tip and his hand tugs on your locks by reflex. you look at him as you wrap your lips around the tip, slobbering the tip with your saliva and his precum.

“fuck.” he curses under his breath and his head falls back when the warmth of your mouth finally engulfs his throbbing cock as you take most of the length inside your mouth.

you hollow your cheeks together, head bobbing up and down as you struggle to take more of his cock that you nearly choke whenever the tip hits the back of your throat, but the hand on top of your head grabs a fistful of your hair and he pushes your head down to sink all his length inside your mouth deeper. when you want to pull away, he only holds you in place and remains his cock down your throat. 

“through your nose.” he mutters. tears start to well in your eyes while your saliva just trickles down to his balls as he screws his eyes shut and relishes in the pleasure that washes throughout his body. “i needed this so bad, you know?” 

your whines only give him more stimulation and his hips jerk in response, “just wouldn’t think that a student– fuck– out of all people would choke on my dick.” he lets out a sardonic chuckle as if something just crossed his mind. “it’s wrong, but that’s what makes it feel so good, isn’t it?” 

nanami keeps you in the position as he ruts his hips slowly into your throat. his eyes are closed in concentration and his lips part slightly in fast and short pants. you work on your gag reflex as you let him fuck your mouth, enduring the sharp sting on your scalp when he tugs your hair harder– at least you know you’re making him feel good.

“if i cum in your mouth, you’d gladly swallow, won’t you?” 

you can feel his cock twitching when you let out a choke of assent from your throat but you splutter as soon as nanami abruptly pulls away his cock because of a sudden knock on the door that startles the both of you.

“get under the desk.” he urges and you quickly crawl to hide while he coughs and inches closer to his desk. “come in.”

you hear the door open followed by echoes of footsteps before it comes to a halt in front of his desk.

“didn’t i tell you to contact me before seeing me?” his voice is laced with irritation yet collected as he speaks. you can imagine the agitated look on his face, thinking it would be only natural for anyone to assume that he’s already having a bad day. and to them, interrupting the peak of his orgasm is most definitely not it. 

without a second thought, you take back his dick inside your mouth. a spur of triumph swells in your chest when you feel his body jolts in surprise. you think it’s only fair since he has choked you with his cock and what perfect timing to carry out your petty vengeance when the man is busy advising his student. 

however, nanami shifts on his seat to give you more access to take more length of his cock. he tries to stay composed as he feels your tongue gliding up and down his shaft but once the wet muscle prods against the slit, he emits an oddly sharp exhale. you can hear him almost stammering as he speaks and the way his tone changes to conceal the squelching sounds you elicit from underneath the table as you please his cock with zeal.

“so, i want you to fix the mistake and hmm..,” his hands ball into fists on the table as he takes a deep breath. “show me in class tomorrow.”

“sure. uh, are you okay, sir?” you hear the voice say. “you don’t look well.”

his eye twitches when your tongue wraps around his balls, taking one inside your mouth to suck harshly.

“yeah, fine.” he clears his throat. “thanks for asking.”

nanami only watches as his student turns to walk towards the door until the door closes behind him. once he’s sure that the student has left the door, he finally leans back on his chair in relief. 

“fuck.” he groans, glancing down at you as you look up at him innocently with doe eyes and your swollen lips wrapped prettily around his balls. yet, he looks dissatisfied more than anything. 

nanami grabs your arm and drags you out from under his desk until you’re on your feet, “i never took you as a fucking brat.” he lifts up your skirt and bites back a groan once he sees the damp patch on your panties. “did you touch yourself?”

you hum a ‘mhm’, feigning guiltlessness as he grazes his fingers on your inner thighs. 

“you’re just asking for me to touch you here, hm?” shivers run up your spine when his thumb ghosts over your wet slit and up to your clit.

“y-yes.” your breath hitches.

“begging for me to push your head on the table and ram my cock inside you?” he muses, pressing on your clit as he watches you squirm. “is that what you want?”

“please–” you roll your hips slightly to soothe the ache on his thumb but a hand comes down harshly on your ass, gesturing for you to stop in a fierce manner.

nanami chuckles mockingly, “well, that’s what exactly you’re not going to get.”

a whine elicits from your lips when he draws back his hands to his thighs and you glance at his dick; still throbbing and leaking precum from the florid tip. well, at least he hasn’t put it back inside his pants, so you still have a chance.

“come on. you haven’t shown me how much you’re sorry.”

with your inhibitions already flew out of the window, you stand in between his thighs, hoist the skirt to your waist and tug your panties to the side before squatting down to smear your slick on his dick. sparks of arousal swim through you as you grind your clit on the tip before you sink down, gasping as his thick cock stretches your cunt and down until you’re filled to the brim.

you glance at the male expectantly, waiting for him to move but he raises a questioning brow at you, “if you want something, work for it.”

not exactly what you sought for, but it should suffice. you begin to gyrate your hips slowly, adjusting to his size before you can pick up the pace. you fight the urge to hold onto him for leverage, in fear he wouldn’t appreciate the crumple on his expensive dress shirt later.

as you become more delirious, you start to hump his cock vigorously, whining like a bitch in heat as you feel every vein and ridges on his cock brushing deliciously against your walls. nanami lifts the hem of your shirt and brings it up to your mouth and you quickly catch it between your teeth. 

“the door isn’t locked, you know.” he muses, staring at your bouncing tits with half lidded eyes; mesmerized and thick with lust. “what’s going to happen if someone comes in and sees you bouncing on her professor’s cock like a little whore?”

a low, guttural sound rips from his throat when he feels your walls clenching around him in response.

“you’d like that, don’t you?” he smirks, tugging your bra down slightly and brushes his thumb against the erected nipple, making you mewl through the fabric in your mouth.

“you know you’re not supposed to do this but,” he brings up his thumb to caress your cheek. “you’re just so eager to please me, aren’t you?”

you sniffle in response, hands clutching on his solid thighs as you melt into his soft gaze before it’s gone in an instant.

“but i don’t like brats.” he sneers, drawing his hand away to slap your breast. “i don’t like people making my job harder. are you a brat?”

you shake your head, he slaps again.

“you act like one. stop lying.”

nanami tugs down the shirt from your mouth, a part of the fabric already drenched with your drool. his large hand circles around your throat while the other grips your hip firmly to roll your hip even faster on his dick. 

“oh– feels good–!” you moan wantonly, eyes rolling back as you let him control your body and assert his dominance over you.

“fuck it does.” he presses your throat tighter on the sides, restricting air from entering your lungs but your walls squeeze harder in retaliation. 

“bratty little bitch. clamping down on me like that.” he grits out and slaps across your face. what seems to be a rather harsh form of treatment, the pleasure filled sting and the lack of oxygen only fuel your arousal that you don’t even notice the way you hump on his cock has become more rapturous.

“getting off to this?” nanami slaps your other cheek before he lets go of his grip around your neck and you’re finally able to breathe air again. yet, he doesn’t spare you time to gather yourself before he promptly lifts up your hips and starts to pound inside your cunt relentlessly. 

the position causes you to tip to the front and you immediately hold on to him; face burying on the crook of his neck while his cologne fills your senses and sends you into a state of frenzy. 

“you like me using your tight cunt like that?” nanami grabs your ass for leverage, the angle allows him to fuck you so deep that you’re able to feel his cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust. 

“y-yes–!” you cry, the pressure in your stomach building up as you inch closer to an orgasm.

“like it when i use you to take out my frustrations?” he spanks the meaty flesh; walls clenching tighter on his fat cock and more slick dripping down his balls. “you just want to be my little cocksleeve, don’t you?”

“yesyesyes– please–!” your body starts to tremble above him. “w-wanna cum–”

“then fucking cum.” nanami rams into your cunny faster, abusing the spongy walls until the pressure snaps and tips you over the edge. you moan breathlessly into his neck, while your pussy gushes and creams around his cock. 

“that’s a good girl,” he fucks you through your high, grunting and panting as he pushes through the pulsing walls in order to chase his high. “and good girls get rewarded, right?”

you hum in agreement, still dazed and swimming in ecstasy as you gawk at him with heavy lidded eyes; the sweat glistening his forehead and sharp eyes focusing on where your bodies join. 

“then you’re gonna get some huge load in this pretty pussy.” his pace begins to stutter, nails digging deeper into your skin before his cock twitches and his hips freeze as he paints your insides white with cum.

both exhausted bodies rest against each other, chests heaving as you and nanami take time to regain composure and come down from your highs. he lifts you up slightly to take out his spent cock and he tugs back your panties in place, not minding the cum that dribbles from your quivering hole. 

your legs tremble once you get off of him that you have to force yourself to find your footing as you fix your skirt while the older male pulls back his pants in place. 

“do your best for your next papers, no more of that bullshit.” he fastens his buttons and straightens his tie before raising his hands to brush against his sleek, light brown hair that’s mixed with a few strands of grey. “but if you have any problems, just come and see me in my office.”

nanami falls quiet for a brief second to contemplate and you straighten your back when you once again meet his icy gaze, “after hours.”

enjoyed this piece? wanna buy me coffee? :)

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[highdramas]

the world’s a little blurry | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: none

word count: 2107

summary: bucky is home, and he is yours

note: this is a one shot for now, but i definitely have more ideas for these two <3 this’ll be heavily inspired by tfatws so this is a spoiler warning for anything mentioned! also this is my first time writing bucky so pleaseeeeee give me some mercy lol

enjoy! <3

it’s nearly three in the morning, and you’re lucky if you stay up past midnight, so bucky makes a point to be quiet as he tiptoes into the apartment. after a mission gone awry in the apartment building where you had been neighbors, you’ve been staying with the superhero. something about not losing you and you’re safest here. bucky’s not stupid— caring about someone is a gamble, and it had become clear to his enemies who exactly it was that he cared about.

living with you came lots of things that bucky was not expecting. first off, you’re very cluttered. you call it controlled chaos, he calls it a mess. he’s fascinated by the state of your night stand, mostly. a dying plant and one loose airpod, two half empty water bottles, an empty starbucks cup.

second off, you have a cat. her name is katherine, but you call her kitty, occasionally kiki. and while bucky had been determined not to get attached, after awhile, it was difficult not to. she rubbed up on his legs, cuddled in his lap on the couch, slept on his chest in the middle of the night. she’s fucking adorable, and not even the winter soldier can deny that.

third off… you. you as a whole. he’s sure that it would’ve been a shock living with anyone, but the care that you give him… he’s not used to having someone making sure he’s eating. he’s not used to someone checking up on him throughout the day. he’s not used to having someone to come home to.

it’s nice.

it feels safe.

and he’ll kill anyone who tries to take this peace away from him.

bucky groans as he shucks his jacket off, feeling exactly where his muscles ache. he tries to keep his volume minimal. finally, he opens the door to the bedroom. the bedroom that you share.

this was the biggest adjustment of all.

he’d barely slept in a bed at all before you came along. too soft, too comfortable. he told you as much that first night, and what you had said shocked him.

“well, i’ll just sleep on the floor with you.”

no, oh, just get in bed. no, c’mon, it’s nice. none of those things. just understanding.

but it was more than understanding. it was meeting him exactly where he was.

that was three months ago, and you had kept your word. if you weren’t sleeping on the floor with him, you were on the couch with your hand tangling down, brushing along his hair, his shoulder. every time he felt you bucky swore that he could cry.

it was two months ago that he suggested you both sleep in the bed. and while it wasn’t every night, and some nights he padded out to the living room with a blanket and pillow… it was progress.

and he would wake up to find that you had joined him on the floor.

the nightmares weren’t gone. he’s not sure if they ever would be. but they were growing few and farer between, and the ones he did have were growing more manageable.

things were getting better.

of course, they were not perfect. and he knew that you didn’t expect them to be. he has therapy once a week, sometimes twice during the particularly hard weeks. he’s grown close with sam and his family. and… you.

his girl.

as the door creaks open, he almost chuckles at the sight of you. you’re laying horizontally across the bed, taking up both your side and bucky’s. katherine is curled in at your chest, her nose nearly touching yours. your mouth is open and he can see that there’s a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth, and that does make him laugh. it stirs you and he freezes.

bucky watches as you slowly wake, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and then rubbing the drool from your mouth. “ew,” you mumble, still half asleep, and bucky leans in the doorway wearing a smirk.

“go back to sleep, doll.”

you hum and stretch, and so does katherine, giving a wide yawn. “you’re home.”

home.

had he ever had a home before? 

he did once, as a child. a time that feels so distant, so separate from the life that he leads now. sometimes, it’s hard to even picture the faces of his family members.

he had this apartment, but it never felt like home. not until you waltzed into it with your clutter and your laughter and your vibrancy. not until you cooked dinner hip to hip, not until you listened to music that he had never heard of, not until you watched some movie that was your favorite.

you’re home.

bucky smiles and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair back. “i’m home,” he says quietly. “i’m sorry i’m so late.”

you shake your head, your hand taking his. he still wears the gloves. you raise your eyebrows at him. “can i?”

he nods. you make quick work of removing each of his gloves, tossing them across the room, which makes bucky smile. he knows he’ll be picking those up in the morning. you press a kiss to his palm, the one that is flesh and bone. and then you take the other and do the same. “missed you, buck.”

something in his heart constricts as he watches you-- washed in moonlight that comes in through the window, sleepy smile on your face, eyes fixed on him. he knows that look, and he knows what it means. he doesn’t know if he deserves it, but he tries. he’ll always try for you.

“i wasn’t even gone twenty four hours,” the smirk is evident in his tone even if you can’t see it, but you scoff and roll your eyes. “i think you’re needy.”

“needy!” you repeat and laugh, falling back onto the pillow. kitty stirs and looks up at bucky, letting out a loud meow. “she’s the needy one. look at her.”

“both of you.” he scratches kitty’s head and then kisses the top of yours before he stands again. “i’m gonna shower.”

sleep is escaping you and you push yourself up onto your palms. “can i join you?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek and shrugs his shoulders innocently. “better pick up the pace then, soldier.”

with a laugh, you kick the sheets off of you. “yes sir.”

he rolls his eyes and you both shuffle into the bathroom. now, in the light, you’re able to get a good look at him. and your jaw drops slightly at what you see. “bucky,” you say and he already knows what’s coming. you touch the side of his face where a bruise is blossoming. “how the hell does this even happen?”

“part of the gig.”

you groan and he smiles and he does so because he loves you. he loves your mess and he loves your doting, he loves your cat and he loves coming home to see that you’ve taken up the entire bed. “you’re an old man. one of these days you’re gonna have to retire.”

“got unfinished business first.”

you know of his past. of course you do. although, you’re a firm believer that it’s not his past, rather than a past that was decided for him against his will. you’ve made a point of making your stance in that clear. you have heard stories of what bucky has done, but you have tutted and shaken your head. “what hydra did.”

these are the things that bucky tells himself, but it is different to hear it from someone else. someone who is not steve, or sam, or another avenger who has also committed morally grey acts. because, yes, they are all good and trustworthy and worth listening to-- but you. you are his girl. you are his girl who laughs at his jokes and teases him and never once babies him for what happened to him, but you’re also the girl who has woken him from nightmares, who has tended to his wounds, who has been held back from a fight just to defend his honor. you have seen him in his entirety, and you have never balked.

“alright, well--” it’s not lost on you how his eyes trail down your body as you undress, turning on the water and checking the temperature. “as soon of this business of yours is finished…”

“i know.”

the two of you share a look and he gives a crooked grin. “you look nice.”

“there’s dried drool on my face.”

“yeah, i know.”

it’s been nearly a year since you met james buchanan barnes and yet he still gets you to blush. he practically lights up at the sight of the color on your cheeks. “are you--”

“shut up and get in the shower,” you retort, pulling back the curtain and stepping into the steaming water.

“yes, ma’am.” you hear the shuffling of his clothes falling to the floor and then he is behind you, hands going up and down your arms. you let out a sigh and tilt your head back, peering up at him. water trails down his nose, dripping off and onto your forehead.

you don’t tell bucky, but you do worry. you worry every second that he’s gone on a mission. you know that you don’t have to say it, that he knows. and you trust that he will come home to you. bucky turns you and he holds your face in his hands and he presses his lips to yours and you know that he feels the same way.

i’ll always come back is spelled out in the way that he kissed you, the way that he holds the back of your head. we have forever is heaved from your lungs as he sucks the air from you.

when you part, you smile at his lips-- slightly swollen, pinker than normal. you rub your thumb along the bottom one and he catches your hand. he presses it on his chest, right where his heart hides beneath skin and bone. “you don’t have to do all of this to make up for what they did to you,” you say over the sound of water. “you’re allowed to have a normal life, if you want it.”

“i know.” he pushes a piece of wet hair from your face. “i just don’t--” he shakes his head and you know this all too well-- he doesn’t quite know what to say, he starts closing up and off and away, the high walls that guard his heart and mind beginning to take shape. “i feel like if i don’t… what was it all for?”

delicate hands move across his torso. you lather up a loofah and begin washing away blood and grime. “bucky,” you say and he looks at you, steely blue eyes staring right into yours. “you make people happy. you have people who love you, who care for you. you don’t owe the world reparations.”

he winces as you go over a particular bruise and you slow your movements, make them featherlight. “all i know is,” you begin. “whatever it is you want, whatever it is that fulfills your life… make sure it’s for you.”

a smile curls on his face and he stills your hands. “thank you.” he takes the loofah from you. “let me get you.”

“but i’m not done--”

“please. let me.”

you surrender and he begins to wash you, and your forehead falls to his shoulder, calm washing over your body. you could’ve been standing there for minutes or hours, you’re unsure. he pushes your hair back and at some point you realize that he is washing your hair, and you press gently open mouthed kisses against his chest and you hear his breath catch and you fall in love with him all over again.

“let me get yours--” you mumble around a yawn and you watch as he smirks down at you. “really, let me.”

bucky shakes his head and he turns the water off. “tomorrow,” he says.

you towel off and when you clamber into bed, you feel the weight of him beside you, your cat nestled between the both of you. you feel him pull you into him, his breath against your neck and his lips against your pulse point, and your eyes flutter shut. before sleep captures you, you murmur, “i love you, james bucky barnes.”

the feeling of his smile against your skin is imprinted on your heart, and his words coax you into sleep-- “i love you too, doll.”

bucky barnes sleeps through the night and doesn’t wake once.

[julek]

my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

+

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

+

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

+

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Let Chaos Reign

Chapter 3- Don’t Provoke The Bear

Summary: After getting your shit rocked by the Avengers, you now wake up in a strange new place even more pissed off then you already were. Also that one pretty looking dark haired guy won’t leave you alone.

Warning: reader being chaotic, Bucky trying his best

Masterlist - Chapter 2

Eyes still closed you can feel a soft pressure holding you up, slowly parting your eyelids, you’re soon greeted by the sight of bright lights circling you overhead, though they remain unmoving. On further inspection, once you force yourself into a seated position, you take notice that you’re in some kind of flat spherical glass holding cell.

Blinking groggily, you look down to find your clothes are all still on your body, suddenly a pang of fear hits you at the thought of your mothers necklace. Reaching for it, you’re relieved to feel it’s still with you. Thanking whoever will listen for that bit of good fortune in this otherwise adverse predicament.

Shifting your gaze back to the current situation of the room, you’re able to see around to some sort of large cavernous lab area with a multitude of that armored man from earlier, though you can tell there is no vital life that stirs within them. Guards maybe? Decoys? You have no idea.

Suddenly your eyes catch movement from the left door, a dark skinned man in black clothing and a single patch over his left eye appears. “Good morning. I’m Director Fury.” He smiles with a friendly nod, arms clasped behind his back while he walks over to you, “Or should I say afternoon?”

Getting off the elevated bed, you wander towards the thick glass keeping you from him, “Where am I?”

Fury nods, “Better question you should be asking is how long you’ve been out for, cause damn, you can sleep.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He chuckles knowingly, “I almost couldn’t believe it myself when the team told me. But wow, holding back both Vision and Wanda for as long as you did. I’m thoroughly impressed.” He boasts for you, genuinely fascinated by your daring feat.

Right, those two.

You frown, gaze hard set and intimidating, “Where the fuck am I?”

“Well for one, you’ve been out for a whole 15 hours since they found you unconscious but alive after getting blasted by Vision and Wanda. Weren’t sure if you were gonna make it, seems the universe has yet to take you out.”

Pursing your lips together in irritation, you glare through the glass at him, “Well I’m not exactly from here so....doesn’t matter. Tell me what this place is and where the fuck I am!”

He holds up his hands, “Alright no need to get heated.” Before clasping them behind his back as he begins pacing slowly back and forth in front of you, “You’ve created quit the stir since arriving in Ireland. My intelligence first received a message indicating a storm greater then a category four hurricane, which by our standards is pretty damn massive. Soon a fun little video of you throwing some busses around like rag dolls peaked my interest. And give or take a couple days, here you are.”

Giving him a deadpanned stare, you cross your arms, “The mystery of the century. Where am I?”

“Alright fine I won’t leave you in suspense, you’re in New York State. In a very secure and safe facility home to the Avengers. Nice place huh?” He smiles, dark eyes looking elsewhere as he gives a little once over of the room.

“I’m in a cell.”

“Yes. But it’s a clean cell.”

Suddenly you slam your left fist against the thick glass causing him to flinch, “You have no right to hold me here! Release me. Now.” You growl darkly, golden irises appearing to almost glow with your building vexation.

“Can’t do that.”

“Alright then, if that’s how it’s going to be. Then I’ll do it myself.”

A second later he’s genuinely startled as you cock your arm back before slamming it into the clear thick glass. With the power of bending the material and your people’s strength, the glass cracks into a fist sized area. Satisfied with this, you do it again and again before a voice startles you.

[Miss, please refrain from breaking that. Mr. Stark has requested that you stop immediately.]

“Agreed.” Says Fury as he hustles over to the far wall, bringing his arm up to his mouth, he speaks but you can’t tell what he’s saying. What nonsense is he even doing?

Ignoring both of them, you punch the glass a fourth time before the voice interrupts again. [Miss. Please suspend your advances. Mr. Stark is on his way.]

Halting your fist from punching a fifth time, you take a step back and bring yourself to the center. Positioning yourself in a fighters stance, legs slightly bent, arms held about 90 degrees; you thrust them forward causing the metal contraption to creak and whine in protest.

Holding your arms close to your body now, you make two tight fists before violently punching at the air; the metal holding in the glass slams forcefully against the far wall. Destroying a couple of those stoic armored sentinels in the process.

“What the fuck?!” Yelps Fury in surprise as he falls to the floor from the force of the impact, “Hey! You better stay right the fuck over there!” He warns while cowering in the corner, nothing to really threaten you with but his voice. That is until he pulls out a stunted black gun, like the ones you have seen on the Norwegian police. You ignore his threats anyways.

Taking your first steps out of the desolated cell feels almost euphoric, your body embraces how strong and dangerous you feel among this place and what has presented itself to you within her walls. A man and his words, a disembodied voice telling you to stop fighting your way to freedom. Ridiculous, they have no idea who you are.

You take a single step left when the man, Fury, shouts loudly, “Stay right there!” Your eyes find the gun held tightly within his grasp, “I will shoot!”

You don’t care for this shallow warning, there are things in this universe more important then a mortal mans fearful intimidation. Opening up your palm, the gun flies out of his hands while he gasps with a start, eyes wide and panicked as you turn the short nosed barrel towards him. Closing your fist, the gun combusts to nothing more then destroyed metal and hard plastic as it clatters to the floor.

He watches in disbelief as you then turn to your left before taking the first door that reads exit above it; you wander past a long hallway until you come across a door leading to a long flight of stairs to some floor with a sign reading - Parking Area - the door is obviously closed.

This is too easy, you think suspiciously, somethings not right.

Opening up the door, you’re greeted by a large cavernous glass and metal room holding a large black aircraft on the far end, a couple more vehicles parked in various areas spread about the place. And not a soul in sight.

Hustling along into the room, you’re able to reach the door on the other side, opening it, you cautiously stick your head out. Ahead of you is a large green yard stretching all the way back to a tree line with trees placed neatly along a road leading up to the facilities main entrance area.

To your far left is a large river, but still, you have no idea where New York is. This is all unfamiliar territory to you, so finding the Ancient One is going to be a tough fucking job.

Not seeing anyone, you take your first couple steps into the open. Soon you’ve made it halfway across the grass headed for the tree line before the sound of gravel crunching causes you to pause and turn around to face the intruder.

So close. The woods are right there.

Clenching your fists, you keep a defensive stance as you stare him down, this man is undoubtedly familiar. He’s dressed in boots, jeans, a pair of cloves for some reason, and a faded grey t-shirt that’s mostly covered by his forest green jacket, while his long dark hair is washed and sits handsomely around his face. Blue eyes staring at you apprehensively, “We’re not here to harm you.” Cautiously says the man in a soft tone of voice, hoping not to provoke you again.

“Then why was I just locked in a cell?”

He pauses for a moment, “Uh, okay, yeah that looks bad.”

“Precisely.

You turn to leave, yet his voice makes you stay, “You don’t have to be on your own you know. I don’t know what you’re looking for, or who....but doing it alone will only take longer. We could help you, if you want.” He suggests with the tiniest hint of a smile. You don’t trust him.

You look towards the lake before finding his gaze yet again, your golden eyes admittedly sadder as you softly answer him, “No one can help me.”

He takes a step forward, face softening, “I felt the same way once. Alone and confused, not sure where to go, no one to trust. Believe me, it sucked......so, I’m just hoping you’ll listen. That’s it.”

“Well, I don’t particularly like any of you. And so far you’ve all gotten in my way and fought me....I have no reason to trust a thing you say.”

He purses his lips together and nods, you’ve got him there, but nonetheless he takes another step forward, “Sorry about that.” He mutters while rubbing the back of his neck, “Uh, let me try and start over....I’m Bucky. And I am definitely not here to fight you. Promise.”

Eyeing him up suspiciously, you take a step back, “Y/N Lavpranthus..of Vanaheim.” You finally reveal, albeit with a smidge of apprehension, however you are not one to hold back your own name if someone is to speak freely theirs.

Bucky nods, incredibly grateful for your calm demeanor for the moment and this first bout of information given willingly by you, though he has not a single clue where Vanaheim is, this is progress. Good progress; perhaps the team was right to send him out first as their guinea pig against the big bad wolf.

Stupid in retrospect, but so far it’s appeared an effective strategy instead of Tony’s idea which was to have Vision and Wanda knock you out again. Not an efficient way to make friends who can throw busses around like its nothing but a bag of grapes...and all without even touching them.

Bucky reveals the flash of a smile as you slowly calm your once defensive stance, though you’re still wary of his true intentions, “Y/N.” Repeats Bucky with a genuine grin as he tests out your name on his tongue, “Never heard that one before, it’s beautiful.

Taken aback by his kindness and sincere compliment to your name, you finally let your guard down, “My mother gave that to me, it was her sisters name, though she died before I met her. Guess it doesn’t matter now...” He frowns as you share a dismal look with the ground, remembering the events that brought you here in the first place. 

Family.

Soon your anger rises once more as you think of your brother, that conniving piece of shit, “Bucky....I-I can’t stay here. I have to go, you wouldn’t understand. And I don’t want you to be involved....fuck....he probably already has scouts hunting for me.”

Bucky’s brows furrow in confusion, who would you be talking about he has no idea, “Y/N, no one could hurt you here, alright. This place is pretty damn guarded. I mean, we are the Avengers.”

Shaking your head you take a step backwards, “No, none of you understand how dangerous he is, I’m lucky he didn’t kill me when he had the chance.”

“Who tried to kill you?”

Finding his worried gaze once more, you back closer towards the woods, a knowingly loathsome look crossing your features as you frown, “My brother.” And with that do you make a swift exit into the trees, out of sight in an instant.

Bucky takes a hasty step forward before looking back at the base where all of the Avengers are watching from the windows, they collectively make a go-get-her motion with their hands, indicating that Y/N is now his problem.

Fantastic, he thinks sarcastically, half the team can fly and I’m going after a demigod with family problems.

——

Jumping over fallen trees and ragged roots alike, you’re swifter then a young leopard under the treetops, it’s admittedly incredibly freeing that you almost get lost in the rush of it all as your boots pound against the leafy ground.

Arms pumping you quickly along while you run deeper into the woods, you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt so free, though your fun soon comes to an abrupt halt when something hard latches onto both of your legs, instantly you begin falling towards the quickly approaching earth.

With lightening reflexes, your hands are thrusted outwards while you emit a blast of air that saves you from suffering brain damage or a bruised face. The wind aids your body in stabilizing itself once again; now standing with your lower legs tied collectively by some metal clasp, you quickly clap your hands together before focusing your release.

The metal clamps rip apart from off of your legs, freeing you in an instant, “What the fuck was that about?” You mutter to yourself when what would you know it, there’s Bucky standing not even twenty feet from you, an apologetic look on his annoyingly handsome face.

He raises his gloved hands into the air, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to stop you...”

Shaking your head in disappointment, you take a step in his direction, “Bucky, you’re going to really wish you didn’t just do that.”

“Uh.” Is all he’s able to mutter before you send him flying backwards with the force of a small windstorm, you watch in amusement as he breaks some branches on his way to the ground.

“You really don’t like following orders now do you?” He hears you chuckle, “I like that. You’ve got a brave heart I’ll admit.” He watches as you walk into view, a knowing smirk adorning your beautiful otherworldly features, “Courage, it’s good. Even after what I did to you a couple days ago, you still came to speak with me when no one else dared, it’s valiant. You would be a noble warrior in my homeland.”

Bucky could have blushed if not for the stick poking uncomfortably into his back, “Thanks....you seem like...uh....an experienced...woman.” Mutters Bucky, mentally cringing at how unbelievably stupid that just sounded in comparison with how gloriously divine you are.

You snort, “Easy on the eyes and a skilled fighter. Guess conversation is too adept for even the likes of you.”

Bucky shows you a cheeky grin as he jumps to his feet, “Well....uh...you don’t really know me that well yet.”

You laugh at his weak flirting skills, “Too bad I’ve got elsewhere to be. I bet you’re fine company.”

“Right...right, yeah...” Mumbles Bucky with a nod, not really confident he’s gonna be able to sway you completely to his side, he just needs you to come back with him to the base. That’s it, well, in a calmly manner. ��Uh...do you even know where you are?”

You open your mouth to speak but pause as you actually have not a single clue where you really are, brows furrowed you answer, “Upstate New York.” Your accent dripping strong with a tinge of uncertainty that greatly annoys you.

Bucky smiles, “Do you know where that is?”

“Well.....not completely but I’m willing to find out, elsewhere. I don’t need help, believe me.”

Bucky throws his hands up, “I believe you. It’s just....I don’t think you’re gonna find your brother without a little guidance here...”

“Don’t patronize me!” You snap angrily, eyes practically glowing gold as you fill with irritation; he’s trying to distract you from your goal, you don’t need any help from anyone. Your brother would never dare ask for such a thing if he was in your place, he probably would have killed this man in the facility yard without a second thought. “You’re all just prying little bastards, I have no business with any of you when my personal quandary is concerned!”

Clearly noticing he’s struck some kind of nerve, and remembering he’s been tasked with gathering as much information about you as possible while striving for the end goal of a truce. Bucky stupidly pressures you further, “Your brother can’t be that terrible, I mean.....what did he do?” Asks Bucky with a casual shrug, a sudden pang of fear flashing through his eyes as you send him a nasty glare.

You don’t even give him a moment to react before his forest green jacket is ablaze from your quick thrust of flame out of your fist, Bucky instantly yelps in surprise before swiftly throwing the burning fabric off of him before he catches fire himself. The jacket falls to a flaming heap on the forest floor, “What the hell?!” Yells Bucky, eyes wide at your incredibly abrupt act of hostility.

Whoosh!

And Bucky’s flat on his back with you right on top of him, kneeling down to meet his startled gaze, his breath hitches as you forcefully grab his stubbled jaw. Your eyes two golden coins of tempered rage, “You have no idea what he has done to me or my realm, you’re lucky I’m not like him or you’d be a burnt corpse adding to the ash of the universe. Pray you never meet him.” Your lip quivers in angered emotion as you lightly squeeze his jaw, “And if we meet again, I assure you someone will die.”

Bucky keeps still as stone as you finally release him from your admittedly powerful grasp, soon you rise to your full height, giving him one last conflicted look before sauntering off into the bushes.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had, chest rising heavily as the adrenaline rush of the fire and you touching him brings him back to reality. He’s on the ground in the woods and you’re absolutely no where to be seen. Soon he jumps to his feet and jogs in your direction until he reaches a gravel road leading back to the Avengers Facility.

You’re gone, just like a phantom in the shadows, gone.

Shaking his head in frustration, Bucky treks back to the base where Steve, Tony, and Natasha are waiting for him outside, all equally curious as to what the hell happened.

“Looks like you were unsuccessful, Barnes.” Quips Tony as Bucky throws him a dirty look.

“She’s...just.....complicated.” Mutters the tired Winter Soldier with a frown as they follow him to the front doors.

——

Bucky slouches comfortably into the back of the lounging rooms giant plush couch, a heating pad seated blissfully against his bruised back from all the times you knocked his ass to the ground today. Sam, Tony, Steve, and Natasha seated in various areas around the lounging room as they give him a break to rest.

Though the peace is soon broken by the sound of Tony’s irritating voice, “You at least get a name to hold against that psycho?”

Bucky throws him an annoyed glance, “She’s not a psycho, and her name is Y/N....I can’t remember her last name. It was something Middle Earth-like I don’t know.”

“Y/N?” Repeats Steve, “That’s different.”

Bucky’s face shifts to concentrated puzzlement, “Yeah, I know....it’s just, she said Y/N of Vanaheim or whatever that means....not sure but she’s definitely not from around here.”

“Really? What drew you to that final conclusion.” Jokes Sam as Bucky mutters an incomprehensible fuck off while the Falcon chuckles.

Natasha’s voice suddenly enters the conversation, “So she’s after her brother?”

Bucky nods, “Yep.”

“And doesn’t appear to know her way around this world either?”

“Yep.”

Natasha hums in thought as Sam speaks, “Damn. I wonder what happened to her before she got dumped into our world...”

Bucky suddenly sits up, “It’s just....she said some people are probably already after her, uh....her brothers guardsman I think?”

Steve takes a step forward, eye brows raised in interest, “Guardsmen?”

Tony nods, “Or are these some type of glorified assassins? I’m just putting this out there, but we really need to get this shit under control before she ends up destroying a building next. Or these, whoever is after her, decide to...oh I don’t know...kill some civilians while they’re at it.”

Bucky’s face shifts to puzzlement, “Dammit. It’s kinda my fault she ran off.” They all give him a varying amount of intrigued expressions as he sighs, “I was just trying to get more info out of her and then I talked about her brother and she set my jacket on fire, before throwing me to the ground and roughly grabbing my face to threaten me, she was really mad too.”

Sam smirks, “Did you enjoy it. Getting manhandled by a pretty lady in the woods?”

“Sam.” Mutters Steve like a disappointed father reprimanding his son.

“Come on Buck, it’s okay, you can tell us. Was it nice?”

Bucky throws him a deadly glare, “Actually it was, I felt very loved and comforted.” He quips, voice dripping in sarcasm before a more thoughtful expression crosses his features, “But she didn’t actually hurt me. I don’t know, she almost looked conflicted to leave....I don’t know it happened so fast.” He mumbles, closing his eyes as he falls back into the comfort of the couch.

“Well as much as I’m enjoying this time together with all of you...” Says Natasha, “We now have a person from an unknown world on the loose with incredible power and the means to use it as she wants. We all know where that can lead us.”

“With more collateral damage then what Ultron gave us.” Adds Tony, “Fortunately this time it won’t be my fault...like that makes a big difference I know. Still, she’s the Avengers newest problem now and we don’t have a damn clue where Miss. Anger Management is.”

“Uh, not exactly.” Starts Bucky as they all turn to look at him. Sam raises an intrigued brow, “What do you mean, not exactly?”

“I, well uh-when she was threatening me, well one of the times she was threatening me...I was able to plant a tracker on the inside of her one pocket. Then she pushed me into the grass and ran off into the woods, I couldn’t keep up even if I tried. She was just gone, but at least I was able to do that. It’s something.”

“Barnes.” Says Tony slowly, “And you’re just telling us this now? When we could have been sending some intelligence or agents or even ourselves out to find her.”

“Sorry but I was recovering from getting beaten up by a beautiful demigod to remember so soon,” Sasses Bucky, “but yeah, that aside, she’s got a tracker on her so all I’d need to do is pull it up on my phone and I’m good to go. Well, as long as she hasn’t found it yet.” 

“If it’s just like that, you’re sharing with the rest of the class.” Says Tony while he wanders over to the television mounted upon the wall, “I’m gonna have you link with the tv, I don’t wanna miss a second.”

With a dramatic sigh does the Winter Soldier lean over to grab the thin metal device from off of the coffee table in front of him while Tony flicks on the large tv screen. Once all is set correctly and synched up, the others watch on in curiosity as he scrolls around a bit before finding the app and clicking on it, a couple passwords are sent in and accepted when the screen then shows one option labeled -Unite_1P - between two white bars within a sea of black.

He taps the label and the screen changes to a view of North America resembling that of google maps, but the screen soon shifts to zoom in on a moving pin point in red that’s traveling a couple miles far northeast of the Bronx, where it appears that Y/N happens to be trekking through some forest heading downwards towards that designated part of New York City.

Steve’s eyes trail over the red pin point, “So that’s where Y/N is going?”

“Seems like it. And she hasn’t a damn clue where she’s actually going either.”

Sam keeps his gaze locked onto the map as well, “And what does she want exactly?”

 “She said something about finding her brother but that’s honestly it, I tried to help her but it was almost pointless. She’s on her own mission now, and no ones going to get in her way.”

Steve sighs, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“What?”

“Y/N. Someone getting in her way, someone just trying to lend a hand and she takes it the wrong way and then...”

“I know man, but I don’t think she’d do that to some innocent person. At least I don’t think she would.” Worries Bucky while everyone takes a moment to process and stare at the screen, red pin point still moving slowly towards New York City. The creak of wood is suddenly heard and all five Avengers turn their heads towards the abrupt noise of Director Fury who’s found himself a spot to stand in the large room.

“Unfortunately we don’t know that. And as the worlds mightiest heroes. It’s your collective duty to always assume the worst. She’s strong, has a goal, and appears able to get it if she tries hard enough. It’s admirable, and yes she’s no Loki...but she is a danger to Earth the less we know about her true intentions and the longer she’s out of our reach.” Explains Fury, “Barnes you’ve done incredibly well. But our apparent need for you has increased as well, so I suggest you smack on a band-aid because we’re going to have a nice civil conversation with her whether she wants it or not.”

“Me?”

“Yes you. You’re the only person she hasn’t tried to send a chunk of metal at, you got close, you got the information. We need you to do it again.”

Steve looks to Fury, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. What if she...”

“I’ll do it.....” They all give Bucky a collective array of questionable facial expressions as he shrugs, “What? I think she’ll listen, maybe, okay I’m not one hundred percent sure if Y/N will hear me out. But I gotta try right? She’s conflicted inside, she’s hurt and alone....if I just have a moment, another moment, I think I could get to her. I think she’ll listen.”

Fury smiles as Steve lowers his gaze, “That’s what I like to hear Mr. Barnes. And don’t none of you worry alright. We’ll be close, at a safer distance of course, but close in case anything goes south. Now the day is still young and we have a demigod to find, I assume you all know what to do.”

Steve looks to the array of assembled heroes, “Suite up..well actually...just Bucky.”

The designated man of the hour rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.”

-

Tagged: @buckylokisimp @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender  @a-girl-who-loves-disney @bizarrebibitch @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @jmstz @thehornytitties @staygoldsquatchling02 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @mischiefmanaged71​ @noragracebrewer   @atomicpersonacheesecake  @thescarlettvvitch @shawnartmendes​

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

I wanted to get this ‘Valentine’s Day’ piece out, even though it’s massively, supremely late. 😭It’s part of a longer piece (because I couldn’t stop writing it😶) and I’m still not sure whether or not it’s not terrible.😖

prompt list

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This couldn't be right.

Damian almost did a double take, his cool smirk withering when he glanced up, transfixed by the sleek storefront at the cross streets where he stood. Why on earth would Raven be in a place like this?

The building towered above the tottering sea of gray, black and blue below. And the mannequins in the display lorded over their dominion, propped loftily on their perches, arms and legs of impractical proportions, stilted at absurd angles.

And why would she summon him here?

His trousers began to buzz audibly and the shifting crowd of passersby jostled him closer to the glass. Damian delivered the faceless caricatures of the female form a final foreboding glare, before he reached down to free the device vibrating in his pocket. New Message. Raven. Apparently, it was urgent. He tapped the speech bubble icon with a fingertip and his jaw went slack.

I Need You.

The three words seemed etched into the surface of the screen. And they were more than enough to get him to take a deep breath and grasp the curved door handle, his jaw set, and wingtips marching determinedly onward.

The atmosphere inside the store was even more unexpected than the outside. When translated, the pounding music and low lighting read as more nightclub than boutique. It was completely impractical in Damian's view—how could anyone locate a price tag, let alone see the item they were intending to purchase? Although, after a few minutes of skulking around in the dark, he could see how the implementation of such a design was advantageous. With stealthiness like his, he wasn't in danger of being accosted by overly helpful employees hungry for commissions, before he located the heading of a dramatic script that read Dressing Rooms, and turned underneath it.

Down the row each stall had a flood light stationed above it, but only one appeared to be presently occupied: the corner room at the farthest end of the hall. And as he got closer he noticed it also appeared to be the largest. Damian glanced behind him and rapped on the door with a knuckle. And just as he began to wonder if he'd needed some sort of special knock or password prepared, the lock glowed black and unlatched itself.

"I'm here." The door creaked open and the floor groaned under his solid weight. Damian turned swiftly to shut it, growing steadily concerned.

"So what is it? What's the—big emergency..." He started, but his tongue began to feel heavy and leaden inside his rapidly drying mouth. And his eardrums began to beat violently until they matched the thumping of his maddened heart.

Red.

Blood red.

Burning. Blinding. Blazing.

In the carpet, the walls, the curtains, the chandelier.

It was everywhere—even in the deafening pounding hammering away at his head.

Thundering images suspended before him, going in and out of focus. They were searing his eyes, blearing his vision. In sinful shapes marred over pale flesh, it was red repeating over and over. Criss-crossing crimson. Damian had to dig his fingernails into his palms to ground himself with the tangibility of a familiar sensation.

And suddenly he realized that all the times before were incomparable, this was what it meant to be blindsided by a breath-taking blow. This was what it meant to receive a rush of blood to the head…

…or a rush of blood to the—

"I'm glad you came so quickly."

And the silhouette of Raven turned where she sat on a velvet ottoman, leaning forward in a way that was guaranteed to diffuse away the rest of his brain's processing ability. It was all he could do not to goggle at her like some cartoon character. Tawdry and tactless. Damian inwardly cursed the merciless Goddess above as he took in the cleavage created by cups, a series of straps and bows and elastic and he didn't know what. Only that he shouldn't have been so disarmed by it—by Raven's breasts pushed up to high-heaven. Like they weren't perky enough or distracting enough in their usual sheath of simple black cotton.

His wide emerald eyes strayed downward in spite of themselves and onto shapely, stocking clad legs folded one over the other, with a lace-up heel tapping out the bass of the synth pop bleeding into the background. Raven slid to her feet seamlessly, swaying slightly to the song. She took a single step, allowing the shadows to part for her as she did so.

There was a muted click, clack, click of her heels on the carpet as she drew near. He'd never seen her in stilettos, and he stared at them through slits.

Gods, they had to be four inches at least. Their impressive height only seemed to serve to make her look even more powerful. Just about as powerful as the force rooting him to the spot.

The deep panging in Damian's chest carried on, a racehorse charging from the starting gate, galloping faster and faster, as she grew closer and closer.

Suddenly he'd become aware of the fact that it was far too warm in here for the dead of winter. Or was it simply that Raven radiated such an intense heat?

Most definitely the latter.

The garnet colored lace gracing Raven's skin was a perfect match to her chakra stone. The semi-sheer fabric of her bra offered up a playful glimpse of the darker skin of her nipples beneath. When his gaze wound down her tapering waist, it appeared that the lack of opaqueness carried over to the front of her panties. He could just make out a little shadow—a promise laying underneath a tempting, well-kept diamond shape in plum wine. And last, but certainly not least were the thigh highs trimmed by garnet lacings and affixed to a red and black garter.

Damian's throat had somehow gone even drier. He tried to swallow with great difficulty, then tugged at his turtleneck for a reprieve.

However, there would be no such alleviation for his trousers.

"There's no emergency, Damian..." Raven assured him with a tilt of her head, lilac tendrils skating across a valley between pale peaks. "You'll have to forgive me, but I had to get you here. I had to know..." She paused, folding her arms as she prepared to pose a question to him. "Tell me... what do you think...of my outfit?"

Damian froze, fingers mid-tug and blinked several times as if he'd been struck dumb.

What?

That wasn't...

There was no way...

Was that a serious request?

She was being facetious—she had to be. It was the only explanation, unless Raven was somehow messing with his mind and Damian sincerely doubted that. But how could she ask him this with such bold-faced sincerity? Even if the wooden arch behind her housed a funhouse mirror and had been reflecting distorted proportions back at her. Or was there actually some warped reality in which they weren't looking at the same picture?

Although...

If he could muster up a voice to speak he would have asked, what outfit?

Lackadaisically, she trailed a hand down her body, tugging at the cups spilled over with supple skin. "The bra—do you like the pattern?" Raven traced the gorge between the swell of her breasts. "It's tulle and...French lace," she confirmed, squeezing the scant, semi-sheer embroidery molded to her chest. And Damian grimaced as though in physical pain.

"No?" she assessed, seemingly marking off boxes on a mental checklist. Raven smoothed her hands over her hips for a moment, appearing to be lost in thought. She paced slowly, revolving a full three-hundred and sixty degrees to pause with her back to him.

"And what about..." She swept a purple curtain over the nape of her neck to glance over her shoulder and he saw—of all things—a bow below the dimples on her back, nestled into the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "My panties...?"

Damian gritted his teeth, though not before letting a sound escape, like a hiss coupled with a wince.

"Are these okay?" The soft profile of her lips pressed.

Gods, it was almost as if she were seeking to offer all of this up to him. And who needed to clarify anything when she was all wrapped up and presented? Covered in the finest cardstock wrappings in gold-flecked marble, then laced up with champagne silk ribbon to await her unravelling.

Though his own would be more likely.

Right now, he'd forsake all his names, both Wayne and Al Ghul to get her to stop. Stop slinking closer, stop speaking in that sweet, scratchy undertone, and stop directing his focus to her various attributes, more than it already was.

It would only make his growing pain more pronounced.

A pale hand dangled down and spread across a smooth, silken thigh. "My stockings, then?" Raven hummed.

Though, Damian didn't speak. He wasn't entirely certain he was still breathing. Somehow, he'd managed to remain motionless and drag his unwilling eyes toward the floor. All his carefully constructed control was necessary to keep himself calm and centered in this moment. He could do this—he had to do this. Otherwise, what was the point of all those long years of training he'd endured?

Shiny purple strands bobbed; she'd started to shake her head slowly at the stony silence from the stoic cashmere wall standing before her, as if she expected as much.

"I bet you're still wondering why I called you here." Damian heard her voice go up in the middle, which it did whenever she was apprehensive or unsure. "I wanted you here to find out what you like—exactly what you like." When he arrived, Raven was blushing a delicious pink, so by now it had to be a violent red. "I wanted to get it right because...you're the first person, or only person I've ever been intimate with in any world, dimension, or universe..." She lingered.

And once again, Damian said nothing, and she resumed speaking.

"I do know that this is something that one does traditionally." Raven paused to worry her already cherry-red bottom lip. "That couples do... Buying underwear for your significant other is supposed to be something special, particularly for this holiday."

He was a mountain, immobile, unwavering...

"Oh, I see..." Her mouth set into a line. "Perhaps, it's the fit—or is it the color...?" Raven's large amethyst eyes swept over the room and landed on her reflection. "I thought dark red was classic. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Donna. I should have gotten something in black." She dragged a distraught hand through dark purple. "It's too much...or maybe it's not enough..."

"Don't," Damian growled low. His inflection was level and gave nothing away. If Raven was surprised by the outburst, she didn't let on, instead she continued.

"I bet the old string of socialites shuffling in and out of the manor were never caught dead in skivvies that weren't Kiki de Montparnasse or at least Agent Provocateur. But this..." Raven lifted her chin toward the mirror. "It's not your taste though, is it?"

That was far more than enough.

Far more than he could stand to hear and far more than he could stand to bear.

When his eyes flew back to hers at last, they weren't steely anymore, they burned—whittling her retinas down like they were wicks on candlesticks. As if he were all but telling her he dared her to do that again, to say that again.

"It's okay. I'm glad I found out before I bought—"

"I said...don't." Damian placed his hands on her wrists and whisked her right up to his chest. And he closed his eyes. He skimmed his lips along the length of hers like it was something sacred, his mouth trembling as Raven muffled out a note denoting her surprise.

He murmured to her, "you're brilliant, deadly beautiful—an empath...and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I'm your blindspot." Damian sighed resolutely. "But Raven, can't you take pity on me? I'm still a man." One that had been barely keeping it together since he arrived, but... "And you're you, so..."

There was no way in any world, dimension, or universe that he could ever resist.

Purple eyes grew wider as he told her and lifted a finger to her chin. Then it was Damian turning the tables and tipping her mouth towards his own. And though he hungered for her, he took slow and sweet and gentle grazes. It was tortuous, but he should only have a little at a time. This was an excess of an impossibly decadent dessert, an indulgence he was undeserving of. It was like the power in his sub zero freezer had short-circuited and he had no choice but to guzzle down that buried pint of vanilla caramel gelato.

Though who could blame him for being greedy when he had all of this spread out before him? And when her ass in those panties even resembled two round, creamy spoonfuls.

To hell with it then.

Damian lunged, face forward, longing for more of her. In an instant, he was inhaling her pulse, intaking the scent of leather-bound books with aged pages and the nectar from plums she'd probably narrowly avoided dripping on them. He dipped his tongue along the hollow of her collarbone as if he sought to test this.

"Mmm, that's nice."

"Nice?" Damian scoffed, his eyes on hers. "That's not what I was going for. Surely you didn't wear this because you wanted me to be nice." At the present, he wanted nothing more than to rip the tiny pieces of lace into twos, but Raven had selected them specifically for him. So he would continue to be patient and continue to savor this.

Let the pieces of fabric hold up for as long as he could hold out.

"Wait a moment," Raven gasped, quickly clutching his arm. "So your present...?"

"Present? Tch..." Damian's lip curled under his front teeth and he let out a piercing click. "If you're seriously considering getting me a present..." His palms glided down her chest and he gathered a scoop of softness in either hand. "Then these are perfect," he whispered in her ear.

And then Damian's mouth pushed back into hers and he was kissing her in ways that would make it impossible to return this lingerie after trying it on. He nipped urgently to gain entrance to her castle, then trapped her lip between his teeth like it was a drawbridge, at last releasing her tongue to collide with his own. All the while, his thumbs were sliding over her nipples, which puckered and pointed at his touch. He pushed up the cups of her bra for better access, head inclined towards his goal, soon to be met by a full mouth.

Each brush of his lips on Raven's chest made her fingers clench further and further into his shirt like it was a life preserver, and she was in danger of losing herself to the depths.

And after all, wasn't this the answer that she'd wanted from this—that she needed from him?

A chance to lose herself.

To stand in a dressing room in his arms, moaning his name like a breathy spell, her body bending until her back was arched under the avid swipes of tongue. He tugged her nipples between his teeth and they reddened, their response a glowing rave.

Yes.

Raven's eyelids squeezed, her pink face contorting in pleasure while Damian enjoyed the full weight of her breasts in his hands. He continued polishing the plush, pink rings. Left then right—until they were glistening.

"Gods, Damian..." Raven groaned. "Just—"

Just as sudden, there was a wet noise, a slip of suction. Damian had released a rosy nipple, taking note of Raven's expression. Hungry and dazed, and all his doing. Whether unconsciously or not, she pressed her legs together, clenching them as she watched Damian slip off the left sleeve of his coat and let it crumple to the ground in a heap.

The glaze of her gaze, her diaphragm's continuous rise and fall, her fingers digging into his arm, she needed this.

So why deny her?

"Yes, these are beautiful..." He whispered as he admired his handiwork under the chandelier light. The way the red nips and bites were like Damian Wayne watermarks upon the pale flesh. "But perhaps..." Damian's hands glided freely down the small of her back, just over the hill of her ass and stroked the burgundy bow, like an X marking the spot. "This."

When Damian glanced down at Raven, she was barely biting back another mewl, and moving restlessly in his arms. "I wonder what would happen if I were to pull this bow... Raven what do you think?"

"Damian... We shouldn't..." Raven murmured, sounding somewhat apprehensive and holding the fabric at his back tightly.

"Yes, we should Raven," he rasped darkly. "Right now, I can't seem to think of a reason why not..."

"Well, there's the fact that we're in public—"

"Public," Damian repeated flatly. "What of it? The outside world ceased to exist the second I entered the door of my own little version of Narnia."

Raven's jaw had unhinged in unmasked shock and Damian supposed this was an instance to take her remaining breath away by kissing her. Yes, he'd walked through a door and suddenly he was laying eyes on his half-naked demoness dangerous in dark red. So clearly nothing else in creation mattered.

When he pulled away her lips opened and closed, while her eyes remained shut, like a thirsty traveler prematurely cut off from a longer drink. And even though it seemed her body knew the truth, a darker part of him wanted her to beg for it.

"But, that's not what I asked," he said with a hard smile that wasn't. Damian drummed a divot on her lower back. "I fear I've gotten ahead of myself again. Tell me about the bow, Raven. What happens if I pull it?" His hand jutted out, he made a motion with his fingers, in mimicry of it.

"Why ask when you know the answer?" Raven asked him, her brow rising shakily.

"I could have asked you the same earlier. But..."

"But?"

Raven bit her lip but made no motion to stop his hands from climbing onto the curve of her ass. He taunted her twice, by tugging lightly on the tulle, until at last... The bow in the back came loose, and her panties slid down her legs with ease. She secured one pale thigh tightly over the other to hide herself.

No bottoms and bra half-undone, she was nothing short of delicious.

Though that scrap of fabric had barely covered much of anything, so why bother to tease? Or hadn't that been the sole purpose of this outfit?

A devious smirk sidled onto Damian's face as he realized something: these were the exact kind of underwear that one put on simply to take off.

"I pulled the bow, Raven," he murmured almost mockingly. "Don't I at least get to see the rest of my present?"

She stared up at him through her soot colored lashes and slowly opened her thighs.

[tuanyiems]

Cookies and Cream

Yugyeom x Reader (f) fluff x smut words: 4k plot: annoyed by some (really just one) of your gratuitous “self-care” rituals, he decides to teach you a little lesson about indulgence, established relationship!au warnings – dom!gyeom, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting a/n – sorry for the delay, coincidentally I also had to work overtime for work this week lol now if only I had Gyeom too…but in other news, got7 is coming back in 3.5 more hours!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited y’all!!! // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

It’s 9PM on a Friday when you decide to turn off your work computer and call it quits. When you blink, the blue shadow of your screen still flickers behind your eyes and for the past two hours your right lid has been twitching every few minutes. When you stand up from your office chair, the world spins and you are briefly nauseated. You swallow down the feeling with a huff, throwing on your jacket and purse.

It’s quiet on your floor, everyone else having left already. It’s been like this the entire week ever since your project manager proposed a new venture and put you in charge of actually making it happen. Yugyeom tells you to just quit, but you figure it’s partially your fault too. You don’t know how to say no. 

So instead, you stop by the convenience store next door and buy yourself a couple of bath bombs. As an afterthought you throw in a box of Ferrero Rocher at checkout.

It’s another thirty minutes when you finally get home. Your whole body aches from being crouched at your desk. As you kick off your flats, Yugyeom greets you with a much too eager smile.

“Babe!” he exclaims, his black hair practically bouncing with every step towards you. “The boys are having game night tonight!”

You let out a yawn as you put your things down. “Sounds great, Gyeom, you go have fun.”

He let out a pout, “You don’t want to come with me?”

You answer with a tired smile and only grow even more weary when you see his infamous puppy dog eyes. “Gyeom,” you plead softly.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you baby!” You pull him into your arms, nestling your face in his chest. You take a deep breath, his distinct warm bergamot tones filling your senses. You truly have missed him. Two years in and coming home to him every night still isn’t enough. Boy, are you in deep, huh?

“Then come with. Someone needs to put Bambam in his place. He bought a PC and suddenly thinks he’s a gamer,” you feel the rumble of his chest as he squeezes you closer.

And you feel your own resolve breaking the longer you stay in his arms, but when you blink, your eyes still sting from the strain of overuse and fatigue.

“But…I bought bath bombs.”

Yugyeom pulls away slightly and you offer up a weak smile. He knows you’ve been working hard this week. He assumed you would enjoy letting go and playing games for the rest of the night, so your rejection blindsides him. He was really looking forward to spending time with you and the guys. From above, he can see the bags under your eyes more clearly and you do look tired.

“Are you sure?” he offers up one final plea and you answer with a firm nod.

“Go and have fun for the both of us,” you assure, pulling away and heading towards your shared bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Yugyeom repeats, following after you like a shadow. “Want me to stay in with you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull out a pair of mismatched pajamas from your drawers. “Please, I don’t think I can handle all your energy right now.”

“Hey!”

“You are the love of my life,” You press a kiss to his frown and watch how easily the corner of his lips lift. “I love you, I love you, I love you, but please Gyeom, go out and have fun and I’ll enjoy myself at home and when you come back, I will welcome you into my arms and we can have the whole weekend together, just us. Okay?”

Seeing your exasperation, Yugyeom puckers his lips before breaking out into a boyish grin. “Oh alright! Go have fun with your bubble bath, I guess.”

“I will,” you press one last kiss to his lips before shooing him away.

It’s not long before you finally have the apartment to yourself. Humming, you slowly disrobe as you make your way to the minibar, breaking out a glass of wine. And just as you are about to sashay over to the bathroom, you pause and decide to take the whole bottle with you.

Impeccably timed, the water you left running is filled to the perfect level as you enter. Taking in a deep breath, you smile as you sip at your wine. The bath bomb you bought fizzes in the water, dispersing in the hot liquid in pastel purple and pinks, and fills the small room with the aroma of vanilla and lavender. For a convenience store bath bomb, it does its job perfectly, which is great because you honestly needed this one win for the week.

When you finally sink into the water, it feels like heaven on your aching muscles. For the first time in what feels like this entire week, you feel your shoulders untensing from the heat of the water.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. 

And you almost fall asleep right there before you remember the chocolates sitting at the edge of the tub. Picking up one of the golden orbs, you bite at the curve of your lips and admire the crinkled foil before your eyes shift furtively to the bathroom door like a thief. Despite being alone in the apartment, you can’t help feeling like a child up to no good.

Yugyeom has a, well, disliking towards convenience store chocolates. He believes they dishonor the art of chocolate making with their “sick capitalist greed” (even though he happens to own a chocolate store). As a result, you very rarely ever ate chocolates that were not made by Yugyeom, himself, which was great because who doesn’t love free, expensive chocolates? But sometimes, you missed the taste of other chocolates.

Especially, Ferrero Rocher. Back in high school, these were your “expensive” desserts. Almost every month, they were your go-to treat whenever you were nursing your period pains and hormonal mood swings. When you entered adulthood and your self-care treatments became more expensive, so did your taste in chocolates.

But now, here you are, savoring the chocolatey, nutty flavor of convenience store goodness on your tongue while your lover is away like a wife with a dirty secret. Your life has come full circle.

You giggle, hand already tearing the wrapper off another piece before the taste of the first is even fully gone. Man, did you miss this flavor. If you could have it your way, you’d put Nutella in everything! The hazelnut spread was like crack! You make a mental note to buy yourself a jar on your next grocery run. 

With the delicious taste of hazelnut glazed over your tongue, you sink back into the tub and watch mindlessly as the pastel water swirls around you. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a hand pops through with your pink bra hanging by the strap on a finger. Yugyeom pushes open the door, revealing his amused face.

“So eager to kick me out that you left a whole trail of your clothes on the floor?” 

You smile up at him before sinking your lips into the water.

“And here I was thinking you’d be so lonely by yourself,” he pouts, setting your bra on the sink counter and approaching you.

You sit up straighter, lifting your head fully out of the water, as he gets closer. “I left a trail so you could find me.”

“Too late for your lame excuses,” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of the tub. His eyes follow your movements as you hug your legs closer to your chest. Most of your makeup has washed off, though the ghost of your eyeliner still tints the ends of your eyes, and though your lipstick has rubbed off, the inside of your lip is awkwardly wine stained. The ends of your hair are wet by the water and the strands stick to your skin in clumps.

And you are so beautiful. Not because you look particularly different in this moment, but because you look so real. It makes him think back to when the two of you first started dating. You had been so nervous, waking up early to put on makeup before he could see you and wearing lingerie every time he slept over. Back then, you’d even refrained from your regular self-care routines because you had been so worried he would think you were too high maintenance. 

But now, he is blessed to have you here, completely bare to him, literally and figuratively. All curled up in the tub, smiling up at him without an ounce of fear—it makes his insides all gooey. You do that to him.

The guys had given him a hard time about leaving game night early, but now that he’s here, he’s sure he made the right choice. 

“Babe,” your soft whisper breaks him out of his reverie. Your eyes brighten when he meets your gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Yugyeom closes his eyes, tilting his head up, and lets out a loud exhale. “You are perfect.”

You giggle, nose scrunching, until you hear the sound of crunching plastic. You watch, in slow motion, as Yugyeom’s gaze drops to the floor and the both of you freeze.

You blink up, swallowing. The residue of chocolate suddenly tastes sour in your mouth.

“Is that…” The words get caught in Yugyeom’s throat. But his silence feels worse when he’s staring at you with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Gyeom, I-I can explain!” the words come jumbling out of you in a rush, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You…You…In our house, babe?” 

“All the stores were closed by the time I left work. I just-I just wanted a quick snack!”

You feel like drowning in your own guilt when Yugyeom looks at you so sadly.

“You could’ve asked me to bring you home chocolates. Unless,” he pauses and a frown forms on his face, “you didn’t want to?”

You hurry to stand in the tub, water splashing from the sudden movement, but you don’t care. You twine your wet, raisined fingers between his.

“Baby, I love your chocolates! They’re my favorite, you know that,” you squeeze his fingers, ignoring the cold air around your bare skin. 

“Do I?” he sulks, looking back at the half-eaten tray of Ferrero Rocher.

You sway to the side, angling your body so your eyes meet his again. “I went into the convenience store to buy bath bombs and grabbed these chocolates at checkout as an afterthought. If I knew I was going to crave chocolates when I saw it, I really would have called you. But it was already late at night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yugyeom sighs. “You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to eat and love whatever you want…but just so you know, you’re never bothering me. I will make you chocolates even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Gyeom,” you pout, endeared by his words even as he’s saying it with a frown on his face. You press your palm to his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “I love your chocolates, and I love you.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles and you meet his with your own. It’s not long before he’s edging his tongue through the seam of your lips, tangling in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to taste him on your lips like this. The quick morning kiss goodbye could only keep you going for so long.

You’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him. How long has it been since the two of you had sex? A week? No, ten days? For the both of you, that was like an eternity.

You can feel your hunger stirring against the pliant muscle of Yugyeom’s tongue. You forget to breathe as he sucks at the bottom of your lip until it is red and swollen. It’s not until your lungs feel like they are burning that the both of you break away with heaving breaths.

Yugyeom makes a face of disgust despite the shine of your saliva on his lips. “You taste like that stupid generic crap.”

He kicks at the tray of chocolates on the floor and you giggle.

“I don’t know, Gyeom, it seemed like you were enjoying the taste,” you tease, tongue poking slyly out the corner of your lips.

It’s then that he realizes your bare state and a smirk replaces his frown.

“You wanna have a self-care night, right? Let me teach you something about self-care.” Without another word, Yugyeom taps twice at your thigh and like a trained puppy, you jump for him. Clinging to his neck, you wrap your wet legs around his waist and let him carry you into your bedroom.

You let out a squeak of surprise when he tosses you roughly onto the mattress.

“If you want to indulge, I’ll give you something to indulge in,” Yugyeom grabs at the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before flinging it across the room. You watch with hungry eyes as his hands move down to his jeans, veins protruding up his arms as he undoes his button. You can’t help the disappointment that fills you when he stops there.

His brows arch at your expression. “Only good girls get rewarded, baby.”

“I’ll be good for you,” you plead, crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him. He cups your face in his large hands sweetly.

“You promise?” You nod eagerly, making him scoff at your desperation. “Good girls don’t break their promises, so keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” you breathe out as Yugyeom trails his fingers down your cheek before grabbing you sharply by the chin.

“I don’t know, kitten, it seemed like earlier you didn’t even want me in the house. Feels like you didn’t miss me at all.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze, brows arching with concern. He points his nose in the air haughtily, but if experience has taught you anything, there was definitely a hint of hurt in his words.

You touch your fingers to his wrist softly. “I missed you so much,” you utter softly. And contrary to the gentleness of your voice, your gaze is strong and sure. It’s only when Yugyeom’s lips twitch into the slightest of smiles that you relax into his touch again.

He pinches your chin between his thumb, forcing your head to tilt back further. His eyes returning to their dark, demanding gaze. “What exactly did you miss so much, kitten?”

“Everything—your touch, your taste, the way you make me feel wanted and loved and safe and warm,” your eyes glaze over, conflicted between giving into your lust or your love, and feeling it all jumbling inside your gut. Both your chest and your core aches for him and it’s so apparent in the way your body seems to melt into the grip of his hand. “I miss feeling you inside me. No one else can make me feel that good.”

“Oh, I’ll make you feel good tonight, kitten,” he smirks, releasing your chin. “Spread out for me baby.”

As soon as he utters the command, you are rushing to the pillows. With your head sinking into the silk pillowcase, you open your legs wide for Yugyeom to admire. And he admires, taking his sweet time to follow you onto the bed, eyes glued to the heavenly sight of your cunt just absolutely glistening with lust for him.

His mouth waters just looking at you spread out for him. “Pretty pussy, so wet for me already.”

He trails his hands slowly up your inner thighs and you are practically vibrating, careening for more of his touch. Yugyeom smirks as he stares at your pussy. Even in his peripheral vision, he can already tell you’re on edge. Brushing two fingers up your wet pussy lips, he spreads your folds apart with the V of his fingers.

Your shaky inhale is audible, much to Yugyeom’s satisfaction.

“So impatient, kitten,” he chuckles darkly, enjoying the way your cunt clenches around nothing. He lifts his fingers off of you and raises it to his mouth. He watches you closely before releasing a low moan at your taste on his tongue. When you bite your bottom lip and watch him quietly, Yugyeom releases his fingers with a pop and lifts his brow. “You’re really trying to keep your promise, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, making him laugh.

“Then as I promised, good girls get rewarded,” he smiles, a shine in his eyes that promises mischief.

With that, Yugyeom presses his two fingers back between your legs and you release a loud sigh at the feeling of his fingers stretching your walls. The ache is delicious and you find yourself whining a little too loudly at just his two fingers alone. You’ve been so wound up this entire week, the sudden stretch of his two fingers is almost overwhelming. Already, your walls are quivering around his digits.

You feel your cheeks heat, eyes diverting from Yugyeom’s gaze to the ceiling. When you hear his dark chuckles, you know he’s noticed too. You’re already so close, it’s embarrassing. When Yugyeom curls his fingers into your soft, velvety flesh, a moan releases from your throat as you feel a fluttering straight in your core.

It feels too good too fast and soon you are whining, palms flying to cover your face as the knot in your core tightens.

“Gyeom, wait, I-”

“Aw, is kitten going to cum already?” Yugyeom coos sadistically, fingers curling faster against your walls. “What’s the rush baby? I haven’t even tasted you properly.”

“Please,” you whine, tensing at your abdomen in a sorry attempt to fight off your orgasm. 

“Missed me that much, baby?” he laughs, feeling your walls squeeze against his digits.

“Yes!” you admit, feeling the telltale signs of your cunt contracting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits you, making your body quiver with pleasure. Heat spreads across your limbs as you ride out your high. 

Yugyeom’s fingers continue to stroke against your pulsing walls as he watches you cum on his fingers. His smirk grows when you open your eyes again, looking at him with surprise. Your hands come to his wrist.

“B-babe,” you stutter, body shaking from his continued ministrations. “It’s too much.”

“Shh,” he strokes his fingers softly against the swell of your walls while his other hand gently lifts your hand from his wrist. “You can do this, kitten. Be a good girl for me.”

You swallow, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as a thrill runs down your spine. Finally, you give a small nod, and he smiles at you with crescent eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers encouragingly. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Show me how you cum, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand as he presses a third finger into your sopping hole. As soon as you’re stretched by his third finger, you can already feel your core tightening. Your heart races in your chest as Yugyeom curls his fingers into you faster, chasing the delicious high that is just tipping you at the very edge.

You let out a whimper, eyes squeezing as your walls tighten around him for the second time. His fingers dig into the perfect spot inside of you over and over until you are exploding with pleasure. All thoughts leave you as your mind fills with hot white pleasure.

As you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm, the fog slowly lifts from your mind and you are relieved to find Yugyeom’s fingers have stopped moving inside you.

“You did so great, baby,” he praises you and you feel yourself glowing from his words.

And then you feel his fingers move again.

“Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you. He smiles, coming up to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “I love seeing you cum around my fingers.”

You pout, running your fingers through his hair. “Only for you.”

You feel him smile against you before he moves to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You can do one more for me, kitten,” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver, and he can already feel you arching into him. “I missed your taste, baby.”

At those words, you groan. God, you missed his tongue on you.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” he chuckles, brushing his wet fingers between your folds. You whine, nodding. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“I know,” you exhale, already shivering from his touch. You watch him with hooded eyes as he smiles from your admittance.

Slowly, he makes his way back down your body, tickling your skin with butterfly kisses down your neck and sucking red bruises down the valley of your chest. Planting a sweet kiss to your mound, Yugyeom pulls away to blow air at your glistening folds, admiring the way you shiver at the sensation.

Finally, with eyes on you, he dips down and licks a stripe up your pussy. He smirks with satisfaction as your eyes flutter close. He taps your thigh, bringing your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You whimper, nodding, and you rise on your elbows, gaze fixed on him. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, Yugyeom gives you one last smile before pressing his lips around your clit. You suck in a breath as he laps at the bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue in intoxicating circles. His mouth feels so warm and soft around you, you can’t help the sigh of pleasure that escapes you.

“God,” you moan, feeling the tightening of your core once again.

Yugyeom answers you with the press of his fingers at your entrance again. You let out a loud moan, feeling your walls quiver at the familiar intrusion. Despite yourself, you find your body clenching around his digits. 

The room fills with your heavy panting and the loud squelch of his fingers thrusting into your sopping entrance. But you can barely hear anything, your brain buzzing from oversensitivity. It almost hurts, how good he makes you feel. When he groans around your clit, it sends vibrations straight to your tightening core.

“Gyeom!” you whine, eyes prickling with tears as he sucks harder.

Your legs shake out of control when he curls his fingers against your g-spot, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. A guttural wail of his name leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears run down your cheeks as your head hits the pillow and you shake against the mattress, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure erupting throughout you. Wave after wave of hot pleasure spreads across your skin and Yugyeom watches in awe as your pussy squirts all over him and down his bare chest.

“Fuck, baby!” He laughs when you finally come to. “You just squirted!”

You feel your cheeks heat as you look down at his wet body and the mess on the sheets. “I-I did,” you mutter, suddenly shy.

“Don’t get embarrassed on me now, kitten,” he smiles reassuringly at you. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done, babe. I just want to eat you out forever now!”

You suck in a breath when he dips down and laps at your cum. You shiver at the sting of oversensitivity, pushing his head away. 

“Too much, Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting back up. 

The smirk returns to his face as his eyes darken again. “Too much, kitten? But I’m just taking care of you. I know you love your self-care nights so much.”

Your eyes grow wide as you follow his hands. You swallow, seeing the bulge of his jeans. And despite having orgasmed the hardest you ever have just moments ago, you find your pussy clenching against air.

And the ache for your boyfriend returns, tenfold. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses his red, hard cock to your swollen pussy. A little indulgence never hurt anyone right? After all, you had a very rough week. 

[hinadoria]

Title: like nobody’s business

Author: hinadoria / Twitter: @bunniepunk / AO3: bunnypunk

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mild amounts of swearing

Summary: Shen Yuan had never known what to do about crying people, much less crying men asleep in his bed at ass o’clock in the middle of the night. God, if Jiu-ge knew about this, Shen Yuan would be six feet under. No, he’d be yeeted directly into hell’s abyss. Arguably though, this was all Jiu-ge’s fault.

AO3: Link

It started when his old roommate Shang Qinghua decided to get hitched at Shen Yuan’s 25th birthday party. Disregarding the fact that it was his birthday party in his apartment that he was paying for (Shang Qinghua was only there to keep an eye on him at Jiu-ge’s ever insistent demands), an increasingly hammered Shang Qinghua had decided it was the perfect time to propose to his disappointingly sober boyfriend.

“My LORd, have yOU EvEr ThoughT about Getting HitchED?!” he shouted in Mobei-Jun’s face. Shen Yuan saw the wince on Mobei-Jun’s face before he could smooth it away. Airplane-Bro had that effect on people. Even his boyfriend was no exception.

However, Mobei-Jun had silently pulled the biggest ring Shen Yuan had ever seen out of his pocket like it was a dimension to worlds unknown. Shang Qinghua yanked it out of his grasp, put it on, and immediately started sobbing loudly in his boyfriend's arms, effectively ruining the atmosphere.

If it wasn’t because Shen Yuan was already secretly plotting to escape to his room, he might have been significantly more miffed at this sequence of events.

After all, he had never been one for big, lavish events like a formal birthday party. He’d much rather spend it in the comfort of his room, maybe playing videogames with a few close friends. However, Jiu-ge had insisted, in that stubborn way of his, taking no arguments. As a result, Shen Yuan wasn’t sure he even knew half the people at his own party.

This all didn’t mean he was completely free of indignation, however. Shen Yuan cleared his throat pointedly, but was ignored by both the affectionate couple and the crowd of people politely applauding.

It was a testament to Mobei-Jun’s excitement, if he was a man that felt such emotions, that he leaped up onto the table, which creaked dangerously with his weight.

“I’d like to thank my dear friends and my soon-to-be best man who supported me through this time. Whom I wouldn’t have met without Shen Yuan’s recommendation to work at Cang Qiong’s internship program under Shen Jiu. So a heartfelt thanks to them both,” Mobei-Jun proclaimed.

The attention of the party turned to its host, who began to turn hot under all the attention.

Damn, it wasn’t as if he was Mother Teresa.

He had simply wanted to stop hearing Jiu-ge’s nagging complaints about a lack of competent interns at his company. And he knew that Airplane-bro’s boyfriend was just about to graduate. It was simple math.

Either way, he had to resolve this situation before Mobei-Jun broke the table or worse, made him give a speech. He quickly grabbed an abandoned glass from the table and raised it high. With raucous cheer, the party returned to full swing, and Shen Yuan strategically retreated to his bedroom.

The next day, Shang Qinghua had all but been moved out of his apartment (Mobei-Jun worked fast and efficiently. Shen Yuan had been begrudgingly impressed). In the midst of his soporific haze, a loud banging came from his front door. Reluctant to get up, Shen Yuan nevertheless used every last bit of his willpower to do so. When he opened the door however, he immediately found himself in deep regret.

A pale Jiu-ge, like Bloody Mary summoned from a dirty elementary school bathroom mirror, stood at his door, foot tapping a mile a minute. He stormed past Shen Yuan into his apartment and curled his mouth in distaste at the mess.

“This apartment is no longer acceptable. I’ve put up with it until now, but this is the last straw. It is imperative that you move out immediately to a place not infested by the stench of the poor,” Jiu-ge demanded. Shen Yuan would never tell him it was probably the week-old ramen stewing on his kitchen counter.

“But I don’t want to, Jiu-ge, please!” he whined. Like most things regarding his older brother, would eventually yield, but would put up a valiant effort nonetheless. No one had the right to accuse him of being a pushover, after all.

Jiu-ge sat down at his oily counter with a sigh, hands flying up to bury themselves in his messy hair.

Shen Yuan immediately felt guilty.

His brother looked a lot less put-together than he usually was, now that he was looking more closely. His shirt was unbuttoned and his makeup was smudged, both facets of his appearance he usually controlled with meticulous determination.

“Please don’t fight me on this, A-Yuan.” His brother looked back at him, and Shen Yuan could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Is everything okay?” asked Shen Yuan. He tapped his fingers nervously.

“It will be,” Jiu-ge answered immediately as if he had expected this question. “Once I get a good night’s sleep.” Shen Yuan moved to sit by his brother.

“Mobei-Jun proposed to Shang Qinghua yesterday,” he offered. This made the crease between Jiu-ge’s brows deeper further.

“At your birthday party?”

“I know, I was shocked too!”

“Rude bastard. I knew nothing good could come out of that tight-knit group of rascals the company foisted on me.”

“Don’t be like that. I bet you secretly appreciate their help, big softie.” Shen Yuan poked at his brother’s cheek, and giggled when Jiu-ge pretended to bite at him. A small smile appeared on his brother’s face, and Shen Yuan rejoiced at the sight. He felt like he deserved an award for Best Brother of the Year.

“I suppose they suffice at times.” Jiu-ge wrinkled his nose like he had thought of something particularly disgusting. “Well. Almost all of them,” he huffed. He shook his head when Shen Yuan looked at him in question. But Best Brother of the Year did not do things half-heartedly.

“I know how to cheer you up even more,” Shen Yuan decided then and there.

That was how Shen Yuan found himself moved into the expensive nouveau-riche apartment complex next door to his brother on the third floor. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad. Jiu-ge was too busy to check up on him more than once a week in person, although the daily calls to his office phone were still a requirement.

Shen Yuan had always been a homebody, there was no denying that. As long as he could coop up in his room reading and editing trashy novels, he didn’t care for the particulars of time or place, even if leaving his apartment and chancing upon another human made him feel like Oscar the Grouch having been caught outside of his trash can and committing a crime.

The point was: it had all been going just fine and dandy, until one day a shout disrupted Shen Yuan from his editing of one of Airplane’s terribly written papapa scenes. He roughly yanked open his curtains, hearing a rip in the plush blue velvet. Whatever, what Jiu-ge didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

The scene which greeted him was one of darkness, which okay, he wasn’t quite expecting that but fine, it wasn’t the first time he had lost track of time doing this and that. Shivering, Shen Yuan stepped out onto his balcony and peered over the rails to see a very attractive, very drunk man holding a broken bottle of what looked like Xin Mo liquor.

“Shen Jiu, there you are, you fucking bastard. Fucking coward! What, too afraid to come and see your disgusting student Binghe on this beautiful night? You always thought you were above us mere mortals, didn’t you? I hope both sides of your pillow are always ice!”

Yikes, Shen Yuan thought privately.

This dude was hammered. Despite everything a laugh bubbled its way up his chest. He didn’t know his brother was so unpopular at work but with a sour face like his, he should’ve expected. Briefly, the thought of pretending to be his brother just to hear more of the entertaining insults crossed his mind, but before he could open his mouth the man, probably named Binghe, went on.

“I bet you think you wake up just looking like an angel descended from the heavens! Well let me tell you, scumbag, that I curse you and your descendents to always have shaky eyeliner! Let’s see you keep up that hoity-toity look and scream at me when you come into work looking like a clown!”

Shen Yuan covered his eyes in horror. Not his eyeliner! He had to look sharp for the ladies.

“I fixed that stupid assignment one million times! Your nitpicking doesn’t even make sense anymore, you blind geezer! Come down here, if you’re not a coward and I’ll show you ...” Binghe paused, looking like he was gonna hurl.

“Show me what? You can’t leave me hanging like that, I won’t be able to sleep!” Shen Yuan shouted out, against his better judgement. He had already been collecting Binghe’s flavored insults to use against that traitor Shang Qinghua next time he saw him.

Binghe looked back up, with what seemed like confusion in his eyes, though it could have just been bleary drunkenness. To Shen Yuan’s horror, it looked like Binghe had tears in his eyes.

“All I wanted was for Laoshi to acknowledge me,” Binghe sobbed out. At this point Shen Yuan had missed his chance to tell the poor man that his brother was out of town on a business trip, and that Binghe was shouting at a stranger. He felt something in his chest squeeze at Binghe’s watery puppy dog eyes.

“Why does everyone look down on me?” Binghe cried. “I try so hard, over and over but all you do is scorn me … again and again! What do I have to do, just tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything! Just …” At this point the boy was choking on his sobs. Shen Yuan felt something shattering. He found himself walking down the stairs. He was going to go down and fetch him before the police were called, that was all, he told himself.

By the time he arrived on the cold grass ready to coax the drunkard, he found him passed out, clutching the broken bottle so hard his hand was bleeding. Shen Yuan sucked in a sharp breath.

“Alright buddy, let’s get you warmed up,” Shen Yuan said as he pried the glass from Binghe’s hand and used all his strength to haul him up and to the elevator.

He got several strange looks as he dragged an unconscious man across the fancy lobby, but Shen Yuan just snorted and ignored them. The people here had sticks so far up their ass they were getting free prostate massages. Shen Yuan stifled his laughter at his own wit in Binghe’s dead weighted shoulder and got a few more strange looks by the lady in the elevator. Halfway to Shen Yuan’s room, Binghe woke up and stared at Shen Yuan like he was an alien.

He struggled a bit and whined, “Laoshi, please don’t dropkick me into the Panama Canal, I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

Shen Yuan laughed and patted Binghe’s hair. “Go back to sleep, rowdy boy. We’ll talk in the morning.” It probably wasn’t because of his words, but Binghe managed to walk a few steps on his own before becoming dead weight on Shen Yuan again. He felt the breath knocked out of him.

“For someone who’s such a crybaby, you sure are … heavy!” Shen Yuan panted as he managed to drag Binghe into his apartment and throw him onto his bed. He shoddily wrapped up Binghe’s bleeding hand with several bandages. Novels may have taught him a lot, but he had surprisingly little practical knowledge when faced with a gash like Binghe’s in reality.

The fatigue of the night finally caught up with him as he saw Binghe’s peaceful sleeping face and he barely managed to do his nightly routine before sliding into his bed next to the unconscious person.

Shen Yuan was just about to drift away into sleep until he heard sniffling coming from the other man and turned around to see Binghe crying in his sleep.

And so was his current dilemma. Shen Yuan had no idea how to handle crying people. He stared dumbly for a few moments before kicking himself to do something, anything!

Shen Yuan wouldn’t do this for any random stranger that came knocking to his door, but luckily he had gleaned several useful tidbits of information from Binghe’s drunken speech. For example, he was likely one of Jiu-ge’s new interns at the large Cang Qiong Company he worked at, under the Qing Jing subsidiary. Second, Jiu-ge seemed to be giving the poor boy an extremely hard time, and Shen Yuan knew better than anyone just how sharp his brother’s acerbic tongue could be. Shen Yuan felt mildly responsible for cleaning up his brother’s mess.

Also, Binghe was terribly cute. He reminded Shen Yuan of the little puppy he used to play with in childhood, named Bingbing, after his favorite actress.

It was a combination of these facts, or none of them, that ultimately made Shen Yuan do what he did next; wrap his arms around Binghe and gently stroke his hair, murmuring comforting words to him until he stopped crying.

Somewhere along the way he found himself asleep as well.

Binghe awoke from his drunken stupor sometime between ass and fuck o’clock in the morning. His hand was covered in messily wrapped bandages.

When he saw the face of the person fast asleep next to him, he flinched backwards so hard he almost fell out of the bed.

What did I do last night? He wailed miserably in his head. A worst case scenario flashed through his head, and he made sure that both of them were clothed before exhaling a sigh of relief. That was the last time he let Mobei-Jun get him drunk, bachelor party be damned.

The last thing he remembered was accepting a glass full of alcohol in the bar he’d been dragged to, but everything afterwards was a blur. He didn’t remember how he walked all the way to his boss’s nouveau riche apartment, and he certainly didn’t remember how he ended up in bed with the man he was most fearful of.

There was one thing Binghe knew with full certainty, however; he had to escape this apartment immediately before he lost his job or worse: his life.

He had barely turned around and registered vaguely that the apartment was a lot sloppier than he’d expected of his avaricious boss before a sleepy hum made him freeze in his tracks.

“Mmm… Binghe?”

Binghe froze. Shen Jiu had never called him by name, it was always something along the lines of “scum” or “lad”.

Filled with trepidation, he turned to face his boss against his better judgement.

A sleepy smile stretched its way across the face of the person in front of him just as the morning’s rays peeked through the rip in the curtains and fell across his face.

Angelic, Binghe’s mind vaguely registered. Maybe he hadn’t come to his boss’s apartment after all. Maybe he had died and entered a realm different than the one he’d been in. Maybe he was already in heaven.

The angel’s face scrunched up cutely at the offending rays across his face. He glanced at the curtains before letting out a forlorn sigh.

“Jiu-ge’s gonna kill me for that …” sighed the angel across from Binghe.

Jiu-ge? Who’s that, I’ll fight him so you never have a frown on your pretty face ever again, Binghe thought blearily.

Mr. Angel noticed he was awake and smiled a crooked smile.

“Good morning. You were drunk and screaming outside my window last night, so I thought I’d do a public service and take you in before you hurt yourself, “ the angel laughed nervously. “Binghe is your name, right?”

Binghe nodded, feeling like his body was not his own. Then he had a thought.

“Wait … how do you know?”

The angel’s lips thinned, looking like he was trying really hard not to laugh. Oh, that was not a good sign.

“Well … You dropped your name in the middle of shouting about how you wished your boss’s food was too salty, among other things …”

The wave of relief that was about to pass through Binghe at realizing this person was likely not his boss aborted itself as it was overtaken by sheer waves of mortification.

Binghe covered his face with his hands, letting out an ungodly groan of embarrassment.

“Binghe… I’m saying this for your own good.” Mr. Angel looked into Binghe’s eyes seriously. “Do you know how to use swear words?”

Binghe immediately pouted, feeling like he was being made fun of. He couldn’t find it in himself to be truly annoyed, however, at the angel’s bell-like peals of laughter smothered by his hand. It was such a stark contrast to his boss’s restrained expressions.

“Ah! I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Shen Yuan, Shen Jiu’s younger twin brother.”

And there was the horror again.

Just as Binghe was about to bid farewell to his short, inconsequential life, Shen Yuan continued chattering. “You’re lucky Jiu-ge’s out of town on a business trip, and that you weren’t actually serenading his window but mine. If he was here, I don’t know if I could have even stopped him from personally throwing you into a jail cell.”

Binghe felt like he had gotten off of a life-threatening roller coaster ride. Stiffly, he rose from the bed and bent ninety degrees into a bow.

“Thanking Shen Yuan for his kindness in rescuing this lowly one from his predicament!” Binghe grew so nervous he immediately started speaking as if he were in a period drama. “In order to repay my honorable benefactor, this one will prepare breakfast!” He rushed away before Shen Yuan could speak a single word.

Once Binghe found the kitchen, he allowed himself a mini-freakout session. He! Was in! His boss’s younger brother’s bed! And the younger brother was an angel! Even though Binghe was fairly certain nothing untoward had occurred between the two of them the night prior, he felt every inch of his nerves tingling. He was also fairly certain that any other person that lacked Shen Yuan’s generosity would have immediately called the police on him at the least.

This was the first time anyone had done something so selfless for his sake.

Unbidden, a flush streaked across his cheeks, and Binghe slapped at himself to get out of it. Shen Yuan was his benefactor, and it would be wrong to have indecent thoughts about someone so innocent. There may not be much Binghe was good at, as he had learned from his internship under Shen Jiu, but the least he could do was cook him a decent breakfast.

Shen Yuan was roused from his half-wakeful state by the smell of something good coming from the kitchen. Which was weird because last he checked, there was nothing in there but dust and half-eaten ramen. (Yes, he had a problem.)

Wait … Binghe!

It was a little belated, but the nagging voice in Shen Yuan’s head that sounded suspiciously like Jiu-ge berated himself for falling asleep again while a stranger was in his apartment. A cute stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

Shen Yuan, the voice nagged. One of these days you’re going to get yourself murdered in cold blood …

Alright, shut up, you. No one wants to hear this in the early morning, Shen Yuan bickered back.

“Sir?” Binghe’s voice nervously called from the kitchen entrance.

Shen Yuan immediately relaxed back into what he thought was a cool pose.

“There’s no need for formalities, Binghe. After all, you’ve already slept in my bed.”

Binghe’s ears flushed red at his words, and he swayed back and forth like a maiden on the morning after her wedding night. Shen Yuan stopped this strange line of thinking once he realized how weird it was.

“I made you breakfast as a thank you for er… handling me last night,” Binghe said softly.

Well, that didn’t help his strange thoughts. The last conscious thought Shen Yuan had was that he’d better go and eat the poor shy guy’s food since he had made it already.

He didn’t recall getting up or sitting down at the kitchen table, but the next thing he knew he was staring down at an empty plate, stomach full of delicious food.

“I don’t know what to think. This is the first time this has happened to me.” It wasn’t, but Shen Yuan had always had a flair for the dramatic. “If you can cook so well, why are you wasting your time under my brother’s wing? You should go be a professional chef, and share this magic with the rest of the world.”

It wasn’t empty praise. Shen Yuan genuinely believed he’d be blessed if he could eat like this every day for the rest of his life. His terrible habit of crappy eating would be forever changed.

Binghe was so red he looked like a tomato.

Abruptly, the sounds of a phone ringing disrupted the nice atmosphere. Binghe’s face paled.

“Oh no, I left Mobei-Jun at the club last night. He must be wondering where I am. The bachelor party got kind of crazy.”

Hm? Mobei-Jun? Shen Yuan slapped his forehead in realization. Of course! Binghe was a part of Jiu-ge’s interns, of course he knew Mobei-Jun. Shen Yuan had no idea how he had failed to make that connection. He might even be the best man Mobei-Jun had mentioned, since he was pretty sure the third intern was a woman. Sha Hualing, he believed her name was?

Either way, Shen Yuan hadn’t realized he and Binghe were so closely connected. Besides, he hadn’t felt comfortable calling Binghe a stranger, now that they no longer were.

Maybe he’d get a chance to see Binghe in a tux at the wedding? That would be so cute! Of course, he’d have to help keep him away from the champagne, especially since Jiu-ge would also be there. That was a nightmare waiting to happen.

While Shen Yuan was off fantasizing, Binghe had gathered all his stuff and prepared to leave. He hovered nervously around the door.

Shen Yuan snapped out of it to bid him goodbye. Binghe smiled shyly.

“Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime?” he asked.

Shen Yuan hid a smile behind his hand, and adopted a lofty expression.

“This immortal does not often descend from his honorable peak. However, if fate wills it to be so, then so shall it be,” he said, imitating Binghe’s earlier style of speech.

Binghe laughed, but kept hovering near the door as if he was waiting for something.

“Alright, your friend must be wondering where you are. Go on, now.” A flash of disappointment crossed Binghe’s face, but he obediently left, looking back like a puppy several times as he did so.

It wasn’t until much later that Shen Yuan would realize he had forgotten to explain that he was friends with Shang Qinghua, and that they would likely see each other again at the wedding. By the time the wedding itself rolled around, it would prove to be an ordeal of its own.

But that would remain a story for another time.

[cailjei]

For the gift exchange of @worstloki . My giftee is @palletprincess . I truly hope you enjoy this!

The sound of a door creaking woke Thor from his slumber. A thin ray of moonlight passed through the drapes, illuminating the room. His gaze immediately snapped to the door. Loki stood there, his face looking otherworldly pallid under the light of Asgard’s moons. He seemed unsure of what to do.

Thor sat up in his bed. “Brother?”

There was a pause, before Loki asked timidly “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Loki stepped through the door uncertainly. “What happened?”

Loki hesitated for a moment. He casted his gaze on the floor. “I had a nightmare.”

Thor scooted over to make room for his brother, pulling off the bedcovers and patting the now empty space beside him. Loki slid under the blankets. It was impossible to see it in the dark but now that they were near each other, shoulders and arms touching, Thor could feel his brother trembling. “What was the nightmare about?”

“I don’t remember.” Loki answered a bit too quickly. It was a pitiful attempt at a lie, which was weird coming from Loki, who usually was so artful at his deceits. Nonetheless, Thor was tired enough to let it go. “It’s alright. Let’s just go to sleep.”

Thor had almost fallen asleep, when he heard Loki whisper. “It was so cold. Their eyes were glowing like embers, burning in the dark. And they came for me. The Jotnar monsters.”

Thor knew that his brother was scared of the Jotnar. It was the only threat of their nursemaid, Hilde, that had actually taken root. And ever since Hilde had understood it, she had used it ruthlessly. Every time his brother was causing mischief, Hilde would say that the Jotnar would come and steal him in the night and eat him. Loki, despite putting on a brave front would pale every time he heard it.

“They won’t come. And even if they do, I won’t let them take you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

They were suspended above the void, Loki’s fingers wrapped around one of Gungnir’s ends as Thor tightly held the other. Loki looked more vulnerable than Thor had ever seen him, since they were both children and Loki slipped into his bedchambers, in the middle of the night, seeking help to ward off his nightmares. Thor could see Loki breaking a little more every moment that passed, but he could never have guessed that Odin’s words would send him over the edge, not until he saw his expression, shifting from desperation to resignation. Loki’s fingers loosened their grip and Thor screamed as his brother let go, because there was nothing else he could do, nothing that could keep his brother from falling into the abyss. And then he was being hauled up to the bridge by Odin.

“Loki!” Thor yelled, feeling paralysed, staring over the edge, at Loki who seemed to get smaller and smaller with each passing second, as if he was being consumed by the darkness surrounding him. For a wild moment, Thor had half a mind to follow him, but the urge passed before he could realise it. Then he heard Odin uttering some arcane words in an ancient tongue. Loki’s form was enveloped by white light, and suddenly he disappeared. Thor terrified turned to his father, who was gazing onto the bridge again. He followed Odin’s stare only to find his brother, laying in a heap, prone and unmoving. Thor looked questioningly at Odin.

“It’s a sleeping spell. It will keep him calm until we can get him to the infirmary.”

Thor ran to Loki and turned him over. Loki’s face was slack, youthful in his senselessness, all evidence of his previous madness erased. He didn’t know what else to do, other than yell at Loki what the Hel he was thinking, or crush him into a hug and never let go. Since he could hardly manage the first, he had to be satisfied with the latter. So he gathered Loki into his arms, pressing him tightly in his chest and got up, following Odin to the healing ward.

The days following his failed coronation were the most difficult thing Thor had ever had to endure. It felt as though the world had turned upside down and yet he still had to pretend that everything was as it used be. He had to attend a lot of council meetings regarding inter-realm relations, as well as the fate of his brother. Odin had declared Loki to not be of sound mind and -as much as Thor hated to think about his brother that way- it made their job of defending his actions against the council and the representatives of the other realms so much more easier.

And as terrible as it was for him, he could only guess how horrid it was for Loki.

Loki who had not spoken a word since being rescued at the broken rainbow bridge. When Thor visited the infirmary, he mostly stared into the distance, ignoring him. At the rare occasion when Thor said something particularly stupid, Loki would turn and look at him with dull eyes. To be honest, Thor himself did not know how to feel about Loki and about what Loki had done. He alternated between guilt and fury and worry and sorrow.

And then there was their family secret.

Three days after the incident at the Bifrost, Thor’s parents had bid him into Odin’s study. “We need to talk to you.” Frigga had said. “It’s about your brother.” And Thor had come. His parents had both seemed awkward at first, as he took the chair in front of them. Odin spoke first. “Your brother is not our son by blood. He is our son by heart.” The words felt like one of his many practiced speeches.

Thor did not know what to say, he did not even know what to feel about it. All these years and the thought had never crossed his mind. Looking back now he could see how different his brother had always been, both in appearance and personality. And yet, Thor could not think Loki as anything other than his brother. Odin went on, apparently unaware of Thor’s shock, his gaze turning distant.

“It was years ago, during our war with Jotunheim. After I fought Laufey, I found him, abandoned in a temple, left to die of exposure. Laufey’s son. I will confess, my first thought was that I could use him, I could unite our realms through him. So I brought him home. I may have had plans for him, but soon enough they all changed, as I came to love him as if he were my own. Perhaps I erred, in hiding from him what he was. But that was not my intent. I thought him to be happy. I truly thought him happy.”

“It can’t be. He cannot be one of them. The Jotnar are monsters! Loki is... clever and witty and wily and... and not a monster!” Even as he said that, he thought of his brother, hell-bent on destruction at the Bifrost, feral and wild, crying and cackling. And on this occasion alone, Thor could imagine him blue-skinned and red-eyed, monstrous. The next moment he felt sickened by his own train of thought.

“They are not monsters Thor. Don’t ever say that again.” Frigga hissed. “He is your brother, regardless of his race.”

Thor just gaped. “All these years, you let us believe -you let both of us believe- that the Jotnar were monsters! That they were nothing more than monsters! How could you, when the one you call son was one of them-”

“We never taught you as such. But we couldn’t control the people’s opinions... And after the war the Aesir’s hearts were hardened against the Jotnar.”

“But you could have taught us otherwise. You could have taught us the truth.”

His parents had nothing to say to that. At last Odin spoke. “I will admit that we could have handled it better. But, in all honesty, I had thought that he’ll never know. We only sought to protect him from the truth.”

“So that means that he knows?” Thor asked in the end, even though he had the sneaking suspicion that he already knew the answer to his query. For there was no other explanation for his brother’s sudden bout of insanity.

“He does.” Answered Frigga.

Thor had heard enough. He excused himself and left. He had a lot to think about.

The next day, after Thor completed his obligations, he headed towards the healing chambers. Loki was there to heal, but the healers had no idea how to aid him. His magic was bound, much to his dismay. Thor visited daily, but today he was there for a different purpose. After he reached the door, he stilled himself, readying for the battlefield that this conversation will be. Then he knocked, mostly to inform Loki of his presence, and entered without awaiting for his response.

Loki lay on the bed, curled on his side, his arms wrapped around his waist and his back on the door. For a moment, he wondered whether his brother still slept, but once Thor noticed his breathing pattern he could tell that Loki was awake. Thor sat on the chair beside the bed, as usual.

“Loki, turn to face me. Please. We need to talk. It is long overdue.”

Loki did not answer him. He did not turn around either. Thor struggled not to sigh audibly. “I know what you are.” Loki’s breath hitched. “But I also know who you are. My brother, my best friend, my closest confidant. My equal.”

For the first time in four days, Loki spoke. “You must have lost what little wits you had about you if you think to call a Jotun your brother, much less your equal. I would have thought that by now, we both have learnt that I am neither.” His voice was raspy from disuse and thick with disgust.

“That is not true. As children we’ve played together and as men we’ve fought together, side by side. I know you as I know no one else. You may not be my brother by blood, but that is not the only measure of brotherhood. The Jotnar are not monsters. And you are not one either.”

Loki finally turned to face him. “And they would have it that I am mad. Whence did that sudden love for the Frost Giants came? You had no qualms about slaying them all. You said so yourself. And yet, one of them is standing right before you, wrapped in false Aesir skin and instead of making good use of your prized hammer, you call it brother and dilly-dally your time making polite conversation with it!”

Thor was momentarily stunned. He hated the way Loki seemed to think about himself. He was also unable to discern what his brother was referring to. In the end, a distant memory clawed its way on the forefront of his thoughts. “I was but a child. I didn’t know any better. And I was wrong to hold such opinions.” Loki’s eyes widened in surprise. There was a brief pause. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.” Added Thor at last.

Loki chuckled bitterly. “But a few days ago, you were ready to kill them all, to start a war with them over petty insults, to make them learn their place. And in the space of a three day vacation on Midgard you changed completely. All those years, I was the only one to see your flaws, your arrogance, your temper, your impulsiveness, your tendency to act before you think and I did my damnedest to try and change them, and when that proved impossible, I did what I could to keep you away from the throne, before your hot-headiness doomed Asgard. And as if you did not already set an impossible standard, suddenly you return from your banishment, all flaws wiped away, ready to consign me to your shadow, forever this time. For how can I escape it now?”

“I wouldn’t have ruined Asgard!” Thor felt genuinely hurt that his brother seemed to hold him in such low regard. His aforementioned temper began to rear its ugly head again.

Loki laughed, hysterically. “You wouldn’t have done it all at once. But given a few centuries, I am certain-”

And Thor exploded. “You didn’t just do it for Asgard! You always were jealous of me. I never did understand why, for what petty reasons-”

Loki’s face hardened. “Of course. This is what I am, isn’t it? Everything I do is either from envy or from spite, there is always some sort of malicious intent behind my actions. Everything that’s ever wrong, it is that way because of me, it could never be you, the golden son, the flawless, glorious prince, the mightiest warrior of Asgard. This is what everyone believes, isn’t it? I am a trickster, the Liesmith, a snake in the bosom of the royal family, finally revealed for what I truly am-”

“I do not believe that.”

“And I don’t believe you. All those centuries of being dismissed as the lesser prince, my talents belittled as yours were cherished, of being in your shadow until I became one.”

“I never thought myself as your better.” Even as he said that he remembered, not a week ago, saying to his brother to know his place. He flushed. “I didn’t mean- I was just angry-”

“Ha. You always are. Angry or upset or-” Loki cut himself off and breathed deeply through his nose. “I don’t want your sentimental nonsense. I am not interested in your worthless excuses either. Go.”

“Loki...”

“Leave me be.” Loki said, his voice flat and cold, turning away and curling into himself again, in a movement that reminded Thor of a snake coiling in preparation for brumation.

Stubbornly, Thor attempted to start again the conversation, but his efforts were all for naught. In the end he left, having achieved none of his goals.

That night, sleep would not come for Thor. Certainly, it was not for lack of effort. The conversation with his brother was replaying in his mind, over and over. Sometimes, Loki frustrated him to no end. Other times he got angry on himself, for his mishandling of the situation. He tossed and turned until giving up finally when only the smallest moon was still hanging in the night sky.

It was true that his brother’s seidr was scorned since it was considered a womanly art. His cunning and keen wit were appreciated by few when applied to strategy in battle, but Loki’s preferred method of manipulating social circumstances and lying, even by omission, were thought as cowardly. ‘A warrior’s way is as straight as the sword he wields.’ Were the words of their weapon-master, Tyr. Tyr had often berated Loki for not leaving up to that standard. And Thor- he didn’t recall berating exactly, but he most certainly teased. He didn’t have malicious intentions, he didn’t want his brother to feel bad, but in retrospect, he could see how his comments, or the ones by their friends could be taken as offence, even if at the time they were received with a wicked smirk and a retaliation in the form of a snide remark, usually about the intelligence of the offending party. And, on second thought, although he held Loki in high regard, he had underestimated his brother’s talents in the past. Loki had spoke true, he had been arrogant and thoughtless. He still was, from time to time. Perhaps he ought to admit to his faults. It wouldn’t solve everything, but just maybe it could be a start, the new beginning they both seem to need.

When the morning arrived, Thor mustered the courage to go to Loki’s room again. He rapped his knuckles on the healing room’s door, ready to burst in without permission, when Loki’s tired, thin voice came to him through the wood. “Have I not make it clear enough yet that I do not desire your mindless chatter?”

Thor could not help the smile that graced his lips. If you excluded the weariness in his tone, Loki almost sounded normal, like every time Thor interrupted something he deemed important. How Thor wished everything was that simple, as it was during their youthful squabbles. “Can I enter? Please, brother.”

A sigh was heard from the other side of the door. Thor could almost imagine the exasperated expression in Loki’s face. “My wishes do not really matter now, do they?”

“Of course they do and if you truly think there is no hope to mend what is between us, then I will go. But, if you hold even a sliver of hope in your heart, let me in.”

Another sigh, softer this time. “Come in.”

Thor opened the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Then he ventured forth, taking the chair beside his brother. “I have thought long and hard about this. And I wanted to apologise, for I have indeed wronged you.”

If anything, Loki seemed annoyed at this. “Is this your attempt to appease me for my imagined slights?”

Thor pressed on. “I have underestimated you in the past. I failed to recognise that while our skills may differ, they are of equal importance. In fact, when it comes to ruling, cunning, diplomacy and the ability to decide with your mind rather than your heart, are perhaps more important than prowess in the battlefield.”

Loki gaped at him. “You can’t mean that. You witless oaf! I... I almost killed you! And you apologise for merely-”

“I do not believe you intended it. Had I not been a mortal, the strike would not have killed me.”

“I- I was so angry, I did not think-”

“Sshh. It is alright.” Thor hesitantly put his hand on Loki’s nape. When Loki did not pull away, but instead leaned into the touch, Thor pulled him closer still, until their foreheads touched. For the first time in this bleak week he felt something like hope. Things were not well. But they could be mended.

[madhyanas]

the sweetest and most important sound

Part [TBD] of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 (Mainly due to verbal teasing and extremely mild language)

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: None, really. Some non-sexual intimacy, if you’d like to avoid that.

A/N: this is my first fic that’s staying posted, so feedback is welcome. i do have a series in mind with paz and this specific reader. check it out on ao3, too, if you want to see more detailed tags. title comes from a quote by dale carnegie. 

big inspirations for this were @no-droids​, @vercopaanir​ and @its-alltheway​​. also, i’m very new to tumblr, and @jangofctts​ has been lovely :)

Golden.

That’s what you see, what you feel. Stopped on some backwater, Outer Rim planet, your little travelling party finally has some time to relax. To tread on soft, grassy earth, and breathe in the sweet scent of flowers in the breeze. It’s a welcome change from recycled air and solid, mechanical floors.

The fresh, crisp forest atmosphere. You can taste it on your tongue, feel the chill of it as you inhale. You can detect the fragrance of berries, somewhere far off in the trees, and the earthy, waterlogged scent of silt closer by. A stream, perhaps.

You don’t know the name of the planet; you didn’t bother to ask Mando, excited as you were. You suspect it doesn’t have one; so untouched by war and Imperial rule that it just… remained. Literally, a land that time forgot. Someplace so out of the way that it soothes even Mando’s constant vigilance.

Two suns set over the horizon, and the sky is a dreamy blaze of orange and violet. Insects buzz faintly in the background, and you sigh.

The Hawk IV stands behind you, hatch down, as you rearrange some logs around Mando, who’s preparing firewood. Vosca’s giggles fill the air as she scampers through patches of tall grass. Keeping a close eye on her, you catch flashes of a crimson forehead as she stalks some kind of creature. A frog, you think.

The mild, familiar scent of her is comforting. You rub the white, geometric markings on your cheeks absent-mindedly, and will yourself to relax. She’s close, she’s safe, she’s happy.

It’s a nice thought to have.

“Give me a moment. I’ll be back,” Mando says suddenly, and you blink. The fireplace is lit, you notice, flames crackling. Your sturdy canvas satchel has been moved to sit upon one of the logs, noticeably dusted off. He stands, patiently waiting for you to respond before he goes. Helmet inclined towards you with a respect that manages to warm your cheeks every time.

“Ah, yeah. Of course.” You pause, and joke, “Just don’t run away with the ship, huh?”

There’s a burst of static through the vocoder, and you think it could be a snort, before he steps forward. His gloved hand falls on your shoulder, and you swallow thickly at the closeness. A scant few inches lie between the tip of your nose and his cuirass. “I would never.”

There’s a depth to his low voice that resonates within you. As if he’s taking an oath, kneeling at your altar. It’s… a lot more sincerity than you expect.

“Oh. Well, of course. I think Vosca would throw a fit.” You grin, attempting levity, but he shakes his head firmly. Leaving no room for debate.

“Even then, even if she were with me. I would— I would not leave you. I could not.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezes gently, and his helmet inclines down to your face, like he’s imploring you to understand. Staring up at him, your lips part as his meaning finally reaches you. His broad figure is backlit by the dusky glow around you, casting his silhouette over your smaller frame, and you like to think that behind the helm, those eyes are staring back with just as much wonder.

Your mouth is dry, as if you’ve crossed a desert for years. Only now finding the water to quench your thirst. His hand on your shoulder, as heavy and muscled as you know it to be, does not feel like a weight. It’s pulling you up, rising, and there are no words to describe the lightness in your heart.

He ducks his head then — the movement registers as shy, impossibly — and the palm slides off your shoulder, lingering down your arm, before ultimately leaving you at the hand. The cool kiss of leather on your skin makes your breathing hitch. A modulated sigh, before he repeats softly, “I’ll be back. Faster than you know.” He turns and begins the short walk to the ship.

There’s a bubbling urge to say something. “No need for dramatics,” you call after him, wiggling your toes in your boots. “But best hurry back, Mandalorian.”

He hesitates, a split-second pause that you would have missed, had you known him any less. You almost think you’ve imagined it, because when have you ever known Mando to hesitate? But then he continues without looking back, disappearing into the hull of the ship.

You slump down on a log bonelessly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. Your cheeks ache, and you realise you’re smiling.

“Ruusaan, Ruusaan!” A whirlwind of scarlet limbs tumbles in front of you. Startled, you blink at the little Zeltron girl. It’s rare that anyone manages to get the jump on you, but by now you know that Mando and his ward are exceptions to almost every rule in your book.

There are leaves and twigs stuck in the two brown braids running down the back of her head. She grins toothily at you, a smear of dirt on one cheek. Really, it’s more a bearing of teeth than anything else, feral thing that Vosca is. Her eyes are bright, shining with the thrill of a successful hunt, and she thrusts her little arms towards you. “Look what I caught!”

In Vosca’s grimy grasp, there’s a blue, particularly fat creature, rather like a toad. Held at the middle, its six limbs dangle loosely at the sides. Your nostrils flare minutely, but can’t pick up any scents of poisons or toxins, and you relax a fraction. It casts an unimpressed gaze over you once, and attempts a croak, but the child’s clutching grip digs in too deep to allow for the swell of its belly. Those lazy, golden eyes widen in panic, and you balk.

“Hey, bug, let’s just put it down for now, yeah?” Hastily, you extract the toad from Vosca’s hands, and she pouts at you. You still, and cradle your palms around the creature’s stomach, fingers resting gently on the front, in a caress rather than a pincer-grip.

“See here,” you explain, leaning in, as if you’re trading secrets. She ducks her head towards you in curiosity, and there’s a burst of tenderness in your chest. “We’ve got sharp, pointy fingers for animals like these. Gotta be careful. Be soft with it.”

Vosca’s eyes widen and she nods her head vigorously. A few dried leaves fall to the ground. A beat, then she asks shyly, “Can I try, please?”

Always so polite. While you don’t know for sure, you suspect it’s Mando’s influence. In any case, you don’t think you could deny her even if she’d demanded it. “Sure, bug.” Gently, you pass the toad back into her dusty, red palms. With a watchful eye, you see how quickly she takes to correction. Now holding the scared little thing with more care, less force. Precariously tilting it onto her chest, she frees one hand to stroke it tenderly across the back. The corner of your mouth ticks up fondly.

Then, carefully, she kneels down, and releases it. The toad immediately hops away into the tall grass with a vengeful ribbit, and your brows raise. Sensing the question on your face, she turns her face up to yours, doe eyes blinking up at you.

“It wasn’t prey,” Vosca says simply. “S’just for fun. Wouldn’t be fair to hurt it.” She shoots you another toothy smile, filling her whole face with innocent joy.

Huh. Always keeping you on your toes, this one. You return her grin as she sits next to you on the log. “Ah, that’s right, bug. Good girl.”

You lift your arm and she snuggles into your side, her scrawny body fitting into yours neatly. Lovingly, you press a kiss into her hair, eyes falling shut. You keep your head resting on hers, and she heaves a sigh as you idly stroke through the loose strands at the nape of her neck.

This is how Mando finds you, later. Half-asleep, curled around each other. Your eyes open at the fuzzy, tingling feeling on the back of your neck, and lo and behold: he’s watching you as he makes his way towards the makeshift campsite. His gait is familiar to you; the broad saunter of a man confident in his abilities, yet not foolish enough to be cocky. As if he couldn’t fill up a room already, his walk only amplifies his presence.

You blink lethargically, trying to focus. The sky is now a deep indigo, the bare beginnings of twinkling stars appearing across the heavens. It’ll be fully dark, soon.

The Mandalorian comes to stand over you. Once, you would have found his constant presence menacing. But now you smile at him, grateful for his company. It’s sweet, you think, how awkward he is. If you know what to look for. Most don’t have the chance to look beyond the beskar, and the assortment of weapons he lugs around.

He seems… duller, somehow. You shake your head lightly, dusting off the lingering fatigue, and you realise it’s true in the most literal sense. He’s not reflecting light as much as you would expect.

Aside from the helmet, he wears no beskar at all. Dressed in a dark, high-necked, shirt and canvas trousers, Mando seems comfortable. Relaxed. It’s a good look for him, you think.

“Did she fall asleep?” he asks you, nodding at Vosca, nuzzled in your arms. Her head emerges from where she’d buried it in your side, yawning blearily.

“I’m not… M’not sleepy,” she whines, squishing a chubby cheek against you. You and Mando both chuckle.

“Of course not, ad’ika.” You think he’ll hold his arms out to hold her, pick her up, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he just takes a seat next to you. The log creaks under his bulk, even without the added steel.

Vosca grumbles something under her breath, and you snort as she wriggles further into your warmth. She slumps bit by bit, falling asleep once more. You glance down at her, and the love you feel is all-encompassing.

Because you do love her. Your girl, just as much as she is Mando’s. You don’t know if she thinks of you as a mother, and the thought stings a little. An aunt, perhaps?

But without a doubt, you know she’s your child.

You’re startled out of your thoughts as a weight settles over your shoulders, and you look at the man next to you. Mando’s draping a cloak over you, tucking it around your frame and over the little girl in your arms. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognise the sturdy, brass-coloured clasp as his own.

“O-oh. You don’t have to…”

“You’ll get cold.”

He shuffles closer to fasten the clasp. As he raises his gloved hands and leans in, you wet your lips nervously.

His helmet shifts, ever so slightly, to follow the motion.

“But what about you?” you ask quietly, heart hammering in your chest. His long fingers meddle with the clasp at your clavicle; the weight of them on your person seems astronomical, for such a small, small thing. In the shining surface of the helmet, you can see the outline of your face, small and vaguely illuminated in the firelight, framed by those bold white strokes. But when you see them in Mando’s helmet, for once, you don’t think of your father’s matching stripes, of what you inherited from him. You think of how close you two are, in this moment.

He’s so close you can hear him breathe, too faint to be picked up by the modulator. There’s a small puff of air, escaping under the lip of his helm. Raw, unfiltered. You cling to it with all your heart.

“I will be fine, Ruusaan,” he rumbles. He’s leaning over Vosca’s snoozing body between you, arching carefully so he doesn’t disturb her. He’s… really quite close now.

Inhaling as subtly as you can, you catch the scent of him. Lingering on the thick wool, a clean blend of soap, blaster residue and freshly cut grass. Something smoky, too. It’s more soothing than you expect. Involuntarily, your nose twitches in delight, and his helmet tilts a fraction in response. You rush to distract him.

“But— But the armour.” Mando stares. “You’re not wearing any. Isn’t it cold? With— Without it, I mean.”

He dodges the question entirely. “Would you like me to put it on?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, sweetening his low baritone, and he quietens to a murmur as he sticks his head forward condescendingly. “I understand if this is too… scandalous."

You stifle an outraged squawk, and remove an arm from holding Vosca to swat his bicep. Your hand bounces harmlessly off corded muscle and you look away from him, cheeks burning. He just laughs at you, muffled for fear of waking the girl at your side.

You huff, resolutely averting your gaze, but it’s for naught. A large palm comes to cradle the side of your face, and your face feels tiny in its hold. He directs your eyes back to the visor with more care you’d ever expect, had you not known him so well. The smooth leather against your cheek is grounding, an anchor amongst the dizzying, overwhelming ocean of his presence. Surely, he can feel your flaming blush through the glove. In your embarrassment, a peculiar strike of courage grabs you by the throat.

With your free hand, you hold the glove cradling your face. Without taking your eyes off him, you lean into the touch, exhaling gently.

Mando stills. You can’t tell who’s predator or prey, here. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Deliberately, you squeeze your fingers around his own and an unfamiliar, choked noise comes out through the modulator.

You stare at him, and realise there’s hardly any distance between you. It’s nothing obscene, never could be with Vosca dozing in your arms, and yet you feel so giddy. There’s a type of intimacy here that you’ve never experienced before, never imagined before.You’re close enough that your breath fogs on the beskar.

“Mando…” you breathe.

Suddenly, the figure between you stretches awake with a yawn. You jump away from Mando as Vosca awakens with a long, languid yawn. The man beside her, a little subtler, leans back with the fluid, practiced grace of a warrior.

“Are you okay, Ruusaan?” she asks sleepily, oblivious to the moment now broken.  She pulls the cloak away from her to face you properly.

“W-what? Of course I am, hun, why…”

“S’just,” she starts, rubbing one eye. “I got woken up. Your heart’s beating really fast.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. You try to backtrack, “How about you go back to sleep, bug? It’s late.” You can feel Mando’s stare on you. Piercing, even through the steel.

Vosca frowns at you, scrunching her nose up endearingly. “But then you and alor’ad will be without me.”

After a moment of floundering, struggling to come up with an answer, Mando beats you to it. Planting a gentle, reassuring hand on her head from behind, he says simply, “We’ll never be without you, adi’ka. You know this.”

She leans her head completely backwards, and her braids dangle in the air. Arching her neck to look at him upside down, the vibrant red of her skin reflects in his helmet. There’s a flash of hesitation as she considers, and you jump at the opportunity.

“Bedtime, bug,” you say, standing. Mando’s nearly your height, you notice, even as he sits. You stuff the thought down. Later. “Got a big day tomorrow.”

Vosca mutters something under her breath moodily — something about how everyday’s the same — but her eyelids are drooping, and you figure you can let it slide. Just this once.

Maker, you’re impatient.

You sigh. Again. You hate to undo Mando’s work, but… “C’mon, hun. Floor’s more comfortable.” You undo the clasp deftly, and some subconscious level, it occurs to you that Mando is dextrous. More so than anyone you’ve ever met, probably. Fastening the clasp would take seconds.

No reason for him to linger as long as he did.

You smile faintly to yourself, and the ever-present heat burning in your cheeks this evening unfurls through your face.

You bundle the girl in Mando’s cloak as she lays down in the shallow grass. Tugging your canvas bag towards you, and place it beneath her head.

Kneeling down next to her, you stroke her hair once, twice. “G’night, alor’ad, g’night, Ruusaan,” Vosca mumbles, eyes falling shut once more.

“Goodnight, bug.” You lean down to peck her forehead tenderly, and she snuggles into her covering.

“Goodnight,” Mando returns kindly. At last, when you’re convinced she’s really out for the count, you steel your courage and look back to him.

From this angle, he’s glowing. Your lips part in wonder as you marvel at the rolling flames reflecting in the helmet. The flickering bronze and gold and scarlet washing over his bulky frame, defining the hard lines of his arms and chest beneath the shirt like something out of a painting. A relic of another time. Beautiful in its detail. Regal, even when most relaxed.

Silently, he holds a gloved hand out to you. You blink at it for a moment, too overwhelmed by this man you know so little about but oh, would you like to learn.

You take his hand, and suddenly he’s pulling you up with him to stand. Stumbling a little, your other palm comes to steady yourself on his chest. The movement feels so natural, so instinctual, and you worry you’re being presumptuous.

But then Mando’s free hand comes to rest on your waist — “Oh.” — and all other thoughts leave your mind.

“She’s asleep,” he notes, and you can feel his deep voice rumbling. Through the shirt, vulnerable and unprotected, his chest lies beneath your fingers. Solid muscle, yes, but there’s the soft give of flesh just like anyone else. It’s… nice. Pleasant, in the way it reminds you how human he is. How he lets himself be, in these fleeting moments of peace.

You hum. “Finally.” The hand on his chest gradually makes its way up his pectoral, tracing the ridge of his clavicle, before coming to rest on his shoulder. Without the pauldron, you can feel just how taut he holds himself. “Relax, Mando,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb back and forth in an attempt to soothe whatever’s running through his mind.

“Could tell you the same,” he replies smoothly, but you feel the strain in his shoulders lessen slightly under your gentle ministrations. The helmet tilts forward to hover next to your ear; it’s somewhat awkward, with how much he needs to bend down to do it, but that’s alright, you think. “Careful, Ruusaan. Does your heart still beat so quickly?”

Your jaw clenches momentarily, if only out of sheer embarrassment, because you know he’s right. “That’s— that’s not— Come on, Mando.”

The man chuckles, and at this meagre distance, you can feel it in your soul. Straightening just a little, he rests the side of his helm against your head. Not leaning, per se, or applying weight. Just touching. Keeping contact. The cool surface of beskar feels chilling against your molten cheeks.

With the hand joined with his, you curl your fingers, embracing the gaps between his. You both linger like that, for a while. Basking in the haze of firelight and safety; frozen in a half-dance, holding each other contently.

Then you realise. In another, strange instance of boldness, you murmur, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed yours either, smooth talker.” The reassuring thud thud thud beneath your fingertips is steady, as always. But you feel it’s more insistent, more urgent than you’d expect.

He doesn’t stutter or fumble like you do, but there’s a bashful sort of groan through the vocoder. It really shouldn’t be endearing as it is. “Ah, well. Seems I’ve been caught.” He plays along in a plaintive, mournful tone, and you stifle a snort. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”

You nudge the helmet with your cheek playfully. “Oh? What’s that?”

He breathes a particularly wounded sigh, and you feel rather than hear him sober as he murmurs, “This is what you do to me, Ruusaan.”

Your jaw falls slack. Oh.

Your head is reeling with the implications of it. Him affecting you was one thing, because how could he not? With the way he fills a room and laughs at your stupid jokes and tells Vosca bedtime stories and holds you so carefully it feels like a lover caressing glass, about to shatter any moment—

Kinda how he���s holding you now, actually.

Your hand on his shoulder brings his head up from where it rests to look at you properly, and holds the blue steel in the indent where his cheek would be. You’ve been struggling for words, wondering how to respond to the affections of someone you admire so much. How to do him justice.

“You are so much to me, Mando.”

Timidly, your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and once more, his helmet tilts to follow the movement. You feel a kind of longing in that little shift, an age-old yearning borne of dedication to the Creed, from a man who feels everything so strongly.

The knowledge that you two will always be separated by a layer of beskar is always floating over your head. To say that you’ve made your peace with it would be a bold-faced lie, but—

Well, it’s who he is. To disrespect his Creed would be to disrespect him, and that you cannot allow.

But for the first time, you wonder how he feels about it. If that perennial ache in your chest whenever you glance at the helm resides in his, too.

Mando’s hand, previously resting on the slope of your waist, comes to hold your cheek. As if there’s a mirror between you, paralleling your stance to each other like clockwork. Two halves of a whole, reflecting each other.

Gradually, he tilts your face up to his. Leaning in, he touches the forehead of the helmet to yours, and your eyelids flutter shut, lashes barely grazing the metal. This time, the cold metal against your skin feels like a reprieve, freeing you from the burning sensation.

Like a kiss, you think absently. Is that what this is?

You’ve seen him do this before, with Vosca. Never truly knowing what it meant, what it signified to him, you’d left it alone.

You try to ask him, to make sense of the maelstrom of affection and yearning and want. “Mando—”

But his shoulders tense suddenly. “No.”

You blink. “N-no?”

He draws away, then. His hand is still cradling your face, but the helmet retreats, and you panic. What happened? What did you do? What boundary did you overstep to ruin something so torturously good—

He says your name. The name your mother gave you, not the nickname he and your girl call you in their language. “May I give you something?”

You’re confused, to say the least. The emotional range he’s currently choosing to display could give you whiplash. He’s not a very materialistic man, you know, and what could he possibly be giving you now, in this moment?

“I— I don’t think you could give me anything greater than this.”

He deflates. “Oh, ner kar’ta,” he croaks, stroking his thumb over your flushed cheek. Even through the modulator, the foreign syllables drip from his mouth like liquid gold, tongue rolling over the consonants in a way that makes you shiver. “I would be honoured to try.”

Wordlessly, you nod, still not fully comprehending what he means.

He must sense your bemusement. The grip on your side tightens nervously, and you dig your heels in to swallow a squeak. “My name is not ‘Mando’, cyare.”

And the world collapses beneath your feet.

This is new territory, dangerous territory. This is uncharted land, and you feel like you’re trespassing on the tricky, treacherous land of his very being.

You must look ridiculous. Like a fish, mouth bobbing open and shut. He chuckles, a small, subdued thing, and you immediately think it doesn’t suit him. The urge to fix it, to help him, crawls up your spine and settles in your gut.

You bite down the nerves scrambling up your throat to accept what he’s giving you. To reassure this man in your arms, who you have come to care for so deeply, and for yourself. To satiate the niggling curiosity in that corner of your mind left forcefully ignored for so long.

“If you’re sure.” You pause, and add, “Only if you’re sure. This isn’t… an obligation.” It’s somewhere between a question and a statement. You can both hear the moniker you’re avoiding, the cavernous gap opened up by what he’s offering you.

“I know. This is what I wish to give.” And there’s the Mandalorian you know, steadfast and confident, unwavering in the face of adversity. Willing to cross the gap into the unknown with you.

You remain silent, and step closer to press yourself to him. Feeling his pounding heartbeat against yours. Allowing the words to come from him, at his own pace, the warmth of your combined body heat hopefully calming his nerves.

Just as your eyes drift shut, content to wait as long as he needs, you hear it. Quiet, rasped through the helmet.

“Paz. Paz Vizsla.”

You inhale sharply, and look up. Oh, stars. It feels surreal, having a name to the face. Or lack thereof. To think he’d really trust you with such a core part of his being. You’re not sure if this breaks his Creed, or if there are loopholes, but as of now, you don’t care.

It… suits him. Short, robust. Yet somewhat lyrical on the tongue.

“Can I say it?” you ask meekly. The last thing you need right now to is to overstep, not when you’ve come so far.

“Please,” he breathes.

And the floodgates open. A smile breaks over your face, soft and eager, and you swell with affection. “Paz.”

A beat passes, in which everything you love hangs in the balance, and then he laughs. A true, full-bodied, bark of laughter that would ring in your ears long after it stops, but it doesn’t — it spills out of him like water spluttering through the fissure of a dam, bursting forth with all the weight of its years of confinement. He keeps laughing and laughing and then he’s holding you tightly with both arms, swinging you around. With anyone else, the action would’ve scared you. Would’ve been interpreted as a wild, uncontrolled invasion of space.

But with Mando— No. With Paz, you feel like you’re flying. You’re reminded of your days piloting through hyperspace, and the pride of swimming amongst the stars.

You shriek as your feet leave the ground, but it soon dissolves into giggles as he holds you above him.

(The ease with which he can manhandle you, can wrap both of those large, large hands around your comparatively diminutive hips, brings a blush to your face. But that’s a thought for another time.)

Eventually, he places you back on solid ground, and you beam up at him. He’s panting lightly, though you know lifting you was an easy task for someone of his strength. It’s okay. You feel breathless, too.

“Only with me,” he says. “And Vosca.”

You nod gravely. Maker, you’d never use it with anyone, just for the pleasure of knowing he trusts you. “I give you my word.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the girl in question snoring lightly, still bundled up in Paz’s cloak. Somehow still asleep; you’re immensely grateful.

He returns the nod, and it’s funny how formal it seems compared to the little display you just put on. Paz stares for a moment longer, then huffs. “You sound like a Mandalorian.”

“Is that… good?”

He’s quiet, like he’s trying to find the words. “We may rubbing off on you— I may be rubbing off on you.”

You take a moment to look at him. Beskar gleaming in the moonlight, softly reflecting the fire behind you. He’s bared before you in a way that makes you feel safe. Maybe even loved.

“That might not be too bad.”

And so it goes. You and Paz stand under the stars, flames crackling at your feet, bending towards each other like flowers to the sun.

———

[cherishedkids]

luck || tokito muichiro x reader

anime: kimetsu no yaiba  warning/s: angst, sad, spoilers from the manga, mentions of death and bloodshed words: 3,973 pairing/s: tokito muichiro x reader request: “ (⚠️ manga spoilers you can just delete it if you havent read the manga) hi can i request angst with fluff ending? muichiro's pillar!childhood friend but he doesnt remember her tries to talk to him then he gets mad at her for being annoying and she runs away. then she encounters kokushibo (upper moon one) the same time the village got attacked and muichiro gets back his memories but when he tries to find her she is very injured in the butterfly estate then she wakes up then fluff~” from anon!

A/N: thank you so much to the anon who requested this!! i have to admit, it was a bit hard for me, but i like challenges! i do hope it lived up to your expectations!! enjoy reading!

Luck was what you normally relied on. All the achievements you have accomplished and all the obstacles you have conquered--you could attribute to luck. From what you could see, you relied too much on it, harboring no skill whatsoever. Your flame breath wasn’t anything special, and there was still a long way to go before you could see yourself mastering it.

This was especially true when you actually lived through the Final Selection. You heard from others that some people never got out of there alive. But you had to endure, as it was one of the hurdles to becoming a demon slayer. And if you did not become one, you would not be able to achieve your dream of being able to protect others from these evil creatures, nor would you be able to honor the memory of your childhood friends. So, for seven grueling days, you had to fight and survive the demons that inhabited the mountain.

As you stared out the rising sun, the smell of wisteria filled your nose. At the break of dawn, you became a low-ranked demon slayer. But that was enough to bring a smile to your face.

You could only get so far with luck, however. There were only a small number of people who could use the flame breath, as according to your old master, it was hard to master it. The flame breath was a dying one, with only a dwindling amount of families being able to use it. Even you had difficulties with the forms themselves, as your joints creaked painfully after every battle.

But even so, you did your duties as a member of the Demon Slayer Corps. What else was there to do? For two years and a half, you strived and little by little, you improved your own breath. It came to a point that a crow delivered a very important letter to you. You only knew it was important because it kept repeating and yelling the words, ‘urgent, urgent!’. It was from Ubuyashiki Kagaya, inviting you to his abode. The famed Ubuyashiki?

You set forth to journey to him, with guides carrying you there. It was a secret place, so you were blindfolded the whole time.

The moment you set eyes on his gentle eyes, you knew you could trust him. He sat alone on the tatami covered floor, the light of the moonlight serving as an indirect light. A lantern was light beside him and you could see the scar that spread across his face.

“___, it’s a pleasure to meet one of my children, face to face,” A smile was on his face. “I am not able to see you, of course, but you understand,”

“Of course, Oyakata-sama,”

“You might be wondering why you had to go through great lengths to visit me, and actually, I have a request to ask you,”

“What is it, sir?”

“I’m sure you have heard of the passing of the former Flame pillar, Rengoku Kyojuro,”

His death sent shock to the entire community. Of course you have heard of it. It was a pity that a fellow flame user had died, but along with his death, he was able to bring two other demons with him--one low-ranked and one high-ranked one.

“...I have, yes,”

He was not able to see you, yes, but the change in the atmosphere was enough to alert him. “I am asking you to take over his position as the Flame Pillar,”

“But I’m too young--”

“I have been keeping watch over you; your ability is on par with the other hashiras, and you have killed over fifty demons so far.” His tone was still gentle, careful not to rock the boat. “Please understand--your very presence may boost the morale of the other demon slayers,”

You close your eyes. How was this happening? Ubuyashiki might not know that you had just used your luck as a crutch. You did not want to disappoint him. 

“I’m sorry, Oyakata-sama, I believe that I won’t be able to meet your expectations. I have no real ability in swordsmanship and my breath is not powerful. I truly hope I did not waste your time,”

“Nonsense,” His face had turned into a worried one now. “You look down on yourself too much, ___. Meet with the other hashiras, and you might change your mind,”

Sighing, you agreed to this compromise. He had a spare room for you to sleep in. It wasn’t a surprise, as his house was huge. The next morning, you woke up to change into your uniform. Ubuyashiki told you that the hashiras would arrive before lunch, so you waited for them. Ubuyashiki Amane and her children kept you company as you nervously imagined how the meeting would go.

When you heard people muttering outside, you peeked and saw a group of people. You had never seen the other hashiras before, so it was eye opening. Quietly, you came out of the room excusing yourself from Amane and the children.

Their attention turned to you. The same way you had never seen them before, they also were not familiar with you. Ubuyashiki was still sitting on the floor, attending to them. “___, please come closer,”

He requested, and so you did. 

As your eyes skimmed over the handful of people powerful enough to be part of the Pillars, one boy caught your eye. A very familiar face. One that you thought had died so long ago.

“Muichiro?” You wondered out loud, and his eyes locked with yours. But he did not show any sign of recognition. His eyes remained cloudy and uninterested. Even so, he still had his beautiful blue eyes. Ones that used to shine brightly in the moonlight, ones that used to hold great concern for you.

Ubuyashiki did not seem to hear it or, even if he did, did not deem it important. “I have been thinking of recruiting ____ ___ as the next successor--in place of the fallen Flame Pillar,”

They seemed to have mixed reactions. There were those who nodded, and some who seemed disgruntled by this suggestion. But you kept your eyes on Muichiro. He had changed--his eyes had turned lifeless. Was it because of the hard work that was required in becoming a demon slayer? Had he killed enough demons that he had changed? You hoped not.

A white haired man with scary eyes stepped up. “As much as I respect you, Oyakata-sama, I have to wonder. Why a kid again?”

He was right, but you didn’t care. Tokito Muichiro was before you. One of your childhood friends that you thought had perished under a demon. Why was he here? 

“Her combat skills are worthy of becoming a hashira, Sanemi,” He briefly explained.

“I think it’s great that another girl will join us!” A woman with pink and green hair exclaimed. “It’s been so hard when all my peers are men,”

“Technically, she is not yet a hashira, as she tells me she is too young and inexperienced to become one,” Ubuyashiki explains, and you turn red. Did he really have to mention that part? 

A woman with a butterfly hairpin comes forward and places a hand on your shoulder. Her expression is unreadable, as she hides it behind an empty smile. “I think you should trust in Oyakata-sama. It’s an honor to directly serve under him, ___,”

“I still want to leave the decision to her, Shinobu,” He interjects, not wanting any conflict to arise. 

But the moment you saw Muichiro, you had already made up your mind. If anything, curiosity fueled you, and you just wanted to know what had happened to him. Just seeing his face was enough to convince you. They all wait for your decision. If you accepted, they would be leaving his house with a new colleague. Sure, luck was always present for you, but when it came to decisions, you had to rely on yourselves. This was a leap, and you’d hate yourself if you made the wrong choice.

You face Ubuyashiki and bow lowly, placing your head on the hard tatami floor.

“I accept your request, Oyakata-sama. I’ll do my best to live up to your standards.”

After your inaguaration and announcement that you were to be the next Flame Pillar, you rush to Muichiro. It had been years since you had last seen him, and he just disappeared without a trace! As he was about to leave, you tap him on his shoulder.

“Muichiro! Long time no see!” You say, a smile on your face. Even so, his expression did not change.

His response completely subverted your expectations. Honestly, what did you think would happen?

“Do I know you?”

The same cold eyes that his twin brother had, stared back at you. But you were sure you were still talking to Muichiro. You had seen Yuichiro’s body in their small house when you were visiting them, not his.

“Don’t you remember?” There was slight shame present in your tone, but you were determined for him to recognize you. Maybe it was just that the years changed you so much that he couldn’t remember you anymore. “I used to visit you and your brother! We even used to play in the flowers near your house!”

You explain, but the look in his eyes never changed and his lips stayed in a straight line. “I don’t remember meeting anyone like you.”

But you did not waver. Almost three years--and he’d just forget about you? “But we used to be so close--we’d even hide from Yuichiro--”

You could not finish your sentence as he cut you off.

“Just because you became a hashira does not mean you can pretend to know me,” There was a sound of distaste in his voice. “I, particularly, do not care about the others. But if you play with my memories again, I assure you, you will create an enemy out of me,”

There was only silence as he stared you down. Almost the same age, but you could tell he was much more powerful than you. He was even confident enough to doubt your abilities as a hashira.

“What happened to you?”

He looked at you in distaste. “What do you mean by that?”

“You used to be so sweet and gentle, you’d even try to braid my hair!” Recounting the memories brought back happiness and sadness for you. “But you changed. You’re no longer warm, you’re just… indifferent,”

If he was the same Muichiro, he would have cried at your comments and apologized. But it was clear that he was not the same. “What about it?”

Every word he said struck a blow to your already weakening heart. There was no way he’d forget the time you comforted him because of the death of his parents. There was no way he’d forget about the time you helped him get wood and taught him how to cook rice. There was no way he’d forget about the promise you made to each other--that you’d protect and be together always.

You grabbed the sleeves of his black uniform. Hands shaking at the thought that such a dear friend would just lose all memories of you so abruptly. 

“Come on, Muichiro, stop joking around--it’s not funny anymore!” That’s right, he had never been the funny type. This sick joke he was playing had already run long enough. It was time to give it up. “You’re the only one left from my past… I just… I can’t lose you again,”

Slight concern showed up in his expression, but he immediately changed it to one of anger and offense.

“If you really cared about me, you’d stop babbling about this nonsense and go do your job as a hashira,” He moved his arms away and turned away from you. “I have better things to do than deal with your lies,”

At this point, you had dealt with so much hardships, trying not to die everyday. This is what you get from the universe? A childhood friend that won’t even try to remember you? You gritted your teeth and curled your hands into fists. If that was what he wanted, then that was what he got.

“Fine, Tokito.” You said, warmth that you willingly gave him, lost now. “I’ll go and do my job as a hashira,”

With that, you left. 

Muichiro cursed himself as he watched your figure fade away into the distance.

Those desperate and pleading eyes were familiar to him. He had seen them in a dream once. It was only a dream, he tried to reason with himself. But he could not ignore the guilt that gnawed at him inside.

He could not dwell on it for long, as he still had his own worries. He headed in the opposite direction, quick to find a guide to take him to the swordsmith village.

-

You wandered in the woods for the longest time. It was the only way you could calm yourself down. You were not sure yourself just how long you had been walking. Had it been days? Or had it been mere hours? All you knew was the anger that built up inside you.

The crow that had been assigned to you sat on your shoulder, berating you to go do your mission. But you were too tired and unfeeling to do anything. Was this how Muichiro felt? Empty and hollow. Even if you did ask him, you doubt he’d ever face you again after that encounter.

Perhaps it was foolish of you. After all, you were only invited there because Ubuyashiki wanted you to become a hashira. You were not there to re-spark friendships that had faded over the years. After all, what was the reason you even became a demon slayer in the first place? 

Right. It all came back to him. To honor his brother and his memory. But even he did not seem to acknowledge it.

You sigh. Were you ever going to have a break?

It seemed not, as you heard rustling behind you. Maybe a normal Mizunoto-ranked slayer would not hear that, but after two years of fighting against demons, you had known their techniques.

You turned behind you and saw a man in a kimono. Was he a samurai? He held a sword in his hands and he was about to sheath it. You could not see his face, as the moon provided little light. Once you saw that he was not a demon, you relaxed.

“Don’t worry, sir, I am not a demon,” You show your sword to him. “You can let go of your own sword,”

“That’s too bad,” As he stepped forward, you could feel your stomach drop. “Because I am one.”

Three sets of eyes showed itself to you. The middle part, you could see that it spelled out ‘Upper Moon One’. There were red markings on his face and neck, and you almost felt your life flash before you.

You take out your own sword and hold it up against him. “What are you doing here?!”

You ask, desperate to stall him and to find a way out of this. It was clear that luck was not on your side today. Your own childhood friend dismissed you, and now? One of the most powerful demons had popped out of nowhere! Talk about misfortune!

“I could ask the same thing to you,” He said, as he slowly took his own sword out. “But let me humor you--I was simply practicing my breaths,”

Breaths? There was a demon who knew how to use them?

Before he could make a stance, you rushed to cut him up. You had to strike him and keep the element of surprise. A bright light came from your sword as you sliced the arm that held the hilt of his sword, flames following the cold metal. Then, you jump backwards, waiting to see what would happen. Your eyes widened as his arm was still intact. 

“A flame breath user?” He chuckled slowly, a feat that you could not enjoy. “I see his own technique worsened over the generations,”

Then, he took a stance, and in a flash, he was in front of you. “I guess I can give you a bit of credit, as you are still young,”

You try to dodge him, but his own breath disoriented you. Inconsistent crescent moons came from his sword and some had cut against the uniform you wore. You grunt as you feel wounds open up from his attack. But you had no time to rest, as you quickly used his closeness to attack. Flames came out of your sword again, and you target his hand again. It comes off clean, but you see that he regenerates again.

“My brother’s sun breath burned worse than that.” He remarks, and you knew that you were never going to defeat alone.

Turning away from him you hurry and run through the woods. You did not care if what you were doing was cowardly. The difference in strength was crystal clear.

“Running away? And you call yourself a swordsman?”

It was all you could do. Your luck had finally run out, and you knew that you’d die if even for a second, you faltered. Not when you still had a hundred more things to accomplish!

You breathe in and out, navigating the dark forest. You needed to live. If you could just see Muichiro one last time, you’d forgive him.

-

Muichiro wakes up in the Butterfly estate. He doesn’t really know why he’s here, nor how he got here, all he remembers is the masked faces of the swordsmiths he protected in the village. 

Right… the village! He gets up, but he feels pain everywhere in his body. That was a huge mistake, so he lies back down again, and slowly raises himself up, grunting at the pain. In the same room, he sees other beds that are occupied by familiar faces. Kanroji Misturi, Kamado Tanjiro, and a few injured swordsmiths caught in the action. 

But someone else that he hadn’t seen that day is also there. She’s covered in numerous bandages, and a worker is sitting near her, looking over her. He can tell that she’s in critical condition. The worker near her hears him groaning and he rushes over to him.

“Tokito-dono, it’d be wise to lay down--your wounds aren’t fully healed yet!”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve gone through worse,”

Muichiro’s eyes can’t stop being drawn to the figure on the bed. “Say, can I ask who that person is?”

The worker follows where Muichiro is pointing, and sighs out of concern. “That’s the new Flame Pillar, _____-dono,”

You? He can’t hide his shock. Before he lost consciousness, he saw all the memories you claimed to have with him. Each and everyone of them he relived, and he could feel embarrassment and regret building up inside of him. He suddenly gets up from his bed and in the blink of an eye, he’s by your side.

The wounds that he had, he ignored. There was nothing else more important at the moment!

“What happened to her?” He asks in a frantic tone. The worker is a second too late, and Muichiro asks again, with more venom in his voice. “What happened?”

The worker stammers, but the words finally come out of his mouth. “She encountered the Upper Moon demon alone in the woods… and well, she’d been in recovery for almost a week now,”

A week… So while he was journeying to the swordsmith village, you were fighting for your life? He felt like an idiot. The last time you spoke, he talked down on you. He looked at your pained expression, and he could tell that you were in immense pain right now. 

“Tell me everything--how was she found?” 

He had to know.

“Her crow escaped as she was battling the demon and told near demon slayers near her. Thankfully, Himejima-dono was praying in a temple nearby and was able to save her,” The worker’s voice trembled. He was afraid that Muichiro’s anger would turn towards him. “When she got here, she had numerous slashes and her heart stopped for a minute...”

Muichiro looks at the worker in alarm. But he already had a response to this. “Don’t worry! Thanks to Kocho-dono, she survived that. Now, it’s all up to her if she’s able to wake up,”

“I see…”

Shakily, Muichiro reaches for your hand. There’s a slight hesitation in him, but he whispers, so only you can hear it.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t believe that he could not remember who you were! The one who was always there to protect him from his brother, the one who was able to make him smile during hard times, and the one who he promised eternity with. 

He was not entirely sure if you were going to survive this. If you had encountered the demon that was second to Kibutsuji Muzan in terms of power, he could only pray to the gods that you’d be able to pull through.

The worker excuses himself. He sees the intimate moment happening in front of him, and he respects the both of you.

“I swear I’ll never let you go again. Just please…” Muichiro feels tears well up in his eyes. He is not able to stop them. His voice cracks multiple times and he grips your hand tightly. “Please wake up, ___…”

Your hand twitches in his, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

“You’ve always been a crybaby,” You croak out. Your head is throbbing, and your throat is dry. “I guess not everything about you has changed,”

He rushes to get a glass of water and hands it to you. Then, he makes sure that you are able to sit properly. Wiping his tears away, he looks at you. “I was so scared,”

“You clearly haven’t met the Upper Moon demon, then,” You muse, and Muichiro is not able to complain as he is just so happy that you are actually sitting and talking to him again!

“I regained my memories a few days ago…” He confesses, and he turns his gaze to the ground. “I apologize… for what I said to you. I didn’t mean it. In fact…”

He trails off, and his cheeks take on a light color of pink. “You’re the best thing I have in life right now,”

You also blush from his comment, but you had to ask him. “Why did you just suddenly disappear all those years ago? Why was Yuichiro dead?”

He tells you the story of how a demon had attacked the both of them, and how his memories disappeared from him after. “I forgot about everything after that… I’m sorry that I left without a word,”

“I… I understand,” Muichiro thinks that you’ll tell him to get out of your face. He expects that you’re disappointed in him for thinking that you’d forgive him so easily after he insulted you, until you speak up.  “Before I actually lost consciousness, my last thoughts were forgiving you. lt’s in the past, isn’t it?”

It might have been the crazy amount of medicine that you were on at the moment, but you turned bold. You gestured for him to come closer, and you kissed his cheek. “All that matters right now is the present, Muichiro,”

He smiles at this and kisses your hand multiple times. “Then I’m ready to fulfill my promise of staying with you forever,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You felt warmth spread throughout your body. You both will be alright, as long as you have each other to depend on. All the obstacles and hardships you encountered at the start seemed worth it, if you found Muichiro in the end. 

Luck really did end up being on your side.

[wheelersdealer]

Can’t Deny My Love

Summary: Y/n is in denial about her love for Steve, Steve is in denial about his chances with Y/n. Robin encourages Steve to embrace his, fear encourages Y/n to embrace hers. Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, a bit of Robin x Reader Warnings: STRANGER THINGS SEASON 3 SPOILERS and Profanity. A/n: Requests for Stranger Things season 3 are open!

“Go! Shit shit shit shit!” Your sneakers skid against the linoleum as you come face to face with a room full of uniformed Russian scientists — your best guess. There’s the gate past the glass they all look past, all eyes on you and your comrades as Dustin’s the first to fumble with where the hell to go.

Steve runs against you when you hesitate, before pushing you before him. You run after Erica, hurrying down the steps and kicking yourself up to skip a few like you used to when you were a kid. When you see Steve stumble you reach and grab his hand, yanking him down some steps and just out of the grasp of one of the soldiers behind him.

“This way!” Steve yells when you’re stuck on the bridge by the machine. It’s almost deafening but you can still hear the panic in everyone’s voices. When you run ahead of him, just a step or two, he grabs your shoulders and pushes you behind him before he throws forward a tower of waste containers into the guards that were so close to coming for you.

He looks back, yelling “Come on! Come on!” And grabs your hand in one of his, the other urging everybody to pass by him.

You run into the nearest room, and you almost keep going for it until Steve’s shoes  squeak and the door pounds shut. You run and hold it with him, ear against the door, eyes on him and occasionally flickering to the others as they one by one begin to realize the situation you and Steve are in.

“Hnng—Robin!” You yell and she comes near, pushing against the door behind you. You head is nearly in Steve’s chest but with your eyes closed as you try with all your strength to keep the damn door closed you block out everything else that’s happening.

You don’t understand what she’s referring to when Erica yells “Here! Come on, let’s go!” And the creaking of the grate Dustin and her pick up isn’t a clear exit to you. You push harder, thinking the men on the other side are creaking open your door.

“Go! Just get out of here!” Steve shouts.

Dustin keeps yelling for you all to get out of there, but Steve insists. “No! Just go get some help, okay?!”

And then you open your eyes and you’re pushed away from the door, Steve nodding his head up at Dustin and Erica with his eyes nearly squeezed shut.

“Y/n! Go with them! Go get help!”

Of course you don’t just go. Dustin jumps down into the grate but holds onto the rim of the floor, looking from you to Steve to Robin. His breath is heavy, just as heavy as yours, but the pain and worry in your face (some would say betrayal) in your face is clearer on yours to Steve than on Dustin’s.

You’re pleading, essentially, hands held out cautiously as though you’re trying to ease your way back to helping Steve and Robin. But the look he gives to you is just as pitiful.

He mouths “Please,” with a strain. And just for him, you’re hurrying backward, refusing to take your eyes off him.

You ease in behind Dustin, kneeling and holding open the grate when he yells to them, “I won’t forget you!”

But even the sentiment won’t make them change their minds. They yell “GO!” In unison, Steve’s eyes jumping between you two.

And with a pain in your heart, you enter after Dustin, dropping down carefully and making sure the grate closes securely above you. At the first sound of it clang against the floor, metal on metal, there’s yelping from Robin and Steve as another clang comes from the door that’s forced open by the soldiers.

There’s guns cocking, unintelligible shouting, and the sound of the vent denting and jerking underneath your knees as you crawl.

“Why’s she so quiet?” Erica blurts amidst Dustin’s explanation of the events that have unfolded over the past three years. You’re sat in a tight ventilation system and not particularly at ease. You open your mouth to defend yourself, knowing full well nothing will come out, but she spares your voice on the verge of tears by interjecting Dustin’s story to go, “Wait, by “we” you’re including Lucas?”

“Yes, of course,” Dustin says.

“So all that shit you told me, Lucas was there? And her too?”

You roll your eyes and scoff softly as she points a thumb at you. You personally don’t see why that’d be so hard to understand, but you let it go.

Dustin’s face scrunches up and he eyes you. “Yeah.”

“My brother, Lucas Charles Sinclair?”

“Yes!” Dustin looks at you for backup. You can only shrug.

Erica clicks her tongue. “I don’t believe you.” And she eyes you.

“Wait, so you believe everything about El and the gate and the Demodogs and the Mind Flayer, but you question your brother’s involvement? And you question her involvement?” Dustin points past himself and over to you. You raise a hand and give a weak wave when Erica looks at you.

She looks you up and down before turning to Dustin and nodding. “That’s correct?”

“Well, why her? Why’s it so hard to believe when she’s been here the whole time?”

“Yeah!” You scoff, adjusting your position. Unfortunately for you, you’re a little larger than a 10 and 14 year old and have to sit with your legs crossed and neck bent forward to sit anywhere near comfortably. You rest your cheek on your hand and look down at your feet. “Steve explicitly said I was there when the whole ‘gate’ thing happened. Do you really expect me to be clueless about my little brother opening a portal to another dimension?” You nudge him, “He’s not exactly the most discrete person. Don’t know why suddenly trust him but not me.”

Erica leans back and looks at you. “It’s because you’re so damn lovesick I can’t believe you managed to not get killed.”

“Woah woah woah — what do you mean by lovesick?”

Erica hums and looks at Dustin. He…hesitates.

“Dustin. What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Erica starts, “that the only reason why you’re with us right now is because he’s been saving you from near-death since you’ve been so busy stuck looking at him.”

“Okay, who’s him?”

Dustin sighs and licks his lips for a moment, bouncing his head and humming to himself his answer. One glare from you and he mutters, “Steve,” as he rolls his eyes as though to add on the phrase ‘obviously.’

“Okay I am not—” you scoff and grunt, leaning past Dustin and snatching his screwdriver from him. He doesn’t bother, but he does budge, scooting back knowing full well if he doesn’t he’ll receive your scorn. You fiddle with the fan’s panel and he sits back where you once sat, and he and Erica continue their conversation. You continue with “—in love,” under your breath, and all they do is spare a silent judging look.

“Um, you need help with that?” Erica asks.

And you scoff, “No,” your screwdriver incidentally slipping out of the secure place you’ve been working to get it lodged into.

She doubts you even more than before. “Well I mean it’s taking a while so—“

“Well obviously, Erica.”

She reels back and hisses. “Well geesh, didn’t think you’d get so pent up over your hubby.”

“H-hubby?” You grimace in disgust. “We’re not — that, okay? Whatever that is, that’s not us. So sorry for being scared for my friend. Suppose that means we’re dating, obviously.”

“I didn’t say you were dating. Just that you’ve got the hots.”

“Okay, ew! Can you shut up now?” Your hand slips again and you curse under your breath. You can practically sense Dustin sighing into his hand and it doesn’t help when Erica starts up again.

“All right, so if we don’t find a more efficient method to stop these fans then her,” you bite your tongue, literally and figuratively, “we’re never gonna find help, and your ice cream buddies are screwed.”

You tune her out by sheer force of will and continue to focus. You listen to the whirring of the blades instead of her and Dustin as their arguing develops into something a little more meaningful. It’s less in the realm of forcing your mind to visualize the horrific deaths of your friends, and more in the realm of ponies. It’s still not all that fun of a conversation to be listening to here and there, but you stop the fan.

And despite the torture she’s put your psyche through imagining all possible scenarios, you slide to the side as the fan’s electricity crackles and the blades come to a stop. You put them before you, letting them crawl through the still blades and follow after.

You can’t help but look behind you as you crawl.

And even later you feel an older-sibling, parental-like spirit in you when you push the kids up past a grate and up into a room featuring a hand little red vehicle and vials upon vials of mushy green goop — the same from earlier that burnt a hole through multiple stories.

You feel your heart rate pick up when you see Erica round a corner, but figuring your instincts are getting the better of you (and not wanting her to turn on you even more — say what you will about her age, her words still bite) you turn your back and let her wander on your own. When Dustin yells after her you wince knowing if there’s worry in his voice there’s something clearly wrong, and thinking of how much he’ll scold you if something happens to her and you come out about having seen her gone down a whole different hallway.

But then there’s a deafening zap and you turn to it and see her wielding a metallic rod with spurts of blue lightning coming out the tip of it.

“What the hell is that?!” Dustin leans back.

And Erica shrugs, “A deadly weapon. Could be useful.”

“O-kay!” You step in, snatching it from her and holding it somewhat close to your chest. “In anybody’s hands but yours.

“Thank you Y/n.” Dustin turns to Erica. “But for what?”

Her glare toward you softens and she looks at Dustin, smirking. “What do you think? Taking down Commies, saving your friends.” She looks at you. “Your boyfriend.” You groan. “And before you go on saying how he’s not your boyfriend — this isn’t about that. Do you want to save him or not?”

You bite your lip and tap your foot, looking at Dustin for the answers. Smart boy he is. And with a temper much more stable than yours.

“Thought you were more realistic than that, nerd. We don’t even know where they are, and even if we did there are a million guards up there —“

Erica rolls her eyes and walks off, but you follow, holding the weapon tight.

“Who have weapons way more deadly than this little one.”

Dustin holds a hand to you and nods. “The best thing we can do for them is to get out of here and find help.”

Dustin gets into the driver's seat and you get into the passenger one, ‘poor’ Erica getting squished between you. And it doesn’t help that in order to comfort yourself you’re leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and fingernails in your mouth.

You keep your eyes on the floor, but you feel Erica eye you, hoping you’ll back her up when Dustin explains how “Our chances of surviving, and theirs, rises substantially. Just trust me on this one?”

Dustin leans forward and catches your eyes. “Please?” He asks in a literal sense but the look on his face has him questioning his own decision. First you refuse to look either of them in the eye — the pressure of being the ‘adult’ in the group being much too heavy on you. You liked it better when there was Steve and Robin, and while Steve’s judgment hardly failed you, if one of yours did somebody else was able to come up with a decision just as big.

You sigh.

And looking back into Dustin’s eyes, you think (in a cheesy way), ‘What would Steve do?’

You sit up and look forward. Dustin sighs too and shrugs, putting the key in the ignition and squeezing tight on the wheel. His foot is hovering just over the gas when —

“Dustin, switch spots with me. Erica, go get some of those green things.”

He’s offended you’re second-guessing him but relieved you’re taking charge again.

You hold onto the top of the vehicle to aid yourself in getting out, and Dustin does too, stepping out and switching places with you.

Erica coos as she gets out of her seat. “Gonna go save your boyfriend?”

You huff and get situated at the wheel. “Ask Dustin how many times things have worked out any better when we’ve put the responsibility in somebody else’s hands.” Erica comes back with an armful and looks at him, and so do you. You give a sarcastic smile. “Have you found a number?”

Dustin shakes his head no and Erica gets in next to him, still cradling the green substances.

No, it has never worked out any better.

“Exactly.” You step on the gas.

The hallways are a lot more pleasing when you’re not walking for hours on end through them, and you go as fast as you can but manage to keep calm. Erica’s eyes are bugging, hoping to jumpstart a conversation between you or Dustin with the sheer look of questioning on her face. But just as you would any old car you keep a hand on the wheel, an elbow on your knee, and you pick at your lips to show you’re concentrating.

The plan?

You’ll (by some means) set off the alarm, and Erica and Dustin will sneak into the room with that colorful little tool (which sits unsafely between your closed legs, by the way, but never mind that) and use it if they have to.

Dustin’s never seen you so assertive. All those other years you were helpful, sure, but you followed orders, you didn’t give them.

Just back there Steve gave orders, you followed them. You’ve so often been lumped together with the kids, acting as a backup babysitter, an understudy for if anything went wrong — an understudy for if something happened to Steve.

When you come to your destination and park, you usher the kids out of the vehicle and keep them behind you while you scope the place out. You take the green stuff from Erica and hand the tool to Dustin. Then your plan starts.

It goes by in a blur summarized by your heart beating in your ears.

You kneel in a nearby hallway, unscrew all of the green vials, and wait for Dustin to assure you that he and Erica have found themselves a safe hiding space. Then you kick them forward and wince hearing the steel floors crackle and dissolve. You jump back, making sure none of it is on your shoe (that wouldn’t be good, would it?) Before running to hide with the two.

Some man (stereotypical evil Russian man) steps out of the room, and when you give the go-ahead that it’s clear enough, Erica and Dustin burst inside. You stay back, keeping an eye on the workers all huddled in the hallway where you spilled that goo. You hear Dustin’s jump in with a shout and the screaming of another man, the zapping sounds from the tool coming to your ears around the same time as smoke comes to your nose.

“Heeeey! Henderson!” Steve…slurs?

You step in after and smile softly at the side of his face…though beat up and bloody you’re glad to see him as okay as he is.

“That’s crazy, I was just talking about you.” You kneel down by Dustin and guide him out of the way. He’s having trouble with the belt straps around Steve’s feet so you get to work on those, not paying Steve any mind while Dustin and Erica go and work on the chest constraints with the main lock around Robin’s front.

“Oh heyyyy Sweetie. I was just talkin’ about you too!” You can’t help but blush.

“Get ready to run,” Dustin warns.

You help Steve up and grab his hand, running out of the room with him while Erica and Dustin guide Robin. You stay back for a moment, taking your hand from Steve and pushing him forward to make sure the huddle in the hallway isn’t any the wiser.

When you get back Dustin and Erica are pushing Robin and Steve into the back of the vehicle. And to not make things difficult you hop in with them considering Dustin’s already on his way to the driver’s seat.

Not the best decision you’ve made in a while since you huddle in your own corner watching them in fear you’ve seen this exact thing at one of Tina’s parties, and worrying because you really don’t need somebody to barf on you right now. Especially with the speed of the vehicle and Dustin’s wobbly driving.

“What is wrong with them?” Erica asks you through the wall.

“I don’t know!” Dustin yells.

As you pinch your nose you explain, “They’re obviously high on something—OW!” You cradle the back of your head when yours rams into the wall on account of Dustin crashing you guys into a tower of barrels.

You hear him wince. “You guys alright back there?”

“No,” you grit, and sit up ready to drag Robin and Steve out of the back. You grab Steve’s hands and try to pull him out but are unable to for the life of you. It might be easier if he wasn’t a drunk, incoherent, limp blob of flesh right now but you figured you’d give Dustin and Erica a head start in getting them out.

Dustin helps while he yells and Erica claps at them, and Steve falls against you, his back hunched and shoulders against yours. You wrap your arms around him to keep him held up and drag his limp self back to the elevator, Robin thankfully walking pretty well on her own.

Of course, things don’t get easier. Steve and Robin are ‘surfing’ while inside the elevator, and you keep alert for the exact moment that transpires. Steve falls forward, rolling on his side but laughing hysterically as he comes and rests his head against some boxes. You kneel beside him, lifting his head up and setting it in your lap while Dustin checks his temperature.

“He’s burning up,” Dustin gasps.

You close your eyes and wince hearing Steve whimpering “Ooowww,” as Dustin gets hold of his face and forces his eyes open.

“His pupils are super dilated.”

You hold Steve’s cheek and frown. “Probably drugged them or something…” Erica squints at you. “What? That’s what they do. Ever heard of ‘Truth serum?’”

She scoffs. “Yeah, in the movies.”

You lean forward, holding your hands over Steve’s ears. “Well Erica — you only hear of government experiment monsters in movies, but look where we are now.”

“I don’t think they weren’t drugged. I’m just sayin’ I doubt they call it ‘truth serum.’”

“Yeah, well, of course they don’t. This is a legitimate government organization, no shit they don’t call it truth serum.” You take your hands off Steve’s ears and instead gently pet his forehead. “Steve —“

“Oh there you are, sweetie!”

“Yeah, hi — “ you blush again but try as hard as you’re allowed to get the blood to stop flowing to your cheeks, “ — where’d you park the car?”

Of course, the Russians took his keys.

And of course, it doesn’t matter cause, of course, they’re waiting for you five at the elevator’s entrance.

And of course the movie theater would only have four available seats.

You promise Dustin you’ll be back soon, but have to make an even bigger case for Steve who keeps holding onto your wrist and whining, wondering “Where you goin’?” With his eyes half closed and a frown.

“I’m just gonna go scope the place out, okay? Okay?”

“Wait Y-Y/n!” Dustin’s met with a harsh SHHH from the lady behind him, and while he contemplates running after you, he forces himself to sit down and watch at least some of the movie.

You jog out of the theater and into the rest of the mall. It’s like the world’s spinning around you as you try to pinpoint any sign of suspicion, like a destination or something you can go to, to clear your head, but everything is just so out in the open. None of the stores are open, they’re all closed with those thick, grid-patterned bars…but it’s so quiet. It’s the first time you’ve experienced quiet in so long and you know this whole experience it might as well be nothing with how long it’s lasted…still, your heart aches knowing that this isn’t over. You’re not done with this, and this has a whole other level it’s going to go to. There are a whole ‘nother dozen pages of script and while you can relax now and cherish the fact that Steve and Robin and Dustin and Erica — that you’re all safe….it’s only for now.

You lean against a column just outside the movie theatre and close your eyes as you bang your head back against it again and again. Softly to avoid making any noise, but just enough to hurt.

And then you get up and walk away, hands deep in your pockets while you do as you told Dustin and ‘scope out the mall.’ It’s only a matter of time. You know this, you’ve been through this before, it’s only a matter of time before you’re not safe anymore.

So lost in your thoughts you don’t even notice Steve and Robin slipping out of the bathroom so carelessly. You’re already jogging down the escalator like regular stairs when they start fighting over who gets to use the water fountain, but the movie even from out here is still so loud you can’t hear their intoxicated babbling.

You’re scoping out the food court looking to see if there’s anything leftover that you can see from the seating area, and looking for good places you’ll hide behind if you need to when in the upstairs bathroom Steve and Robin start to play a game.

“Hit me,” Steve says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

And Robin runs her hand through her hair as she thinks to ask, “Have you….ever been in love?”

“Yep…Nancy Wheeler…and uh, Y/n.”

Robin hums, slightly impressed. “Y/n Y/n? Our, Y/n?”

“Mhmmm…Nance — first semester, senior year.” He intimidates a gunshot and chuckles painfully. “Y/n…I don’t know what happened.”

“Did anything ever happen?”

Steve taps his fingers on the toilet bowl. “No…no, only with me and Nancy.”

“Are you…still in love, with Nancy?”

After a moment, Steve shakes his head. He bites his lip before wincing at the pain it brings his jaw, and he sighs and goes back to letting his mouth hang slightly open. “No…no.”

“Why not?” Robin cocks her head.

“Because I have someone who’s a little bit better for me…”

“Is it Y/n?”

Steve goes quiet. At first, he shakes his head to himself, before nodding faintly. Though Robin, on the other side of the stall can only wonder the reason for his silence. She inhales to speak but Steve starts up again.

He holds his hand to his head to steady it and mumbles into his palm. “Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, y’know, ‘You can’t let go of your Suzie, you can’t let go of your Suzie,’ calling me out for trying to get with other girls, basically just yelling at me for not making a move yet and—“

“Wait,” Robin sits up, “Who’s Suzie?”

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend…To be honest with you I’m not even 100% sure she’s even real,” he chuckles, “but that’s not—that’s not really the point. That doesn’t matter. The point is, Y-….this girl…you know, that I like…she’s somebody that I…only ever paid attention to outside of high school. I don’t even know why. I knew who she was, I knew what she was like…I liked it…she was there for me when-when Nance and me — it-it’s doesn’t matter. I guess cause Tommy H. Would have made fun of me or something or she wouldn’t have wanted to be seen with me. I could have reminded her of everything, y’know, that we went through outside of school. Hell, it could have been because I would be Prom King! It’s stupid. I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because when I think about it I should’ve been hanging out with this girl the whole time. And I mean, she’s so sweet, and she cares about me, and this summer never have I grasped ‘conflict resolution’ so hard and felt so genuinely cared for in a really long time. And she’s smart, way smarter than me…And we just, we work really well together and everything. And y’know, on the outside you wouldn’t think it I suppose, but she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

Robin hasn’t interjected once.

In her stall, she’s been smiling…so, so wide…she understands every word he’s saying…But after a while, her smile twitches into a pitiful frown, and she’s burying her head in her arms and keeping her lips pressed tight together.

“Robin, did you just OD in there?”

“No…” She sits up and leans back against the tiled wall. “I,” she takes a breath, “am still alive.”

Steve’s brows twitch. After a thought he slides under the stall and sides across from her, both of their feet up against each other’s body.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“About?”

“This girl…”

“She sounds awesome—“

“She is awesome.” Robin bites her lip. She knows. “And what about the guy?”

She feels a bit of an ache in her heart but she says it. “I think he’s on drugs, and he’s not thinking straight. I think he is…” She throws her head back against the wall and smiles a bit, “incredibly dumb for not taking his chances, and for wasting his time talking about this girl, instead of talking to her.”

“No. I think he,” he scoffs, “for once is thinking straight…leaving her alone…” He starts running his finger in circles around his knee. But his bit of bliss is sidetracked when Robin chokes out —

“No. He’s not. He has no idea how this girl feels about him. And if he did like-like really know how she felt about him…I think he would have been a lot happier a long time ago.”

His mind can’t figure out a direction to go in. Would he be happier cause he’d be with her? Or happier being over her?

“That’s not true,” he insists, “no way is that true.”

“Listen, to me, Steve.” Robin takes a deep breath and closes her eyes while facing the ceiling. “Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and like, obsessed?” Steve nods softly. “It isn’t because I had a crush on you. It’s because…” She looks at him and stares him deep in the eyes. “It’s because she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

Steve shakes his head. “Mrs. Click?”

Robin chuckles. “Y/n. Y/n Henderson. I wanted her to look at me. But…she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn’t understand cause you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor. And you asked dumb questions, and you were a douchebag. And — and you didn’t even like her, and I would go home and-and just scream, into my pillow.”

“But, Y/n’s a girl…”

“Steve…”

“Yeah?” Robin forces a smile, her lips, and cheeks pink. “Oh…”

Her smile twitches, but she keeps it up. She sniffles and rubs her nose along her shoulder, down into her sleeve as she hugs herself softly. And Steve leans back, lips parted as he leans back against the stall’s wall.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah…holy shit.” Steve squeezes his kneecaps, running his hands up and down his legs as he thinks. Robin cracks a smile. “Steve? Did you OD over there?”

“No, I just uh….just thinking.”

“Okay,” She says, playing with her earing.

“I mean yeah.” Steve shrugs. “Y/n, she’s…she’s cute. And she’s nice, and she cares—she cares about you. And, and I’m not completely sure about thinks y’know we, we haven’t really talked about that, or anything but…” he smiles at Robin. “You should go for it. If-if things work out, y’know, I’d think she’d really like you…”

Robin chuckles, exasperated and puts her head against the wall again. She rolls it around, rocking herself side to side as her old memories of douchebag ‘King Steve’ get replaced more and more with this new one she wishes she’d known all her life.

“I mean, can you imagine that?! You two would look great together — intimidating as shit, psh, probably attracting more girls to the store than I ever could with my—“ he scoffs and flicks at his hair, “stupid hat and glowing hair.”

“She likes you, Steve.”

“Okay, well,” he shrugs, “I like you so I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

She sits up with her arms around her knees and slaps Steve in the side. He winces and holds the spot but continues, going on about how awesome you and her would be together. She can see the little bit of rejection in his face but she can’t help but laugh knowing it’s completely baseless! While she hasn’t felt too much since working with you, settling in nicely to being your dear friend, just remembering the power of her emotions back then and how positively Steve’s reacting to them warms her heart. She knows with him practically being her wingman she’ll be just fine, even if you’re at his side.

“Steve! She likes you, trust me!”

Steve scoffs and hits his head on the wall. “Eh, I — eh, I’m fine.”

“Steve! Don’t make me lock you two in a damn room!” Robin starts swatting at him again and he recoils, hugging himself and leaning halfway out of the stall.

“Hey, hey, I’m just trying to be a good friend!”

“So, be a good friend and date her already!”

Steve’s pinching his nose and laughing hysterically at the thought. Happy laughter and nervous laughter. Robin’s laughing, completely dumbfounded by the turn of events and hysterical at this goof being in such doubt compared to his younger self.

And then the door to the bathroom swings open, Dustin and Erica waltzing in with scorn on their faces and absolute disbelief at what they think still happens to be a high Steve and Robin.

“Okay. What the hell?!”  

Their laughter stops, though Robin can’t help but hiccup.

“Heh, wh-where’s Y/n?” Steve asks. He’s playful about it at first before his sobriety shines through and he’s preparing to stand, worried eyes darting around for you.

“Well we don’t know cause we were too busy looking for you two!”

Steve gulps. “Fuck. Fuck.” And stands up, grabbing Robin’s hand and helping her before attempting to charge out of the bathroom. But Dustin stops him, grabbing his arm and pulling with all his weight. It doesn’t take much before Steve intentionally stops but Dustin’s quick with his explanation.

“She’s out there but we need to wait and go with the crowd in case the,” he looks around and lowers his voice, “in case the Russians are out there.”

Steve’s gripping his hair, beginning to pace around the bathroom. “You just let her leave? Why wasn’t she in the theater with you two?”

Erica scoffs. “Why weren’t you in the theater with us?”

Steve bites his lip and kicks at the wall.

He waits with his ear against the door for the movie to end, and when Dustin says “Blend” at the visual of people walking out of the theater and the sound of laughter, Steve speed-walks right out of there. He looks back to make sure the kids and Robin are near, but can’t stop raising his neck to look for you over the crowd.

You made your way back upstairs via some of the shut-down escalators, just in time to spot not Steve, Robin, Dustin, or Erica, but the black-clad Russian soldiers checking the bags and purses of people coming out of the theater.

With a heavy heart, you walk away from the scene, looking over your shoulder and trying to spot any of them but remaining unable to find even that obnoxious Scoops Ahoy uniform.

You pick up the pace when you see the soldiers begin to move, spreading out and covering more of the available exits. You turn to look forward just as you run into a body. For starts not as thick as the soldiers you’ve come across, and not as slick as their uniforms, but you freak out regardless, unable to scream but forcing your eyes shut momentarily as their hands grip your wrists and keep you standing.

“Y/n?!”

It’s Jonathan.

You’re not entirely relieved, but incredibly confused. You jerk away from him as you see Nancy and the others halt in their steps just as they were approaching.

“What-what are you doing here?” Jonathan looks back and lets go of you when he sees Nancy coming.

She takes a shuddery breath and hugs you tight, arms coming from under your own and her fingers brushing the back of your neck.

“What are you doing here?!”

“What are you doing here?” You scoff. She takes no offense and Jonathan doesn’t either, seeing the uh…streaks and scuffs and bruises all of you — the dirt on your hoodie, even the burnt off bits of your hoodie. You don’t notice it until Jonathan does, and you frankly look quite terrified as you pick at it and realize some of that goop was this close to actually touching you.

“Is that Eleven?” You see her between Max and Mike, and then you see Lucas and Will.

Mike steps forward, his chin to his chest. “Are you here with Dustin?”

“Wh—“

Nancy and Jonathan both perk up. “What about Steve?”

You look over your shoulder, and there…there they are, trying to push through the crowd but freezing (like a bunch of buffoons you’d say especially considering everything you’ve been through) before they break through it, running. The commotion isn’t much among all of the movie-goers still leaving. But you see the Russian soldiers spread out. You grab Jonathan’s sleeve and drag him, hopping in your spot at first before bolting. You only manage a faint, choking, and raspy “C’mon.”

Some of them are hesitant at first but follow.

When you find a safe enough corner where there’s some couches set up to sit and plenty of columns and decorative floral pieces to hide behind.

You kneel behind a coffee table, one hand against the ground to aid you in getting up if needed.

“Y/n, what’s going on?” Jonathan steps forward, his arms crossed.

You take a deep breath and try to keep your breathing steady after that. “You guys need to get out of here.”

Mike scoffs. “What are you even doing here?”

“And where’s Dustin?” Will asks.

You roll your eyes. “They’re here, but—“

“Who’s they?”

“Me, Dustin, Steve, uh, Robin — Erica.”

“Erica? My Erica, my little sister Erica Sinclair?”

“My GOD can you just shut up for a second?” Most of them jump in some way. “I’m trying to get to the points you’re asking about but I can’t get to them if I have to answer you directly!” You stamp your foot against the ground and look off, clenching your jaw and blinking rapidly to keep any tears from coming. “You need to get out of here because there is Russian military in the mall, okay?”

“How do you—“ You can’t even register who it’s coming from.

“Because we broke into a room hidden as a storage closet but it was really just an elevator that took us to their lab underground! We just barely got out, they drugged Steve and Robin — Robin’s uh, he-they work together,” Nancy slowly lowers her hair, “Tortured Steve or some shit—“

“Tortured?” Jonathan sputters. He immediately looks apologetic for interrupting.

“Yes! Okay, they’re-they’re building this thing underneath the mall and now they know me and them exist and they chased us in here but they were hiding in the theater and now those guys, you see those guys?” You point, “In the black, checking purses? Yeah, those are Russian military men. Okay? And I just saw Steve, Dustin, Erica, Robin — I just saw all of them making a break for it which probably means they’re looking for me too, so you all need to get the hell out of here and —“

You stop, hearing your voice echo in the now empty mall. You didn’t think the mall would clear out so fast but it’s almost completely quiet. You weren’t that loud to begin with but the fire in your veins deafened you to only what you were saying.

You face drops and you stand up, scuffing your knees against the carpet but ignoring the mild sting and going to the railing. You look over, seeing the men dressed just the same with guns in their grasp. And ahead of them, you see your crew huddled behind a counter in the food court.

You choke, seeing Dustin and Steve sat together and able to tell from this far away how scared shitless they are — eyes probably closed shut, their bodies definitely shaking.

Just when Jonathan reaches you, you run from him. He trips and barely catches himself trying to make up for his lost catch, but the sudden pressure on the floor prompts some of the guys to point their guns to the second floor. Jonathan’s out of sight by then but you running gets all of their attention.

One of them yells at the other and they start shooting, your hunched stature as you hurry keeping you safe for the most part, the other part being the columns.

In a lapse of judgment Dustin and Steve look up from their hiding places. Steve’s eyes go wide at first you, then the sight of all the Russian standing almost in a cluster shooting at you as you run. You stop for just a moment, just a second, catching eyes with Steve. The pure fear and horror in your eyes breaks him, and the fear and horror in his eyes breaks you.

He curses at you to run for it….and you do, still trying to look for a way down there.

Your near parental protection over your brother Dustin got the better of you.

But just when you think to hesitate and check on them again, the car on the bottom floor of the mall starts rattling. It rattles and gunfire stops as attention goes on the car. You sneak back around to the escalators, hide behind a pillar and looking forward to see Eleven with her arm raised and blood dripping out of her nose. She concentrates, catching eyes with you for a second, then seeming to look at Dustin, though he’s a bit clueless to her presence.

And then the horns start honking, so obnoxiously as the sound ricochets through the mall.

She pushes her hand forward with a grunt…and the car screeches forward, rolling across the ground and crushing all of the guys one by one.

You don’t wait till it’s without a doubt safe. You hold onto the sides of the escalator to lift yourself and you swing over the rope-barrier, then skip down the steps and hop over the next one.

You run to the court where Erica and Robin are just beginning to stand, and without any hesitation, you lean over and hug your brother so damn tight he’d swear he couldn’t breathe. You squeeze him, swaying as best as you can over the counter. Then you lean back and hold his cheeks.

He’s shocked by the tears in your eyes and elated smile on your lips.

“Oh my god,” you breath, “why would you leave, you’re so stupid!” You kiss the top of his head.

“Why would I leave? You left too!”

You cackle and hook your chin over his shoulder. “Why do we keep getting into things? We’re both so stupid!”

You let him free to walk around. And there’s Steve, staring at you. His hands are pressed to the counter and he’s completely breathless. The exchange is quiet..awkward…but together you get this burst of energy and run around to meet each other. You hug him so tight with your arms going around his neck, and he’s too slow to do the same so he’s left a bit shocked with his arms limp at his side. Cautiously he wraps them around your waist, dropping his forehead to your neck.

Robin tries to pass and follow after Dustin and Erica, but you let one arm leave Steve to beckon her into the hug. She points to herself curiously and you nod, grabbing her before she has a chance to respond again and pulling her into a group hug.

She’s scared to at first but wraps an arm around your back.

With your head dipped down and looking at your shoes, Robin gives Steve a look. Then she leaves the hug, rubbing your back to assure you of good things and leaving you and Steve alone. He steps away from you too but only to hug you again, his hands on your shoulders and gripping them for a moment before he pulls you into his chest.

He grimaces and tries pulling away remembering the potential for vomit (thankfully for you there is none on his upper half) but you couldn’t care less. You hug him tighter and he has to grab your hands and pull them apart so he can put some distance between you two.

“Y/n — Y/n.”

“Steve,” you mock, “Steve.”

He gulps and between yourselves, he sways your hands a bit.

“Oh my god,” he chuckles, voice high, almost not like himself. “That was I think the scariest thing I’ve ever experienced.” He sniffles and looks at your hands.

“Really? What happened to getting tortured by the Russian government just a few hours ago?” You cup his cheek and hover your thumb over his swollen eye.

He forces a smile. “Well, that was —“ he rolls his eyes, “—bad, and I was basically drunk, so—“

“Ah,” you smile wide, “is that why you kept calling me sweetie?”

“Wait…I did?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well shit.”

“It’s okay.” You stroke his cheek some more and tuck hair behind his ear. “It was cute, Harrington.”

“Har har.” Had everybody else not been reuniting with each other right now, it would be incredibly awkward for them to watch as you just stare at each other. He puts his arms around your waist again and his hands rest right against the small of your back. And you’re blissfully content just stroking his hair. “No I-I know I just got like, tortured earlier but…everything else that’s happened to us, everything else that’s saved us…Y/n you know that was just coincidence. And then there you came in just as I thought we were all about to be gunned down, only for you to almost be gunned down, and then — “ he’s rambling like he’s telling any other story and God is it adorable “ — they’re shooting and Jesus Y/n I swear I had a heart attack.” He holds his hand to his chest. “Ouch.”

“Well I-I had to distract them somehow.”

“By attracting the attention of five guys with high-speed bullets?”

You sputter, “Y-eaahh?”

Steve cackles. “You can be so stupid, I love you.”

Your smile drops. “What?”

“You heard me.” He shrugs. “I…love you? And I figure that since we’ve made it to intermission, we might as well make one of those like, ‘If we’re not both married by 30 we’ll get married’ pacts only like, it starts now.” He rolls his eyes at himself, hair bouncing as he tilts his head to the side. “Well, more like, after, this final boss fight cause you know there’s gonna be a boss fight, right?”

You hum and nod.

“See? So…wanna…maybe do that with me?”

You bite your lip. “Steve, I don’t want to do this if you’re just doing it to do this…If you’re scared and so desperate that we’ll just be thrown back into this again and like, there won’t be enough time for you to find somebody you actually want to date so you’re trying to date me—“

“No no no, not at all Y/n.” He cocks his head. “Y’know, just took me seeing you almost die 15 times in the last 24 hours and then me and Dustin and Robin and Erica almost dying 15 times in the last few hours to realize how disgustingly miserable I’d be without you and how quick I was to jump to finding someone like you when you were gone at camp for a month…”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m just,” he clicks his tongue and looks over your head, “not gonna deny the fact that I love you anymore.” He looks you in the eyes. “Not again…”

You hold his face with both hands and mutter a quiet “Sorry” when he winces. But he nods to assure you he’s okay before holding a hand over yours.

“Deals on, Harrington.”

“Do we kiss now?” You wondered that too, especially with all the…swollenness and the blood….he didn’t get a chance to brush his teeth either but he did rinse his mouth out with a lot of water while waiting in the bathroom.

You scrunch your nose at the question seeing how it so starkly broke the mood, but after a moment, “Yeah yeah, I think we do.”

And so, you do.

[goldencuffs]

heyyy......how about babysitter laurent and dad damen?? 😝😝

The dining table is a mess. There’s coloured paper scattered over its surface, red paint smeared across the apron, and dried glue on the right leg. The floor is worse: loose, tiny pieces of confetti and bits of glitter are strewn over the tiles like a kaleidoscopic painting.

Damen closes his eyes briefly in exasperation as he takes it all in. It’s been a long day, filled with lacklustre product development, incompetent staff, rude clients, and an uncomfortable, silent dinner with his in-laws.

 Jokaste, in her silk blue dress, assesses the mess with flinty, cold eyes.

 “What the fuck is this?” She makes for an intimidating figure, despite the flush in her cheeks betraying how intoxicated she is.

 Damen touches her arm: a small, fleeting gesture to keep her from saying anything else.

 Laurent, standing in the middle of the mess, is the epitome of guilt. He keeps wringing his hands together, and he can’t keep himself still, shuffling on his feet in agitated movements. Like Jokaste, his cheeks are flushed red, but he’s much more unkempt than her; even from here, Damen can make out the glitter stuck to Laurent’s forehead.

 “I’m so sorry,” Laurent says. “I’m going to clean everything –”

 “Where’s Theo?” Jokaste interrupts. Damen hates this habit of hers; he can’t even count how many times she’s done it to him over the years, and it drives him nuts every time.

 Laurent pushes back his hair. His fingertips are green. “I sent him to bed.”

 On a different night, this news might have made Jokaste melt; Theo is two and has been increasingly difficult during his bedtime. But Jokaste is in a combative mood tonight. She’d been particularly vicious on their way to her parent’s place and had only grown more irritated as the night wore on.

 Damen knows her next comment won’t be pleasant. He feels his usual protectiveness towards Laurent and turns to her.

 “Why don’t you check on T? I’ll make sure everything gets cleaned up down here.”

 Jokaste hesitates; Damen knows, after years of being married to her, that she’s debating on whether having the last word will be in her favour.

 Ultimately, she decides it won’t be. She turns back towards the staircase and heads upstairs without another word.

 In a quiet voice Laurent says, “I really am sorry.”

 Damen sighs. He takes another look at Laurent’s furrowed eyebrows, his pink, pursed mouth and feels some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.

 Shrugging off his blazer and loosening his tie, he keeps his smile genuine and wide. “It’s okay,” Damen says. “Knowing my son, this could have been a lot worse.”

 Laurent’s body seems to loosen. He ducks his head shyly and nods. “He was actually very good today.”

 Damen snorts. Theo, lately, has been impatient and cranky all the time: a true poster child for the terrible twos.

 “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says in an undertone, and Laurent smiles, looking for the first time, relaxed.

 When Damen heads over to the inbuilt pantry to hoard the cleaning supplies, Laurent says, “No, please. You go upstairs Damen; I can do this myself.”

 “You’ll be here all night if someone doesn’t help you. It’s fine,” he adds, when Laurent opens his mouth to protest.

 Amongst amicable conversation, they get to cleaning. The damage isn’t as bad as Damen initially thought; the paint is watery and comes off with a half-hearted swipe, and vacuuming the confetti takes less than a few minutes.

 As they reorganise the papers, Laurent crowds further into his space, until their elbows are touching, and the line of Laurent’s thigh presses up against Damen’s. Damen glances down at him, captivated by the shimmer dancing on his face, and swallows.

 Laurent has been their regular babysitter since Theo was just six months old. Back then, he’d been a shy twenty-year-old college student, who could hardly look into Damen’s eyes. Damen had hired him because he was the younger brother of one of his long-time clients, but over the years, Laurent has shown characteristics Damen highly values. He’s kind, empathetic, incredibly loyal and smart. The way Laurent treats Theo is enough for Damen to like him; Theo thinks Laurent is the best person in the world, much to Jokaste’s consternation.

 So, yes: Damen has always liked Laurent. Recently though, their dynamic has changed to this: to sure, but fleeting touches, heated glances across the room, and texts sent late into the night.

 Nothing so far has been too scandalous; from an outsider’s perspective, the way he and Laurent interact is still innocent.

 But Damen knows it isn’t, because whenever his phone chimes at three in the morning, or whenever Laurent walks into his house wearing shirts that show off too much of his collarbone, he feels like he’s on fire. He feels like he’s losing control. It’s dangerous.

 It had started a month ago, when Damen had offered to drive Laurent home on a rainy night. Laurent had invited him inside for drinks and Damen had said yes.

 Several hours later, drunk and sated, Laurent had said, “You know the only reason I agreed to babysit Theo that first time was because I thought you were super hot.”

 Stupidly, Damen said, “I thought you were too.”

 Laurent gave him a long, measured look. Underneath it, there lay a margin of surprise. “Thought?” said Laurent, shifting closer on his terrible, sagging couch. “You don’t think so anymore?”

 Damen eyed the paleness of Laurent’s throat, the pink across his cheeks and said, “I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

 The surprise took over Laurent’s face. His mouth, darkened from the wine, grew slack, and his cornflower blue eyes widened. He leaned even closer. Damen did too.

 Then, his phone had rung, and Damen felt a huge, overwhelming amount of guilt as he’d read his wife’s name across the lit screen.

 He should have stopped it then. Instead, Damen found himself constantly checking his phone for messages from Laurent or calling him in the middle of the day to plan outings together.

 Last week, they’d gone to a new, fancy restaurant out of town for dinner. Damen had told Jokaste it was for a last-minute business meeting with an important client.

 Underneath the table, Laurent had hooked his foot around Damen’s leg and smiled.

 Damen couldn’t look away for the rest of the night.

 Now, the tension in the kitchen is pulsing. Damen is aware of the lack of space between them, the shortness of his own breath and the flush on Laurent’s skin.

 Laurent moves impossibly closer, until he’s nestled into Damen’s chest. He’s still rearranging the papers with ease. It’s a test, Damen thinks.

 Slowly, Damen steps back, just far enough to properly cage Laurent against him. Laurent’s back is to his chest, warm and firm. Damen moves his hands up to grip Laurent’s hips, and Laurent goes stills, his body tight.

 They just stand there for a moment, then two. In the silence, Damen can hear the sound of running water and creaking wood; Jokaste is getting ready for bed.

 Laurent shifts. It’s a deliberate movement. Damen grits his teeth as the curve of Laurent’s backside meets his groin. Laurent does it again, slower, and Damen closes his eyes.

 It’s wrong that he’s doing this, in the kitchen of his own home, with his wife and kid upstairs, but Damen can’t think of anything else besides Laurent in his arms.

 Laurent’s hair, so fine and golden, tickles Damen’s nose. It smells nice too, like coconut.

 The water is still running. Damen, emboldened with the fact that Jokaste willl not be out for a while, does what he’s been desperate to do for a while: he carefully kisses the unblemished side of Laurent’s neck.

 Laurent drops the papers.

 He whirls around so fast, Damen almost loses his balance. Laurent’s eyes are wide in anticpation, and in excitement. It’s exhilarating that Damen can read him so well.

 Laurent grips the collar of his dress shirt; it makes Damen stumble forward, his thigh slotting in between Laurent’s legs.

 Laurent gasps, and Damen kisses him.

 It’s not a chaste kiss. Immediately, Laurent opens his mouth, fingers digging into Damen’s hair. Damen kisses him hard and open mouthed, hands tight and unyielding as they hold onto Laurent’s waist.

 Damen pins Laurent further into the lip of the table, Laurent’s hips moving in tiny, jerky movements. It’s so obvious he’s inexperienced, and for some sick, twisted reason, it lights a spark of arousal in Damen’s gut.

 Laurent tastes like vanilla cake, Damen thinks, as he licks into Laurent’s mouth. His mouth is sweet, completely at Damen’s mercy. If Damen bent Laurent over the table and fucked him right now, Laurent would let him.

 The thought makes Damen dizzy. Of course he can’t do that, but it doesn’t stop him from lifitng Laurent’s shirt, exposing his pale, flat stomach and digging his fingertips into the skin there.

 Laurent moans into his mouth, hands clenching onto Damen’s curls even tighter.

 Jokaste’s voice rings from the staircase. “Damen?”

 Heart stopping for a brief moment, Damen pulls back. He almost groans at the sight of Laurent, whose lips are wet with Damen’s spit.

 It’s a miracle Damen’s voice sounds normal as he says, “Yeah?”

 He waits for the guilt to overcome him. It doesn’t.

 “Has Laurent gone home yet?”

 They’re still standing too close. It’s recklessly stupid. If Jokaste were to duck her head, she’d see them clearly.

 Laurent’s fingers finds his. His thumb traces over Damen’s ring, over and over.

 Damen swallows. “No,” he says, looking right at Laurent. “I’m going to drop him home now.”

 Laurent smiles.

[curls-cat]

night by lonesome night

read it on ao3 here!

Sabrina and Red are both chronic insomniacs. It makes sense that they'd fall into step with each other. And from there, fall into feelings.

Conversations between two oft-overlooked girls, late at night. Shared cocoas and shared secrets.

(It’s Sabrina/Red, guys. The audience for this fic is two people. Me and @lesbianedelric That’s literally it.)

//

“I miss color the most,” Red confesses.

It’s after midnight, and she and Sabrina are the only two awake. It happens like this, most of the time. They’re a pair of insomniacs, the two of them. Nightmares. When they can get to sleep, that is. Sometimes they just… can’t.

One or the other of them will go padding down the stairs after either giving up on sleep or after starting awake, sweating and with their hearts pounding. She’ll make her way down the stairs in the dark, put the kettle on, and wait. Before it starts whistling, most nights, the other girl will join.

Some nights they talk. Not every night. Talking can be hard. So can listening. Often, it’s enough to sit in silence, and to know someone else is suffering, too. Tonight, apparently, is not one of those nights.

“You can’t see color anymore?” Sabrina asks.

“Some colors,” Red says. “Everything’s yellows and blues.” She gives a sardonic little laugh. “I can’t even see my own name.”

“Shit,” Sabrina says. She’d like to be more eloquent, but she’s never been particularly good at saying the right thing.

“Yeah,” Red agrees. “And Papa doesn’t— he understands, most of the time, what I’m feeling, but he doesn’t remember colors, not really.”

Sabrina doesn’t have a good answer for that, so she doesn’t say anything, just takes a long drag of her cocoa.

“He still can’t see them,” Red says. “Colors. So even if I got rid of the wolf—”

“Do you want to?” Sabrina asks. “Get rid of it?”

“Sometimes,” Red says.

“I’d’ve thought you’d want it gone all the time,” Sabrina says.

“Why?” Red says. “It can’t be killed. As long as I have it, I can keep it from hurting anyone else.”

Sabrina thinks about her own history of doing the hard thing, of being the monster, so someone else didn’t have to. “Yeah,” she agrees.

Again, they drink their cocoa in silence. It’s heavy, but comfortable.

*

Another night. Today Sabrina is drinking coffee. She won’t be going back to sleep, not after that nightmare. Red hasn’t joined her yet, so Sabrina is alone in the kitchen, no company but the house and its small noises. Wind juddering the windows, rain splatting against the walls and the roof. The creaks of settling floorboards. Her own thoughts, loud and racing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Ah, there’s Red. Sabrina looks up from her cup of coffee to give Red a wan smile. “Not really,” she says. “The kettle’s still hot.”

Red goes to pour herself a cup of water, gives a suspicious look at the jar of instant coffee on the counter, and squints at Sabrina. She shuffles back to the table. 

Sabrina tosses her a teabag. “Chamomile,” she says when Red sniffs it. “One of us should get some sleep tonight.”

Red looks at the little mesh lump for a bit, then takes a long glance at the dark circles under Sabrina’s eyes. She gets up again and goes for the instant coffee herself.

“You don’t even like coffee,” Sabrina protests weakly.

“Neither do you,” Red says.

Fair enough.

Sabrina settles a little to the sound of Red’s slippers moving along the kitchen floor. Red puts an ungodly amount of sugar and milk into her coffee, microwaves it for a little while to offset the milk’s temperature, and makes her way back to the table. It’s a familiar sound. Nothing like the ripping flesh sounds that haunted tonight’s dreams.

“We could watch a movie,” Red suggests. “Or play spit.”

Sabrina shakes her head to both.

“Mario Kart?” Red suggests.

Sabrina shakes her head again. “Let’s just sit here, okay?”

“Sure,” Red says. She takes a sip of her coffee and makes a face.

Sabrina chuckles a little, fondly. She feels more settled into her skin now. More like a human, less like a collection of lit nerve endings. “Here,” she says, standing. She reaches a hand out for Red’s mug, holding her own in the other. “I’ll make us some cocoa.”

Red hands over the mug with more relief than she probably meant to let show on her face.

Now it’s Sabrina’s turn to bustle around the kitchen, turning the kettle back on and rinsing mugs and pulling cocoa out of the cabinets and pouring milk into the mugs to offset the wateryness of the brand of cocoa Granny buys and the whole time feeling the floor under her bare feet, a little too cold but textured and firm and steady and grounding.

“Did Puck get hurt again?” Red asks, once Sabrina’s finally settled down again. “You’ve been better about the bad nights, recently.

“You’ll never see the scars,” Sabrina says. “I’m the only one who’s upset.”

“Yeah,” Red says.

“It’d be easier if I heard from him literally any other time,” Sabrina says, because she said she didn’t want to talk about it, but now that she’s started she doesn’t want anything but to vent to someone, because whatever she and Puck had, it seems like she’s the only one who wants it anymore, and even still sometimes she’s not sure if she wants it at all or if she just wants someone. “But no it’s all ‘I’m off to see the world, you’ll wait at home for me, right? You never wanted adventures anyway!’ Of course I didn’t want adventures! I was twelve! I wanted to feel safe, for once in my life!”

“Do you still want that?” Red asks. “Safety?” There’s something heavy in her tone, something Sabrina doesn’t quite understand.

“I dunno,” Sabrina says, thinking about it. “I mean, yes, of course, but maybe not just safety? And I don’t want safety if it means getting left behind while everyone else is in danger. Does that make sense?”

Red nods. She sips her tea.

“I wish I could just get over him,” Sabrina groans, burying her head in her hands, fingers digging into her hair. “We were never even friends. But my stupid heart wants what it wants.”

“Yeah,” Red says, and it’s heavy, again. Sabrina wishes she understood.

*

Red and Daphne have had a fight, so Sabrina doesn’t even bother going to bed. She has no idea what the fight was about. She wasn’t home for it, because she and Puck went off by themselves to have a long-overdue talk about feelings and what they both want out of life. It turns out, at the moment, what they want is Not Each Other. And she’s not as upset about that as she’d thought. They’re going to try being friends. See if that works. And if it doesn’t, well then? You can’t build a relationship with someone you don’t enjoy spending time with. They’ll see.

She’s not really upset. She thought she would be, but she’s already spent years mourning the death of something they never had. It’s nice to know it’s actually gone.

When they came back, it was obvious that the girls had gotten into it. Daphne was being pointedly chatterboxy, talking to everyone but Red, including Pinocchio. Since Daphne and Pinocchio get along about as well as, well, Sabrina and Puck, that’s always a bad sign. And Red’s eyes were blue. She wasn’t being noisy about it, and she actually looked kind of sad, but her eyes were furious, furious blue.

So Sabrina doesn’t go to bed. She settles in the living room with a book and a pitcher of iced tea, lets the box fan in the window lull her into complacency as the room grows dark around her.

Red appears promptly at eleven, which is when you can be sure everyone else is asleep. Sabrina knows from experience, from her own nights waiting for a little space to mope in peace.

“In here,” Sabrina says without looking up from her book. She waggles the second cup she’d brought into the living room.

Bare feet scuff across the wood, then shff through the plush rug. The couch squeals and shakes as Red sits down on the other side, the kind of heavy plonk that someone as slight as Red can only achieve with intent. There’s some sniffling sounds, and Red’s breath is coming out in hiccup-y heaves.

Sabrina finishes her chapter to give Red time to compose herself.

“What are you reading?” Red asks when Sabrina’s almost done.

“Carmilla,” Sabrina says. “Do you think she’s real?”

“I’ve never read it,” Red says. “What’s it about?”

“Lesbian vampires,” Sabrina says. “It got a youtube series that’s like a modernization or something? My English teacher last year was really into ‘translations of classic works for modern audiences.” She makes her voice mocking, even though she’d been interested, too. Obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t be reading one of the books listed in the packet.

“Cool,” Red says. “I don’t think vampires are real? But I’d have to check.” She sounds apologetic. “I wasn’t really paying attention ‘til a few years ago.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina says easily. “It’s not that important. I think I’m aware enough that if I start dreaming about a lady coming to chew on my boobs I’ll be able to sound the alarm.”

Red lets out a snort of a laugh, and Sabrina grins to herself. Point, Sabrina.

“Can I vent to you about Daphne?” Red asks after a moment. “Or would you rather I didn’t?”

“There is nothing bad about her that you could say that would surprise me,” Sabrina says drily.

“Are you sure?” Red asks, and there’s a darkness in there that Sabrina recognizes, because she’s felt it, too, when she looks at the way Snow treats Charming. Because she loves Snow, she does. Snow’s wonderful. But she’s not wonderful to Charming, and Charming just lets her hurt him, like he thinks he deserves it.

Ah.

Okay, so Sabrina has some self esteem issues, particularly where it comes to her perfect little sister. Daphne who’s good at magic and good at people and not traumatized and is everything Granny ever wanted in a grandchild and Veronica wanted in a daughter and even when she butts heads with Henry she’s still always so certain she’s got the moral high ground, and Sabrina knows, she knows that Daphne isn’t better than she is. She knows that if it hadn’t been for her, Daphne would be just as messed up as Sabrina is. But still.

“Tell me you weren’t fighting about me,” Sabrina says, tired and a little miserable.

“She’s so mean to you,” Red says, sounding twice as miserable as Sabrina feels, wobbly like she’s gonna start crying again.

Sabrina sighs and raises an arm. “C’mere,” she says.

Red burrows against Sabrina’s side like she was waiting for the invitation. Her arms wrap tight around Sabrina’s middle. They feel right, there. Comfortable. Sabrina settles her own arms around Red’s shoulders, and that feels comfortable too.

“Why do you let her get away with it?” Red asks. “I get it with the grown-ups. They’re adults, and they mean well. But Daphne… she’s my best friend, and I love her a lot, but she isn’t trying to—she doesn’t just want you to grow up to be a different shape of person. She just— she’s just mean. And only to you.”

There’s a lot Sabrina could say to try to explain this to Red. A lot about wanting Daphne to be safe, about needing to be loved by someone, even if that love is broken. About the person Sabrina was before her parents disappeared, and how hard it must have been for Daphne to watch that little girl die, and to see someone furious and always scared walking around wearing her face. About how many times Sabrina took the blame for Daphne because someone had to stay happy. Something had to stay good. And it wouldn’t be Sabrina, would never be Sabrina, was too late for that.

What she says, instead, though, is, “It’s easier, I guess. To let her feel her feelings at me without trying to get her to understand that sometimes people think differently to each other.”

“I hate it,” Red says. “I hate that Granny’s harder on you than everyone, and that your dad treats you like you’re fragile, and your mom is always disappointed in you for doing your best, and that Daphne can’t understand that she’s not helping, she’s making it worse!”

And now Sabrina wants to cry. Because, for once, she feels seen. And loved anyway. And that’s way too rare, that people look at her, really look at her, and like what they see. Want to stand up for it.

“You—” Sabrina swallows, clears her throat. “You don’t have to be my champion.”

“Someone should,” Red grumbles.

“Yeah, well,” Sabrina says. She had something else she wanted to say after, but she can’t fit it out around the lump in her throat.

They hold each other for a long time.

*

Daphne and Red don’t talk for over a week. Sabrina watches with interest. She’s never held out this long against the silent treatment, and it’s fascinating to see someone who’s not only as stubborn and Daphne, but as self-righteous about it. Red’s such a strong person, it’s kind of amazing. She isn’t loud about it, but she’s so, so good. Sabrina’s a little in awe.

The two girls might never have spoken again except that Sabrina manages to wake Daphne with one of her nightmares. Daphne’s usually a pretty damn heavy sleeper, so Sabrina isn’t careful about being quiet anymore. So she screams herself awake without much thought to anything but her own racing heartbeat, and makes her shaky way to the kitchen.

Red joins her there a minute later.

“Was I that loud?” Sabrina asks. She tries to make it a joke, but it doesn’t come off with any kind of levity.

“Yeah,” Red says. She starts making tea.

Sabrina is grateful. She feels too shaky to handle mugs or hot water or anything, really. Too scared. Too certain she’s going to drop something, and get locked away again in the dark by herself.

But she won’t, because that was years ago, now. She never has to go back there, never has to be that tiny scared girl again. She’s older. She knows how to protect herself, and she knows people that she can turn to. She is not alone. See? Red’s here right now, handing her a cup of something hot.

“It was about the orphanage,” she tells Red. “I was alone in the dark, and it was just—I haven’t dreamed about that in forever. I don’t know why it’s coming up now.”

“Cindy would say it’s that you feel safe,” Red answers. “Trauma comes back when you’re finally able to deal with it.”

Sabrina snorts. “Tell that to all the nightmares I’ve been having for the past seven years.”

Red shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not the counselor.”

“How’s that going?” Sabrina asks. “Counseling, I mean.”

“Good,” Red says, “You should try it.”

“Someday,” Sabrina says, and means it. “But I have to be able to talk about it first.”

“Yeah,” Red agrees. “I still haven’t talked about the whole ‘feeling like I deserve to be miserable’ thing.”

Sabrina grimaces. She raises her mug towards Red, her hand only a little shaky. “To thinking we deserve everything we’re getting,” she says.

“Hooray,” Red says, voice dry.

They drink in comfortable silence for a while, and Sabrina begins to find her center. Red always helps her find herself.

“You don’t deserve it,” Red says suddenly. Fiercely, too. “You don’t deserve any of this and screw everyone who thinks you do and made you think so, too.”

“Right back at you,” Sabrina says, though she’s going warm and mushy inside.

“Yeah, well, at least mine aren’t still around to make it worse,” Red mutters.

Sabrina laughs a little, bitterly. “Most of mine are out of my life, Red. There are so many people who screwed me up so much worse than my family.”

“So that make it okay?” Red demands. “Just because they’re not locking you in a basement or starving you or hitting you, it’s fine that they’re hurting you?”

Sabrina shrugs. “I mean. It kinda has to be.”

“No it doesn’t.���

Sabrina lets out a blustery sigh. “What do you want me to do, Red? If Daphne won’t listen to you, she won’t listen to anybody. Except Granny, maybe, but I’ve never been good enough for her, either. No matter how hard I try.”

“I don’t know,” Red mutters. “I just—I can’t sit back and watch it anymore. It feels like I’m condoning it or something. You deserve better.”

“Do I?” Sabrina says. “I’m not a great person, Red.”

“Neither am I!” Red says. “I’ve killed people, Sabrina. Actually killed them. Literally caused them to get eaten. And before you say that that was when I was sick—so what? You’ve been trying to be better every single day I’ve known you. And it’s never good enough for them! Someone needs to cut you some slack and understand that you’re trying! And I know Puck got it, sort of—’

Sabrina’s breath catches in her throat.

“But he didn’t cut you any slack, either! He just figured out how to help you be the kind of better you were trying to be! And that’s not what you need! I know it’s not! I’ve been watching!”

“I don’t want you to lose your best friend over me,” Sabrina says. She’s not worth it.

“Tough,” Red mutters.

Neither of them notice Daphne standing in the doorway. Not until she runs away, sobbing.

*

Red and Daphne sort it out. Daphne starts trying to be nicer to Sabrina. It’s slow going, but progress is made. It’s nice, to feel cared about.

Sabrina tries to pay attention to Red back, because she knows Red has always been good at watching people, looking for what they need, finding quiet ways to give it to them. And sure, they’ve got their cocoa nights (iced tea nights coffee nights chamomile nights), but knowing how someone likes their hot chocolate is different from seeing the ways you can meet their needs in the light of day.

Red’s sweet. And kind. And she tries so hard to make up for her past. She’s got a core of iron in her. She’s wise, in a weird way. She makes brilliant art, even in black and white, or when she can’t see the colors right. Sabrina can help with the colors, at least, can label them clearly. But even when Red gets the colors wrong, it looks cool. Like it was done on purpose.

She also gets overwhelmed when there are too many people around, and has to fight to keep a lid on her temper, always fight the wolf that’s living inside her. She looks at Basil like she’s longing for something she knows she can never have, like she has to hold herself back from being his sister. If she sees bone china something inside her freezes and it takes her a few seconds to come back to herself.

Sabrina notices these things, and keeps noticing. It stops becoming something she does on purpose and becomes something she just does. But it isn’t until she has a nightmare about Red, dead and bleeding, that she puts two and two together.

She’s had nightmares about Red before. But they’ve been the wrong kind of about, the kind that leaves her feeling guilty that she can’t shake her terrible first memories of someone she cares about so much. Not the kind where losing Red is what she’s so afraid of.

And today she doesn’t go to the kitchen, because even though she knows it was just a nightmare, knows Red will be fine, she can’t wait for the other girl to come downstairs, she needs proof right now, needs to know that Red is alive and whole, because she—

She loves her.

And not the way she loves Daphne, or Basil, or her parents or Granny or even Puck. This is not familial love. Nor is it the kind of reluctant passion she and Puck shared, once. No, this is a soft love. A creep-up-on-you kind of love. A love that you can overlook for a long, long time.

Red meets her at the door. “Hi,” she says, surprised. And why shouldn’t she be? This is a break from their tradition of meeting each other downstairs.

Sabrina looks at her, whole and healthy and beautiful, and breaks down crying. Right there on the floor outside Red’s room, she collapses to her knees. Red crouches with her, making shh-ing noises and rubbing Sabrina’s back.

“I’ve gotta tell you something,” Sabrina says, once she’s in control of herself again. Why not? She’s already changed things. What’s a little more? A little bravery, just this once? “And if you don’t want—it’s fine. I just—”

“Sabrina,” Red says, and she’s smiling, a little, tentatively. Glad to see she’s all right, or getting there. “What?”

“I just—my nightmare,” Sabrina starts again. “It was—you were—and I just—” She stops, breathes. “Red. I. I need you to be alive. For, like, ever. Because I—”

“Sabrina,” Red says again, and her tone is different, this time. Cautious, hopeful, shocked. “Sabrina. Do you—”

“I think I went and fell in love with you,” Sabrina says with a little unhinged laugh.

“Sabrina,” Red says, and this time her voice is transcendent. 

Red kisses her on the forehead. On the nose. Sabrina meets her lips with her own for the next kiss. And so what if they’re moving fast? Tonight barely feels real anyway. Maybe Sabrina will wake up and this will have been a dream too.

They stop kissing, eventually, because the floor is cold and hard and uncomfortable. And they go downstairs, as they always do, for cocoa.

“I’d have loved you from the sidelines forever,” Red tells her, eventually. “Loved you harder for all the people who don’t love you the way you deserve.”

Sabrina knows. Knows that’s how Red loves. Quietly, without expecting anything in return. 

She reaches out, twines their fingers together. “You don’t have to,” she says. “And now I’ll try to love you as much as you deserve.”

And maybe, someday, they’ll believe they do deserve it. Until then, they can believe for each other. It’s worked so far.

[jasxier]

“Like Old Times”

So, it’s on, guys! The first part is mostly me trying to get the hang of the whole writing thing. Hopefully the next parts will be better. Summary: After parting ways with his travel companion and spending three years on the road travelling alone, Geralt has a late night visitor. PART I

"You came back." Came a low whisper from behind him. Jaskier recognized the voice, he would recognize it in pitch black, he would recognize it among million other voices, it was the sound of long night babbling about nothing and everything, the sound that would kept him out of trouble, the sound of comforting after getting in said trouble.

And, oh boy, he was. He was in trouble. If the word also means being in love with your friend, then he had brought a calamity upon himself.

He turned on his heels, the floor creaked under his feet and the sound echoed within the walls and in his ears and back again. The door of the candle lit room was open and the outline of a (oh so very) familiar shape was standing under the frame.

A particularly low hum was emerging from the first floor of the inn. The few remaining patrons were probably still discussing about the Witcher who, a few minutes earlier, had kicked the front door open, covered in blood and snowflakes and something unidentified, two very scary looking swords hanging from a leather strap attached on his back, armor almost ripped in pieces, interrupting their nightly ritual consisting mostly of drowning their anxieties and sorrows in cheap beer. Unbothered by their stares and judging murmurs, the Witcher had climbed the stairs leading to the rented rooms, navigating effortlessly through the dark aisle, opened the door to his chamber only to find it occupied.

"You came back" the Witcher repeated, his doubt visible, eyes wide as he was taking in the sight in front of him. It couldn't really be Jaskier. He was hallucinating, he was sure of it.

"Look at you."  Jaskier let an almost desperate sigh and stepped closer to the Witcher, examining his ruined armor, looking for any sign of damage on the other man's skin. The sight never failed to make his heart pound in his chest and cold sweat break out on his face.

He haven't seen the Witcher in three years. He haven't listened to his barytone voice, a voice that could easily break every single bone of his body and Jaskier would be happy to endure the sweet suffering.  But the feelings had remained  the same as before. Feelings that Jaskier had tried to put into words, had tried to communicate them to his Witcher but his efforts were proven fruitless.

The Witcher let the man remove his armor, shredded piece by shredded piece landing on the floor as if it was hanging by a single strand of spider web. Soft ghostly fingertips hesitatingly touching the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah, we need to remove that" Jaskier gestured at the shirt "and your trousers as well" he paused and laid his eyes on the Witcher's face with a smirk painted on his lips. He was avoiding the Witcher's eyes, he knew, he fucking knew  that the moment he would let his own fall in the honey trap, like a bee longing for sweetness, it'd be the end of him.

Oh, to perish in honey. Suffocating. Sticking. Sinking.

Sinking.

Sinking.

He needed to focus. "Not to sound rude or anything but I knew you had arrived just by the smell" he chuckled "You need a fucking bath, Geralt" and Geralt nodded in agreement. He couldn't ignore the annoyingly pleasant feeling creeping in his lower abdomen after hearing his own name wrapped in glittering veil binded with satin colorful ribbons which was Jaskier's voice.

He was watching the younger man as he carried himself next to the window observing the snow falling quietly on the ground outside, flickering as the moonlight was caught on the white patches already forming on the street. A stillness filled the night as it always does when it's snowing.

Jaskier turned his back on the Witcher, granting him some privacy as he shucked off his clothes.

It was not that Jaskier hadn't see him naked before, he had, countless blessed times but that was before they had parted ways after that dreadful day on that dreadful mountain three years ago.

Geralt had thought he'll never see his friend again, not after the cruel words he had spat out on him. Words that were haunting him ever since, words that he wished he never have said.

But he had.

So why did he open the door to what he thought was an empty room, why did he settle in for a night he had thought would be one more lonely night to add to the ever growing pile of lonely nights he had spent after that day, only to find himself staring at his bard, at his friend, at his Jaskier.

Why was Jaskier back?

"I broke in, you know" Jaskier announced in a humorous tone and pride filled his lungs still looking out the window. He was proud. Proud that his heart was often the one making decisions, never paying attention to what his mind was yelling at it. Always a battle between the two. Always ending in pain and a heart shattered. But he was proud. Because his shattered heart was screaming louder than other carefully mended hearts. His heart was singing louder songs about heartbreak,

for the last three years.

"I can see that" came the reply from the Witcher who had somehow managed to get rid of his filthy clothes without losing sight of his late night visitor.

Jaskier had changed.

He still look fairly young, mind you. The youthfulness never seem to abandon the man. His hair was covering his temple, as it always did. It looked soft. The bard was always looking after himself. A delicate wave of strands was gently stroking his eyebrow. Eyes, ever so bright and blue, looking almost transparent under the dim light of the candles and the white snowy veil reflected on the glass beside him. A mixture that made his skin glowing like he had emerged from a dream, Geralt's dream.

But Jaskier had changed.

He looked tired. Well, more tired than Geralt was comfortable with. He didn't like the idea of Jaskier being tired, or Jaskier being sad, or Jaskier being different.

Geralt stepped towards the bathtub, Jaskier had been busy filling it up with warm water while the Witcher was out dealing with tonight's monster. He stepped in. The water had gone cold by now but he didn't mind.

"Hm, i was waiting for a biiit more enthusiasm, to be fairly honest" Jaskier crossed his arms above his chest "Are you not impressed?" he looked down at the Witcher who was now gratefully sunk into the water, rubbing the blood stains off his pale skin, letting the relaxing qualities of the water benefit his sore body.

Geralt paused as he lifted his head, finally locked eyes with his (now former) bard. Jaskier's toothy grin was there to remind him how much he had fucking missed him. He had missed his ever babbling, ever singing, ever playing that damn lute travelling companion. But he would never admit it to anyone, not even to himself.

"How the fuck did you find me, Jaskier?"

"Well, it was not an easy task, I must say" a hand was drawing abstract lines on the air as he continued talking "followed the traces - bloody traces mostly - of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak" he paused, grin never leaving his face.

"Onion" Geralt corrected the bard smiling to himself. OH Gods, he missed this.

"Ahaa, no, Geralt! That's not how-" well it wasn't entirely a lie. "Truth is I asked around, gathered some information, you know, my acquaintances were more than willing to help me with that, I obviously don't mean that I had to use my charm in my favour, or seduce them to the point where I had access to their house and bedroom and private documents as long as other private -"

"Jaskier!" Geralt growled but Jaskier was sure he saw his lips curling in a smirk.

"Oh, right, sorry!" he tried his best to look innocent but that look had never worked on the Witcher and it didn't work now. "As I was saying" he approached the bathtub, kneeling in front of Geralt, arms resting folded on the sides of the tub "I had a hard time trying to get to you, old friend" his voice lowered.

"It didn't sound like you did" Geralt followed Jaskier's gaze as he tried to ignore the 'old friend' part . Is that what Geralt was to Jaskier now? It would only make sense after what happened between the two. But Geralt didn't want to believe it. He had gone to great lengths to find him, really, he had tried to reach him, he was getting close to him and every time Jaskier was slipping out of his grasp like a soap, a sweet scented soap, at the last moment.

Like he didn't want to be found. Like he was hiding. But no, he was standing right there, right beside him and Geralt would have sworn that he's dreaming.

But the cold water stung his skin was purely a proof that he wasn't. Jaskier was there.

Like old times. PART II