#it’s just. the responsibility to Take Care Of Things weighs incredibly heavy and even though i know it’s not true i feel it’s all entirely

[dagasinfilo]

i do not think i can mentally handle having no income anymore but i do not think i can handle literally anything that’ll give me an income

[introloves]

@virgoamajiki: hhnngggg no thoughts just boxer!bokuto fucking you senseless after seeing the other boxer he was supposed to fight that night flirting w/ u just to rile him up and throw him off his game.

— soft dom! bokuto + boxer! bokuto + mentions of harassment in the beginning + overstimulation / dumbification + size kink + comfort + praise + breath play + squirting + fluffy end + bokuto calls reader ‘puppy’ + f! reader

— word count; approx 2.6k

— part of my boxerverse! bokuto: one shot no. 1

he can’t blink back the images of you during the fight. the near deafening roars of his name all fadded into nothingness as he stalked towards his opponent- bokuto was dead set on putting him down.

the prick had really managed to get under his skin at the weigh in, picking you out- pointing directly at you and asking why you didn’t hop on over, he said you’d be better taken care of.

you’d sat there, wide eyed, clearly scared and taken back by his words. you only spared him a glance. instead turning with wide eyes at your boyfriend, now scared for the other man. frantic eyes shot up to look for his own- it was clear what you wanted, you looked scared and your face held a look that said;

“bo, please don’t.”

and usually, that look would disarm him completely- but not now- not now when he can see the way your eyes watered and lips trembled at the words.

he is sorry for not looking at you right away, sorry for not giving you the comfort you need-

but he’s not sorry for lunging over to the other side, barreling straight past staff that looked minuscule compared to his towering form. microphones clashing onto the floor with clear intent.

it’s complete chaos, bokutos manager grabbing him, holding him back down onto the seat, hissing in his ear that he’ll have a chance to go at him, “in the ring.”

you sit, dazed by the clamor and rapid snapping of cameras that bathe the two of you like a shower of pure light.

but he sits back down, hand clamped over your thigh, squeezing you, using your body as a stress ball. he can’t even look at his opponent, amber eyes focused on nothing more than your trembling knee- koutarou truly thinks he might kill him.

-

when he finally enters the ring, it doesn’t take long for the bastard to get dropped. its almost comical how short the match ends— usually bokuto would have put a little more show into it, letting him take a couple of hits before handling it, dragging it out to fluff his ego, showing everyone that he was the king, but not now.

as soon as his opponent is down, spread out on the white canvas- he steps once towards the body— pushed away by the referee in panic with the way he looms over him a little longer than necessary. the referee looking over at his teams side, shoving him back into his corner before calling the end of the match.

he lets his body get shoved into his corner, scoffing at the way the man lays there... pathetic.

bokuto doesnt even react to the roars of the crowd- walks past his team and into the locker rooms.

it feels like it takes forever to get back to you, normally you’d be at the ringside, but for this round he didn’t want you there and you not being able to do that, especially for a fight like this has you on edge. waiting for your koutarou to come home. the tension is almost suffocating when you finally hear the door slam closed.

you know hes not mad at you, thats not who the shake of the house is directed at. bokuto has always been a gentle giant with you— an overexcited, loving, and sweet giant.

he walks straight into the room, tugging off his shirt, shorts, leaving a trail of clothes as he makes a beeline right to you. there’s a deep want, need to have you, it feels like someone’s pressing down onto his chest- a tight ball of... anger and fear swirling around there.

it softens when he see’s you though, cuddled up on the bed, eyes lidded as you smile at him, welcoming him home. when he touches you, your body still warm from an almost sleep, he feels the sharp edges of anger melt away. there was no need for him to angry or scared at the words his opponent had thrown your way- he wasn’t the one about to fuck you to sleep... but the small tingle of fear and anger didn’t leave him completely.

“baby.” you murmur, hands outstretched to bring him into your space, the big body of his instantly melting down to your form, elbows perched on either side of your head- trapping you completely in.

“saw you drop him... first round.” voice heavy with lust and want, he was so strong and powerful and all yours. legs drop down onto the bed to let him in, ready for him, waiting for him.

“yeah, had to.” bokuto responds back, whispering it against your lips before he kisses you, licking into your mouth with heavy strokes of his tongue, all but tracing his name onto the front of your teeth.

“he scared you didnt he?” he growls, hissing at the way your heat wiggles to find his cock. bokuto shifts to hold the weight of his upper body on just one arm, slipping a hand down to tug your bottoms off.

“mhm.” you whimper back, gripping onto his shoulders, body jerking with every pull.

“did you see how i took care of him, pretty thing?” kou spits, pulse quickening at the wetness that meets his knuckle, trailing the back of his hand up your cunt before slipping a finger against your folds, splitting them open to briefly glance at your exposed pussy.

“fuck- course you did, thats why you’re so wet, huh?”

you cant really say anything, because he was right- seeing him knock that man out with one punch, straight to the jaw, sent heat flooding through your veins, proof of it formed in the shape of pure slick painting the outside of your cunt, between your thighs, pooling in your bottoms. its kinda silly, he knows what he does to you, knows you love watching him in his element, eyes hardened and face laxed in total concentration and an air of cockiness to him when he steps in the ring. he knows you love it, cause you’re always drooling into your panties when he comes to you after a match.

“real wet.” he marvels once more, sinking a finger all the way down to the knuckle and all you can do in response is open your legs wider, tilting yourself up to show him how ready and receptive you were for him.

“good girl.” his voice is tight and low- something like a growl with the way you move against his one finger. its enough to snap the string of self restraint he had, pure unbridled energy bouncing off him as he departs from you- just for a second, to kiss you harshly.

its a mix of tongue, spit, and teeth- strings of your passion still hanging from between the two as he leans back to look at your form, wiggling around in need of him.

its okay, he thinks, he’ll give you what you want.

and he does, doesn’t take long for him to grab the base of his thick and heavy cock, letting it slap against your cunt a couple times before squeezing the head of him inside- nice and snug. it makes him lightheaded, he cant think of anything but you- a fever crawls up his sculpted back, a need to just sink in and fuck you silly, but he wants something from you first.

“who do you belong to puppy?” he inquires gruffly, not moving an inch, watching the way you blink up at him through tears.

“w-what?” its sudden, your sweet and kind bo almost never talked like this in bed, it makes you salivate, a heat flushing down your back.

“c’mon- tell me who you belong to.” he hisses once more, splaying one of his big, strong, veiny hands across your chest, pushing down- locking you against the bed.

he still hasn’t moved, and the fluttering of your pussy down on the head of his dick makes him grunt- muscled stomach tensing with each one. he comes back to you- a little softer in the way his words sound, carrying that sweetness you know and love.

“please, tell me you’re mine.” he whispers, moving the hand that had you pinned down up towards your neck, rough callouses rubbing against the soft and sensitive skin there.

its a juxtaposition of kind, vulnerable words mixing in with the harsher movements of his strong hand curling against your airway, frantic in the need to hear it from you.

you know what he needs, and you’re more than happy to comply, wanting nothing more than to make him feel better. your hand moves up to wrap around his wrist, pulling him in close, eyes burning with hot tears forming there at the lack of blood- but you continue, till the next words are all but hissed, high and tight.

“yours, i’m all yours koutarou, my king.”

there isn’t anything he could have done to prepare for that, he stutters, chokes on the lust heavy in his chest, he feels like there’s molten want dripping down his veins- swirling into a tight ball at the pit of his stomach.

all he can do is rear back, hips lifting off you, popping the head of him out and you nearly whine, nearly ask him whats wrong before he slams down in one hard and desperate stroke, catching the skin of your cunt harshly, but its okay- there would have been no way you’d survive in a relationship with him if you didn’t like a little pain.

when his hips make contact with your cunt, puffy lips giving him cushion- he grinds down, smashing your clit down against his pubes.

eyes shut tight, a choked sob tumbling from your lips in response, head teetering back onto the bed.

“koutarou! fuck! fuck!” words high and staccato-ed are echoed out into the room, he feeds off the broken syllables of his name tumbling from your lips.

he looks at you while he squeezes his fingers against the thrum of your quickened pulse underneath his hand- watching your eyes roll back, the whites of them on clear display as lips part, a silent scream painted onto the moments of your face-

the bed groans, creaks with each crushing thrust he gives you, drilling you down into the bed.

“keep saying my name puppy, keep saying it.” he grunts looking at you with a feverish and concentrated gaze, affected in how well you stroke his ego, chest feeling incredibly full, the prickle of his orgasm starts, but there was /no/ way he’d come before his baby.

the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your throat sweeps down your arching body until his thumb finds your twitching clit- immediately pressing down on it with enough force that his thumb turns white. it rips a scream straight from the center of your chest and your body starts seizing up.

he huffs out a laugh when he sees the way your hips cant up off the bedding- it nearly pushes him back, but he stays unwavering, following the movement of your spasming body.

“koutarou!” his name leaves your mouth in the form of a wail while he batters your cunt, you don’t even know you’re moving the way you are- hands falling to rest pitifully against your head.

“ah- that’s my girl.” bokuto beams, seeing the splash of your cum arch all the way up to hit his tummy- abs glistening with every contraction as his hips drill into you- he gives in, taking the thumb that had been squeezing your clit down onto your body and sticking it into his mouth, watching you with lidded eyes as he licks the cum off his hand, all while keeping your neck pinned down and chasing the frantic movements of your hips.

there’s no immediate reaction from you when he picks up your legs- weak with the strain you’ve put them under, and folds them up to your chest.

the only thing you do is intake a lungful of air, dazed eyes looking up at him- not knowing how he got so close to your face.

it’s the first slap of his heavy balls against your ass that makes you come back from it all-

“p-please!!” you cry, eyes wide. the force of him still pistoning into you makes your body bounce off the shaking bed, and thanks to the squirting orgasm he fucked out of you with his thick cock- building a near searing sensitivity into the walls of your cunt and clit, you cum once more. it’s the final break into a headspace that has you twitch and flail your legs, wiggling against the hold of his arms.

“yeah- good girl.” bokuto grits out, a bead of sweat drips off his face onto your own, and thankfully- it’s what he needs to cum. his eyes are frantic as he watches you- swollen lips, face turned relaxed as you squeeze down around him, looking like the image of fucked stupid.

with the a final resounding smack of his hips into you, his cock jumps, swelling, growing snug inside you before he dumps an almost obscene amount of cum into you.

small twitches of your body lets him know you feel it, his head falls down to land against your chest, keeping you folded as he grits his teeth.

it takes rapid, hard blinks of his eyes to not let tears fall down onto his face. he’s shaky as he finally sits back up, making sure to bring your thighs down gently.

“kou-“ you choke out, looking for him-

he responds by finding your limp hands, still lying up by your head- slotting thick fingers and broad hands into your own.

“‘m right here.” koutarou nearly wheezes out, still reeling from an orgasm that he can still feel.

“that felt good.” your voice is airy and sweet- pitchy and laced with love.

for the second time that night- he laughs, shaking his head while he slips his softened cock out of you.

he picks you up, scooping your trembling form into swollen muscles- keeping you nice and tight against a hard torso.

“you make me feel good.” he whispers into your hair, not caring about the trail of hot cum that leaks out of your fucked out cunt, trails of it running down his leg while he places you on his chest, laying the both of you down.

holding you tight like this, sweat mingling together, residue of cum and tears painting eachothers bodies- he knows there was nothing he should have ever been worried about.

he didn’t have to worry about protecting or loosing you- bodies intertwined, locked into one another proved that you took care of him, gentle hands tracing your name onto the skin of his chest.

“i’m all yours koutarou.” you whisper, nearly falling into the heaviness of sleep.

he once again blinks back the need to cry- he could take all the punches in the world, not even blink, but he was so weak for you.

“yeah... i’m all yours too.” his voice is tender, shaky with emotion, arms squeezing around you tight.

he really was.

[babyboiboyega]

I can explain (Shangqi x f!reader)

Shangqi x f!reader

Prompt: “When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you makes it right.” + never wanting to pull away kiss

Content: a little angst, but more fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Babyboiboyega’s Marvel Masterlist

A/N: this is my first ever time writing for Shangqi (or Shang-Chi), and I already have a lot of other ideas for this incredibly loveable character.

I hope you all enjoyed this!

A heavy sigh left Y/N’s mouth as she unceremoniously dropped onto her couch. The feeling of her limbs relaxing into the cushions almost prompted a moan of relief to follow the heavy sigh. It did, however, make her eyes flutter closed as she leaned her head back.

Y/N had been thinking of this moment the entire day. The moment when her week ended and her weekend began; a weekend of not having to deal with rude, angry-at-the-world customers who decide to yell at her because a privately owned publishing warehouse doesn’t print the book that they want. Or the customers who don’t check their emails for their tracking information and then get mad at her, for some absurd reason.

Another sigh leaves her mouth, and this time with the sigh goes her thoughts of work, entering the empty air for the weekend. 

But being off on the weekend didn’t exactly mean being absolved of texts and calls from fellow coworkers, ranting about customers, or even management. So when her phone’s ringer went off, signaling a new incoming text, she simply kept her eyes closed. She certainly had enough time to read and reply...but maybe later.

The text had already migrated to the back of her mind in the span of a few seconds...and then her phone went off again. This time, two quick “dings” sounded through her apartment. 

Her eyes opened before she slowly sat up, her phone coming into view. Before she could spare another though about her phone and it’s notifications, her hand quickly reached for the remote and pressed the power button.

She managed to flip through a few channels before her phone rang once more, and this time it was accompanied by a few knocks on her door.

Completely disregarding the fact that it was almost 11 at night and she hadn’t been expecting anyone, and being fueled by her now very obvious annoyance, it only took her a few strides to reach her door. In all honesty, she’d had no idea what she was going to say to whoever was on the other side of her door; but whatever had been ready to leave her lips died as soon as she opened the door.

“Shaun?”

She hadn’t been able to control the volume and surprise in her voice, and she saw his grimace in response. She couldn’t find it in herself to care if he didn’t like the volume in her voice; the very next emotions she felt surge through her body was...well, it was a cross between worry and anger. 

“Y/N...hey.” He had a sheepish smile on his face; one that showed off his dimple. One that she had to restrain from returning. But then she remembered the last time she had seen that same smile and the last time she had even heard from him. Her eyebrows raised incredulously.

“‘Hey?’ ‘Hey’?? That’s all...that’s all you have to say to me after being gone for...a month? And some weeks?” 

She could hear the hurt in her own voice, and it made her want to cringe at herself.

‘He could have been doing more important things than worrying about you’ is all that went through her mind.

Her arms crossed self-consciously in front of her.

“Please, let me explain. It’s… it’s actually crazier than you think.”

The hesitance on her part came from her nagging thoughts that flipped between “he was genuinely busy” and “he’s about to make up some absurd excuse for why he hasn’t spoken to you while also letting you down gently”.

“May I come in?” His eyebrows were raised as he gently asked for her permission. Y/N quickly nodded and stepped to the side before her thoughts could scare her too much.

His eyes stayed on her as he stepped past her, entering her apartment. She took a second to take a deep breath before closing the door behind him. 

She briefly wondered how her face looked as she turned to face him. Did she look as hurt and worried as she felt? Could he see her feelings on her face?

“I’m sorry for disappearing for...as long as I did. And I’m sorry for not reaching out at all during that time. But I can explain why.”

His eyes followed her figure as she walked slowly around her kitchen counter. He made no effort to hide the pleading look in his eyes, and he only began talking when Y/N raised her eyebrows from across the counter. 

“Okay. Just...bare with me.” Y/N’s eyes narrowed and more questions filled her mind as she watched him take a breath as if he were bracing himself. 

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect when he had started talking, but she definitely wasn’t expecting a story filled with martial arts, trained assassins, ancient organizations, soul-sucking demons, and dragons. 

Even after he had explained everything, his eyes watching and waiting for her reaction, she still couldn’t find the words to express herself.

Her body was frozen in its same position, and her eyes were wide and staring right at him. As the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t help grimacing slightly once again.

“Also, my name isn’t really Shaun. It’s Shangqi.”

That last piece of information seemed to finally shake Y/N out of her stupor, as she blinked quickly and let out a quick breath. 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” In all honesty, all of this was kind of making her head spin, and it was evident in the way her breathing picked in just the slightest. 

“W-What exactly do you say to someone who’s just saved the world? ‘Thank you’? ‘I owe you my life’- because, I guess, technically, I do owe you my life. Because of you, I still have my life- or my soul.”

At her rambling, Shangqi’s expression shifted from one of wariness to relief to a little worried. It had only just crossed his mind that he was worried that she wouldn’t believe him, and not worried about how she would receive the information.

She believed every word that had just come from his mouth, simply because she knew that he wouldn’t lie about something like this. She knew that he wouldn’t lie to her… at least she hoped he wouldn’t.

“You don’t have to say anything. I...I just needed you to know why I was gone. The thought of letting you go one more second thinking I just...left you was driving me crazy.”

A humorless laugh forced its way through Y/N’s lips. 

“Yeah, thinking I had driven you away was driving me crazy too.”

Before she could even regret her words, her eyes were drawn to Shangqi, whose head was shaking quickly. In a few steps, he had walked around the counter, coming to a stop a few feet from her. 

“That was never the case, I swear. You could never drive me away, not even if you tried.”

At the minuscule smile that appeared on her face, he risked taking another step forward. 

From where he stood, he could smell faint traces of her favorite perfume that had slowly worn off during her day. Her favorite perfume had quickly become his favorite scent, simply because it reminded him of her. 

From where she stood, she could easily see the faint signs of exhaustion on his face. No doubt from the strains of the last month and a half. It made her want to reach out to him. 

“Every second, from the moment we left, all I could think about was coming back to you. Even while staring into the face of a-”

“A mega soul-sucking demon?”

The quiet laugh that left his mouth seemed to weigh on her body, but not with pressure. Instead, all she felt was warmth, and it coursed through her veins with the power of 11 suns.

“Yes,” there was laughter in his voice as he responded, “even while staring into the face of a mega soul-sucking demon.”

As he spoke, he had gradually moved forward until taking a deep breath would easily have their chests brushing against each other.

Y/N couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice as she spoke, her eyes flickering between Shangqi’s.

“You...you really thought of me when you were saving the world?”

Her eyes fluttered closed as his hand raised and gently cupped her cheek. Soon after, she felt pressure from his forehead connecting with hers. Without hesitation, her own hands lifted, coming to grasp at his sides, desperate to pull him closer.

His breath fanned across her face as he spoke, and it made her hands tighten.

“When everything’s going wrong, the mere thought of you always makes it right.”

His words were quickly swallowed by Y/N’s lips pressing against his with fervor. The hand that was on her cheek gently titled her head back as he kissed her back with just as much passion, while his other hand wound around her waist. They both pulled at the other, as if they couldn’t get close enough. 

The warmth that had been coursing through her veins quickly turned into leg-numbing electricity the longer their lips were connected. Her eyes were closed, and so were his, but they could both see the other’s face behind their lids, surrounded by the stars their presence created. 

The only thing that could pull them apart was the need for air, and even then, as their foreheads connected and their lips stayed hovering over each other’s, they breathed the same air.

Shangqi’s words were shaky as he spoke, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“You make everything right.”

**********

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this! I would take requests for this character, but I still have a ton of requests for LOK....

But maybe sometime in the near future!

In the meantime, I would appreciate it if y’all would interact in any way with this! Comments, criticism, questions, etc would be amazing, as would reblogs, but even just liking this helps!

Stay safe, y’all!

[acourtofbookishdreams]

Azriel ~ Irresistable*

Azriel x Reader

* = NSFW. EXPLICIT CONTENT.

Summary: Whilst training with Azriel, you make one too many ‘innocent’ mistakes and his resolve wavers with each one until he can’t take it anymore.

Warning: NSFW, forbidden romance, teasing, shitty writing with no sense, out of character azriel, piece of crap - posting anyway aha

Word Count: 2539

"You need to tighten your core" Azriel instructs, voice soft and unjudgemental but aggravating nonetheless.

"I am tightening" I grit from between my teeth, working with all my waning strength on moving along the balance beam.

Azriel and I had been training only for a couple of weeks now after I'd finally decided I wanted to learn how to defend myself or at least be able to hold my own until I could get to safety. However, my insipid mortal reflexes and strength was making it insanely difficult to learn anything.

Considering my being the remaining mortal sister of the Archerons after thankfully being on a short trip to see a friend at the time my other sisters had been kidnapped and turned, it seemed like an even better idea. Especially to my overprotective older sisters. Sometimes, being the only human around definitely sucked and others, like when my sisters got roped into Fae bullshit...it definitely didn't.

It did really suck I wouldn't find a mate, though. That sounded incredibly...convenient.

"You may think you're engaging your core but you're not" Azriel says, moving slightly closer, his shadows surrounding him in the soft dawn light.

"You know what, if this is so easy then-ah!" I squeal as I fall off the beam, stumbling slightly and gripping the beams surface to keep from slipping as my feet land hard on the floor, ground shock reverberating up my legs, "Ugh, this sucks!"

Azriel chuckles softly, "You'll get it."

"It doesn't feel like it" I grumble

Azriel comes up behind me, placing one large hand across my stomach, pushing against it softly, "You need to act as if you're sucking in your stomach, belly button to spine."

I do exactly that, my stomach concaving in, forcing his hand to slip from my stomach and back to his side and Azriel laughs - a big, joyful chuckle, the loudest I'd ever heard from him.

"Was that a laugh?" I smirk, quirking one eyebrow

"I do laugh, you know."

"Not often...and not around me."

"Focus. We're not here to discuss my social habits. Now, I meant internally. It may sound strange but visualise it in your mind and then pull your stomach in and hold it. You'll feel it."

My smirk slips and I nod, focusing. I do as he instructs and though he is right, it does feel strange, I definitely feel it in my stomach, an odd and uncomfortable tightening sensation as if my stomach was benching a weight.

"Ow" I pout, releasing my stomach, "I don't like that"

"You'll get used to it" Azriel smiles, "Now, come on, back up on the beam and try again"

"Will you catch me if I fall?" I tease, my smirk returning. Though he may be over 200 years older than me, strictly off limits because of his being a completely different and dangerous race from me and completely emotionally unavailable, it didn't mean I couldn't flirt.

"Of course" Azriel responds, tone all business. I roll my eyes slightly as I hop back up onto the beam, one foot in front of the other.

Squeezing my eyes slightly against the pressure, I perform my weird suck-in thing to engage my core, taking a tentative step forward...and finding it suddenly way easier. Gaining confidence, I take another step forward, and then another, each one coming faster and faster until...

"I did it!" I giggle, reaching the opposite end of the beam and jumping off, "I actually did it."

"Well done" Azriel commends, his ice-hewn face slightly broken by a small smile, "Next beam"

"Already?" I gulp, looking over my shoulder. The next beam was higher up then the first, the top of it reaching my chest. I turn back to him, gesturing to the lower one, "Can't I just do this one again?"

Azriel says nothing and I sigh, moving over to the other beam and grabbing a couple step blocks to get up to the beam. Heaving myself up and onto the beam, I wobble softly and a small, startled squeak escapes my lips before I regain my balance.

"You really will catch me, right?" I ask nervously. Again, no response omits from his lips, just a short nod of which I couldn't tell was either actually in answer to my question or instruction to get a move on.

"Okay" I breathe, closing my eyes and stilling my body completely, performing the process of engaging my core slowly, each muscle at a time until I felt so tightly wound even a sharp shove couldn't knock me from my feet.

I take a step forward...then another...and then I slip.

My foot hits the side of the beam wrong and in an effort to stay up, I attempt to pull it back on rather than letting it go and placing it behind my other foot, bending at the knees as I was taught to do and had done many times on the lower beam. I scream and squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I tip backward, flailing my arms out as my back heads for the ground.

As if in slow motion, I turn my body as I fall, instinctively positioning to catch my fall with my hands - a rookie mistake. A pair of strong hands encircles my waist as I turn and without thinking I grab onto him, securing my body to his in every way possible to stop my fall. I grunt as one of my feet lands hard on the floor, ground shock again erupting through...one of my feet?

I open my eyes and find myself in the strangest position...Azriel's face was before me, his arm hooked underneath the crook of my right knee, holding the one leg up whilst the other was placed upon the floor as normal, my hips pressed against his.

"You really did fall in the most difficult way possible" Azriel says, voice deep and gravelly...as if straining.

It's then I notice Azriel's stance is crooked, his weight tipped to one side slightly as if weighed down...I gasp and almost send myself flying again as I realise what exactly I'd done in my attempt to escape a painful landing.

My knee was grazing his right wing, my left arm tightly wrapped around his neck with my elbow brushing the inside of his left wing and my right hand was placed entirely on the soft membrane of the inside of his right wing, my fingers splayed across the shimmering surface and pressing lightly onto it, the way one would place their hand on a surface to maintain balance.

Points of contact everywhere with Azriel's wings...Azriel's sensitive wings.

"Oh my...I'm so sorry" I gasp, pulling my leg out of his grasp and removing my arm from his neck, my hand from his wing, until I was standing before him. Closer than I'd ever been before, his eyes boring into mine.

"You couldn't have just fallen backward?" Azriel says, his voice still rough and strained, "I would've caught you."

"I know, I-" I stammer, "I didn't think, I just acted on instinct. I don't know what I was thinking. Are your wings okay?"

"They're fine" Azriel frowns softly, "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Feyre's told me before to be careful of your wings, to make sure I keep away from them because they're really sensitive...are they not?" I redirect as his confused frown deepens.

"They are but not in the way you seem to think" Azriel explains, "It doesn't cause me pain, which by the look on your face, I assume is what you think."

"It's not painful?" I breathe a sigh of relief, "Oh thank the forgotten gods...but if it's not a painful sensitivity, why do you seem so tense? Well, tenser."

"While it's not painful, it is still sensitive. The sensation is hard to explain but it just provokes a different...reaction."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too hard to explain. How about I show you the approximation of what it feels like to a non-winged being and then you tell me the reaction you have."

I nod, a little nervous about the slight gleam in Azriel's eyes, a knowing one...

Leaning forward, Azriel breathes softly into the shell of my ear, lips trailing sensually along the outer edge as his large hand ghosts down my spine in soft, light movements, his fingers barely touching the skin but sending shivers all the way through my body. My eyes go heavy lidded and instinctively, I grip his bicep to hold myself steady, neck tipping back slightly to expose more of my neck as his breath gusts over the sensitive skin, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back to keep me from falling on my ass. A small noise escapes from my throat.

In a lighting fast move, Azriel pulls me to rights and releases me completely, stepping a good few paces back. Breathing heavily, my eyes open and meet his and I imagine our expressions to be almost exact. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, chests rising and falling so agonisingly slowly as we attempt to keep our breathing even and failing completely.

"Woah" I breathe, "I definitely get it now."

"You can't do that, Y/N, damn it!" Azriel growls and I straighten further, lust filled haze vanishing.

"Do what?" I gape

"Make me-" Azriel says and then stops himself, "Never mind. Today's session is over"

He turns on his heel to leave but I run after him, meaning to grab his shoulder...and accidentally gracing the back of his wing again.

Damn it, dumbass.

Azriel releases a frustrated growl and whirls on me, pushing me back into a nearby wall, his hands on my waist, eyes staring into mine.

"That"

I was still confused. This was the only time I'd ever touched his wings...

Seeing my confused expression, Azriel presses closer, his body pressed to mine, something hard pressing into my-

Oh.

"I...I wasn't aware I" I stumble over my words, "I wasn't aware it was something I'd done more than once."

"That's a lie and you know it" Azriel huffs, "Stop feigning innocence."

"I'm not feigning anything!" I protest. I truly hadn't meant to turn him on. Now or any other time. Feyre and Nesta and Elain had all made it clear I shouldn't get into it with Azriel...Gods, even Rhys had told me to keep away!, "Why does it even matter? We're both adults, we can just move on from-"

"You don't get it, do you?" Azriel growls, "That I've wanted you every moment from when I first saw you, that Feyre and Rhys gave me this lecture about duty and responsibility and the different race bullshit and ordered me to stay away from you. The only reason I was allowed to train you is because I swore it'd be training and nothing more!"

"I'm...I don't know what to say to you except that I didn't know anything about any of that."

"I swear you're my own personal hell on Earth." Azriel sighs, shaking his head, eyes hard and cold as flint.

"Wow, thanks" I scoff sarcastically, offended, "I wasn't doing anything intentionally."

"That may be even worse" Azriel concedes, "Knowing that anything you did wasn't intentional means if you truly tried to make a move...I would fall at your feet and beg you for just a second of your time. For one moment between-I shouldn't be entertaining this idea."

No, please go on.

"It doesn't help that I can smell you every time you enter a room. It's like you specifically-"

"Wow, so now I smell?" I huff, "Perfect."

"Not that kind of smell. I can smell it on you now."

It?

Well, sure, I was sweaty but I'd just been working out. Although I'd cooled a bit now, with all the slow and steady lust-filled contact we'd had-

Oh...again.

I remember Nesta telling me once to be careful with any time I spent...with myself because the males could smell...

Could smell arousal.

"Oh" I say aloud this time, "That."

"I could swear you would touch yourself before each training session just to drive me insane with what I can't have-damn it, stop it!"

"Well I can't really help my body's reactions when you talk like that" I defend, that warm and tight feeling in my stomach building, eyelids fighting not to fall.

"Try" Azriel suggests weakly.

"If the past few weeks of my unintentional seducing you wasn't proof enough, I clearly can't do that."

"What has been with you recently? You're aroused all the time."

"I don't know" I blush, "I just...have been. Besides, it's not like I have someone I can go to here to...relieve myself of the frustration so I'm all I've got."

Azriel's jaw clenches, eyes ablaze with a hungry fire.

"Why can't we...I mean, why am I so forbidden to you?"

"Feyre and Rhys say...well, I don't know. It doesn't matter about their reasons, their my High Lord and Lady. If they order me to do something, I obey."

"Is that something you can't fight?" I ask, eyes trailing up and down his body, "Like a magical side effect stops you?"

"No, it's an honour thing-" Azriel stops short, recognising my intention, "Okay, I know you're doing this on purpose now"

"So what?" I whisper, "It's not like I'll tell them anything...and there's no one out here to witness for at least a few hours."

"Hours?" Azriel chuckles, "What makes you think you can handle that?"

Cocky now, huh?

"I'm almost certain I probably can't...but I'm more than willing to try."

Azriel's erection grows larger, pressing insistently upon my upper thigh, "Y/N...I can't"

"Yes you can" I say, "Something tells me you're just as good at getting in your own way as Feyre and Rhys are. I'm more than capable of making my own decisions and I would be lying if I said this isn't one of the fantasies I've used to help me out when I'm alone."

The sound of Azriel's teeth grinding against each other makes me smile. I don't know where this sudden confidence came from - perhaps from knowing how badly he also wants this. Maybe it was fate's way of making something that was always supposed to happen, happen. By removing my nervousness and forcing Azriel to think his way out of his own mental purgatories.

Azriel, still fighting his own mental battle, pants softly and I lean forward, trailing a long line up his neck and along his jawline with my tongue. My hand drifts up, reaching for the tender inside of his wing-

"Don't. Do. That" Azriel grits out, hand gripping my wrist and pushing it back against the wall, up above my head, the other arm quickly following, "Don't start something you can't finish."

"Who said I wasn't planning to finish?" I smirk

"Gods, you'll be the death of me" Azriel sighs, leaning closer to me. I could already tell the battle was lost, he was just clinging to the last scraps of will he had left.

"What was that you said earlier? That you would 'fall at my feet and beg for just one moment between...' What were you going to say?" I tease

"Shut the fuck up" Azriel growls, his lips pressing to mine.

Masterlist

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Lying (Next) To You (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for violence + language Warnings: Blood-drinking/general vampiric shenanigans Summary: There is no goal other than escape. You want out of this castle, no matter what you have to do, no matter the consequences. At first, the solution seems to lie with one of the very women you want to get away from. But what happens when you find yourself genuinely caring for her? Length: 5,934 words

Merely surviving had never been your intention. From day one in this foul place, this unholy castle, you had strived to escape. No matter what, you refused to allow such dismal grounds to be your grave. But leaving wouldn’t be as simple as walking out an unlocked door. It required manipulation, agility, and the willingness to screw over anyone who got in your way. Even those who you would have once called friends, or the closest thing you had to that among the servants. Was that something you were willing to do? Absolutely, without a shred of doubt in your mind. Someday, somehow, regardless of what it took, you’d get out and never look back. For now, though, all you can do is scheme…

—————————

Three targets, each incredibly difficult to get your hands on, each presenting their own unique challenges. Which would be easiest to charm? You were still debating that answer.

First was Bela: The eldest, most responsible, forced to be the “role model” for her sisters. A bookworm (a trait the two of you shared) who spent a fair amount of her freetime in the library. While not overtly cruel, she was still rather violent, especially in cases where she felt her family had been insulted. However, there were whispers that she had a secret weakness: Anxiety. None had caught her in the open throes of an attack and lived to tell the tale. But she had been overheard, more than once, quiet cries or shaking breaths. Trying to talk to her during one of these occasions could lead to gaining her affection- if you managed to do what no other had been capable of doing, that is.

Second was Daniela: The youngest, most excitable, eager to please and desperate to be pleased. Easily interacted with more maidens than either of her sisters, though not always in a good way. Getting her attention could mean getting pulled into her room in the middle of the night, for some “fun”, or it could mean getting drained of all of your blood. Sometimes she did one after the other. Like Bela, she was a bookworm, though she preferred romance novels as opposed to her older sister’s educational texts. As for her weakness? To you, Daniela seemed to be the definition of “undiagnosed ADHD”. Less exploitable for sympathy than her sister, but possibly useful in helping you trick her. At the end of the day, the largest concern with her was her inconsistent behavior, her tendency to flip moods at the drop of a hat- and a drop of the hat with her could feel a helluva lot like a drop of an axe (onto your neck).

Then came the third… the one you didn’t think was worth the risk, whatsoever: Cassandra. Middle child and acting just like it, she was hungry for her mother’s approval, attention, and respect most of all. Bloodthirsty as could be, with a mean streak eight kilometers wide, the truest monster you had ever met. Even her fondness for the arts manifested in malevolent ways. Supposedly, she painted in blood, and made sculptures from the bones of her victims, displayed proudly in her room as trophies. What could you possibly do to earn her affection? What could you ever be to her, other than a plaything or mid-afternoon snack?... Nothing, you assumed, and so you figured you might as well remove her from your list. Somehow you’d have to make do with one of her sisters. As for which one?... You decided to let fate decide, and go for whomever you found yourself with an opportunity to court.

—————————

Free time was a rare commodity in Castle Dimitrescu. While every servant did technically get one day off every week, it wasn’t uncommon to end up helping with something unexpected, even if one tried to hide away in the private quarters. For you, it was an opportune time to try and get closer to your targets. So far three weeks had passed since your “decision” to focus on Bela and Daniela, without a single interaction with either of them. Still, hope held fast in your chest, as you made haste towards the library. On this free day you intended to read as much as possible. ‘Twas a two-pronged goal: First, you would increase your chances of running into one of your preferred employers. Secondly, you could possibly learn something through what content you consumed, perhaps to be utilized in later conversations.

Or such was the hope. In truth, you did not make it to the library, nor even anywhere close. A quarter of the way there you were interrupted by an ever-dreaded noise; buzzing echoed throughout the hallway, first far off, but getting closer with every second. There was a particular ferocity to the vibrations that you knew meant danger was approaching. According to the other maidens, this was a distinction that everyone learned over time, assuming that they survived long enough. The smart thing would have been to duck away into an adjacent room in the hopes that whatever sister it was would ignore you. But your endgame weighed heavy on your mind, then forced your feet to the floor. For better or worse, you would be in the woman’s path, ready for whatever she may ask of you.

“You-” a voice snarled, as a hooded figure phased out of the swarm and into your vision. Her head was held high, eyes narrowed as they stared down at you, a snarl twisting her lips. Of course it was her. Cassandra Dimitrescu. The one daughter you didn’t want to encounter. Inside, part of you writhes in self deprecation, feeling as if you should have known better. How often did the other two buzz about so angrily?... Well, certainly a fair bit, but nowhere near as much as Cassandra. Fuck, you think, I’m probably doomed. “I’m hungry. Come here real quick,” Cassandra demands, beckoning you towards her with a single finger. In another life you would have blushed bright red at the sight. A life where she wasn’t a vampiric monster, that is.

Nonetheless, you are quick to obey, masking your anxiety as best as you can. Doing so gets much harder once your gaze meets Cassandra’s, and you see her lick her lips before smirking at you. As soon as you’re within her reach, she’s surging forward, grabbing you by your shoulders, then pivoting, pressing you hard against the wall. You can’t help but gasp at the sudden movements, which only widens her grin. Before you know it she’s running her tongue along your neck. Once more you gasp, this time softer, hating the way your body urges you to lean into her touch. Why couldn’t she simply get straight to the worst of it? Instead she takes her sweet time, slipping a finger beneath the collar of your shirt, slowly, carefully tugging it to the side. When she finally bites, it is terribly sudden. The pleasure comes before the pain, stronger than you would have expected, eliciting a sharp inhale from you that sounds more satisfied than you had intended. Even as a rush of pain follows, you can’t help the red that tints your cheeks.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” Cassandra asks, after licking away at your blood for a few moments, pulling back but not releasing you. Something in her eyes makes you need to respond.

“Y-yes, more than I’d like to admit,” you mumble, barely able to make eye contact. But she seems pleased by this, gently cupping your chin while she looks you over.

“Well then, if you survive… I might just have to drink from you again,” she whispers, before diving right back in towards your neck. This time her touch is far, far softer than before. It feels more like she’s kissing you rather than drinking from you. A strange, irritatingly familiar feeling springs in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but make more of those noises she seemed to enjoy so much. Hell, your eyes drift closed as you take in the surprisingly welcome sensation. When they reopen, however, you give a yelp of surprise, spotting a very awkwardly waiting servant. They were blushing, clearly not having expected to come upon this particular sight. Cassandra perks up at your shock, turning to follow your gaze, then giving an uncharacteristically resigned groan. “Damn it, Ava, is it urgent?” She asks, to which the servant gives a silent shrug. “I’ll be done in a minute. Now, where were we?”

Once more she resumes feeding, casting aside all traces of sweetness, sucking on your wound with reckless abandon. Behind her, Ava gives you a thumbs up before turning away. As embarrassing as the moment felt, you were grateful to xer, glad that xe seemed to recognize your desire for privacy. More than that… if xe hadn’t come along, would Cassandra have remembered to stop before your bloodloss became fatal? There was no guarantee either way. Yet xer intervention felt like a godsend, and you made a mental note to thank xer later. Soon enough Cassandra removes herself from you, pausing only to cup your chin for a moment, meeting your gaze with a smirk. Then she was turning away without another word, following Ava to some unknown destination.

A deep breath, then another, more frantic, the familiar sense of panic growing on the edges of your mind. Now that the feeding was over, you were left trembling with all the fear you had been so adamant about not showing before. How close to death had you come? How close were you now? Only feeling slightly more faint than you had earlier, it felt safe enough to assume you would be fine, if only physically. Inside your mind you were struggling with racing thought after racing thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this with either Bela or Daniela? You think, trying to breathe past the lump in your throat. And why did I have to enjoy that so much? They’re nothing more than means to an end, monsters undeserving of my kindness, of my joy. Your only comfort was the knowledge that this may very well have been the opportunity you had been waiting for; but only if you could shift your aim.

—————————

The difference was subtle, almost microscopic, to the point where it took you a full week to notice. But once you had? Everything felt different. You couldn’t spend more than three seconds in the same room as Cassandra without her eyes following you, watching your every move, sending a rush of both fear and excitement down your spine. Meeting her gaze only made her give the tiniest fraction of a smile. As soon as something (or someone) else caught her attention, however, you were forgotten in the blink of an eye. Yet it was nerve wracking nonetheless. This was roughly what you had hoped for, but you had underestimated the mental toll it would take on you. There was no way to tell whether Cassandra wanted violence, something softer, or her usual brand- a cruel mixture of both. Every second spent in her presence was a roll of the dice, a flip of a coin, either one weighted to put the odds against you.

But you persisted. Escape was not a dream, nor a fantasy, nor some far off cryptid. It was inevitable. Again and again you would swallow your fear until you reached your long-sought destination. No matter the cost, you think, no matter the consequences. Over time, that cost, those consequences, would grow. For now, it was a slice of your sanity. Next? More blood, it seemed.

“Casserole wants you to stop by her art studio,” the note said, cursive hand-writing ever-so-fancy and ever-so-difficult to read. Clearly from Ava, the mildly mysterious (but incredibly helpful) castle servant known for never speaking a word. From what you had gathered, xe was a confidant of sorts for the Dimitrescu family, trusted far more than the average worker. Alas, xe was loyal to the center of xer being, and was rumored to be impeccable at preventing escape attempts before they had even started. If you wanted out of this damn place, you knew you’d have to be careful around xer. Hopefully xe won’t interrupt this time, you think, before tucking the note away in your pocket.

Cassandra’s infamous studio wasn’t terribly far from your quarters, thankfully, though you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to arrive at a specific time. What if she wasn’t expecting you until later? Worse, what if she had been expecting you an hour ago? It’s a dangerous thought, one that could easily spiral into something far more drastic, and you try to reassure yourself, reminding yourself that Ava would have mentioned a time if it was important. In the end, you still found your heart racing as you stood outside the room in question. Pausing to take a deep breath, you center yourself, before raising a hand to knock. To your surprise, you get an answer before your hand even gets close to the door.

“Come in already,” Cassandra chimes from inside. Unsure of what terrible fate you were about to meet, you entered the room, somewhat reluctantly. Despite the myriad of unsavory rumors regarding the studio, there were no immediate signs of brutality. At the worst, the space was fairly messy, though not due to any, ahem, “misplaced” body parts. No, just an overflowing garbage bin, a few unfinished projects placed haphazardly wherever they’d fit, shards of glass in one corner, and tile floor splattered with a Pollock-esque layer of paint. In one word? Chaotic. Such was the type of environment that seemed to suit Cassandra best, the sort in which you imagined she would thrive. But you didn’t have time to examine anything as closely as you would have liked to. “Are you going to keep me waiting?”

“No, Lady Cassandra,” you reply, hurriedly, shaking your head to clear your thoughts. Then you’re quickly crossing the room, to what looks like a cross between a storage cabinet and a paint mixing station. In Cassandra’s hands, however, you find something less welcoming than a paintbrush: A needle and an empty blood bag. Well, you think, I guess I know why I’m here. At least there’s only one bag, right? “What do you require of me, my Lady?” While the answer was fairly obvious, you didn’t know the specific steps necessary, and it never hurt to be as polite as possible with the Dimitrescu family.

“Just sit down, roll your sleeves up, look pretty, and stay still. Try not to make any noises this time- as cute as they were last time, I have a headache,” Cassandra explains, gesturing towards the room’s only chair. Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up, you did as she asked, trying to get relatively comfortable. It was somewhat difficult to relax, considering who you were with. “Calm down, pet, I’m only going to hurt you a little. That’s more than I can say for most people who end up here.” Why did she have to use a nickname for you? Weren’t you already flushed enough without her teasing you further? Though your flustering does turn to confusion after a moment, as you wonder how she knew how afraid you were. You were under the impression that you were hiding it fairly well. Noticing your reaction, Cassandra rolls her eyes, before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat. Normally I’d find this… exciting. But my head hurts and I wanted to finish this damn painting yesterday. So take a deep breath, little pet, and let me take what I need from you.”

Of course she had to say it like that, and put herself so close to you. You’re pretty sure that your heart skips a few beats in response, though Cassandra doesn’t react beyond a hint of a smile, merely returning to her prep work. First step was cleaning your skin. Admittedly you hadn’t been sure if that step was necessary, seeing as the blood was (seemingly) for art as opposed to testing, but it didn’t exactly surprise you. Besides, there was a chance she’d drink the leftovers, right? Next she double-checked that the needle was properly connected to the blood bag, and that the latter was resting securely on a small stand. With that out of the way, it was time for her favorite part.

“Since your heartbeat has slowed down a little… I’ll let you whimper if you want to- but only once. Consider it a reward for good behavior,” Cassandra purrs with a familiar grin. One hand gently cups your chin, while her eyes look right in yours, just long enough to turn your cheeks bright red. The moment ends as quickly as it started. Before you know it she’s turned stoic again, feeling along your arm for a vein. This isn’t the first time you’ve had your blood drawn, but Cassandra takes no time at all to find the perfect spot, likely from a mix of practice and, well, her vampiric nature. It’s not long before she’s gently gripping your arm with one hand, briefly making eye contact before pushing the needle into your skin. Does it hurt? Hardly. Do you take a shaky inhale, hoping to please your employer, the closest to a whimper you were willing to give her? Oh, absolutely. And does she react? Oh, absolutely. Her eyes light up for a second as she bites her lower lip. There’s something else in her expression that you can’t quite read, however.

“Enjoying this, hmm?” You ask, smiling, voice soft in the hopes of not aggravating her headache. It’s a risk, and one that pays off more than you’d ever expect. Cassandra giggles a tad, eying you with the least mischievous smile you’ve ever seen from her. If not for the needle still in your arm, you might have found the moment charming, or even… romantic. But you pushed the thought away as soon as possible, reminding yourself of your one true goal: Escaping. This was a means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s what you had to keep telling yourself. Even as Cassandra ever-so-gently removed the needle from your arm, even as she carefully placed a bandage over the entry-point, even as she gave you a nod of approval.

“This should last until the painting is done, at the very least. I might need you to make another ‘donation’ next week, though. Except, hmm… your blood is quite nice,” Cassandra says. Her tone is smooth, almost sultry, but her gaze is focused on her work as she starts mixing the blood with… something? You weren’t familiar with this particular artistic process, nor did you want to be. “Maybe I’ll set up a nice schedule for you. Once a month you can be my darling little muse, and once a month you can be a refreshing snack. I’ll even make sure that my sisters don’t do anything that might spoil our fun. Assuming you continue to prove entertaining, that is.” You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. In the end you settled for the former, chest thrumming with excitement as you felt yourself getting one step closer to your goal.

—————————

Three months pass by in an easy blur. Just as Cassandra had suggested, you find yourself in her company more often than before. Only twice a month does she take blood from you, for your own safety (which she pretends not to care about), but more and more you find her lounging around where you’re working, obviously by “pure coincidence”. Sometimes she even spoke to you! Teasing here and there, or asking you to do things that she normally did for herself, or scaring you just to hear you make one of your “lovely noises”. Honestly, you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by how attached she had gotten to you, or by how quickly it had happened. Of course, you didn’t even know if she enjoyed your personality… or just your blood. Either way, you found yourself enjoying her presence more than you’d ever openly admit.

Eventually, when the benefits of your budding “friendship” became more clear, you started to enjoy it even more.

It was early in the morning, right when the castle residents tended to go to sleep, and when the night shift officially ended. Minutes prior you had been conversing quietly with Cassandra, dusting some shelves as you did. Now, with your duties done only slightly later than usual, you were making your way back to your quarters. Along the way you were caught off guard by the sound of distant crying. ‘Twas a sound you’d heard many times before, from many different maidens, but this time felt… different. An odd feeling of sympathy sparked in your chest, and you made the brash decision to approach the source of the noise. When you rounded that last corner, when you made eye contact with the trembling figure, you knew that your kindness could very well be the death of you. To think that you had once hoped for this encounter.

“Who’s there?” Bela Dimitrescu snarls through chattering teeth. She’s moving forward, phasing in and out of swarm mode, reaching a hand out to clutch at your throat. Well, you think, at least she’s stopped crying? More so out of being distracted, instead of feeling any comfort from your company. It’s not a terribly reassuring thought, but it’s soon replaced with a mental string of ???? as Bela pauses, grip loosening as she holds you up in the light. “You’re Cassandra’s new favorite. Damnit!” With that she drops you rather unceremoniously. Then she’s turning her back to you, sniffling before wiping the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about this, or I won’t hesitate to string you up, no matter what my sister says. Now get lost.”

Except you can’t force yourself to move. There’s a small piece of you that remembers your original plan, another small part feels a twinge of sympathy, and a majority of your brain sees this as an opportunity. What was a little more risk?

“Would you like me to bring you some tea, Lady Bela?” You ask, attempting to keep your tone neutral, lest she think you were judging her. In response, she turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed, thinly veiled rage only outweighed by the remnants of her anxiety. Then she’s stalking forward with cautious, deliberate movements. For a moment she searches your eyes for any hints at your motive. Hoping to ease her worries, you elaborated on your offer, and the reasoning behind it. “I’ve read that holding something warm in your hands, like a mug of tea or coffee, relaxes the brain. I believe it had something to do with mimicking human touch?... Forgive me if I’m overstepping your boundaries, my Lady. I… I felt compelled to ask, to help in whatever way I can.”

“Oh?” Bela hums, the majority of the anger draining from her face. There’s a hint of genuine surprise behind her bright eyes. “Very well, if you say it might… help.” Before you can turn to leave, you hear her clear her throat, and say one last thing. “A little softer than I would have expected from a pet of Cassandra’s.” She certainly had a point. But you don’t bother responding, instead focusing on your self-given task. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you were really Cassandra’s “pet”, or if there was more to your dynamic. Why did you feel so weird about the idea of being a mere “distraction” to her?... Something to think about while you made that tea, you supposed.

—————————

When you assisted with serving lunch the next day, Bela refused to make eye contact, even as you set a plate in front of her, or when you refilled her wine glass. There was a stiffness in the room that you weren’t familiar with. For the most part, Cassandra is more welcoming, giving you a small nod when you meet her gaze. By the time the family is done eating and moves to leave, the sisters are grouping together to speak in hushed voices. While you clean up after them, you cannot help but wonder if they’re discussing the previous night, or if Bela was as adamant about keeping quiet as she had seemed. Regardless, you felt rather good about how the conversation had gone. Hopefully she’s feeling better, you think, surprising yourself. Not that it matters… unless she tells Cassandra, I suppose.

You don’t see her for the rest of the day. It’s a double-edged sword, in a way. On one hand, you find yourself missing her, unused to not interacting with her at all. On the other hand? All the sudden you’re realizing just how involved she’s become with you. Certainly that meant something? Progress towards your eventual goal of escaping? God, you sure hoped so. Thinking about the future, about your plans, lasts you the entire night, thoughts following you all the way into bed. Sleep feels a million years away, and you find yourself staring silently at the ceiling. Unmoving. Damn near unblinking. When there’s the sound of footsteps outside your room, you are more than welcome for the distraction.

“Wake up, little pet,” a voice calls, as your door opens, and someone quickly slips inside. Before you can even sit up, you feel them slide into the bed with you. “It’s too cold in my room. You’re much warmer, aren’t you?” Clearly your darling Cassandra come to entertain herself. Considering how late in the day it is, you feel like you should be upset, and yet you feel yourself daring to wrap your arms around her. For a moment she goes stiff, but she soon relaxes into your touch. “You’re getting so good at knowing what I want from you. Mmm, I think I’ve trained you well,” she teases, shifting onto her back so she can pull you onto her chest. Although you’ve been this close to her before, this is the first time you’ve realized just how cold her skin is. No wonder she wants to sleep with me, you think, blushing at your unintentional wording.

“Fuck, you’re freezing,” you mumble, curling up against her nonetheless. She’s laughing then, without any hint of her usual malice, and you can’t help but laugh with her. When had the two of you gotten so warm with each other? Why did it feel so natural? There’s anxiety gnawing at the base of your skull, threatening to build up into a headache, tugging you away from the softness of the moment. If Cassandra notices, she’s quicker to act than you would have expected. It feels safer to believe that her next actions are a coincidence. Feels… better, when you remember that you are playing her for cheap, that any friendliness is a mockery made for the most bitter of betrayals to come.

“That’s why I’m here, dear. Now hush, I need some rest. With how comfortable you are… I may even let you sleep in,” she teases, before pressing the gentlest kiss to the top of your head. Your throat dries up in response, blush overtaking your cheeks, and you are left unable to speak. The thundering of your heart seems to somehow lull your would-be lover to sleep, while you find yourself growing to love the contrast her chill provides. Somehow, someway, you end up sleeping more soundly than you have in years.

—————————

Another month passes. No opportunities to escape, no grand moves to make in this 4D game of chess, no clever plans to entangle yourself in. Yet you find yourself content. Happy. The work keeps you as busy as ever, but Cassandra often steals you away for her own desires. When she goes to drink your blood, she does so gently, with many soft kisses leading into the big moment. Afterwards she cleans your wound herself, touches as light as a feather, eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. At night, you find her coming to you for warmth almost every day. At first she provides little more than teasing excuses. But in time, she becomes more open, even being so bold as to kiss you on the lips every time, greeting you with quiet “dear”s and “darling”s. It gets to the poin that you cannot sleep without her presence.

Day after day, you find it harder and harder to remember why you were doing this. Was it so bad to enjoy your time with her? Was it so bad to find yourself leaning into her touches, kissing her back, gleefully awaiting your nightly rendezvous with her? Sometimes the thoughts were overwhelming, guilt and shame alike dancing inside your chest. Those days were the hardest to get through. Somehow, again and again, you go to her for comfort. To the very source of your conflict. Every last feeling was driving you towards an inevitable point. A conclusion written in stone, one that had been decided from the very first time Cassandra dug her fangs into your neck.

—————————

Screaming. Horrible, horrible screaming, somehow more pained than that of any maiden you had ever heard, echoing throughout the castle halls, achingly familiar in tone. You had never heard her scream before, and yet you knew that the sound came from Cassandra. Before you can even begin to process your realization, you are thundering through the corridor, towards the noise that rattled your mind so desperately. How could anything possibly hurt her? How often had you seen her push her siblings around, each of them taking hits that could break bones as if they were light shoves? As if the punches tickled? Horror overtakes your thoughts, imagination far worse than reality had any right to be.

When you at last reach your lover, you are frozen in your tracks, eyes wide as can be. There she is, howling with both rage and pain as someone repeatedly slams the butt of a rifle into her head. Behind the fighting duo is a sight you never thought you’d see: An open door. Wide open, enticing, leading straight into the world you had sought to rejoin. You want to leave. God, you want to leave so bad. This is what you have been waiting for- Cassandra has not even seen you yet, too busy grappling with her attacker, movements too slow to be normal. What was wrong? Why were her limbs such a strange color? Was that… frost on her clothes? Or… crystal? Your gaze flickers back and forth between her and the exit, as time seems to pause, memories of the past few months racing through your mind. Goddamnit, you think, this is what I want, isn’t it? Consequences be damned, right? I said I wouldn’t stop for anything.

And so you move, automatically, on autopilot, unable to think about anything other than what you treasured most: Cassandra. One moment you’re standing still in the foyer, the next you’re grabbing a poker from the fireplace. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the movements come naturally, as you surge towards the scrambling pair. In one swift motion you drive the metal rod into the skull of the intruder, hating the sound, hating the splatter of blood against your clothes, hating the feeling of resistance followed by a terrible, terrible give. But the man slumps almost immediately, allowing your girlfriend to shove him off of herself. Still unable to think coherently, you’re throwing yourself into her arms.

“Holy shit, holy shit, oh my god, I- I, fuck. Are you…? Fucking tell me that you’re okay, please,” you ramble, holding the dangerously cold body of your girlfriend close to you, refusing to let go. She’s crying, clinging to you as desperately as you cling to her. But she’s responding in the affirmative. Over and over, saying she’s okay, telling you that it’s okay. Before you know it, she’s the one comforting you.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Okay? Look at me, take a deep breath. If anyone should be freaking out it’s me,” she says, pulling back enough to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s blood on her fingers, making your eyes go wide, but she quickly wipes it off with a scowl. Then she’s caressing your skin again, soft repeating motions perfect for calming you down. “That’s right, see? We’re fine. You’re a fucking badass, darling, and honestly? It’s very attractive.” Now you’re both giggling, you a bit more than her. Because of course she’s flirting right now. It’s an incredible softness. One that you, quite frankly, do not feel you deserve. At first it’s a tiny voice in the back of your head, but it soon grows until it strikes the smile from your lips. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, really,” you interject, as fast as you can, ignoring the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra isn’t convinced, however, and gives you a pleading look. Knowing that you cannot resist her, you close your eyes, sighing, then admit your wretched truth. “The door. Cassandra, the door’s open. I… I came down the hallway and I saw the two of you and I saw the fucking door and I… I hesitated. I hesitated.” There’s a mighty tremble to your voice, teeth and lips shaking. In the moment, you cannot bring yourself to meet her gaze, eyes instead glued to the bloodstained floor. It’s so quiet that you swear you can hear your tears hitting the tile. The air around you is filled with a looming heartache, a shadow over the two of you, hungry for your tears. But the rage you anticipate from Cassandra never comes.

For fuck’s sake, she pulls you closer. She takes you in her arms, making you rest your head against her chest, one hand gently rubbing circles into your back. Shock makes you unable to do anything other than linger limply in her grip. Thankfully, she has more than enough words for the both of you.

“Of course you did. All you ever wanted was to escape, right? And all I ever wanted was to see how much fun I could get out of you before you betrayed us,” she admits, coolly, as if the words didn’t break both of your hearts. At first, you merely start crying harder, realizing that she had seen through you this whole time. Realizing that all of her softness had just been sharpness covered in sheep’s clothing. Except she’s not done talking. “Now look at us. Couple of idiots who caught feelings. So shut up, because we’re in this mess together, now, and I don’t intend to let you go, understood? You-” she pulls back, looking you right in the eyes- “are mine. Besides… you just killed for me. I think that more than makes up for any hesitance, yeah?” Before you know it you’re kissing her. You’re pressing yourself to her, smiling through your tears, forced to pause to laugh at yourself. How ridiculous had this whole affair been? How had you convinced yourself, for so long, that escape was all you had cared about?...

All this time you thought you wanted out. But at the end of the day… you just wanted to go home. How could you have guessed that you would have found a new home, here, in someone’s arms? Despite the surprise of it all… you couldn’t be happier.

[silkenstarlight]

body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position. 

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.” 

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.” 

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped. 

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy. 

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

[supercorpkid]

The sun can fuck right off

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader

Word count: 2795.

You are bored. Extremely, painfully bored. Kara and Lena are at work, Jamie is busy with Rao knows what, and Maya can’t come to your house, because her mom is the worst. So, you are bored with no idea what to do.

You also have been feeling like you need some adventures. It’s not like you got the taste for it, but every time you look at your picture with Wanda in another dimension, you just think about how great you felt protecting the world, and you just want that feeling again.

You’re not praying for trouble to come around, but when you hear a yell somewhere in the city, you also don’t complain about it. In fact, you suit up in a flash and you’re out of the house before any person can blink.

In retrospect, going out to fight bad guys without not even a heads up to your momma, or aunt Alex was a bad idea. You weren’t expecting a real villain, to be honest. Maybe some punks messing up with the city, or maybe even a fire, but definitely not a full grown-up man in a high-tech suit of armor, hitting the town with shockwaves.

You try flying closed-fist towards him at full speed, but are met with a strong shockwave before you get to him. You fall on the floor feeling a little dizzy, but you’re strong enough to get up. At least you called his attention, and he stopped terrorizing the city for a moment, to focus on you. You try flying again. You fall again. You try using your super speed, no use. Can’t get close to him without feeling an electric wave running through your veins.

Shit. Ok. Time to get serious. You shoot him with your heat vision. He is taken aback, but it doesn’t cause much damage to him, because he stomps his foot causing a mini earthquake. Not enough to destroy anything, but enough to be felt. You fly around cleaning the area for anyone who just might happen to be passing by. It wasn’t a big earthquake, but it was enough to get the DEO’s attention, and you hear when aunt Alex yells directions at the tactic team. You just have to hold him back, there is a team coming your way to help now.

Apparently, the only thing that can hold him back is your heat vision, so you try that again. Stronger. Totally focused on this one thing. You can feel heat running through your veins, like you’ve never felt before. You’ve never held your heat vision for so long and so strongly. But you know his armor is taking a big damage, so you power through. You can’t stop, not now, not when you’re so close to defeating him.

But you feel weak. You feel your legs giving in. And your body feels dry-up from energy. You hope his armor breaks before this breaks you.

When you hear DEO cars arriving at the scene, you give one final push, and hear a crack on his armor. That’s enough to make him fall on the ground and the tactic team runs to cuff him.

He isn’t the only one on the ground, though. You also feel weak, like you overused your powers. You can hear Alex’s voice somewhere close, so you know you’re safe and she’s got you. But you made the mistake of not calling Supergirl once and you’re not doing it again. Before you pass out, you press the emergency button on your watch. Just then you can let go.

You wake up, well-aware of where you are. How many times have you been in the DEO infirmary bed, under yellow sun lamps? It’s starting to look like a real thing in your life now.

“National City’ savior, everybody!” You hear your aunt's voice when you open your eyes. She comes closer with a smile on her face. “Why and how, and most importantly, Wow, kiddo.”

“Super hearing.” It’s your only response, and you look around, looking for your moms. “How badly hurt am I?”

“Not at all.” She holds your arm, and you sit on the bed, with her help. “What happened is that you got solar flared.”

“Huh?”

“You are aware your cells accumulate solar energy.” Alex says and you agree with a nod. “Well, let’s say they can soak up an absurd amount of energy, and every time you use your powers you use a little of that. It’s very hard to use ALL of that in one fight, but you just did.”

“Ok. Makes sense. So I have to soak up as much sunlight as I can?” You ask, aware that you probably need to stay out in the sun making ‘photosynthesis’ like you do, every time you get hurt.

“Yeah. That should work.” She pats your shoulder lightly, but you still feel the weight of her hands on your body. “Until then, you’re pretty much a human being. So be careful.”

“I pressed the watch.” You’re trying not to be too obvious about how upset you are that Kara didn’t show up, but Alex seems to read you easily.

“Oh, she brought you in, and went to pick Lena up, they should be arriving at any time now.” Alex says and you breathe in relief. What a superhero you are. Save the city, but still want your moms to pick you up from a fight.

“Is she ok?” Lena rushes in, talking to Alex, but then she turns to you and sees you sitting on the bed. “You’re ok.” She hugs you, and her hand goes to your hair. “You’re ok, baby. You’re ok.”

It feels so good to feel the weight of her arms around you, so you hug her back, hiding your face on her collarbone, and Lena’s hands just pull you in closer to her.

“Does anything hurt?” She asks, putting her chin on the top of your head, and you smile at the scene, at the feeling, and at the amazingness of the moment. You let go of her, and deny with your head. Kara comes to you, putting her hand on your shoulder.

“You called.” She says that with the biggest smile on her face, like you just did the most awesome thing in your life. “You stopped Shockwave all by yourself, and then you called me to go get you.”

“I did.” You smile back. “And I got solar flared, and I’m human now.”

“Oh, I once got solar flared too!” Kara raises her hand at you, and you guys high-five. “Being without your powers is not fun, but I’m so proud of you, little one! You have no idea!” It’s her time to hug you, and she does it a little too strong. You don’t complain though, is amazing that you can even feel it.

“Well, she is free to go.” Aunt Alex says, and you jump from the bed. It feels so weird. You’re feeling heavy, like Earth gravity finally caught up to you, and you feel like you weigh 200 pounds.

Sure you were once without your powers, but you couldn’t really enjoy this feeling of being human. Back then, you couldn’t really walk, because your leg was hurt, and when you did, you had a cast on. So this now, feels like being human for the first time since you were a little kid without powers.

You look at Kara with a smile on your face. “Race ya to the way out.”

And running you go, at a normal speed, and when you get there, you’re sweating and out of breath and feeling light-headed from the effort. You bend down, putting your hands on your thighs for support. Kara holds your arm, looking very worried.

“That was awesome!” You manage to say, while still trying to breathe and she laughs at you.

“You are aware that everyone in the DEO just saw you running like a freak on the corridors, right?” Kara asks, with a playful smile on her lips, and you open a big one to her.

“I know. But they all know I can take them down if I want to, so I don’t think they’ll say anything about it.” You finally stand up again, and open your arms to her. “I would like a ride home, please.”

“Sure thing, my little human.” Kara holds you, and fly home with you holding her tight. Feeling a little scared that you could fall and not be able to protect yourself. You feel a light rain starting to fall, and you look up with a smile. How great is this day?

Kara lands in the backyard, and you open your arms feeling the rain on your skin. She smiles, looking at you like you’re an alien who just now landed on Earth, and it’s experiencing things for the first time.

“Ok, go inside and get dry, and I’m going to pick up your mom before it starts raining harder.”

Kara leaves, but you don’t go inside. You’re so static that you were actually able to stop that villain -without help this time, may you add-, that the rain feels like a payment for it.

“Get inside, come on. Come on.” You hear Lena’s voice and you look behind you to see her with her suit jacket over her head. She comes to you, shielding you from the rain -like you’re not already completely soaked-, and walks with you inside from the backyard door. “Go take a shower and get out of those wet clothes before you come up with a cold.”

“A cold!” You say, like it’s the most exciting thing in the world. “Have I ever had a cold before? What is it like?”

“It’s no fun.” Lena looks at your excited face, and Rao, how well this woman can read you. It’s impressive. “Absolutely not! You are not getting a cold to feel how it is. Go take a hot shower now, and get yourself into warm clothes.” You pout at her. “I will throw you under the shower if I have to.”

“Fine.” The pouting is over at the sound of that. “I’m not getting a cold!”

But it seems that the universe has other plans for you.

“Come on, babygirl. School. Let’s go.” Lena opens the door in the morning. You try to open your eyes, but it feels incredibly hard to do so. You didn’t even wake up yet, and you can feel the most horrible headache.

“Mom. Don’t freak out.” Your voice comes out small and hoarse, and that’s all it takes for Lena to understand what’s going on.

“Please don’t tell me-” She comes closer, and you feel her hand on your forehead. “My God, you’re burning up.”

“I am?” You ask, pushing the blankets up your body. “Then why am I so cold?”

“Because you have a fever, babygirl.” Lena lets out a sigh, and you just wait until she says ‘I told you so’. But that never comes. “KARAAAA! GET THE TERMOMETER!”

It’s five seconds later when you see Kara showing up at your bedroom door. She gives it to Lena, who quickly takes your temperature and sighs at the number on the screen.

“You’ve got a high fever. What else are you feeling?” Lena asks, and you feel the mattress dipping next to you, and Kara coming closer.

“Headache. And for some reason my legs and arms hurt. Like-” You look at Kara, with wide eyes. “They actually hurt, you know?”

“Well, my love, that’s one of the symptoms.” Kara smiles fondly at you. She looks amazed at the fact that her daughter came up with a cold in the first place. “So, she’s not going to school today.”

“Absolutely not.” Lena says, picking up her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll call the principal and let her know.” She looks back at you with a flat smile. “At least now we’ll prove to them that you’re an actual human being.”

“Yay!” You cough after such effort. “Silver lining.”

“I’ll go get something for you to eat.” She leaves the room and you look at Kara.

“I’m not hungry.” You think about it for a second and your eyes widen. “Momma! I’m not hungry! Am I dying?”

“Don’t even joke about it.” Kara throws her arms around you and gets comfortable next to you.

“Don’t you have work to attend to?” You ask, trying to do an eyebrow raise, but it hurts so badly you give up midway.

“Work?” She laughs like it’s the most absurd question you’ve ever asked her. You know it can’t be, because you once asked her how fast you had to run for your skin to warm up, like a spacecraft heats up when reentering the atmosphere and catches on fire -to which she replied a solid ‘huh?’-. “I can’t possibly go to work with you sick like this.”

“I’m not that sick. I have a common cold.”

“Shhh. They don’t need to know that.” Kara smiles, and takes her phone out of her pocket. She is typing and saying her message out loud, you know, like old peps do. “Can’t go in today. My daughter has come up with something and I have to stay in and watch her.”

You want to call her a liar, but you also want to thank her for staying with you. So instead, you settle for a smile, and for holding her hand. Lena walks in a while later with food in a tray for you.

“Ok, so I called your school and explained your absence, and I also called my assistant to let her know I’m not coming in today and-” She looks at Kara, already under the covers with you, and furrows her brows. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Kara gives her a sheepish smile. “Guess we had the same idea.”

“Guess we did. Come on baby, let's get something inside you.” She helps you up, and you sit on your bed. You eat what she brought, and when you’re done, they help you lay back in bed. “Make space for me?”

Kara pulls you closer, and Lena lays on the other side of the bed, dropping her shoes on the floor with loud thuds.

“Rao, that hurts so much.” You wince at the sound, closing your eyes. “Can we all be very, very quiet?” You ask, and add a little later. “Oh, and in the dark?”

“Oh, my love, do you have a migraine too?” Lena whispers, kissing your forehead. “Kara, go get her a cloth, please.”

You barely feel the bed moving and Kara’s already laying down again. She blows a little of her freeze breath in it, and places it on your forehead. You also notice they had turned off the lights, and you doze back to sleep sandwiched between your moms.

You wake up much later. Kara is snoring next to you, arm over your body, making it impossible for you to move, and Lena is sitting on your desk, silently working in the dark. You smile at the scene.

“Mom.” You call her, and she stops what she is doing to go to you.

“Hey, babygirl. Listen, you have to drink lots of fluids to keep yourself hydrated.” Lena hands you a bottle of water. “How’s the migraine?”

“A little better?” You say, truthfully. She nods, putting her hand on your head to check for your fever.

“You’re sweaty. I think your fever is down. You should go take a shower.” Lena says and you just point at Kara’s arms and she knows exactly what you mean. “I always get trapped under her arms too. Let me just-” She scratches the back of Kara’s neck, and instantly her arms move and you’re free to go. “Here.” Lena gives you a hand and you sit on the bed with her help.

“I have to tell you something.” You whisper, still holding her hand. “I don’t really like the cold. You can say I told you so.”

Lena kisses your head, and lets out a chuckle. “I didn’t think you would, but I guess you had to see it for yourself. I’m glad you didn’t like it though; you’ll probably never catch it again.”

“I hope not.”

Despite absolutely hating the feeling of being sick, you look around and things are still pretty good in your life. When Kara wakes up, she wraps you up in blankets like a ‘sick burrito’, and moves you to the couch to watch your favorite movie with them. Sure, you’re surrounded with tissue papers, water bottles, and cold medicine. But you’re also surrounded with love. And that is the best thing you can wish for on a Wednesday afternoon.

Notes:

So it seems a lot of you wanted a sick fic. For this one I have to thank @beepbop122 for the solar flared idea for Superkid to get sick. Then @asiangmrchk13 asked for Supercorp taking care of her and a little bit of Alex in the middle. Also @youngjusticeimaginesus asked me for Superkid get a migraine and I think the basic idea was being cared by Kara and Lena, so I hope this works. And I threw in a fight scene for myself. I hope you all enjoy it, thank you so much!

[remsmoonlight]

— title : don’t leave me lonely

— word count : 3 k words

— pairing : daryl dixon x reader

— summary : when the protective instinct that runs deep within daryl you can’t take how much of a child he treats you, only when words spoken in anger do you both see the truth.

— warnings : swearing, one instance of blood description, vague mentions of daryl’s past and just some general angst

I've heard you're taking requests, soo, Could you please write something with Daryl and 20+62 from prompt list?

Thank you in advance and have a nice day ❤️

        ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　requested   ? yes !     /   requests are open   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

 prompt list : 20. “Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” &&             “ After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you?”

Pale grey pavement is being painted with the blood of the walkers you had to slaughter in order to survive, to make it back to your family. You dare not speak a word, already predicting a storm awaiting to drench you in its anger that currently forms within the man you slowly began to love. You can’t pinpoint exactly where you began to have these thoughts, experience these feelings, as it hasn’t been an easy road. Loving him is not uncomplicated, the image he shows the world is harsh, though his actions speak louder than his words.

You’re stuck following him and Aaron, the man sparing apologetic glances back every few metres. He has nothing to apologise for, he was simply a bystander to a very awkward encounter between the two.

“ the hell y’doing out here? “

For a moment, your world stops. You hadn’t expected to see anyone out in the secluded area of the greenery that surrounds Alexandria, the whole idea of going from fighting for your life every day to pretending the world isn’t dead is not a pill that is easy to swallow. A potentially horrid coping mechanism, but you have to remember what it’s like out there, to not be protected by steel walls. To pretend you still have to sleep with one eye open, if anything was to ever happen to anyone you love because you allowed your guard to be demolished by a faux safety you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

A timid smile arises on your expression, almost apologetic. You shrug in response to Daryl’s question.

“ y’got no brain now? “ stomping towards you, his eyes burning with outrage and alarm, he doesn’t trust this new situation with you in it.

“ not here, Daryl. “

Trouble has a way of finding you, the unfamiliarity of everything touching the fear that he prays to stay dormant within the walls of Alexandria. At least with you confined to the area he can see clearly, he doesn’t have to imagine the worst possible outcomes to prepare himself for the inescapable of what always happens.

He can’t lose you, he can’t tell you either.

Eyebrows raise in shock over the suddenness of his heated words, never once had he spoken to you in such a way. Even on the rare occasion he was genuinely annoyed with something you had done. You force your features to stay neutral, not wanting a war in front of Aaron, considering you haven’t known him for long.

A mirror image is the displeasure that has stewed within you, the very same of the Dixon man you had shared the road with. Who does he think he is? You ask yourself, that outburst was for no reason and you know it. It’s times like these that confuse you and your feelings for him.

Though you hear no footsteps behind you, you can feel Daryl’s presence stalking you closely, but you pay no mind. Not in any mood to talk, afraid for what you will say in anger.

A temper is something you control, though there are moments it wants to smash down your walls.

With a heavy breath set free into the air, you turn the handle of your home open, leaving it open for Daryl as you know it’s going to be a conversation he will wish to continue. For a rather quiet man, when he wants to, he can say a lot.

Turning to face him, you wet your lips to say something, hoping to calm him before the situation gets out of hand. Hoping to get an idea of why he is so irate, though your expression hardens ever so softly as you realise that he’s most likely going to continue on the tirade he began outside of the walls. Your heart thumps against your ribcage, almost rattling your entire being with anticipation. Being able to hold your own in conflict is something you are able to do, but it doesn’t mean it leaves no scars to litter your soul.

“ okay, so what was that out there, Daryl? “ your words are soft, almost to the tune of a whisper as you question him. Hoping to understand his point of view.

“ y’really gotta ask that? “

Your lips purse, you merely blink in his direction as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Your heart is full of hurt as he treats you as nothing more than a stranger with the heat that coats his furious words that he hauls in your direction.

It confuses you incredibly how the day has gone to hell so swiftly, but you warn yourself about that. Assuming once dawn breaks that the day will bring something good for once, and not news of another tragedy. Even protected by the stereotypical image of a cookie cut American household can’t hold off death. No matter what, it gets its day.

“ yes, I do! “ you raise your voice, fighting the urge to close the distance. Knowing that he’d mistake it as you being on the offensive. “ I wasn’t doing anything except walking! “

“ yeh, an’ that’s what concerns me. “

A pause.

Nothing but the noises from the residents of this small town can be heard, the silence so deafening it almost obliterates your confusion. The room is so quiet that you even doubt that the two of you are even occupying it, the house feeling more and more cold with the seconds that slug by, it feeling that there’s no life to breathe a new warmth into it. Never has it felt so bare to be in that in that very moment than with the two of you ready to cut deep.

This is what he's pissed about? Before you even realise, you snort from disbelief. It’s something so small, so insignificant you can’t even believe it. Their new found safety has affected the group in many ways, but this has to be one of the strangest as you openly stare at his tense form.

“ seriously? “ you ask, refusing to believe he’s pushing this so intensely for that very reason.

“ y’finding that funny? “

“ yeah, because you’re acting like you’re my damned father. “ pointing a finger in his direction, you pace for a few fleeting seconds.

A closeness between you both has long since been acknowledged, but you’ve never divulged to him the true extent of your emotions. Sometimes you think he’s aware of what you feel, though late at night when you’re alone you realise that it may be better if he doesn’t. You wish you have the confidence to even share it with him, although the thought that blares in your ears warns you otherwise. Your heart couldn’t take another heartbreak, opting for his friendship rather than a cold shoulder born out of awkwardness.

Sometimes you’re sure he’s staring at you with a longing glint in his eye when you’re not paying attention, however you often chalk it up to hope. Never are you one to follow the signs, not wanting to be wrong. Your imagination cannot be crushed if it doesn’t have confirmation.

Hope can be cruel as it can be kind.

“ someone’s gotta, I can’t remember all the times I’ve had t’drag your ass outta trouble! “ his crossbow thuds as it’s dropped without a care, his face reddens as it twists and contorts. You haven’t seen him show this much rage since the Greene��s farm.

The day you first met him is permanently burnt into your brain, being half starved and dehydrated you thought you were hallucinating him. Unable to walk, your limbs weighed a ton under the exhaustion you felt under the punishing Georgian sun but there he was. Surrounded by the rays as if he was your very own guardian angel, but that idea had been put straight to bed as soon as you saw the outbursts from him to the other members of the group.

With the months that passed, you had trouble saying that was the same man you knew today. Less prone to rage, clearer about doing anything in his power to aid his family, though you can’t help but wonder if the old Daryl wants to break through the progress he has made so far.

“ and I never asked for that, Daryl. Why are you acting as if you’re my keeper? “

“ fine! it ain’t my problem if y’wanna be a selfish bitch. “

Causing hurt to the people he loves comes easy to Daryl. To wound deep when he’s scared is all he has ever learnt, to show love and affection was never afforded to him as a child, not even when he silently begged for it. Now, he was physically and mentally scarred, even these days were they still plaguing him like a never relenting ghost. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he hates seeing pain in your eyes, but he can’t convey his worry without fury over the idea of losing you.

He can’t imagine having to live a life where you’re not cracking a joke at the worst possible moment, or your selflessness that will surely one day cause you more harm than good. His breathing increases at the thought, his fists clenching, willing him to stay in place and not barge through the door without a second thought.

“ se - selfish? Daryl, you’re making sense! “

“ y’don’t care about anyone but y’self. Doin’ shit like that by y’self is only gonna get y’killed. All y’think about is you, not anyone left behind. “

“ after everything we’ve been through, you still don’t think that I love you? “ the fire you had once now leaves nothing but dying embers, defeat coating your words as tears shimmer in your eyes

Daryl doesn’t know how to react at your proclamation, the inner battle to stay in the lounge now lost. His mind is unable to warp the idea of you even entertaining the thought of becoming more than friends, never did he dream that the shield he’d built around himself could injure him more than the outside elements could.

Before he even realised it, he’s leaning down to pick up his crossbow and heading straight for the door. Paying no mind to you taking his departure as rejection and not self preservation.

“ if you think I’m gonna come back, I’ll make you wait a long time! “ you call out before slamming the door.

Hands are brought to your stomach, as if to stem the bleeding from a wound made deep into your torso, though it can’t curb the internal trauma you feel from Daryl ripping himself from your presence. You knew it was a bad idea to tell him your feelings, yet you could hardly stop yourself in the war of words between the two of you. Nothing is a big enough wish than to stop the pain that ignites your entire self, threatening to consume you entirely. Only now do you understand the true extent of your love for him, previously thinking it was little more than a crush, though this feels more. Especially mourning what could have been.

You retreat to your room, not even leaving to share dinner with your family. Afraid not if Daryl would show, but rather your ability to hold your composure when you feel as if you’re glass who’s moments are counting down by the second to shatter into nothing more than sharp fragments that will only slice others to ensure they bleed, to ensure they feel as bad as you do.

“ come on, you’ve got to get some air. “

A series of knocks interrupt your sleep, followed by the voice of who you recognise as belonging to Carol. You ignore her, not wanting to face anyone just yet. The trauma on your heart is still too fresh. However it matters not to Carol, for she simply does not take your silence as an answer, but rather as an invitation as she opens your door.

“ just leave me alone, please. “

“ the others are worried about you, so am I. “ she speaks, concern written all over her face as she steps forward closer to your bed, her frown becoming more and more prevalent.

“ let them be, I just want to sleep. “

“ you don’t have to talk to anyone, come down after breakfast. Just get some fresh air. “ Carol gently requests with a half smile blooming onto her features. If anything is certain, she wants to see you and Daryl work through the fog that currently locks you both away.

Leaving the bed, you groan to yourself. You’re not sure how much time has passed since Carol departed, but it has been long enough for your family to have also left the house to either explore more or two engage in their jobs. It’s something you send a silent thanks to the sky for, all you desire is solitude, with the sun etching its warmth onto your face. Opening the door, you see people going about their business with little regard for you, though you’re sure some of them must have heard the commotion the previous day.

You pay little mind to them though, more concerned on piecing together the broken pieces of your heart than anything else.

Sleep never once visited Daryl, never did it carry him off into a peaceful slumber. Though he can’t help but feel as if he deserves it, as payment for having to be the cause of the damage to you, being the reason you sobbed harder than he’d ever heard you. He’d waited outside that door, pushing himself to make things right, but never did the courage arise. Leaving him lonely once again.

Fuck this he curses himself mentally, this is going to be the one time an opportunity for happiness does not pass him by. Not once more, that was the last time he’d be nothing more than a witness.

Astonishment transforms his hardened expression as he comes to a stop, realising you’re already sitting on the porch next door with a blissfully peaceful air surrounding you. You don’t realise he’s there just yet, your eyes closed as you take in the sounds and smell of Alexandria, a distraction to what you feel. Daryl briefly wonders how he should go about patching things between the two of you, the situation an alien one to him. Fingers reach towards the cigarette packet concealed in his trouser pocket, with the barest of shaking from nerves.

Bringing it to his lips, the smoke is what alerts you to his being closing the distance. You can’t prevent the draining of colour from your face, not prepared from yet another interaction with the Dixon man so early in the morning.

“ I - uh, wanna say sorry. ‘Bout yesterday. “ Daryl apologises, with a regretful tone colouring his words with the most vibrancy he can muster.

Your gaze slips to the floor, watching the grass move ever so slightly with the breeze that wanders through. To forgive is in your nature and you sorely want to extend that forgiveness to him, but to do so after that exchange is a difficult thing.

“ thank you, I suppose. “ you shrug, your hands tying together as you try to make up for a lack of words.

“ I ain’t expectin’ y’to forgive me or nothin’, I just want y’to know. “

You sigh to yourself, you know in your heart he means what he says, you hate that you’ve been this mad at him.. at each other this much, even for a few hours. People and bonds are a rare blessing in this world, and you know it’s better to keep them close than to allow them to burn in the fire of hatred and impulse, to leave them nothing more than ashes ⎯ remnants to revere of an age that has since past.

“ Daryl, I do forgive you. I’m just trying to figure out how we move past this. “ you reply with sorrow, your eyes closing, a crease intensifying between your brows. It hurts to even speak into existence.

“ those things you said yesterday ... did you mean them? “

Bewilderment forces your eyes open, your head snapping to meet his figure that still stands. Here you are preparing yourself to move past Daryl, no matter how hard that would be, and he’s asking you questions about what you said.

“ you’ll have to be specific, I said a lot. “

“ it needs sayin’? “

Daryl can’t help but feel put on the spot as your sight bores into him with a forceful amount of strength, scrutinising him with the need to find an answer he’s not yet sure of.

“ yes, it does. “

“ was y’serious about.. bein’ in love.. ? “ with me is the silent end to the sentence that lays peacefully on his tongue as he leaves it out, the invisible presence of it painfully clear to the both of you, knowing that while it wasn’t included, it was there regardless.

“ when it comes to things like this, I don’t lie. “ you rest your head on your chin, a small yet anxious smile fighting to break free onto your features.

Why do I have to be a nervous smiler?

Daryl doesn’t answer, instead he moves to sit beside you on the porch. Closer than ever before, it’s not something that goes unnoticed by either of you, and like that hope is once again reignited within your core. Even small steps like this are significant, physical affection with other people is still something that has not changed all that much with him.. Though, you’ve seen moments on rare occasions, witnessing it before he can even stop himself.

“ so, we boyfriend and girlfriend now? “ you joke, laughter allowing the grief to peel away from your heart, allowing it to flutter in the air at the thought of the potential between you.

“ shut up. “ mumbles Daryl, although there’s a small grin that is peaking through his expression as he allows it to be set free, even though the full picture is still hidden under the grime and the hair that has long since overgrown.

But, you find you wouldn’t change a thing about that. It being part of his charm. You can’t help but find yourself full to the brim of excitement of what can grow between you, with the possibilities endless.. no matter how hard things can and will get, you will have each other in a new way that you’ve never before and that? It’s a heavenly picture you want to cut and pocket away in the confines of your heart.

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too.  this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia​ and @hobi-gif​.

this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts​ who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

“You fired me?”

Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.  

There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office.  Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.

You look hurt.

Beautiful -- but hurt.

Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.

“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat.  He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully.  “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”

There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand.  He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.

He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.

“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone.  He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.  

He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated.  You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.

“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully.  “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls.  Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”

A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.

“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly.  “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced.  She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”

Namjoon knows you’re right about that.

In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.  

You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.

You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation.  By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.  

He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.

**************************

Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.

This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul.  It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River.  It’s one of the finest residences in the city.

And Namjoon hates it.

The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is.  How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here. 

Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option. 

Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.  

He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind.  They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.

He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.  

This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine.  Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution.  Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.

“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.

He thinks back to when you both were kids.  

Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much.  He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university.  News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.

Then you came walking through his office door.

You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.  

What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job.  He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.

You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.

And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.

So yeah, there was a problem, all right.   

The problem was Kim Namjoon.

*********************

“There you are.”

The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call. 

“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection.  “This line is for business only, you know that.”

Mina makes an exasperated sound.

“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office.  I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon.  I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”

Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?

“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses.  “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours.  Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”

Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.

“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway.  “You’ve been so distant lately.  It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”

Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief.  Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics. 

Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he mutters.  “I’m here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.

“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood.  Not anymore.”

She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.

Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t.  It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man.  Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power. 

She’ll survive.

Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.

What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller? 

He contemplates that in the dark.

How odd.

***********************

YOU

Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen. 

Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into.  His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.  

You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.

Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.  

Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.  

It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did.  You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him.  You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father.  You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.  

He never noticed you, of course.

Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle.  By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times.  The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.  

It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.  

That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago.  You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years.  And then you stepped into his posh office.

Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.

The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.

Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face.  His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame.  He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face. 

Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.

The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back.  You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.

If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on.  He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.

You left out the painful details, of course.  

Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit.  His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.

He didn’t.

At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.  

Reporting directly to him and starting right away.

***************************

The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.

It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon.  He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly.  The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding.  The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.

But you were always looking.

You wanted so badly to help.  

You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times.  So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed.  You organized his files.  You streamlined his schedule.  You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.

Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.

Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes.  Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.

You convinced yourself over time that this was enough --  that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.

It had to be enough. 

To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.  

**********************

“Eomma?” 

You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you.  You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.

This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time.  Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.  

“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”

“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat.  You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side.  Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.   

She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.

“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin.  “It’s freezing outside.  I should have warmed them first.”

She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Home early again,” she croaks.  “Is everything okay at work?”

Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil.  You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.

Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.  

The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.

“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair.  She leans into your touch with a tired smile.  “Everything is fine.  My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did.  But that’s a good thing, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes.  “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago.  She brought some Japchae for dinner.  Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”  

You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.  

People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home.  The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help.  With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.

“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch.  “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”

Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.  

She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse.  More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs.  But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.

She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand.  You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket.  You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.

You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.  

They aren’t.

The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should.  But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.

A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?

How odd.

******************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

tag list: @barbikatherine​

[atticinthecafe]

its 1 am and I wanted to write before I headed off to bed. this jumps around a lot time wise and I did not proof read it I'm ti r e d

---

The first time Akira did this Morgana nagged at him the whole time.

---

"Joker! You've been wandering around the city for hours," Morgana whined from inside the bag, shifting around.

Akira just hummed in response. His eyes were distant and foggy, constantly trained on the distance. Sometimes they would scan across the crowds, almost like he was looking for someone, but for the most part he just seems dazed, lost in thought. He kept walking, the twists and turns memorized by the back of his hand, simply wandering. Sometimes he'd end up on a train to some other area, but he just wandered all the same.

"When are we going home? I'm bored!" Morgana complained, this time getting a bit louder.

This seemed to break Akira from his thoughts, as he frowned looking at his bag where Morgana sat.

"I can talk you home if you want," He spoke low, just to his cat, in a neutral tone. It was hard to tell what was on his mind.

"Yes! wait- you're going to keep walking?"

"Mhm,"

"I'm not leaving you on your own! I'll just tough it out then! But we better get food sometime soon!"

---

Morgana hadn't really known why he was wandering, but to be fair, neither did he.

He had his hand shoved into a pocket, holding the glove he had gotten from his rival and walked around the city, watching the scenery and the people go past as he drifted. It was different now. He had been doing this for weeks. Just- walking around.

Orginally he had no clue why he did it. Something weighed on him, made him feel heavy. He zoned out during conversations and stared into space. Morgana suggested maybe fresh air and a walk would help refresh his senses, but it just ended in him wandering.

He needed the space, to be away from people. He also needed away from his thoughts, but that wasn't so easy. The city provided a nice distraction. Different things to think about. But that didn't stop the soft lull of sadness from weighing down his head.

He missed Akechi if he was being honest. He didn't notice it. But it was like a low hum in the back of his heart. Invisible stress making him tired when he hadn't done anything. It haunted him and didn't leave him be.

---

Morgana at some point had mentioned how when cats lose a friend or someone they care about they'll wander around, meowing and crying out for the other.Akira wondered if Morgana had been talking about him when he brought it up.

Today he had left Morgana with Futaba. The fog in his head and weight in his chest had gotten worse the past week. He hadn't known why until Ryuji mentioned it was around the same date they had met Akechi.

Incredible how his subconscious refused to let go.

The rain pattered against his umbrella as he walked and puddles gently splashed beneath his feet. It was nice to get rain in June. He certainly didn't mind it. It gave the city a softer, calmer feel. It almost felt like the rain took some of his weight with it when it fell.

---

Akira was fine most days. He seemed normal. Almost like he had moved on, but there were some where he simply disappeared out the front door, and everyone knew. They knew he still missed Akechi, no matter how many times they told him he shouldn't.  They knew he needed space for a bit.

The one time they made him stay it was obvious how he was stressed without realizing it. He fidgeted awkwardly and didn't participate in conversation. He seemed like he wasn't there at all and when spoke to he'd look up confused and obviously off in his own world.

Sometimes they would intentionally tell him to take a walk. He'd get shaky and tense for no reason. Seem more irritable and quiet than usually. Not handle loud noises or being around people well. This is when his friends would step in and tell him maybe he should go for a walk to calm his nerves. Sometimes it would take him getting frustrated over something small and all his stress breaking like a dam for the others to take notice, in which case they'd quiet down and all pause to take care of him. Whether it be one of them going on a walk with him, or the group settling down to bundle up in blankets and form a small pile as they watched movies together.

He wished it would stop. The days where he was stressed without realsing it and dazed. The days where he felt like the slightest thing going wrong would cause him to start sobbing and he didn't know why. The days where he missed Akechi.

He wasn't even certain if he was alive.

---

It had been a few years. Akira was better. He was managing better. But he still suddenly disappeared for walks. Some nights he wouldn't sleep at all and instead wandered.

It had been one of those nights, and now here he was, head resting on the counter of Leblanc well Sojiro huffed at him in the background. Something about going upstairs to sleep and not staying up so late.

He didn't move though, and Sojiro didn't seem to mind. There was something calming about the atmosphere. It was warm and the chattering of the TV in the background provided comfort in it's own way.

He couldn't sleep, as much as he wanted to the stress tugged at his brain keeping him just awake enough to be unable to sleep but not awake enough to bypass his exhaustion. So he just sat there, soaking in the smell of coffee and the peaceful air.

---

A ring sounded from the door, and Akira didn't bother looking up, staying where he was.

That was until he heard a soft, almost amused hum as a chair besides him was dragged out from its spot, someone sitting besides him. His eyes flickered open and up to meet red ones, gazing at him fondly.

The time passed in sections, one moment he has his head on the table, next he knew Akira was a crossed from the man, getting started on his favorite cup of coffee, pressing his glove back into his hand with tears pricking at his eyes. Then he was brewing coffee. A conversation between them was happening but- he didn't hear it. It made his chest warm and light, the lightest it had felt it years.

He placed the coffee infront of the other with a smile. He could feel the pure, unfiltered love and happiness just to be able to hear his voice again rush through his body with every word the man spoke.

He hummed softly as the other pressed their hands together, the warmth filling his body yet lingering just where he touched him.

---

His heart felt raw.

Akira blinked open his eyes to Sojiro leaving. To the once warm comforting room feeling cold and bitterly lonely. The warmth that lingered on his hand feeling almost like a bitter sting.

He lifted his head up to find tears streaming down his face and his sleeves damp from where he had been resting his head.

Of course, it was just a dream.

His fingers found their way into his pocket, and he gripped the glove tight. His chest was nothing but raw pain that you would have figured he would have gotten over by now.

He just wanted to see him again.

---

The next few days were incredible low for Akira. He spent most of them asleep.

Dreams were incredible tantalizing now. The fact that occasionally, he would see Akechi again in them made them feel more worth while than reality sometimes.

It was lonely.

He spent a long time asleep that week. More than he should have, but he couldn't help it. The sting in his chest was hard to bare.

---

Akira laughed.

It was the fullest his chest had felt in a while. No longer that haunting hollow that followed him around from day to day.

He was still moving on, he still occasionally had days where he would wander. But they were less now.

The warmth that filled his chest when his friends smiled, the brightness in their eyes and the lightness to their tone when they said the stupidest jokes made the lonely fade.

He had forgotten how good they make him feel.

There was a bittersweet taste left in his mouth when he thought about Akechi. How he should get to feel the same warmth Akira did. How he deserved so much more than the cards he was handed, but Akira didn't linger on that. He couldn't. He had to move forwards.

Akechi would probably call him stupid for staying stuck on him so long. He would say how he shouldn't waste the life he has thinking about someone who killed him. How if anything he should be glad he finally won. There was no more rivalry to be had. But Akira still had to disagree.

Akira took every step as a challenge to be better. He spent the days trying to improve, telling himself that he couldn't fall behind now. He couldn't disappoint the rival he loved so dearly by stopping just because it was over.

He figured if Akechi ever did return, he'd give him a real challenge. If he met Akechi again he wanted to be someone he could respect, someone he could challenge and find worth challenging. He wanted to keep the rivalry alive in his own little way. It was just a promise in his own mind he had to keep. And he couldn't do that with a hurting chest, so he indulged in the moments surrounded by friends, with laughter in the air.

He would do his best to continue, just to prove that he could. He wouldn't forget Akechi, he didnt think he could, but he wouldn't fall behind because of him.

---

When the day was late and the sky had turned shades of orange Akira was left cleaning up Leblanc, making sure everything was ready for business tomorrow.

It had been a while since he had finally realized that he had moved forwards, but he was still making progress with each day.

He leaned back onto a shelf, letting out a soft satisfied hum as he relaxed for the day.

Then the bell on the door rung.

Then a familiar voice spoke, and Akira had to make sure this wasn't a dream.

"I hope I haven't come in too late for a cup of coffee Kurusu, I was hoping we could catch up,"

[the-witty-pen-name]

Rekindling

Part Two of The Necklace (2/3)

Read Part One Here

Obi-Wan x Reader (f)

Warnings: none; fluff and angst 

Word Count: 1.4k

Based on this Request:

“If you still need that inspiration... maybe an obi-wan thing where he makes the reader a beautiful necklace when they were young padawans and they get separated bc reader goes om a long mission but when they meet again as adults she still wears it and then he confesses his feelings (a bit of anakin teasing his master about his obvious feelings sprinkled in perhaps😂)”

A/N: Like part one, parts in italics are flashbacks! Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you like Part Two! Thanks again to @katevino for the request!

My tags are also now open for anyone who would like to be added! Also my requests are currently open!

Part three will be posted Thursday and will contain smut so this can be read as a two part fic or a three part fic. This one reads like it can be the end even though there is another part coming!

“When are you leaving?” he asked you, tears threatening to fall as they filled the corners of his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning,” you reply unable to meet his gaze so you keep your eyes fixed on the pattern of the tiles on the floor.

“How long will you be gone?” he sniffles, looking back up to you. He puffs out his chest slightly, like he’s trying to prevent strength and you don’t know if that’s for your or his sake.

“Indefinitely,” you respond after a sharp intake of breath to steady your breathing. “Master Yoda said it’s more like a relocation than one mission. I’m to accompany my Master as he is needed on Alderaan. Obi-Wan, I don’t have a choice.”

You weren’t children anymore, and it was so incredibly foolish of you both to have allowed your feelings to overcome you both this way. He had only just returned from Tatooine, the Jedi Consul meeting with Qui Gon-Jinn and the boy they brought back as the two of you spoke. Silent looks of desperation and sadness exchanged between the two of you. You were already torn apart once, and now just as he returns back to you, you are being sent away again.

“Let’s run away together,” he says suddenly, taking your hands.

“Obi-Wan…”

“We can leave the Order,” he begins quickly, letting his emotions completely take control. “We can move far away from here and just be together. We can get married, and just not have to hide anything. I want you, and I always have. I’d leave right now if you wanted. I care more about you than anything else in this lifetime. We can go to Naboo- I know you said you’d always wanted to visit and I promise you it’s beautiful.”

“Obi-Wan,” you say shaking your head, cutting him off. You keep your eyes closed tightly, trying to keep tears from spilling uncontrollably. “No.”

He sighs, but his breath is so shaky. You both are trying your best to find composure. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, resting his forehead against your own.

“I’m going to miss you,” you say, and you just now realize there is a steady stream of tears rolling down your cheeks.

“(Y/N), please,” Obi-Wan says, not entirely sure what he is even asking as he lifts his thumb to your cheek to wipe away the tears.

“We dedicated ourselves to the Jedi Order,” you say, trying to talk yourself out of his plan that you so desperately just wanted to surrender to. “Obi-Wan, we have been so incredibly blinded by our emotions. How can we allow ourselves to be so selfish as the galaxy is faced with the possibility of war?”

“I suppose you’re right darling,” he sighs. You both had responsibilities that weighed more important than your own personal tragedy.

“You should do your best to forget about me,” you struggle to say, stepping back from his embrace. “We should move forward from here like nothing ever- we never happened. Focus and commit to the code we pledged to uphold. It was all a mistake.”

“Darling, loving you was never a mistake.”

And with that, you were gone. Unable to bear being near him for another moment. It was too painful.

It had been ten years since you had last been at the Jedi Temple. As you navigate the halls to find your sleeping quarters, you notice the feeling of home you once felt here no longer existed for you. Perhaps that feeling all those years ago was Obi-Wan, you wonder. Finding your quarters, you survey the emptiness of the room. It was so incredibly sparce, and you imagine how you would decorate it if time permitted you to stay.

You feel uneasy, the Temple now feeling foreign to you when it was once the only place you had ever known. You remember back to that last conversation with him and how miserably you failed to forget and overcome your feelings. You wondered if Obi-Wan had been more successful. He must have, you think, you know Obi-Wan very well and he always excelled in areas of the Force you struggled with. You try your best to let the thoughts of him slip away to the back of your mind and try to get settled.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan and Anakin were just returning back to the Temple. Anakin ruthlessly pestering Obi-Wan with questions.

“I think she is still in love with you, Master,” Anakin said with a grin, happy he was successful in making Obi-Wan flustered. “I sensed something when you two were talking.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied, “I must insist you stop bringing up these theories of yours.”

“They aren’t theories, Master,” Anakin chuckles, shaking his head at Obi-Wan. “And deep down you know I’m right.”

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, crossing his arms, thinking on how to respond to Anakin. “Anakin, it was over ten years ago. You need to put this to rest.”

“You need to stop running from your feelings, Master.”

“I wasn’t the one who ended things,” he says, exasperated. “She was the one who was stronger than me- she always has been. Now, please, don’t bring her up again.”

“I’m sorry Master,” Anakin says earnestly.

“It’s okay,” he replies with a sad smile. “It’s nothing more than reuniting with an old friend.”

“Of course.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Obi-Wan says, noticing how Anakin is saddened.

“I only care about your happiness, Master,” Anakin replies, the conversation finalized.

Obi-Wan walked back to his quarters, still overcome with memories of what feels like a past life with you. His thoughts weigh heavy as they shift to the realization that you are finally here. How much he longed for a day when you’d return home to him. Now that you were here, and he could feel your presence echoing in the halls again, he found himself disappointed. He spent years hopelessly wishing for you to come back, and the circumstances now add to the harsh realization those hopes will always be just that.

He was meditating when you arrived at his door. The tension in the air between the two of you was heavy as he watched you look around his room. You were just taking a moment to observe what he had on display, the mementos allowing you to form some kind of narrative of the life he’s led since you’d last seen him.

“I’m really happy to be back,” you say finally, your voice cutting through the weighted atmosphere. He pondered his conversation with Anakin. He was so quick to dismiss Anakin’s observation and now he feels a pull at his heart as he wishes that Anakin is correct.

“How do you like it on Alderaan?” he asks, holding his hands behind his back. Part of him genuinely wanted to hear about your mission and the specialty of your work, but it was more of a stall tactic to avoid the actual questions he was dying to ask you.

“It’s not home, but I like it fine,” you smile, looking back to him. Your heart feeling like it’s beating faster than it ever has before. The social niceties and the catching up questions were killing you inside. Your mind was scrambled and you frantically tried to find more to say. You could only think about him, and how he was finally right there in front of you. Looking at you the same way he always had.

“It’s a shame you cannot stay longer,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes looking nervously down on the floor before meeting your gaze again. “I wish we had more time… Oh, (Y/N), things ended so terribly when I last saw you. I feel heartsick thinking about it. I tried to find you the next day, give you a proper goodbye but you had already gone.”

“That was my doing,” you admit, looking down at your feet as he takes a few daring steps closer to you. “I knew if I had saw you again, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.”

“Oh darling,” he whispers softly, pulling you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you tightly, the familiar warmth of his chest helping to calm you. You hadn’t even realized you had started crying until you felt the dampness of his tunic against your cheek. You rested your hands gently on his chest as he held you tightly, resting his chin on your head.

This feels like home, you say to yourself, the wave of anxieties and clutter in your mind vanishing at his touch. You could stay there just like that forever. Years you spent struggling with your thoughts and emotions, only ever just making them worse, and the one thing you needed was just to be with him- and it was all just so painstakingly clear.

“I’m not leaving you again,” you whisper softly.

Taglist:

@blackirisposts​

[tonystarkissist]

“Didn’t know where else to go”/ Revenge - Villainous July

Part 11 of “Oh Sweet Child, The Things I’d Do for You...”

Summary:  Tony's out of his element. He’s ignorant to many things in relation to offering someone else comfort, but closure and vengeance is one thing he’s damn good at.

Rating: Teen (For language and Thematic Material)

Warning: Self-loathing and lack of care for life, mentions of abuse, and slightly graphic dialogue towards the end (maybe too graphic, but I got caught up in the moment; sue me).

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Read on Ao3 ~  Next Chapter

Peter’s there for days, maybe weeks, he couldn’t keep track at this point. He’s glad he had the foresight to warn Ned of his absence. His friend would definitely be the leading cause behind filing a missing persons report, because he knows Beck wouldn’t do it, content to mooch off of CPS as long as possible. And Peter really didn’t need anyone out looking for him. He didn’t even want to think about the turmoil and stress that would ensue. He didn’t want to deal with it. Ever.

He just wanted to lie here on this couch forever, stare at the fire crackling in the fireplace and watch the orange light bleed through the darkness of Mr. Stark’s home. It reminded him of that night he’d followed Mr. Stark here… he missed him. Still.

He wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore at all; not even ashamed. He missed him. And he felt so incredibly guilty for turning the man’s world entirely upside down. If Peter hadn’t acted so carelessly none of this would be happening. Tony wouldn’t be on the run, Beck wouldn’t have found out about Spider-Man, and Peter wouldn’t be slowly starving to death, lying here on Stark’s couch, the licks of flames dancing up from the fire cradling him in a hypnotic trance. 

There was food in the kitchen, he knew there was, but just the thought of food made him sick, and he knew if he did try to stand he wouldn’t have a chance at making it that far before passing out. 

He’d long since accepted the fact that he’d die at a young age due to his vigilante hobby, but he must admit he never expected it to happen this young, especially not since Mr. Stark started showing up every moment he needed him. He hadn’t failed him once… until now. Now that Peter needs him… he’s not here. He stares down at the shattered face of the watch he’s been clutching in his hand since he arrived. Mr. Stark wasn’t coming back, and that was something Peter would have to accept. How could he come back, with all these people looking for him? It’d be impossible and probably the stupidest decision the man could make. But of course Peter’s still clinging to that childish hope that he’d see him again. Preferably before he wastes away here on this very couch.

Though at this rate, it didn’t seem like that was likely to happen. He didn’t even feel the pangs of hunger anymore, and he could feel his body slowly shutting down. It felt almost like a relief to be ridded of that constant ache in his stomach.

He’s been living off of that one school lunch meal for a week, and Peter could feel the definition of his bones when he ran a shaky hand over his ribs, or along his shoulder and arms. It wasn’t healthy by any means, but what did he care? There would be no “long run” to worry about, just the next couple of days before he peacefully slipped off to sleep into a gentle void of nothingness. And if this is what those last couple of days felt like… then he had nothing left to worry about. 

He drifted off, muscles and body aching from lying in the same position he had been for days. He had nice dreams, most consisting of finally being with Aunt May again, and his parents. They were waiting for him when he arrived and he was so, so happy to see them, it brought tears to his eyes. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of doing this before. No one but Ned would’ve missed him… and Ned would get over it-- will get over it.

Something draws him out of his dream just before he falls too far, and at first he thought it was the usual convulsing of his stomach urging him to vomit up some bile, or perhaps the heat of a fever and a throbbing headache, but it was none of those. 

Instead, it was a soft, light pressure against the side of his face. A small, calloused pad of warmth slowly stroking along his cheek, beneath his eye. It made his nose tickle, and his nostrils flared in response to the touch. His ears slowly cue in, and he’s hit with a sudden cacophony of noise. From the light sound of traffic several blocks down, and the small crackling of the dimming fire in the fireplace, all the way to the soft words belonging to a voice all too familiar, yet entirely unidentifiable.

“Pete?” The voice cracks with anxious distress. “C’mon Pete, wake up.” 

Then there’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, and all feelings along his skin and limbs begin to return. He’s being shaken back and forth, head lolling from side to side, but his groggy mind confuses it with… he didn’t know what it was. He just knows that everything feels numb and sensitive all at the same time. 

The warm embrace against the side of his face disappears, and something scratchy and pokey is pressed gently against his lips, urging them to part. “C’mon Pete,” the voice begs again. 

His tongue felt heavy and thick, weighed down by congealed saliva, but the pressure broke past the barrier of his lips despite it. He still couldn’t force himself to open his eyes. 

The potent taste of salt hits his tongue and it sends a sudden shock through his whole system, like it finally realized it was in the waking world. The groggy convulsion alerts the voice of his slight awareness and now his body is manhandled into a sitting position. Even though his eyes are beginning to peek open he has no strength left in his limbs to try and fight the external force. He’s leant up against a warm cushion-y surface, a heavy weight settling over his shoulders as the culprit for the salt is pushed past his lips once more. 

He bites down slowly, crumbs falling off at the corners of his mouth and the voice from earlier is quick to praise him. 

“Good job, kiddo. C’mon, just a little more.” The taste sits heavy in his mouth and it slowly grows soggy atop his tongue, which urges him to swallow it. And, it seemed that the moment it slid down his throat, his body remembered all that it was missing and he was hit with a sharp pang in his abdomen, and he’s quick to take another bite. 

His head lolls to the side, the cracker pushed back against his mouth, and his forehead pressed against something warm, engulfing him with a strong whiff of aftershave and alcohol. And slowly he’s able to piece together the warm shape he’s pressed against: an arm around his shoulders, a solid body sitting beside him, and the sharp outline of a jaw propped atop his head. Meaning the warmth bringing life back to his frozen nose and face must be the neck and shoulder. 

His mind can only conjure one person to picture with him in this scenario. However unrealistic it was.

“ ‘ny?” Most of it’s a groan, but it must’ve been articulate enough for the voice to understand, and he’s instantly blanketed in more warmth and praise, pulled even closer to the warm body. 

“Yes! It’s me. It’s Tony, kid.” The jaw resting on his head moves slightly in a way he couldn’t fully discern, and it’s followed by a soft but strong protrusion pressing against the top of his head, warm air passing over his scalp in short spurts before the jaw returns to its place.

It makes Peter smile. He’s not entirely sure why yet, but the warmth that blooms across his chest enlivens him in a way he never thought he’d experience ever again. 

He eats more crackers, and he sips water through a straw regularly pressed to his lips as well. He doesn’t know how many he eats or how much he drinks, but soon enough the feelings begin to slowly bleed back, urging life back into his limbs and his brain. His stomach wasn’t very happy, but that didn’t come as a surprise to him

“You feeling better kiddo? That’s almost the whole pack.” A heavy hand is pressed to his face, then migrates up to pet his hair. “I don’t know what’s good to feed ya when you’re like this. You gotta help me out here.”

“Mm,” Peter groans. He knows it's unhelpful, but his belly felt stuffed and now all he could think about was how cold he was. The penthouse was warm and cozy, but it seemed ever since he arrived, Peter still couldn’t shake that chill that had settled in his bones. The thought alone made him shiver.

“Are you still thirsty?” The voice sounded nervous. “Yeah, you’re probably still thirsty. Lemme go get some more water.” The body begins to move away, which meant so was the warmth. 

A strong tremble travels along Peter’s body with nervous anticipation, the muscles in his fingers spasming to grip at the person desperately before they could leave him alone. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” A strong hand grabs his fingers, gripping them gently between their larger ones. “You with me? You okay?”

“Mm,” Peter replies unhelpfully once more. He may not be able to reason or ruminate just yet, but he does know that he’s cold. He grabs the fingers around his and holds on tight, searching out warmth once more by diving his head back towards the warm cushion-y barrier from before and rooting himself there.

“Okay, okay.” The arm around his shoulders moves to rub warmth into his other arm, encircling him completely in the embrace. “Why’d you do this to yourself, Pete?” The voice whispers, a palpable despair in their tone. “You scared me.”

“Mm,” Peter hummed, eyelids pulsing open and closed with a firm determination to remain awake. His vision was blurred with soft orange light and the hard blackness of shadows. A sight he’s come to find as quite familiar and ironically comforting.

He feels better this time when he is pulled to sleep. Not so much on the brink of death anymore, but he feels he’s still teetering precariously close to that cliff. Though despite the nonsense the thought made, he knew the voice and the warmth would hold on tightly, and they wouldn’t let him fall.

***

He wakes up, warm and comfy in a nice big bed. He rolls onto his side with a groan, stomach screaming with hunger, and he lifts a hand to rub his fingers over his burning eyes. His entire body felt like it’d been wrung through a trash compactor. And he didn’t know how he ended up in a bed… He opened his eyes and looked around the room, then cursed under his breath. He was in Tony’s bed. In all the time he’s stayed hidden away in this penthouse, he’d stayed on that damned couch. He didn’t know what had occured last night to result in him crawling his way into this room.

His muscles felt weak and very unsteady, but he forced himself out of bed anyway. He needed to get out of that room, he needed to get back to the couch. He struggled opening the door, and he clutched at the wall as he stumbled and tripped his way back towards the main room. It didn’t even occur to him to question the light bleeding down the hall via the opened curtains scattering around the place. This morning wasn’t making any sense anyway, it didn’t matter. 

He was a little more than halfway there when he collapsed, his left leg giving out first, tripping up his balance and toppling him to the wooden floor. He lands with a heavy bang, and he winces at the dull throb that resulted in his side.

“Peter?!” Loud footsteps follow the exclamation, and Peter’s entire body seizes with shock. 

Was that??

It was.

Tony appears from around the corner seconds later, crouching in front of him with bulging plastic bags draped from his arms, hands reaching out towards him to help him off the ground. 

“What in the world are you doing out of bed, kid? I told you to stay put.” And before Peter could even put up a protest, he was being lifted into the air and led back down the hall the way he came, back into Tony’s room. 

It was like he’d just returned from the dentist, cotton stuffed in his mouth, tongue paralyzed, and brain conjuring weird loop-de-loops because he was still high on the pain meds. Because Mr. Stark was here. Carrying him. 

If he wasn’t so startled and shocked by the man’s sudden appearance, he’d surely be mortified, but all he could do was stare dubiously at the side of his face as they walked. Then he was being lowered gently back into the bed, and as soon as Tony released him he dropped the bags from his arms and they hit the floor with muted thumps. Giving the man the freeness to meticulously tuck the sheets and cover back over Peter’s frailing body. 

Any semblance of flesh had withered off his bones, thanks to his recent lack of appetite. 

There was a harsh line molded between Tony’s brows as he messed anxiously with the sheets, and then turned his fixations towards the bags he’d just dropped. Peter didn’t speak a word during the entire ordeal, still unsure if this was just some weird dream or not. 

“I picked up some stuff from the convenient store down the block. This’ll do much better than those Saltines from last night.” He lifts up the bottle of red gatorade to show, cracks open the lid, then plops a little bendy straw into the opening. “I would’ve gotten the ones with the sippy cup caps, y’know,” he rambled, sitting down on the mattress beside him and holding the straw up to his lips with shaky fingers, “but this was all they had. I’m assuming your favorite color is red, but I got all the other colors too.” Just as Peter takes a tentative sip, Tony pulls it back looking as if he was in the midst of a panic. “Damn, I should’ve asked you what flavor you wanted. Do you want blue instead? I can get the blue one,” Tony bends down so quickly it almost gives Peter whiplash, hand and head disappearing beside the bed, the rustling of plastic bags sounding during the frantic search. Then Tony sits up to brandish the blue gatorade,offering it towards him instead. “Or I've got green… and the white one.”

They stare at each other for several moments, and Peter’s not entirely sure what Tony expects him to say, so he settles with something simple.

“I-I like red.”

The straw is back at his lips and Tony’s nodding a little too feverishly. “Yeah, yeah, see I knew that.”

Peter sips on the drink, Tony watches him, and that little worried crease between his eyebrows doesn’t go away.

When he’s finished, he pulls away from the straw and leans back against the pillow, finally feeling a bit refreshed. Just as Tony begins to insist he drink more, Peter asks his question. “What are you doin’ here?”

Tony scoffs at him, an offended frown coming over his face. “This is my house. I should be the one asking you that question.”

And really, that was a good point. Peter didn’t know why he was here either. He drops his gaze to stare at his lap. He didn’t mean to worry the man, or get in his way… he just wanted someplace warm to stay.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled softly, a heaviness overcoming his eyes with the pressure building behind them. 

“Shit, kid, I didn’t mean-- I didn’t mean it like that.” Tony’s hot palm presses against the side of his neck, thumb dipping under his chin to force his gaze back up. “I’m just worried ‘bout you. I came home and found you on my couch, passed out and-and small as a twig, pale, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Peter leans into the touch without thought, absorbing the tender affection like he was starved for it. 

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Peter whispers, tears finally beginning to fall from his eyes. The thumb tucked beneath his chin quickly moves to soothe over his cheeks, brushing the fallen tears away. It forces a smile from Peter, a bittersweet, desperate smile, formed with quivering lips. 

Tony rips his hand away, suddenly and violently, like he’d only just realized what he was doing, stumbling away from the edge of the bed. He shook out the hand that’d been against Peter’s cheek like it had been infected with an abhorrent substance, and the man turned his back to Peter, other hand lifting to run through his hair while he cursed under his breath. 

He avoids Peter’s eyes when he does turn back around. He points towards the gatorade sitting on the bedside table and clears his throat before delivering his instructions. “Drink all of that. I’ll be back soon.” 

He shuffles from the room, grabbing one of the plastic bags on his way, and Peter can hear his distant mutterings under his breath as he leaves the room. It left an odd sense of emptiness in him, and he turned to look at the small bottle of red gatorade. 

He didn’t reach for it, opting to watch the door. Awaiting Tony’s return.

Tony reappeared after several minutes, looking much less perturbed than when he had left. He came bearing soup and he set it down beside the empty bottle. He kept his distance this time though. The worried line between his brows were gone, taking upon an unperturbed expresion… simply gesturing with his head towards the steaming bowl.

He pulls up a chair, and when Peter still hadn’t made a move for the soup and Tony remained under his unyielding stare. After several more moments, and Peter had yet to move, Tony reached over to place the bowl gently in his lap. It wasn’t full by any means, so Peter didn’t worry about it spilling. 

“Peter, you have to eat,” he nods down towards the bowl again. “And while you eat, I want you to tell me everything that happened while I was gone. Everything that got you to this point.” He waves his finger in a circular motion in gesture to his body, fixing Peter with a stern look, and Peter drops his head shyly.

“Can-can I eat first?”

“Sure.”

Peter eats as slow as possible under Tony’s watchful eye. Sadly, however, there was only a finite amount of soup and when Peter was finished, Tony was ready to talk, taking the bowl from his hands and putting it to the side. 

“Alright, kid, spill.” Tony had his serious frown on; the same one Peter remembered he wore during the couple lectures he gave in the past. “No skimping on details.”

Peter turns his gaze away from him, skin prickling with anxiety. “My foster dad found out I was Spider-Man… an-and he thought I was working for you. I just… it made him really angry and I just wanted to get away! So, I came to look for you, but you weren’t here and I thought you were never coming back…”

He’s bowing his head to hide his tears, meaning he didn’t realize Tony had gotten out of his chair until he was settling beside him on the bed, and Peter’s head snapped up to look at him when he felt the matress dip. The man sat right beside him, shoulder pressing up against his, and the worry line making a reappearance. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

“I-I’m not your responsibility,” Peter argues, “you shouldn’t feel sorry. I’m the one that screwed everything up and ruined your life.” He felt the trembling in his lips begin once more and he turns his head to hide it. “Everything that’s happened… to you… to me. It’s all my fault.”

Strong fingers grab his chin and force his gaze back, and Tony’s glaring down at him. “No, none of this is your fault.”

“Are you stupid?!” Peter bites, cheeks heating up with both frustration and embarrassment. He shakes off Tony’s grip on his chin. “You told me to stay away from those weapons, but I didn’t listen! And then I end up getting into trouble, and you felt the need to come rescue me!” He grips his hair, pulling at the curls in frustration and turning back to his lap as he continues to ramble. “And-and it’s my fault that I left my suit on my floor before bed. So it’s my fault when Beck found them,” he turns his gaze back up to Tony, tears now flowing freely from his eyes, “and it’s my fault that I didn’t fight back. I’m Spider-Man… it’s-it’s, he should have no power over me and-and he only has it because I’m scared.”

Tony’s grip is softer this time when he grabs his chin. 

“Hey,” he soothes, lifting his other hand to wipe away the tears, “don’t you ever blame yourself for this. You’re a kid, I’m an adult, and it’s my job to keep you safe.” His gaze turns steely, and Peter feels his grip tighten slightly on his chin. “I just need to know one thing Peter… did he hurt you?”

The silence and the immediate influx of tears was apparently enough confirmation for the man, and he instantly releases Peter, a tight growl rumbling through his chest as he pushes himself off the bed. Peter sees the orange flareup appearing above the man’s collar, climbing up the veins of his neck. He knew well enough to know Tony’s intentions. 

“No,” he chokes, diving after the man. He grabs a strong fistful of his shirt before he could get too far, and Tony turns to look down at him, his blue eyes vivid as ever. “Please don’t…” 

“Peter,” Tony growls, a tight rumbling passing through him. “He’s not getting away with this. He’s not getting away with laying his hands on you.”

“Please…” Peter begged desperately. “Please don’t kill him… Please.” He’s crying in earnest now, and Tony takes pity.

He grabs Peter’s hand, gently prying it from his clothes to hold firmly in his palm. “Pete.”

“Please don’t leave,” Peter tries. 

He couldn’t stand the thought of being responsible for Beck’s death, because then the world’s point would be proven. Spider-Man was just as bad as Iron Man. Any notion of ‘hero’ was dead. 

He knows Tony will kill him. He can see it in his eyes. The rage.

“Please don’t leave me.”

“Peter…” Peter’s tempted to label the sound that emits from the man as a soft whine as Tony slowly sits himself back on the mattress, never releasing his hold of Peter’s hand. 

“Stay.” He tugs Tony closer. If he was close enough to hold onto, Peter could keep him from leaving. 

“Okay, okay,” Tony relents, scooting back up beside him. Peter doesn’t risk doing anything more than pressing his shoulder against him. The touch was enough to draw him comfort for the moment. Just enough to lull him back into a peaceful sleep.

***

Beck’s seething, fisting the red cloth in his hand. Peter was gone… and he was in deep shit. There was no way CPS wouldn’t investigate him after this. He stares at the undecorated Christmas Tree standing lifelessly in the corner as he downs another swig from his bottle. He grimaces. He didn’t usually go immediately for the hard liquor, but the week had been particularly difficult for him. After his Boss found out about Tony Stark being alive… it had been chaotic. And it never failed to construct a headache waiting just for him at the end of the day.

There were two sharp knocks at the door, and he flinched in surprise, eyes darting to the clock hung on the wall. 10:48. Who the hell was at his door so late at night?

Before he even had a chance to stand from his easy chair, his door blew in. 

He leaped from the chair, dropping everything in his hands during his frantic stumble. The bottle shattered on the floor, and the suit soaked up the spilt liquid. He shouted in surprise and stared at the man standing in his doorway. 

“S-Stark?”

The man in question steps past the threshold, onto the fallen door. His eyes glowed, his entire body illuminated like he was under the light of a strong fire. He doesn’t say anything, but Beck thinks he knows why he was here.

Beck slowly moves himself away from the room, backpedaling as quickly as possible, tripping over his own drunken steps. Stark moves closer. 

“Hey, Stark. What are- what are you doin’ here?”

“I think you know.” His voice was gravelly and strained, and Beck shuddered.

“I-I really don’t,” he lies. He crashes into the decorative table set up at the beginning of the hall. A potted plant and several books crashing to the floor. 

Stark steps closer, chin dipping to his chest which only highlights his sharp, shining glare, his head tilting only slightly to the side.

“I reeally think you do.”

Beck falls to the ground. 

And as Tony begins to gain on him, he starts his rambling. “Whatever that kid told you was a total lie, I swear. He makes up all kinds of stories! I’ve been nothing but hospitable--” Tony grabs him by the throat, lifting him clean off the ground with nothing more than his human arm. Then he squeezes, bringing their faces close as Beck chokes desperately around his hand. 

“It’s too late,” he whispers into his face, voice calm and soothing, “I remember you… how much trouble you were back in the day.” A dangerous grin flitted over Stark’s face. “Nothing you say will get you out of this. I’m going to make you feel every bit of pain my kid suffered at your hands. In fact, if it wasn’t for that kid, I’d slit you open and splash around like a child playing in a puddle, and string your guts around that tree like decorative garlands. You best be glad I’m a man of my word...”

***

When Peter blinks awake, his head is lying on the pillow, blankets pulled up around his shoulders and Tony sat beside him. Head thrown back against the headboard, mouth open, snoring, and a discarded tablet hanging loosely in his grip atop his lap. 

Peter smiles, snuggling further into the pillow and pulling the blankets tight around him. 

He didn’t think to pay any mind to the small splatter of red on the cuffs of his shirt.

Next Chapter

@multiverse-irondad-july​

[whump-town]

Lie to Me

Chapter Two

Warnings:

Chapter One

It’s not as bad as it looks.

Derek Morgan stands in place, his right hand coated in a drying layer of the foaming pink blood Hotch had choked up. He’s staring ahead, eyes growing an unfocused haze as his body and mind struggle to keep pace with all that’s just happened. No nurse has stepped in to remove him, medical staff simply navigate around him. It’s violating, it feels like he’s being given a front-row seat to a trauma no one’s supposed to witness. Unmoving, he’s unable to look away. Tears start to cloud his vision but someone has to stay. Someone has to see.

The catheter that they use to suction his mouth is clear. The tubing long and spirally, the room’s occupants able to see the sea foam blood leaving Hotch’s lungs. He’s sat up on the stretcher, shirt cut-off in a long simple swipe. Left to be packed into a bag, the once white fabric speckled in pink. There’s a cloth against the upper section of his chest, catching drool and blood that the doctors miss with the tube hunting the corners of his mouth. Hotch heaves, producing nothing from his empty stomach than acid and thin, soft pink spit. He twists away from the catheter, sucking in wet wheezing breathes. Sounds like he’s breathing through a straw, waterlogged and thick.

A nurse directs Derek closer to the bed with a hand on his bicep, her kind words of encouragement going over his head as he pulls his shell-shocked body closer to Hotch’s. That whispered, useless comment bursting through the space between them. It’s not as bad as it looks. Derek finds that incredibly hard to believe, no matter how neatly they wipe Hotch’s mouth and rid the space of blood-tinged rags.

He’d sat in the ambulance for ten minutes listening to Hotch choke on blood. Heard the EMTs warning the hospital about a pulmonary aspiration, watched them debate intubating Hotch while he was still conscious enough to writhe on the stretcher. Trying to pull his body away from the steady hands placing an IV, to sit up and get away from them. Derek could do nothing, had been forced to

It’s not as bad as it looks. He’s assured, taking the thin, uncushioned chair at Hotch’s side. Close enough now to see the pink of Hotch’s dried blood on the side of his cheek. To hear the wheezing breathes he’s taking, quick and shallow. His eyes dart underneath his eyelids, fingers jerking as he struggles to find comfort trapped between awareness and the bliss of unconsciousness.

One week after his diagnosis he had a panic attack. Not the sort he could hide, as he’d hidden many, but suddenly just the full force of his life hitting him centerfold and buckling his knees from underneath him. Jessica had Jack in the kitchen, the two of them laughing as she made fun of his inability to cook. Jack eagerly agreeing, lacing light accommodations in their mix to make him the butt of their joke. Thoughtful and grounding. He listened to his son try and recount at least one meal he hadn’t ruined by burning it. He’s gotten way better at cooking but for a few months, they survived off of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese (that he could never get the shells to soften entirely), and frozen vegetables. Off of the kindness (and off fear) of Dave and Penelope bringing pre-cooked meals over. Things he could keep in the freezer and just stick in the over.

He’d tilted his head back against the wall, laced his fingers through the strands of the carpet, and held on. Tried to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth. Listened to Jack sticking up for him, “it wasn’t that bad” Jack pouts. And he’d managed a shallow smile, still choking on punched breathes leaving his parted lips. He’s Haley’s son, through and through. The only people who have ever stuck up for him -- even in the face of his awful cooking. Jessica found him on the floor twenty minutes later. Old tears drying on his face and new ones still dripping down from his eyelashes. He told her the truth when she asked what was wrong, took his burden, and brought her down with him. He held her as she cried into his shoulder and then he cried when she asked him to stay, not to leave her. She’s so tired of losing her family and he cracks a smile, thinks an awful little stabbing joke about how he’s the reason she’s lost her family. Haley. Her mother to a heart attack three months after Haley died. Now him, his own body betraying him.

It’s not that bad, he promises but all he can think about is his father. Lung cancer at fifty-three and dead by fifty-four. He’s only fifty but he’s still repeating the story.

We’ll do it together, she assures him but he’s already made sure that’s not an option.

“He’s so cold,” JJ whispers. She’s the only person who can stand to get close enough, who can penetrate the heavy sickness in the room to take his hand. To hold his stiff, cold fingers between her own. She looks over her shoulder, expecting someone to say something but finds them all in the distance. Unable to fully enter the room. Pressed to the walls. Eyes counting the tiles on the floor and making up the ceiling. JJ frowns sadly at them, not surprised but disheartened. She warms his hand between her own, trying to rub warmth back into the cold digits.

Jessica comes into the room, a storm of movement and noise that throws the silent contemplation of the room off. She looks around herself, frowning at the collection of them before rolling her eyes. She knows of the team intimately. For years she’s been listening to Aaron come home and talk about them and she’s grown to know them by means of her own exchanges as Jack gets older. They’re Aaron’s family and Jack’s other aunts and uncles, naturally she’s interested in them. That isn’t to say she isn’t annoyed with them. For the willing ignorance in Aaron’s rapid health decline. In the ways that they chose to appease Aaron rather than help him, can’t they see how much it is to make him happy with their ignorance rather than annoyed with their care?

“Derek,” she’s moving things around the room. They’ll be here for a while. His oxygen saturation is too low and his breathing is causing some mild concern that he might develop aspiration pneumonia. With his temperature still low he might be safe but even then they’re things are not magically better. “Will you please get his heated blanket out of that--” she points to the bag and nods when he goes to the right one. “Thank you.”

She takes control of the room, of the movements they make. Who stays when and who goes where.

He’s sleeping, probably will be for a while.

Around the third week of chemo, he started to understand the doctor’s warnings about fatigue. That, yeah, he might feel okay now and maybe he will continue to feel good for several more weeks but it’s going to catch up, and when it does he needs to be ready to ask for help. His current workload is by no means healthy and hardly sustainable for a healthy person, he’s going to have to make adjustments.

He’d started to feel the fatigue but not creeping in as he’d thought. One Wednesday morning he woke up feeling like he’d gone out drinking the night before. The sort of night Emily’s in charge of, where he wakes up in weird clothes with a haircut Emily gave him in the bathroom. It’s Wednesday, though, and his hair is intact. An awful headache and no amount of sleep were able to bring him to life.

His hours at the office got smaller, falling asleep at the desk and on the couch. He leaned to the explanation that he was just getting older. One sly comment about the grey creeping into his hairline spread unevenly and no longer contained to his temples, and he knew they were using the same safe answer. Making the journey from his office for coffee became a mental battle. He needed twenty minutes to prepare himself. Standing too quickly makes him nauseous. The chemo seemed to make every moment of the day, every complex thought, and all foods cause his stomach to twist threateningly.

Saline dripping above his head, oxygen hissing around his ears, and the warmth of overlapped conversations around him. He feels vacantly removed, left out of a loop that he can’t even tell what’s happening. Prying his eyelids open his hard, resolve weak and body too heavy. Weighed down, rocks tied to his hands. He can feel himself being pulled down through the stretcher. He can’t make his mouth work properly, lips parted in a hoarse groan. “W’as wrong?”

Jessica hears him, sees him waking up. His fingers twitching on the bed and his head lifting up off the pillows, searching for something without opening his eyes. Jessica decides to let someone else handle it, looks over the top of her book, and makes it clear.

Dave moves first, pen sliding into the pages of his book as he sits it down. He squeezes Aaron’s hand, smiling at the groan that leaves his mouth. “Shh, now,” Dave encourages. “It’s alright. It’s nothing, go back to sleep. You’re okay.” His response is another groan, slivers of brown iris’ finding him. “Back to sleep, Aaron.”

Hotch turns his head, “don’.” He pulls his hand back, agitated. He rubs the back of his hand against his nose, “not tired.”

Dave rolls his eyes, Jessica scoffs.

“Aaron,” Jessica, mercifully, leans forward to take the situation into her own hands. “Sleep.”

He groans eyes weighed down, body betraying his rebellion. “Bossy,” he rasps and Jessica just hums. She stands, smirking, and pulls his blanket back up to his neck. He does fall back to sleep, lulled under by the fingers Jessica passes across his hairline. Comforted by how tightly Dave holds his hand.

The medical staff advises and predicts a stay of about a week. They need to closely monitor his breathing for a little longer, prevent another episode from occurring. He spikes a fever and that gets him a few more days, his combative behavior doesn’t help. He’s resistant to the idea that anyone helps him and as his fever spikes it’s hard to comply to his request.

Here Garcia and Reid step back. They’re not… as prepared.

Emily doesn’t even ask when she walks into the bathroom where he’s trying to shower, talking to him about Stephanie from the third floor who was totally hitting on her. He’s shaking by the time the shower’s done, exhausted from lifting his hands up and down and from standing so long. Emily keeps talking, towel drying his hair roughly until he grumbles and then they laugh at the oddness of the situation. His hair is untamable and she gets a kick out of standing the ends up, spiking his hair into a mohawk.

Derek falls into step with him when the nurses come in to remind him of the three daily walks he’s supposed to take up and down the hall. He’s a person to lean into when Hotch starts coughing, an arm around his hips so that he doesn’t fall over. And when they wrap a fall risk bracelet around his hand Derek winces and Dave supplies “yellow isn’t your color”. Some days Derek is met with intense distance and other days they walk close, Derek’s arm already around his back, and talk about nothing, anything.

Dave brings dinner, not that Hotch is eager to eat it, but also popsicles of whatever flavor he could possibly want. He’s partial to Outshine, especially the strawberry ones, and it might not be food but it feels nearly right again to see him eating at least something. It’s a sensitive barrier, a hard line to play with knowing when Hotch just needs a little encouragement and when he just really can’t.

JJ brings movies. Her speed is action movies and Hotch is more into anything but that. So they take turns picking and usually pull punches so that the movie is something they’ll both like but when he’s feeling particularly ill, she’ll pick something awful. Give him an excuse to fall asleep during the movie and she enjoys as much, if not more than he does. An excuse to invade his personal space, cut the lights off, and lay beside him on the bed. She’ll paperwork up there, so relaxed she can zone in and out of what she’s supposed to be doing. He’ll look over her shoulder, reading case reports until he falls asleep or until she shuts the file and tosses it to the side.

These habits, these formations, do not stop when he leaves the hospital. Early. He leaves the hospital, too. Reid comes to visit on Thursday when the others are simply too busy doing other things. Resolve weakened and still shaken, Reid doesn’t last even phase one of Hotch’s plan to bust himself out of the hospital.

Derek is already at Hotch’s house, fighting Jack in the kitchen as they search through the fridge that Garcia’s just packed full of food. She feels ill-equipped to deal with everything, despite having known the longest. She feels guilty. She should have said something long before he got this bad, to the other’s so that they’d know, or to Hotch so at least he could ask her for help.

“Daddy!” Jack jumps up from the floor, running straight to his father before anyone can advise against it but Hotch withstands the collision, beaming down at his son. “I missed you.” Jack wraps his arms around Hotch’s hips, face pressed into his stomach. “Do you wanna help me put my puzzle together?”

They’re livid that he left but they don’t take it out on Reid. Emily won’t speak to either of them but she’s just too mad to hold a conversation. Derek helps him back to his room, Jack hot on their heels. It actually makes Hotch feel worse, being home and still unable to do things the way he wants. They get out of his hair a little more, there isn’t the same guilt associated with his home as the hospital.

It gives him a lot of time to think.

And he finds himself thinking about his father.

No one but Jessica knows the full story of his childhood but they’ve seen him shirtless too many times, know him too well not to have pieced at least most of it together. It’s not his best-kept secret.

He had been the kid that sat in the back of the class. Who never raised his hand, eagerly dancing in his chair, jumping at the chance to prove himself by means of validation from his teachers praising his correct answers. If they were reading aloud, rest assured he’d never have his name spoken by another classmate -- no one ever called his name and giggled in glee at his shocked and annoyed face like they did with one another. He couldn’t be certain they even knew it.

Logged with secrets of his short life, managing only the barest glimpses of life behind his dark eyes, he’d lurched and crawled his way to graduation. No more than a lifeless corpse dragging its reanimated form up and down the halls in its familiar pattern. Showing no signs of spontaneity, neither pain nor joy. Grey and slow.

It hadn’t mattered the silent prayers Hotch sent by way of hushed whispers just under his breath, Haley’s head tucked just under his chin, and the soft wisps of her hair moving with each puff of his breath. No matter how Hotch worked at integrating Jack quickly into as many social situations as possible, he had raised his son to be just a little bit too much like him. There are glimpses of Haley in the things that Jack does. Befriending Paul was leaps out of Hotch’s introverted ways and, more surprisingly, Jack’s.

Jessica’s sage words of frequently repeated wisdom disagree -- “he’s exactly like you, Aaron. The messy hair, that look he makes when he’s doing his homework… that’s all you”.

The little cowlick at the back of Jack’s blonde hair hardly speaks of anything more than Hotch forgetting to run a comb through it in the morning. Perhaps some validity points in favor of his paternity, after all it’s nearly the same cowlick he has. Neither one has tameable hair once it gets longer than an inch. Which does not leave a lot of stylistic options.

“Do you like the dinosaurs with the -- with the spiney -- What are they called?” As carefully as Derek had instructed him to be, Jack sits up by his father’s head. He’d crawled into the bed without invitation, he gets by with a lot these days, and Hotch can’t find it within himself to put those boundaries up between them right now. Jack curls up on his side, head on his father’s chest and a Triceratops staring at Hotch.

It had taken a year for cancer to kill his father and he knows that they’re right, he’s not the same as his father. His father smoked, heavily. Drank frequently and always too much. Didn’t have any friends -- and he finds himself snagged on this difference. Even as Derek throws his son up in the air, hauling Jack over his shoulder and making him shriek with laughter. As Penelope tries new recipe after new recipe of his favorite foods in the hopes that he manages to eat at least one. Not angry, not once, when he picks at the food the others shovel into their mouths. Singing her praises. Emily dragging him around on walks, slowly her pace to accommodate him. She never asks if he needs to stop, just does.

He has friends but sometimes he forgets.

“Daddy,” Jack pulls him back into the conversation. “Can we go to the museum? Uncle Spencer said there are dinosaurs everywhere.”

Hotch nods, “I can ask Uncle Spencer to take you.”

Jack shakes his head, sitting up, “I want you to take me.” He would have never demanded a thing from his father. Never once considered asking for something. Sean was allowed these luxuries, begging to be taken to a game or to the park. Jack pouts, leaning forward and tucking himself up against his father. “We can go Saturday? I’ll take a shower the night before, I promise.”

He’s been hospitalized for four days and Saturday is only two days away, it’s not enough time to recuperate. Not enough time to feel like himself but he can do it. He’ll invite Reid, it’ll provide a great distraction for them both, and that way there’s someone else to focus on. It’s just the museum.

“Okay,” he caves. “On Saturday.”

He’s got a family, people who can trust and who need him just as much as he needs them. He’s going to be okay.

[96dys]

hydrangea ; johnny seo

money makes the world turn. there was so much of it, and yet so few people ever saw it. maybe if it weren’t for the money, johnny might have acted differently. maybe his family’s badgering wouldn’t have weighed on him as much as it did. maybe he wouldn’t have taken you, because finding a wife this way wouldn’t have mattered. he didn’t like the circumstance, but he couldn’t keep himself from liking you—the dirt-poor girl who worried more about helping others than feeding herself.

ceo au

taglist: @tyongpoetry @xianxian95 @aaaaalex05

masterlist

02 | little prince

eating breakfast alone wasn't something that was very new to you, though it wasn't often that you were able to eat breakfast, let alone something this size. your stomach had begun to ache just looking at the size of the plate in front of you, but your eyes lit up in awe of the colorful array of fruits. of course, they were accompanied by an alarming amount of vitamins and supplements, just as you'd been asked to take the previous day. a glass of water was provided to help you wash it all down, which you gladly sipped on between bites.

for the sake of getting out of your bedroom, you'd asked to have your meal in the common area, though you did your best to keep yourself just as isolated. you sat with your legs crossed in front of the coffee table, mindful of the way the skirt of your pale pink dress fell upon your lap. despite being alone, you couldn't help but feel as though you were being watched at all times. the door was open but a crack, just enough for you to see staff members pass through the narrow hallway. the curtains had been pulled open, allowing the bright sunshine to wash over your figure. a peaceful silence filled the air, something you were especially fond of. jisung was very kind, but you weren't sure you'd be able to handle any more of his mindless chatter after this morning.

of course, he had offered to keep you company while you dined, but you were very quick to decline. as hard as you tried, you were unable to hide your haste, for he had just spent almost an hour talking your ear off about the most random details of the wedding to come in just two days. it had gotten to the point where you stopped trying to decide which information was important and what was not in favor of blocking it all out entirely. even as you stood under the warm stream of water flowing from the showerhead above, you could hear him muttering things to himself as he tidied up your bedroom. you most imagined this behavior was due to growing up without the presence of others his age--if anyone at all. while you did feel sympathetic toward the boy, you weren't used to the constant noise.

your previous life was fairly quiet, even at the tiny, makeshift school where you had spent all of your free time. there was always the odd occasion where a child or two would be exceptionally talkative, though most of the time the children were too malnourished to have the energy. it was a struggle to get the group to participate much at all, let alone speak amongst themselves. you tried your best to encourage your pupils to make friends with one another, but this wasn't something that was accepted with open arms. you couldn't even find it in yourself to be upset at them for this, given that your brother had been your only friend growing up; it was this way for most people you knew.

after a long day at the school, you would go home to an empty home. it was tiny and everything seemed to be falling apart, but it gave you a private space to unwind as much as you possibly could. you never cared to invite anyone over, nor did you have anyone to visit. it was lonely at first, but after a while the silence became very calming. perhaps this was because it was the only constant in your life; the only thing that would be waiting for you at home without fail. a meal was not always promised, nor was a new book to read, but there would always be a heavy silence ready to envelope you as you drifted off each night.

looking down at your plate, you noticed that it was nearly empty. oh how you wished your brother was there to fight you over what remained, like he used to when he was too young to understand how little your family truly had to go around. unless you finished your food with incredible speed, he would begin whining about how hungry he was, about how you needed to share with him. you would always shoot him a glare and questioned why he deserved to eat more than you did, which would only result in the little boy pinching the tender skin around your ankles. as you cried out in pain, he would quickly grab at the food resting atop your lap., smiling to himself as he bit into your food. this wasn't something you ever imagined yourself missing, although the change in circumstance caused the memory to become very fond.

after having your entire life uprooted against your will, you've found that many of the things you used to find so unpleasant have been on your mind. this was especially conflicting, as none of these were things you had to deal with within recent years. it almost made you sad to realize that there was nothing to your life that was worth missing; everything you cared for had been ripped from your fingers the moment all of your family members were gone. you longed not for the days you spent as an adult, but the miserable nights you spent as a child begging your father to stop yelling at you over whichever minor inconvenience had stressed him out that time.

perhaps the anger you felt toward your current situation was purely out of spite, though this only caused your heart to sink a little further down into your chest. was your life of so little meaning that you couldn't find a good reason to continue to be hateful? did you have so little back home that this new setting seemed only a little less than pleasant? the change was beyond unfair, yet you could only sigh knowing that you were likely better off here anyway. you wanted to do more--to lash out in anger, fear, or something--but you just couldn't.

a light knock floated through the air, causing you to dart your head toward the door. it had been pushed open, allowing johnny to lean against the frame. he was smiling down at you, like he was genuinely happy to see you a second time. your eyes widened ever so slightly, just enough to make him chuckle. you had been doubting his promise to make time for you everyday, so his presence came as a bit of a surprise. in all honesty, you figured that work would come first, making you an afterthought for him to tend to at the end of the day, but he was as early as he possibly could be without having interrupted your meal. it was as though he couldn't wait.

"i'm really glad to see that you've eaten," he spoke happily, glancing at your plate for a moment before returning his gaze toward your face. he could tell that you'd taken all of your vitamins as well, which made his smile widen just a bit. a wave of joy washed over him momentarily, knowing that you felt comfortable enough to do so without any resistance. he made a mental note to send someone to clean up the remains of your meal, though it wasn't like you had left much of a mess at all. "we don't have to leave now, but i'm ready whenever you are. i don't mind waiting in here for a little while if that's what you want to do."

you set your fork down on the edge of your plate and shook your head. there was nothing left for you to do here and therefore no reason to stay. standing up was a very slow process, as you had to be very cautious in your dress, but it felt nice to stretch your legs once you were able to do so. it was no surprise that you were fatigued already, but you hoped it wasn't very obvious to the man in front of you. he seemed unfazed, so you assumed he was unable to tell.

"please tell me there's less walking this time," you muttered, mostly to yourself.

johnny laughed in response as he took a step to the side, allowing you to pass through the doorway. it wasn't hard to fall in time with your lazy footsteps, yet continuing to keep your pace posed a bit of a challenge for someone with such long legs. he did his best, though he wound up a few steps ahead within a minute flat.

he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a white plastic card. he waved it around for a moment before returning it to its spot, smirking down at you.

"it's your lucky day; being with me means you get to use the elevator and not the stairs."

an elevator. you were unable to form a proper response. of course, you'd read about such a thing in a few of your old books, though you had yet to use one yourself. it wasn't very often you ever entered a building with two stories, let alone enough to warrant the installation of an elevator. you wondered why the little card was relevant, only to conclude a few moments later that it must be some sort of a key. then, you wondered why it would be restricted. if you were able to use the stairs without issue, what was the purpose of deeming the elevator off limits? if they accomplished the same thing, you would get to your intended destination regardless. maybe he felt that blocking off the stairs wasn't needed, given the likeliness of you getting lost before making it anywhere important.

for a brief minute or so, you found yourself feeling less than adequate. it wasn't that you felt an overwhelming need to impress anyone here, but it was quickly becoming evident that you truly knew so much less than he did. the rational part of your brain knew that there was no one to blame for this, and yet you couldn't help but think that you should've taken it upon yourself to learn more. just knowing how to read as fluently as you did was a feat in and of itself, but the accomplishment seemed meaningless in comparison to all the things you did not know. you didn't even want to think about how poor your math skills had to be next to his.

much to your surprise, it didn't take very long to reach the elevator either. you both stopped in front of two metal doors, causing you to stare curiously as he swiped the little card. you bit back a gasp as they pulled apart. when you were rushed down to the garden yesterday, you had assumed that these doors were different solely for decoration. remembering that johnny works in technology, you didn't feel that it would be very off to assume that he would have more of a futuristic sense of style. stepping into the little room though, you realized that this made much more sense.

each wall was mirrored, causing you to become lost in your reflection as the doors came to a close. you could see johnny press a button on the large panel to his right, though you failed to focus your attention on the action itself. you didn't bother to wrack your brain trying to figure out how the elevator began to move on its own just a few seconds later, as you were so entranced by the couple that stood before you. you were already well aware of the height difference, since it was so hard to ignore during a conversation with the man, but it was so much more interesting to see the both of you side by side. he looked like a giant standing next to your small frame.

his eyes met yours through the mirror, causing you to quickly look away. he only smiled at your response, waiting but a second more for the elevator to come to a stop at the correct floor. as the large doors slid open, he gestured for you to step out first. he wasn't worried about there being any trouble finding the library, as it was located directly across the hall. this in mind, he allowed you to lead the way, which you seemed more than happy to do.

he thought it was cute how your steps became so much lighter once the open doorway was in sight, how your eyes seemed to light up upon entering the large room. he watched as you stopped a few steps into the library, examining your features as you looked around. while he had been expecting a positive response, you surely didn't disappoint. your jaw was nearly on the floor as eyes the size of saucers scanned the maze of bookshelves.

just past the entrance was an area that resembled the common area; a large sofa sat opposite the door, which was paralleled by a coffee table of equal length. there was a chair positioned on either side, though the fourth side was left open. the furniture sat atop a beautiful floral rug, which distracted from the dull navy carpeting the rest of the room had been floored with. there were rows upon rows of shelves on the three sides in question, rows that seemed to go on for miles.

"a's start just to the right over there, i think," his voice rung in your ear, snapping you out of the book-induced trance you'd fallen into. he pointed in the general direction you needed to go, which was all the permission you needed to begin walking. you were too excited to respond, so you simply allowed him to follow your fast paced footsteps as you began searching for the book you wished to read.

you'd never seen so many books in your life, let alone all at once. your heart did jumping jacks in your chest at the realization that you could never possibly be bored here. maybe every storm cloud does have a silver lining. no matter how unhappy you might become in the future, you were certain that you would never run out of books to take your mind away from the world. you couldn't wait to get lost in each and every one.

"are you looking for anything specific?"

you could easily make out the curiosity woven into every word. his fancy shoes made a dull click clack noise against the thin carpet, the sound trailing behind you. it didn't sound like he was making an effort to match your swift pace, but then again, he didn't have to. his legs were so long, you knew he could easily match your fastest sprint with a brisk walk if he ever decided to try.

"no."

yes.

once you finally reached the aisle you were looking for, your eyes lit up. the section marked 's' was very large, but you were quick to find what you were looking for. given the letter combination, saint-exupéry happened to be toward the beginning of the section. however, it was out of your reach. even standing on the very tips of your toes, every book on the top shelf was just out of reach. sighing to yourself, you fell back on your heels.

"which one?" johnny asked, causing you to quickly turn your head.

you had been so lost in thought that the sound of his voice startled you, but his close proximity was even more surprising. there was maybe two inches between the both of you. his steady breaths felt warm against your neck even after you turned away. flustered, it took you a moment to respond. regardless of your feelings toward him, no man had ever been so close to you before; you weren't sure how to react.

"uh, it's on the top right there—the little prince," you answered finally. your voice came out a soft mumble.

he reached over your head and easily pulled your book away from the others. you assumed this was why he'd gotten so close, and you were correct. the moment he passed the book on to you was the moment he took two steps back. regardless, this did nothing to stifle the heat burning in your cheeks.

in an attempt to ignore it, you turned on your heels and began to make your way back to the lounge. he walked beside you now, most likely because he had a very good idea of where you were going. there was no reason to follow you around like a lost puppy otherwise.

"why that book?" he wondered aloud.

there was a part of his brain that worried that the question was a bit too personal, but he couldn't help himself. after watching you move through the library at such a fast pace, he had to ask. you were nearly jogging; that book had to be extremely significant to you for one reason or another. glancing down at you, he noticed that you couldn't take you eyes off of the cover.

"um..."

you allowed the sentence to fizzle out, unsure of how to begin, or if you even wanted to at all. having been pulled away from your past life, you hadn't decided whether you wanted to talk about it with anyone. you didn't have much of a story to tell, yet it still felt like something you should lock away entirely. though you didn't truly understand why, you dreaded the thought of letting anyone here get to know you. whether this was because they were undeserving or because acknowledging your past life made this one real, you didn't know.

weaving through the seemingly endless aisles, you allowed you gaze to fall upon the book again.

your brother was a bright young boy, almost too smart for his own good. he never tried to be a troublemaker—not the kind you felt the need to raise your guard around anyway—but he would risk anything to stimulate his mind. if he didn't have a book to stick his head into or a math subject to teach himself he fell into a painful state of boredom. he couldn't stand being bored; you remembered him declaring once before that not doing anything productive made him feel like his brain was rotting from the inside out.

"it's only a matter of time before it starts dripping out of my ears," he used to say.

to this day, you were able to recall in great detail the first time he got himself into trouble with your parents. he managed to drag you down with him without even trying to; your parents found you guilty before you even opened your mouth. all over a stupid book.

"it's not like he can even read it!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air.

while his intellect surpassed even the adults in your life, his age was really showing. just like any thirteen year old boy, he felt that your parents were just overreacting; that what he'd done surely didn't warrant this kind of response. after all, it wasn't like he'd truly hurt anyone. even if he really did want to, you knew he didn't have it in him. much like yours, his attacks were never physical, only verbal.

to an extent, you agreed with him. the law wasn't really enforced unless you had the money to make people care about your problems, so you doubted he would get into any real trouble. the most that could happen outside of the home would be some kind of beating from the people he'd stolen from, but you doubted they would even notice its absence. however, watching this situation unfold had begun to give you a headache and for that reason alone you felt he deserved to be punished. "you still stole it," your father shot back.

he stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest. your father was a short man, but he still managed to make himself look intimidating when he saw fit. his actions helped greatly; he had the tendency to raise his voice when things didn't go his way, or allow his eyes to narrow into a glare that would tear through anyone in his path. sometimes you hated him for being this way, but deep down you knew it wasn't his fault. working such long days with almost nothing in return was enough to drive any man crazy.

your mother though... you looked to your mother and saw nothing but disappointment painted across her face as she held the book in her hands. you frowned. for the first time in a very long time, you witnessed her express something other than exhaustion. she was so kind and caring, but she was empty. everyday was a constant fight to keep her family afloat through high tides and thunderstorms, but over the years the tiny raft she'd woven for those she loved most broke apart piece by piece. everyday you watched a tiny piece of her float far far away right along with it.

"how could you let this happen?"

you quickly averted your attention toward your father, your eyes widening as a wave of shock wracked your body. he glared down at you, but you didn't really understand why; you hadn't done anything wrong. and so you said nothing. instead, you nervously pulled at the hem of your shirt, wishing this would all go away. but this wasn't good enough. when you failed to respond, he only rose his voice even more. he pointed his finger at you accusingly, like you'd gone out and committed the crime yourself.

"you were supposed to be watching him! it's not like you have anything else to do. you don't work, can't go to school—what could you possibly have been doing that was more important than making sure your brother stayed safe at home?"

it was then that you began to cry. tears flowed down your cheeks in rivers as you tried so hard not to start hyperventilating. you never took criticism well—not when it was far from constructive. it felt like he had lunged at your throat and your windpipe was beginning to crack under the pressure. if he kept at it, you were certain you wouldn't be able to handle it at any capacity.

you refused to respond. what was the point in trying if your father wasn't even going to try to understand? how were you going to tell him that your idiot brother had managed to sneak out because you spent the day asleep on the cold, hard floor? how were you going to explain that you were so tired, that your body was so physically exhausted that there were periods of time where you were unable to stay awake during the day?

you couldn't, not when everyone else struggled just as hard as you did. you could already imagine his response, something about how he works himself to the bone and still manages to stay awake.

it was pointless.

you thought you were never going to be able to forgive your brother for that day. that night, when you were certain the rest of your family had fallen asleep, you picked the book up off of the floor where your mother had left it. it shouldn't be there; your brother shouldn't get the pleasure of reading it.

so you hid it. you remembered having to be so careful as you moved the heavy water pot, struggling to keep quiet as the lid began to gently crash into the rim. you then lifted up the broken floorboard beneath it and placed the book inside of the small opening before repositioning everything. that night, you laid next to your brother feeling content with your actions, yet no more happy overall.

for so many years, you avoided that book just as much as you did the negative memory associated with it, but after your family passed, something changed. it didn't feel like something you wanted to distance yourself from anymore, but rather something you wanted to hold close to your heart.

the first thing you did once the body collection team cleared your home was rush to the water pot. you were so hasty in trying to move it that it tipped over in the process, spilling what tiny bit of water was left all over your thighs. but holding that book in your hands, it didn't matter. there was a tiny piece of your brother you had yet to familiarize yourself with and you so desperately needed to. it felt like it was all you had left of him. for almost a month you read the book time and time again until the tears stopped; by then you had memorized the entire story word for word.

the little prince.

"someone that i used to know was really interested in it, that's all," you said finally.

you were too stuck inside your own head to notice how much time had passed, but by that point you'd reached the lounge already. the couch closest to you suddenly seemed very inviting, so much that you quickly sat down in the middle. your mind was still a bit too far away to realize what you'd done, but by that point it was too late.

johnny was left to seat himself on your right. much like before, this left very little space between the two of you. this got your attention immediately. your cheeks burned red hot as he rested his arm atop the edge of the couch behind you.

"would you mind if i read it?"

too stunned to form a proper sentence, you merely nodded and placed the book on his lap. when you took the quickest look up at him, you saw that he was smiling. it was a genuine smile, not one of those smug smirks you'd seen once or twice before. staring toward your lap now, you could see him using his free hand to quickly flip to page one.

oh. he was going to read it to you.

"you don't have to do all that," you quickly spoke up.

you did your best not to come across as rude. in reality though, you weren't sure whether or not you should've said anything at all. you had yet to decide if you were uncomfortable with someone like johnny making himself part of something so sacred, or if you were angry at yourself for letting his close proximity make you so flustered. no matter how much you tried though, you couldn't help it. it would've been this way with any boy, you told yourself, but the fact that it had to be him was so, so irritating.

the brunette scoffed lightly.

"you think i don't care enough to get to know you?" he quirked an eyebrow at you, only resulting in your gaze being averted elsewhere. a moment went by as he awaited a response that never came. "i don't want to be strangers; i want to know things about you. i think it's premature to say that things are most definitely going to be real between the two of us, but i would like to try, if you'd let me. at the very least i want to get to know you as a person. if this book is something you're into, i want to read it."

he watched as your eyes fell upon the open page. as hard as he tried, he couldn't make out the expression contorting your features. somewhere deep in his being he was hopeful you were considering what he said, though he knew not to get his hopes up. while he understood why you would do so, the idea of being wed to someone who refused to keep him any closer than arms length made him sad. while he despised it, it happened to be the normalcy and there was nothing he was able to do about it.

almost pleading with you, he quietly added, "for me? you can sleep for all i care; just entertain me for the rest of the hour, please."

very hesitantly, you nodded and allowed him to wrap his arm around your shoulders. he then pulled you close, causing your breath to catch in your throat for a moment. never before had you been held this way, nor had you witnessed your mother in such a position; this type of intimacy was something you'd only ever encountered in the few fairytales you'd been able to read in your youth.

as he began to read in that oh so soft tone, you found yourself lost in thought. the more you tried to think of an occurrence where this scenario had been normalized during your childhood, the less you were able to come up with. it would be humorous to call what you were required to have with johnny love, and yet it was likely the closest you would ever come to such a thing in your life time. marriage was more out of necessity than anything, you had come to realize--especially for women. each person was allowed to interpret societal norms however they so chose, though you felt that marriage offered women a degree of safety that living alone was unable to, while men were given sex and children in exchange. in all your years, you had yet to come across a couple that seemed to truly love one another beyond this platonic agreement.

having been a woman that had grown used to living alone, you understood the need for a man in the house. it wasn't that you were very strong on ancient gender roles, but that you had been forced to live with such extreme anxiety at all times. what few policemen there were didn't care about any crime that didn't have the potential to pad their pockets, so young women were often assaulted late at night on the lookout for whatever scraps of food they might be able to find and eat. even going out during the day made you nervous at times, depending on who was in sight. you'd even made a mental catalogue of which neighbors seemed especially sketchy and why, as you had learned not to trust anyone. living seemed to become extremely dangerous after your father passed away.

your eyes began to flutter closed as his low voice hung in your ear. being endlessly tired was not something that was new to you, for each and every day you felt as though you could sleep for hours and wake up feeling like your limbs were packed full of sand. the man beside you wasn't helping either; the steady sound of his heartbeat was the perfect backdrop to your thoughts. perhaps he noticed, though you couldn't be bothered to open your eyes in order to check. instead, you allowed him to slowly brush his palm over your head, almost as if he was petting you. it was endearing in a way, though you would never say so out loud.

counting down the days, you realized there weren't too many left until the wedding to come. jisung had brought it up earlier, but the subject matter made you uneasy, so you did your best to tune it out, just as you did the rest of his blather. normally you soak up information like a sponge, but the young boy had begun to babble about who all he thought was attending, which wasn't something you cared to know. the thought of being trapped in a room with at least half of the world's most wealthy made a knot tie itself oh so tight within your stomach. not because you felt the need to impress any of these people, but because you had spent your entire life drowning in poverty while these people had very little to worry about. your main concern was finding a way to keep from choking one of them to death on your way down the aisle.

on top of that, it sounded as if the majority of the relatives that were to be in attendance didn't like the idea of your marriage in general. jisung had recalled chatting with a young servant named yeri over lunch, who apparently dealt with all of the invitations. he relayed that she was tasked with calling each household personally, so she was able to get a feel of how they had received the news. as he ran the brush through your wild locks, he snickered and told you not to worry about johnny's family, as she told him that over half of those she spoke with sounded very irritated.

"i think it's about the money, honestly," he'd laughed. his slender fingers then wove themselves through your hair, parting it in three at the nape of your neck. "that's really weird to think about, isn't it? maybe i've just been poor for so long that money doesn't really seem like something to pine over, but i think it's kind of ridiculous when people that have more money than i'll ever know what to do with are so upset that they're not able to come into more of it.'

in a way, you thought the boy was right. while you felt that greed was almost amusing coming from those who already have a great deal of money, you understood the need to pine over it. you couldn't even count the amount of times you had gone to bed hungry, as well as had to function starving the next day. even just a few dollars would've been able to keep you fed, even if only for the smallest period of time. maybe the issue wasn't that jisung had been poor for so long, but that he had all of his needs met for such a long while. in all honesty, you understood the want to fight tooth and nail for every dollar that came your way, as much as it pained you to admit.

suddenly, you felt johnny's chest move beneath you, quickly rising and falling as a gentle chuckle escaped his lips. even still, you pretended to be asleep.

"what's wrong?" he questioned, nudging you slightly. "you're gonna give yourself wrinkles or something."

you swore under your breathe. your features relaxed then. every crease in your forehead slowly evened out, then the rest of your face fell in line too. it wasn't something that you'd done consciously, though you did understand why he would question such a thing. you weren't entirely sure what it must've looked like, but judging from his reaction, you were likely pouting like a child.

"how long until we have to get married?" you asked, peeling both of your eyes open.

"two days," he responded simply.

looking at the book in his lap, you noticed that he had gotten through a handful of pages. telling time had never been something you were very good at, but you guessed it had been at least ten or fifteen minutes since he had began. that was the beauty of being lost inside your head, you thought. you were free from the confinement of time, as it mattered very little when you had other things popping out of every little nook and cranny your brain had to offer. there was always something new to dissect and pick apart without having to worry about how much time you were wasting. it was nice, especially when wasting your time with him meant he was unable to bother you for very long.

instead of awaiting a response he knew would never come, he simply joked, "why, are you excited?"

"i'm thinking," you said, turning to look up at him.

you weren't sure if you wanted to continue. you weren't sure if you wanted to let him in, to let him know what was on your mind. there was a lot on your mind. the thought of being kept here forever with no one to talk to on a deeper level than the gossip jisung liked to bring to your vanity made you sad, though it wasn't like you were having very deep conversations with the kindergarteners you taught back home. however, the brunette's actions irritated you to no end. you were afraid that letting him in would mean to let go of what he had done, which wasn't something that you were ready to do yet. you weren't sure it would ever be something you were going to do.

the hardest part to grasp was that jisung had been right; as much as you wanted to hate the man for his means of getting you there, you would never be able to hate him for putting clothes on your body and food in your mouth. thinking back to the large breakfast you had woken up to that morning, you frowned. you tried and tried, but you couldn't be upset about that. sighing to yourself, you finally came to terms with the fact that finding comfort in another person wouldn't be so terrible, since you were unable to go anywhere else. it was a given that you would be exceptionally picky with what information you felt he was worthy of having access to, but baby steps wouldn't hurt.

however, you really did like his nervousness, at least in the sense that he knew better than to pry. he waited silently for you to continue, still absentmindedly petting the top of your head. he had been timid about such an action at first, but once he realized you weren't going to bite his hand off, he became more confident about continuing. he had a very soft smile tugging at his plump lips, though you could see the angst hiding in those chocolate brown eyes. it was as if he wasn't sure of what you were going to say, like that scared him.

truthfully, it did. johnny's biggest fear was that you would never get over any kind of resentment toward him you may have. this was a feeling he understood, and he very much understood why you would be feeling this way toward him, but he at least hoped the both of you would be able to find some kind of middle ground. he was just as fond of the arrangement as you were; maybe even more so, since he had grown up watching it play out before his eyes.

his mother never really did overcome her hatred for his father. perhaps this was because times were different when she was younger. she had the pleasure of experiencing life before the war; she knew freedom without having poverty cripple the entirety of her family. even in the midst of the violence and war, she still found a way to be happy without having to rely on money to do so. because of this, being pulled away from her parents crushed her. she wasn't like you; she didn't find comfort in a full belly, nor did she see it as a reason to excuse what had happened to her. she loved her son very much, though she never even made an attempt to hide the fact that she cared for her husband very little. in fact, johnny often suspected that she only agreed to have a child as a form of escapism. he always wondered if that was why she insisted on spending all of her free time with him, even while he was being pestered by countless tutors.

maybe it was selfish to wish for you to get over a traumatic experience in order to be happy with him, but he didn't know any other way of living. what he wanted more than anything was for you to be happy, though he didn't think this was something he would be able to communicate correctly without making a pig of himself. he understood the severity of the culture difference between the both of you and didn't want to come across as arrogant, especially because he knew that he was. he didn't intend to be, but he wasn't naïve.

"i want to hate you so badly," you admitted finally. for once, you locked eyes with him. you wanted him to see you, to know that you weren't exaggerating in order to toy with his nerves. perhaps you didn't know the first thing about talking to boys, but you knew a great deal about communicating your feelings to the emotionally ignorant. you often had conversations of this nature with you brother when he grew old enough, as you found that talking took far less energy than fighting did. the man stopped petting you then, his hand simply resting at the nape of your neck. you rolled your eyes, watching him squirm a little in his seat. "you can keep doing that thing if you want, it doesn't really bother me one way or another. even if it did, i think i could punch you in the face and you probably wouldn't do anything violent to retaliate; i probably would've done that by now."

he wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn't. you were right. even if he hated you with every fiber of his being, he could never bring himself to raise a hand to a woman. just the mere thought of what he had to do to you already made him sick to his stomach. instead, he simply began his hand motions once more.

"i want to hate you so badly," you repeated, huffing a bit. your eyes drifted off, directing your glare at whichever bookshelf you spotted first. "i've been thinking about it a lot and i don't think you have any idea how much it hurts that for the life of me i haven't been able to find a way to make you into more than just a minor annoyance. i'm irritated at the circumstances of our meeting, but the more i think about it, the less i'm able to find you terrible. you should repulse me, but really, what did i have waiting for me back home? loneliness and starvation? i try to remember that i was making something of myself by educating children that weren't able to bathe most days, let alone pick up a book on their own, but it seems a little bittersweet when the skeleton i see in the mirror is all i have to show for it. i want to hate your guts for what you did, but how can i when you've given me everything i never had?"

this time, he pulled away completely. he recognized your hurt, yet he was unsure about what to do in response. he knew that honesty was in order, but these were not the kinds of conversations he was accustomed to. johnny was taught to suppress his feelings as opposed to expressing them, as his father thought that to share one's inner feelings was a very feminine thing to do. even i love you's were assumed and not spoken. an attempt was made in explaining his point of view on your journey to his home, but even then, he had barely scratched the surface of what was buried deep in his heart.

"i'm sorry for that," he began, his features slowly contorting with the first wave of distress that wracked his brain. "i'm not really sure what to say aside from that. i understand that you're upset and i understand why, honestly. i figured you would be, which i guess is why i've been trying to overcompensate with material items. i don't know if that makes me even more of a shitty person, but i figured that the least i can do is make sure you have what you need... i'm not going to sit here and pretend like i'm your savior for doing that, nor am i going to force you to like me. do i want you to? of course i do. i hope we can be friends at the very least, but i'm always going to respect your wants and-"

"don't you have a job to be getting back to?"

you wanted to scream. he was making it so hard by being a decent person, so much that you had half a mind to punch him square in the nose. you knew it was terrible to wish he were a worse person, but it would make your frustration so much more valid. it was very clear that his intention wasn't to confuse you even further, but that was the result regardless. you weren't sure where you stood, only that the ground you wished to be upon was very far out of reach.

he shook his head, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. while he was sure your irritation was very genuine, he was relieved to see that it wasn't likely to grow into something more. the last thing he wanted to do was dig himself a deeper hole to fall into.

"i don't have to do anything; it's more that i choose to get up and go to work everyday. if i really wanted to, i could easily appoint someone to take on my workload without losing any personal profit," he explained, closing the book in his lap and placing it on the coffee table. not only did he want to cut your date short before your annoyance really began to blossom, he could see how tired you'd become. keeping this in mind, he was slow to stand up and extend a hand toward you. there was a fleeting look of hesitance that washed over the irises of your eyes, but you took it nonetheless. while helping you to your feet, he continued. "i like my job--the techy stuff, anyway. having to be the bad guy all the time is honestly really stressful, but i guess that's just part of the package, right?"

though it felt like the question was directed more toward himself than anything, you took it upon yourself to answer anyway. your hand still resting in his, you allowed him to guide you back to the elevator.

"not necessarily," you responded, watching as he swiped his keycard once more. following him into the elevator, you took a few seconds to piece together the rest of your thoughts. it wasn't very easy given how little you knew about what it was he did at work, but you felt that his mindset was very flawed regardless of his job title. "if you're really as in charge as you claim to be, i don't understand why it has to be so terrible for the people that work for you, if that's what you're trying to say."

"you don't get it," he muttered softly.

he used his index finger to press another one of the shiny metal buttons on the panel before him. while doing so, he did his best to avoid your gaze. he didn't even want to think about how he must've sounded complaining about such problems, as they seemed so silly in retrospect. he felt so guilty complaining about the way he happened to make his money knowing you came from the situation you did. in a way, he felt like he had slapped you across the face, though he would never even dream of doing such a thing.

"no, i don't," you quipped. your voice was very level, yet you couldn't help but let go of his hand. it seemed like he wasn't really in the mood to hold yours any more than you were his. "i don't know anything about science, or engineering, or even how to count without using my fingers, but i know what it's like to be poor. my father worked for someone like you. one days worth of your earnings could probably feed a family like mine for at least a week, but instead big companies throw pennies at their workers and demand that we make it stretch far enough. maybe other decisions wouldn't feel so weighted if you knew your employees were going home to more than scraps from the garbage, but you're choosing not to find that out."

johnny remained silent. there was nothing he could say to refute your argument; you were right. this was an issue that was far easier to avoid before your arrival, especially now that you were choosing to voice your concerns. the money his business produced made it very easy to ignore the conditions certain staff members were likely living in. in all honesty, he'd never even given it much thought. his father had always preached that they were not responsible for anything that went on outside of the workplace, though he was neglecting to take into account that the things they provided during work hours directly contributed to everything that took place before and after. he felt ashamed now, having this thrown back in his face.

"you're right. i'm sorry."

the elevator opened up after what felt like forever, much to your relief. after taking two steps forward, it felt like the man had wrapped his hands around both of your ankles and dragged you back ten. you were well aware that the difference in upbringings might make conversation a bit difficult at times, but you weren't expecting him to be so ignorant to the state of the world beyond the little bubble he existed in. all it served to do was dull what little sparkle had managed to find you today.

"i think i remember how to get back to my room from here," you promptly informed him.

"you're sure?" he asked softly, to which you merely nodded.

you didn't know if there was really anything left to say. you were far too exhausted to entertain him any longer; all you wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep until you no longer felt the tiny pinprick of sadness in your chest. 

perhaps tomorrow he would manage to redeem himself, you told yourself. after all, he'd already made it very clear that he had more than enough money to do so.

author’s note: i’m so sorry this took so long ): i’ve really been struggling with my mental health lately, but i’m going to do my best to be more consistent with my uploads. please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist (:

[egotheplanet]

One Soul (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: Finally married, Din can remove his helmet to show his face to Y/N. (Based on this post by me)

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Two

The sound of their heartbeats resonate almost as loud as the crowd cheering around them. Despite the horrendous purge dwindling their numbers and forcing them into hiding, this joyous unity of two souls is reason for applause and celebration by the Mandalorians.

A wedding ceremony between the famous Mandalorian, Din Djarin and his new bride, Y/N. They’re beyond famous in these parts and others for their skill and close relationship. A noble foe against any who try them.

Their hands clasp together tight as they run side by side down the tunnel. The sides of it are lined shoulder to shoulder with Mandalorians.

Behind his helmet, Din smiles. A real genuine smile that he couldn’t control, not that he wanted to. Happy moments like this are fleeting but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to relish this while it lasted.

Up ahead lay the ship, prepped with gifts and money alike for their post-ceremony vacation. They’re finally going to spend quality time together without needing a job or worrying about the other while being separated.

Y/N nearly trips up on her ceremonial dress as she struggles to keep up with her new husband.

‘He’s my husband..’ She thinks to herself and feels her heart swell as the sudden realization hits her.

He glances down, her glossy eyes and adoring features shining back at herself in the reflection of his helmet.

He notices her trip, and stops walking all together to bend and help her gather up the dress in his arms.

“You okay? Are you getting overwhelmed?” His concerned voice barely registers over the clapping.

“I’m alright, your legs are just a bit long.” She teases and tries not to blush at his close proximity to her hips.

“I’m sorry, I’ll slow down for you.” He rises once again with the flowing train in his arms.

He keeps his word and slows his pace. And it doesn’t go unappreciated by Y/N.

With her legs in view now, including her garter belt, it opens up for some hollers from the raunchier and more confident men.

“Congrats Djarin, what a catch!”

“That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight!” This particular call warrants a larger response from the Mandalorians in the tunnel than the previous one. They cheer and high five one another at the apparent inside-joke.

Y/N felt confused but didn’t say anything, continuing to keep up with Din.

“I can’t believe we’re actually married.” His voice modulator doesn’t mask his happiness.

“I know what you mean, time really flies when you’re having fun.” Her smile is wide as she reaches up to squeeze his bicep in reassurance.

Finally, they break the end of the tunnel. Light floods in and she shields her eyes for a moment before becoming accustomed once again.

There, just ahead, their ship waits alongside the rest of their shared life.

They both exchange a sigh of relief and continue to the ship. Climbing aboard and closing the ramp, the air inside is stunningly silent in comparison to the outside.

The Mandalorians boots stomp against the floor and ladder as he climbs up to start the ship.

The lack of windows below deck offer privacy to Y/N. She begins unzipping and dropping clothes, sashes and any other ceremonial garb.

The mandalorian leans back in his pilots seat to glance through the hole to steal a look at his almost naked new bride.

“I know you’re watching me and not taking off.” She shoots up at him as she pulls her gray working shirt over her head. It’s a nice change of pace from the lacy pinching dress.

“I can multitask.” He smirks, not that she could see but could hear it in his voice. Leaning forward again he flips a few more switches. “Taking off. Hold onto something for a few seconds.”

Doing as she’s advised, she leans against the ladder and grips onto it. The ship jerks and sways as it lifts into the air.

They have a long way to go before they make their destination. A honeymoon fit for a couple of bounty hunters is a place that’s remote, sunny and cheap.

Y/N didn’t care where they went, so long as they were together. If Din had his way, they wouldn’t even take a vacation. They’d go on a bounty as celebration of their nuptials.

‘The man is as married to his work as he is to me now.’ She laughed to herself as she thought about how stubborn her husband is.

She continues to laugh to herself as she reminisces all their previous talks about what they thought married life would be like. Y/N climbs the ladder to sit in the passenger seat beside Din.

She calls it the co-pilots seat even though she doesn’t need to pilot anything. Din glances over at her to acknowledge her presence beside him.

“What’s so funny?” He asks.

“Do you remember that time those Jawas took my engagement ring and tried to make you buy it back? And you said..” she clicks her teeth trying to remember. “What was it you said?”

He clearly doesn’t love the memory as much as her. She finds it hilarious and loved the little creatures whereas Din found them bitter little pestilences. He’s got to admit just a little though, this memory was one of the better ones to look back on.

“I said ‘Dank Farrik! I already bought the damn thing. I’ll scorch any little womp-rat that tries to make me buy it again.’ And they handed it back along with some of the ships landing gear that I never even noticed they had taken.” His voice was annoyed at first by the memory but quickly turned amused at his own heroics.

“You’re probably a household name in the Jawa-sphere. You terrorize those poor little things.”

“They’re thieves!” He says exasperated.

She just responds with more laughter and patting his shoulder.

“Okay, okay relax. They aren’t gonna get you out here, don’t worry.” She teases lovingly.

There’s a comfortable silence as he continues to flip switches, steering expertly while she watches him navigate the empty air ahead.

“You were quick to change out of your dress.” He quips, knowing how much she disliked such a fluffy gown.

“It was heavy and I kept tripping on it! You got to wear your beskar which you’re used to. I prefer my cargo pants and long sleeved shirt thank you.” She crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair.

The Mandalorian from the tunnel who said ‘That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight!’ returns to her memory.

“Hey, Din?”

He mumbles a ‘hmm?’

“What did that guy mean when he said ‘That belt won’t be the only thing coming off tonight’? That’s just, like, a sex thing? Right?” Her voice was curious and she tried to maintain a tone of nonchalance. But she could tell it was more of an insiders-league thing— and she wanted in.

He tensed up slightly, weighing the options of lying or telling the truth. He quickly came to the decision of telling the truth. Din didn’t want to start off a lifetime of happiness with lies. Even for something as important to him as this.

He stayed silent for a few moments as he flipped switches and transitioned the ship into autopilot. After successfully doing so, he swiveled his chair around to look at her fully. As fully as he could through a helmet, that is.

His gloved hands came out to take in her smaller unclothed ones.

She laughs slightly, nerves bleeding through it.

“Is everything alright..?” She raises an eyebrow at his sudden excess attention.

“Since we’re married now.. it means we’re connected. Two souls in one.” He starts softly. “This means that I can take my helmet off when I’m around you. In a private area when it’s just you and I, I won’t have to wear my helmet.”

Her jaw drops and she takes a deep breath to steady herself.

“You’re serious? You’re gonna take your helmet off for me?” Her voice is growing more excited by the second and she can’t help it. This triggers rapidly growing anxiety in the beskar adorned man.

Having the knowledge her husband, who she’s known for years but never ever truly seen, is going to take off his helmet so she can properly meet him is exciting. It’s incredible! It’s unbelievable! It’s—

“I will. But.. Not yet. I’m not ready.” His voice is monotone and she can’t read any emotion whatsoever.

‘He’s too good at that.’ She thinks as her happiness melts and drips through the airlock into space.

“You’re not.. ready for me to see you?” She can’t hide her sadness.

“It’s not that I.. I’m just not ready.” His tone is regretful and guilty.

Those are the last things she ever wants to hear him express. Regret and guilt.

“No.. Hey, don’t be that way. It’s alright. You can have as much time as you need. I’ll still be your wife tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that too.” Her soft hands squeeze his. She could barely feel the callouses beneath the gloves.

He can’t believe he got to marry this woman before someone else. The armorer was right, he is lucky.

“Can I ask.. Why? Why you don’t feel ready?” Her voice is gentle and she doesn’t sound like she’s prying for an answer.

“I’m worried you won’t like what you see.” His voice is almost rough as he struggles to keep emotion out of it. “That you’ll regret our ceremony and want to leave me.”

Her blood runs cold and her heart skips four beats.

“Honey.. Why would you ever think that?” Her hand reaches up to cup his cheek. Well.. the cheek of the helmet at least.

Din shakes his head as if to say ‘I don’t know.’

“I would never leave you. I love you. The ceremony was proof of that. And I’ll continue to prove it to you every day for the rest of our lives until you see. Until you’re ready to share this part of yourself with me, Din.” Her smile comes back and her hand travels down to lovingly squeeze his shoulder.

He didn’t think his heart could swell any more than it was now.

He was too close to crying to let out a response. Din didn’t want to worry her or upset her any further than he thought he had. So instead of thanking her or nodding, he turned his chair around and resumed the controls. He didn’t want to cry or even choke up in front of her and look weak.

Y/N sat there in confusion for a second before realizing he was shutting her out to collect his thoughts.

Din wasn’t the type to say whatever came to his mind. He was calculating and constantly weighing all his options to get the desired outcome.

“Right.. Well.” She stood and dusted her lap off. “If you need me or want to spend some time with your wife, I’ll be in the living area resting. Join me if you like.” She makes her way to the ladder and starts climbing down. Just before she makes it out of the cockpit she says; “Or don’t.”

Dropping down to the flooring, she feels guilty for being short with him.

Both parties feeling guilty in their own way, they curse the self induced silence surrounding them.

She walks to the bed and kicks off her shoes before climbing beneath the covers and hugging Dins pillow.

They never got to sleep beside one another, as someone was always needed on controls or to watch a bounty. The very few times they did, he wore the helmet and slept very stiff. She doubts he slept at all when they were together.

She wondered if he ever slept without the helmet on. Surely he had to? At least once with her up above on the controls. He had to trust her at least that much.. right?

Y/N was a faithful companion who never betrayed his trust nor would she. She would never try to steal a glance or take off his helmet.

At the same time, she almost felt as though she deserved to see him. The man she fell in love with and married. The least she was owed was his face.

But just as quickly as she thought of that, she pushed it from her mind.

She didn’t fall in love with him to see him without the armor. She fell in love with him because he’s a generous, rugged and maybe even a little dirty smelling space cowboy.

He loved her with no end. The second he met her, he knew he was going to be stuck with a bright eyed, stubborn, maybe even a little over talkative hunter by the name of Y/N. She worked her way onto his ship and into his heart.

Cheesy but true.

He wouldn’t deny it even back then. He fell in love with her almost immediately. Her sharp shooting alone saved his life.

And maybe even gave him a semi but that he would never admit to her.

He knows by now she’s fallen asleep. Almost three hours have passed where he’s mindlessly steering toward their honeymoon and his brain has been stirring with abstraction.

She doesn’t snore.. that much. But he can tell the difference in her breathing now. Hearing someones sleep patterns after a few years trains you to tell the difference between resting and dead asleep.

He feels himself exhaustedly set the ship on autopilot once more.

He barely registers his body moving and going down the ladder towards the living space.

He feels numb as he removes the beskar, save for the helmet which remains on his head.

His shoes are neatly put away and his gloves rest on a smooth surface.

He relishes the soft bedding against his fingers as his wife subconsciously moves closer to him.

He smiles to himself as he looks down at her.

‘Enough room on this bed for a mudhorn and she still spreads out as much as possible.’ He lovingly brushes hair out of her eyes.

She rustles slightly and his heart tenses. He knows what he’s about to do for her. How huge it is.

He knows she could never truly grasp the severity of showing another soul your face for the first time in decades. But he also knew he could never hold something like that against her. Besides, she wasn’t another soul now. Because of their ceremony, they were one.

One soul between the both of them because they’re connected.

His voice is gentle but urgent.

“Hey, wake up. I need you to wake up for me, Y/N.”

She lets out a deep breath and sucks another in just as deep while she comes to terms with being awake.

Her arms stretch and flex as she wiggles slightly, her shirt riding up her abdomen.

‘What a sight for sore eyes.’ He thinks as his eyes drink her body in.

“Wh-What’s going on? Is everything okay?” She’s confused and adorable when she’s half asleep.

“Everything’s fine. I just..” he takes a breath and caresses her face with the back of his knuckles.

He can’t believe she’s so soft and beautiful in this lighting. He should to watch her sleep more often.

‘That’s kind of creepy so maybe not.’ His internal monologue warns.

“I’m ready.” His voice is strong and smooth. He is confident and honest and sitting up even straighter than before. “I’m ready to take off my helmet for you.”

She darts up in bed quickly. If Mando hadn’t jumped with her, she would have surely bumped her head against the helmet.

“Are you sure? This is a big deal, Din. I want you to be positive.” She grips his shirt with one hand while the other holds his hand.

He nodded and sat up straight, his legs comfortably resting beneath him.

“I’m sure.” He sighs out in anticipation.

She sits up along with him, mirroring his posture in front of him with her legs folded beneath her. Face to helmet.

‘Soon to be face to face.’ She thinks to herself.

His hands reach up to the helmet. It hisses and clicks in response to his actions.

“Wait wait wait wait waitwaitwait—“ Her voice startles him and he jolts slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Let me close my eyes so when I open them, you’re ready.” She closes her eyes and her hands rest atop the shut lids. Double measures.

He smiles slightly at the sense of her nerves.

‘Mine dissolve just as hers appear.’

The room is tense and they’re sure they can hear one another’s hearts beating erratically.

He lifts the helmet upward and off of his head. The Mandalorians eyes adjust to the light as he sits the helmet beside her lap.

Her chest shudders as she feels the cold from the helmet seep through her pants and onto her flesh.

He lets out a nervous sigh and chuckle.

Her heart leaps at hearing him breathe without the modulator.

‘Dins helmet really is off.’ Her brain, heart and soul are doing backflips at the realization.

“Okay. I’m ready, you can open your eyes now.” His hands come up to pull hers away from her eyes.

He’s suddenly nervous again. Her eyes remain closed. He pushes the nerves deep down. The only thing keeping him going now is the knowledge that she loves him unconditionally and will continue to do so after this.

Her lashes flutter apart slowly and his heart stops as her irises dart around his features. Her face is incredibly hard to read as she takes it all in.

“Din..” her voice is wavering and he can tell tears are close to follow.

“Is everything okay?”

Suddenly he’s pushed onto his back as she lays on top of him. They’re chest to chest as she plants soft, wet kisses all over his face and neck.

His cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and his nose especially! The corners of his lips, jawline, ears, and chin.

“Din you’re beautiful.”

He looks at her through his peripheral vision and whenever she comes into focus, laughing softly in disbelief.

“Are.. Are you joking?” His voice is nervous but hopeful.

Her arms hug around his neck and his hands grip her waist, holding on tight because he thinks he’s dreaming.

“I’m not joking! You don’t know how gorgeous you are? You’re like a statue. You should be a statue.” The kisses don’t cease but they slow down. Her adoration permeates through every kiss into his skin. His surprisingly soft skin.

“You still want to be married to me?”

“If I could double marry you Din, believe me, I would.”

A smile erupts onto his face and her eyes completely pool up at the sight.

“Even your smile could start a war.” Her hand brushes through his hair.

“A war? Wouldn’t that be bad?”

“The war is to win you.” The kisses have finally stopped but she’s laying with her cheek pressed up against his. “Obviously I would win so it’s fine.”

He’s relishing it. The feeling of her face being smushed against his. He never knew something could be so soft. He never wants to put on his helmet again. If he had known being married to such a creature was this amazing, he would have done it the second he met her.

He pushes her back up for a second, their eyes locking. He looks into her eyes intensely.

“What’s with that look, weirdo-“

He cuts her off with their first real kiss. No helmets, no blindfolds, nothing in their way. She melts instantly into his arms and he rolls over so he’s on top of her. They spend the next hour breaking in the bed and consecrating their marriage.

What a way to start their lives together.

[voiceless-terror]

The Weight of Love (TMA)

Jon is a restless sleeper. Martin attempts to adjust.

Note: This was just a little something inspired by @janekfan‘s wonderful art of Jon sleeping in all sorts of weird positions. It takes place in my ADHD Jon Adventures universe, but is totally fine as a stand alone piece! <3

Martin Blackwood was awakened once again by a knee to his side.

Look, Jonathan Sims was the love of his life. An all-around wonderful human being. Sweet, caring, intelligent, clever. A thousand other descriptors that he kept track of in a small journal (for sappy poetry that wouldn’t see the light of day). Every moment they spent together was precious to him, even when they bickered. Especially when they bickered. So, needless to say, Martin Blackwood was a very happy and lucky man. But there was just one thing he couldn’t get used to.

Jonathan Sims was incapable of staying still, even in his sleep.

It would start out fine. Jon would curl into his side, Martin would nod off, everyone comfortable and cozy. But after about an hour or so, Jon would start to move. A restless turn here, a mumble or two there. Occasionally he would grab Martin’s hand and intertwine their fingers. A kiss to his forearm, a gentle nudge to his chin. All very cute. But that was just the prologue. 

The main event came closer to midnight, when Jon thought it was suddenly appropriate to treat Martin like some sort of jungle gym. If Martin attempted to sleep on his stomach, he very quickly acquired a Jon-sized backpack. If he moved to his side, Jon would throw himself horizontally over Martin’s hip, as if to prevent him from getting up. If he slept on his back, he would wake up to a mouthful of black curls. 

It didn’t help if Martin stayed still. Jon would find a position comfortable for about thirty minutes before he started contorting into a new one, all elbows and knees. None of this could’ve been comfortable for him and it was clear he wasn’t sleeping soundly, but he woke up with seemingly no knowledge of his late-night misdeeds. Either that, or he was unwilling to acknowledge them. Martin, however, was starting to get a bit tired. 

Last night had been the final straw, with Martin waking up to Jon trying to climb him like a ladder, a knee almost knocking the wind out of him. He pulled the man back down from what looked like an almost-successful attempt at crawling up the headboard. Jon simply mumbled in response to the manhandling, attempting to curl back up in his arms. Martin groaned aloud at the adorable display, clearly a clever ruse to distract him from the task at hand: namely, making sure Jon didn’t kill him in his sleep.

“Oh no you don’t- wake up, Jon.” A small snore, then silence. Martin ran a finger down his side, a dirty trick as it was his most ticklish spot. “C’mon. Rise and shine.”

Jon squirmed, his eyes blinking open as he quickly adopted his trademark scowl, as if he was the offended party. “Hnnh. What time s’it?”

“Time for you to stop assaulting me in my sleep, that’s what.” He instantly regretted that choice in words as Jon shot back, almost flailing out of bed in an attempt to put some distance between the two of them. Martin grabbed hold of his arm with a sigh, pulling him back to safety.

“That’s- sorry, that’s not what I meant.” Martin winced. “Well, it kind of is, but-”

“I’m-I’m sorry, Martin.” Even in the dim light of the room, Martin could make out two big eyes looking at him apologetically. “What did I do?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a very active sleeper?” Jon immediately looked down at his lap. That’s a yes. Martin moved to reassure him. “It’s very endearing, but er, not very conducive to sleeping. For me.” He reached out to rub at Jon’s back, letting him relax into the touch. “Honestly, I don’t know how you sleep that way. You’re not even that energetic when you’re awake.”

“Georgie did mention it once or twice, yes. But she ah, gave as good as she got, as it were.”

Martin shuddered at the image of the two of them, punching and kicking their way through the night. What a nightmare. Jon looked guilty and chastised and that wasn’t at all what he was aiming for. He just wanted some fucking sleep. He could move out to the couch, but it wasn’t particularly comfortable and he genuinely liked sleeping with Jon. When he’s still, and not fighting off some unseen enemy or climbing Martin like a fencepost. “Is there anything that helps? Or is this just...normal?” Jon shook his head and sighed, leaning into his side.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I’ve never really been good at this ‘resting’ business.”

“What if I wrapped you up in a blanket or something? Like a little burrito!” Martin framed it as a joke, but he was actually half-serious.

Jon gave a weak laugh. “I think I’d just roll out of it.”

“Doesn’t hurt to try!”

Turns out it did in fact hurt to try. Not forty minutes later did Jon roll out of his cocoon and off the bed, momentum carrying him almost to the wall. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t for the large bruise on his forehead and the ice pack he was now nursing as he sat on the couch, complaining.

It was still a little funny. And a bit of payback for all of the bruises he’d given Martin. But Martin was determined to find a solution to their little conundrum, and let them both get a good night’s sleep. If he was going to survive sleeping with Jon, he would need a little help.

_____

“What do you want, Blackwood?” 

Martin sighed. All things considered, this was a rather tame greeting from Melanie. “Hi, Melanie. How are you?”

She glared at him for a moment too long before opening the door fully, gesturing for him to come in. “Usual. Heard you’ve got someone keeping you up all night.” She snickered, collapsing onto the sofa with a smirk and propping her legs up on the coffee table. Martin gaped.

“How did you-”

“Jon’s been texting Georgie. And what Jon texts Georgie, Georgie tells me.” She patted the couch cushion next to her. Martin shuffled over, plopping down with a sigh. “Never thought I’d see the day where Jonathan Sims landed a hit on someone.”

“I have no idea where that strength comes from!” He bit out, happy to have someone to commiserate with. Melanie’s never complained to him about Georgie, though they aren’t really on close enough terms to confide in each other like that. “He’s completely still and then wham! Foot to the shin. How do you stand it?”

Melanie shrugged. “Georgie doesn’t do that anymore. Not since she got one of those weighted blankets from a sponsor. Sleeps like a log, she does.” Martin paused.

“Huh.”

“Yup.”

Why didn’t I think of that? He’d always considered buying one for his anxiety, though he never bit the bullet on the purchase. It seemed like a needless extravagance on his already limited budget. But it was worth it, for a decent night’s sleep. And being able to sleep in the same bed as Jon.

“We have another, if you want to try it out. They send us loads of free shit, it’s actually pretty wasteful.”

And so, armed with one incredibly heavy blanket and the hope of a restful night, Martin made his way back to their flat.

_______

“It’s got ghosts on it.”

“Cute, right?” Jon scowled.

“Look,” Martin sat down on the sofa, where Jon had been curled up for most of the day, still pouting over his head injury. “Just try it out! You might actually like it. And if you don’t...well, we’ll just try something else.” In actuality Martin wasn’t sure of any other options, but he figured he’d leave it open, try not to pressure him. “Here.”

He unfolded the blanket, large and black with tiny white ghosts on it, and held it out towards Jon enticingly. He rolled his eyes but still stretched out his legs for Martin to place it over. “Fine. If you must.”

He carefully spread it out on Jon’s legs, tucking it up around his waist. It was an adorable picture, really, Jon scowling and covered with all of those cartoonish ghosts. Martin felt him tense underneath it and he paused, ready for the inevitable failure of his experiment. “Too heavy?”

“No, it’s-” Jon shuffled around a bit, like a skittish animal trying to get its bearings. But then he melted before Martin’s eyes, leaning back on the couch with a look of utter relaxation that was so un-Jon like he had to do a double take. “Oh that’s-that’s rather nice, actually.”

Martin beamed. “So you like it?”

“I-maybe? Give me a minute.”

“Sure.” Ten minutes later he was passed out on the couch, utterly still. Like magic!

Mission accomplished.

_________

Jon dragged it into bed that night, noting with some grumpiness that the ghosts glowed in the dark. Martin thought he protested a bit too much.

“Childish nonsense. They didn’t have any others?”

“We can buy a different one, if you like.”

Jon let out a long-suffering sigh. “No, it’s...fine.”

And it was. Within twenty minutes, the two of them fell into a peaceful sleep. Jon had the occasional fidget, but was so weighed down and sleepy that it was never more than a twitch. It was the best night’s sleep Martin had in ages, and he reckoned the same for Jon.

He woke up the next morning to find Jon had once again migrated in his sleep, though only to lay himself completely on top of Martin, unmoving otherwise. He was a dead weight in addition to the blanket, but he wasn’t being actively kicked or climbed or otherwise maimed.

Now this he could work with. 

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28349760