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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

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I live in the neighbourhood Part 2

Part 2 is hereeeeee YAY! There will be a part 3 eventually :) I hope you enjoy and as well lmk you loved it with reblogs and messages, they truly make my day and y’know do it for other writers too, trust me we all love it. this fucking gif still gets me,,, but anyway there is so much i want to talk about in this part its killing me so plssss message me about it aghghghggh idk what else to say

um this part is filled with: yn not knowing cars, harry being a dork, almost kisses and kisses , but daddy i love him, the crown, gardening, and so much more mwah

Read Part 1

Word Count: 10.8k | Warnings: minor anxiety attack, swearing?, drinking, think that’s it (some more taylor swift)

“You want me to what?!” She feels herself all but scream.

He sighs in exasperation and ruffles his freshly cut curls. He can’t help the smile that grows shortly after his sigh. Y/N’s reaction on the other end of the line has sent him into a fit of giggles that he has to suppress quickly when she sends a warning ‘Harry’.

“It’s simple, love,” He twists to lay on his stomach. “I left you the spare to my place. Just go in, find my car keys and then drive to the airport and snap me up!”

She sighs now over the phone as she contemplates whether she could truly go into Harry’s home and then drive his surely expensive car to the airport and get him. It was something a friend would do for another friend, especially one who was a neighbour and especially a neighbour who had nothing better to do on a Friday night.

“Alright,” she says finally, “I’ll be there on Friday, text me the flight number.”

She grins when she hears a little “woo” from Harry. Even if he’s smiling half a world away it still made her happy to know it was because of her.

They had mostly texted each other randomly over the past three weeks while Harry had been away in California. She told him about her job, which he insisted was endlessly interesting and she countered that he found it interesting because it was new to him and eventually the grandeur would wear off. She loved her job, of course, it was for a public relations company that dealt with various London based companies and she was on multiple accounts with various clients ranging from tech companies to music artists. But she didn’t think it was as interesting as Harry made it out to be.

Harry told her about the filming of the movie and about everyone on set. He told her how he bought everyone on the crew his new ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirts and joked how he’d have to get her one as well to match her other one. She noted that one of Harry’s love languages was very obviously gift giving. He was so generous and she really admired that from him considering how successful he was. Her father was an accountant so she knew how rich people could be about their money sometimes, hiding it away in different entities just so their money can make money instead of spending it on things that matter.

He said everyone was nice and amazing overall, he gushed about people’s performances, but he’d always end with how much he missed London. He liked LA, he would assure her, but then he’d say how it wasn’t home-y at all. London was home to him. She would smile whenever he said that because she felt that way too, even though she wasn’t originally from the city, it just felt like home to her.

One night, he even confided in her his loneliness while on set. He wondered that maybe it was because he had no real roots in LA, nothing to go home to - no home to go to. She tried to reassure him that he wasn’t alone and all he had to do was ask and any person from the movie would love to spend time with him. He nodded along to her words, but they both knew he was being overly kind when he said everyone was nice. Not everyone in Hollywood was nice and certainly not everyone in Hollywood had substance. He searched for a month and seldom found time where he was truly relaxed with others and enjoying himself. More than ever he was excited to return home to London to say the least.

“Harry!”

She jumped out of her seat and into his arms, her cheek brushing his as she leaned in. He stood just on the sidewalk by his car that she had gingerly driven into the city and to the airport at 9pm on a Friday night in November.

The car was a dark blue vintage convertible, Mercedes-Benz, she was pretty sure but she really was completely clueless when it came to cars. Harry had taken her call right before his flight took off and walked her through finding the car. He had two garages and one garage had two cars and the other had only one. She had gone on her own and found the first garage with the two cars and seen a lime green tiny little vintage convertible and a cherry red vintage non-convertible and became distraught that there was no navy car. When Harry picked up the phone he had been greeted with some yelling about how he must be colorblind if he thought one of these cars was navy and he had laughed heartily before explaining that there was another garage. She had huffed and traipsed through his house until she came upon the other garage. When she saw the blue car she was equally annoyed and elated. “Thank fucking god,” she muttered over the line and Harry had laughed, but found himself cut off when the line went dead.

He smiled and groaned slightly at her tight embrace. He was happy to be back in England after a month away and he was happy to have her in his arms even if he didn’t know whether he should admit that.

“It’s good to see you,” he musters and he feels her smile into his neck. The only fabric between her face and him being his thin waffle knit long sleeve. He could feel her breath softly against him. He pets at the back of her hair, “Thank you for coming to get me, I know it might have been a bit much to ask.”

“Don’t mention it,” she pulls back from his embrace and smiles happily up at him, “What are friends for?”

She brushes her hands at his shoulders and then moves to start putting his luggage in his car. He had two suitcases and a backpack with him, but he had told her he had more stuff sent over that would just be sent simply to his home. She had texted back a shocked face emoji when he said that, unaware that he traveled with that much stuff.

“Right,” Harry affirms, twitching into action at the word ‘friends’. He felt like they had gotten so close over the last month even though they had only talked over the phone for that time. Seeing her in person now felt like she had been his friend for years.

Once in the car, Y/N settles back in the driver’s seat, not wanting Harry to have to drive after the horrible flight from California to London. A direct flight was just about as bad as layovers in Ohio or Utah. She wasn’t sure what it was like in First Class, but she still knew it was rough being on an aircraft for 10 plus hours.

Harry closes his eyes beside her after a moment. He had watched her settle in the car with his head against the headrest, his eyes drooping as they regarded her movements. She was so sweet to him and he nodded when she asked if he wanted his seat warmer on.

“You’re too good to me, pet,” he whispers, head lulling once again.

She glances at him swiftly as she pulls out of the loading area. He smiled contentedly before drifting off to sleep.

She turned the music low and silently drove them back to Sherwood Avenue. When she pulled the car into Harry’s garage, she sat there for a few moments as Harry softly breathed beside her. She had hoped he’d wake up upon their arrival so she wouldn’t have to wake him, but alas he was sound asleep.

She watched him, he was so quiet in this moment. So unlike how he normally was with her, talking about everything and nothing almost constantly. She liked that side of him. But she had to admit something about him this peaceful was just as entrancing.

The flutter of his eyelids brought her out of her reverie and she was grateful for the dim lighting in the garage because when Harry’s eyes focused on her she was blushing.

He quirks a brow and his smirk begins to settle back on his lips. “Home,” he raspily mumbles and begins to shift in his sea.

She nods and smiles softly, shaking off all the thoughts had been going through her mind.

“We’re back,” she affirms. “Let’s get you inside, sleepy boy.”

Harry shakes off his slumber with a rub at his right eye and a run through his hair. He climbs out of the car. She throws him the keys at his silent instruction of an extended hand and an eyebrow raise. She knows she read him correctly when he smiles sweetly and travels to the boot of his car to begin unloading the suitcases he was in charge of.

She follows him and rounds the end of the car, preparing to take some of his luggage.

“You don’t need to carry anything, it’s fine, dove.”

His voice is extra gravelly still and she would’ve complained about the new nicknames if he hadn’t sounded so hot. She didn’t think she had any feelings for Harry other than friendship, she was almost sure of it. Sure he was attractive, but ever since she actually got to know him she hadn’t thought of him in a way that could be considered more than friendship. He made her blush, but he was just inherently smooth. It wasn’t because he was specifically flirting with her.

Except right now, the whole reuniting of it all paired with his voice and his sleepy eyes that she imagined likely looked similar to his bedroom eyes. She was having a hard time seeing that line of friendship.

“No!” She protested, tugging the backpack he was attempting to carry along with the two suitcases from him.

He sighs and sets down one of the cases, “Y/N, you’ve already been too good to me by picking me up. I’m not making you do any more physical labor with any of my heavy shit.”

“It can’t be that heavy,” she pulls the backpack on and she resists the slight step back her body wants to take from the weight of the backpack.

“Give it back,” he says, sounding concerned for her.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it, Har,” she smiles and gives a little twirl in his large garage, the backpack making her look a bit smaller.

He twists his lips trying to ward off a smile. He wasn’t annoyed, moreso he was delighted by her antics. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and kiss her.

“Oh you got it? Do you?” His amusement betrays his British accent, making him sound like he did at 19. He places the other case on the ground and walks quickly to stand right in front of her.

She squeals as he gets so close, his nose just about brushes hers. He’s smiling sinisterly as he takes hold of the straps of the backpack and tries to tug them off of her. Yet, she holds on tight to the front of them, laughing happily at their silliness and causing her nose to brush against his.

Their eyes are strong on each other, watching their every move. And they settle a little, laughter dying out, breathing evening out. Her hands are still strong on the front straps of the backpack, while Harry’s are strong on the top of her shoulders, wrapped around the backpack’s straps as well.

He licks his lips, feeling especially interested in seeing how hers finally taste. Right as he is about to lean in, brush his lips against hers, she pulls from his grasp, swinging away from him and dashing to the door that leads to the rest of his house.

“C’mon, it’s freezing out here!” She twists the nob of the door and beckons him.

He huffs, shaking himself out of the daydream he had almost made reality. He wanted to kick himself, he felt like a kid. He needed to get a grip.

“I’m right behind ya’,” he called, nodding his head to tell her to go before him.

Her smile sears in his mind like the shine on a brand new coin as she flicks on the light in the entryway. The light comes flooding in the doorway and around her. For that quick moment only she is illuminated in his eyes. She shines for him and he wonders if it’s possible to drown in light.

Next Thursday

“Crown came out on Sunday!” Harry said as he opened the door, knowing it was Y/N who had knocked.

“Had no clue from the ominous text you sent, ‘come over, i promise popcorn *crown emoji*’,” she laughs and enters the house and holds out a bag of chocolate chips.

“I already have it queued up and popcorn’s popping!” He says happily and takes the chocolate chips to put in little dishes.

They walk into the kitchen and she’s still in awe of his home. It was clean and sleek but with all the hominess still easily found if you looked a little closer. Tea cloths hanging over the ovens’ handles that had interlocking G’s - a facet of Gucci she could only assume. Various paintings of different scenes, one a Japanese store front and another a Blue Jay perched easily on a thin branch.

There were unique painted tiles that he must use for hot plates and a single fancy floral mug tucked next to an espresso machine and just little things that she was keen on exploring at some point, but Harry caught her attention.

“Adult slushie?” He inquires with an arched brow.

“Does the slushie perform exotic dances?” She asks jokingly.

Harry rolls his eyes and chuckles, “Sometimes those that drink it do.”

She reddens at his implication. He then looks at her seriously and she regards him with utter delight. Her eyes twinkle as he moves about his home with ease.

“If you make it,” she confirms, in awe that he would make cocktails on this random occasion.

He smiles at her and begins his final tasks, checking to make sure the popcorn doesn’t burn and grabs the ingredients he needs to make the drink he was thinking of.

She stands beside him, eyes constantly wondering between his moving physique and his home.

“Did you know I know Emma?” Harry asks, looking up from the blender. She notices how his neck muscles twist and strain as he gazes at her. He was wearing a white t-shirt with ‘But Daddy I Love Him’ in a red vintage font and a black cardigan with different colorful objects on it, mostly flowers, it said ‘Spaceboy’ on the back and she had smiled when she saw it when he led her to the kitchen.

She hums, her gaze focused on him. His green eyes flicker across her face and down her body, simply taking into account her outfit. Pink sweatpants and a long sleeve with a drawing of a cute little clown holding two guns up at the air. While it might have sounded like a weird thing to have printed on a shirt, he found it fun, he was always appreciative of different clothing. Of course she had a gun-slinging clown shirt that she managed to make sweet, he thought.

“Fascinating connections of the rich and famous,” she muses.

“Yeah, well, Susan - Harry Lambert,” he corrects his friend’s nickname, catching himself, “he styles us both so we’ve met a few times. She’s really lovely.”

“That’s pretty epic,” she says and wanders closer to Harry, wanting a better look at his progress on the drinks.

Her hand rests on the countertop next to the two glasses he intends to place the ‘slushies’ into. The liquor he used just said “Blue” and she wondered what blue would taste like as he pours the glasses now. The consistency of them being relatively slushie like, she was impressed.

Her smile gives it away and Harry eyes her, “What’re you smiling at?”

“I’m admiring your bartending skills,” she meets his eyes and she realizes how rather close they’ve gotten as he leans slightly over her and the countertop.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says playfully, “I take my mixology very seriously so I don’t want any praise until you’ve actually tried it.”

He holds the glass up to her and instead of grabbing it from him, she simply guides it to her lips. Her hand lightly grasping at the soft fabric of his cardigan. She parts her lips and takes a small sip, maintaining eye contact with Harry.

When the icey liquid passes her lips, her eyes flutter shut at the sweetness of the drink, it was like candy but with a light kick at the end from the alcohol. She loved it and when she opened her eyes again she took the drink from Harry’s strong hand and took another sip.

“This is dangerously good,” she finally says and Harry grins.

“Fantastic! Now we’re ready to start the show,” and he leads them into his living room that is just as big or bigger than his kitchen. A large screen television and a turquoise velvet couch are the main attractions of the room, at least what Y/N is focused on. There’s more art and posters up in this room, a lovely round coffee table and gorgeous vintage rug.

“Wait, Susan?” she circles back to Harry’s earlier comment about Emma Corin and their shared stylist.

Harry smiles and sits next to her comfortably, placing the drinks on coasters and the other various items on the coffee table.

“It’s my nickname for Harry since we’re both...Harry. Just felt silly calling each other Harry and Sue and Susan, they just fit so well.”

She nods, “I see.” But she didn’t really get it. She’d never had a friend where they only called each other a different name from their own, maybe a nickname that she would occasionally call them, but never one so ingrained that she would call them it when referring to them to someone else who surely didn’t know them and wouldn’t know them by the different name. Not that she really knew who Harry Lambert was in the first place, but it still made more sense than Susan. She shook it off just as another quirk of Harry being who he was.

They settle in for the show and they love talking through it, which Y/N was happy that Harry liked to talk during shows as well. She hated when people shushed her during movies and shows when she had something to say. They commented on the fashion and how wild some of the stuff was. Thankfully, as well, even Harry thought some of the things the royals did were absurdly lavish.

“He is so hot,” she finally says when Prince Charles is on the screen for another time and she can’t keep it in anymore, “How could they cast him for Prince Charles, they are far too kind.”

“Josh?” Harry questions, glancing over at his friend curled up on the couch next to him. She had her feet tucked beneath her legs and had her body on its side while staring at the television.

“Don’t tell me you know him too?” She says, taking her focus off the TV to look at Harry, a chocolate chip landing in her mouth once she finished talking.

Their blue slushies had been finished and the popcorn was half eaten. She was pretty sure they were on the second episode already.

He laughs, “No, but Emma says he’s very nice...He is rather attractive.”

That makes her smile, the both of them finding an actor attractive. It felt like Harry was like one of her friends from home, chatting about boys, something she really didn’t do anymore.

“Maybe you can introduce us,” she laughs, her head nudging at Harry’s shoulder beside her.

She doesn’t notice Harry’s lack of mirth at her joke as she turns her attention back to the screen, re-immersing herself in the plot. He twitches slightly uncomfortably at the thought of him introducing her to someone she might be interested in romantically.

“Why not,” he says half-heartedly and he hopes she doesn’t notice his tone.

The next day was Friday and she had the day off as per usual.

After three episodes of the Crown, she and Harry had decided to call it a night. He had offered that she could spend the night so she didn’t have to walk home after she had refused to let him walk her across the street. However, she declined, saying she didn’t like leaving Rori alone at night, especially since he was still getting used to the new house. Harry had understood but she could tell he was saddened by her leaving.

She had decided to plant some flowers in her front yard, hoping to liven it up. She had bought some plants at the local flower shop, pansies and aster thinking that purple and gold would look lovely together. She planned to set to work with little experience, but plenty of intention. Rori was outside with her for moral support, prancing through the growing grass and nibbling at the shrubs, more like a bunny than a dog.

Her mother had gifted her gardening tools a long time ago and their entire family had laughed because they knew Y/N didn’t have a green anything, most definitely not a green thumb. Today she had grabbed them and the plants and had placed it all in front of her planters. Then she sat there and went on her phone, scrolling through it mindlessly. She had no idea what she was doing or where to start so getting distracted was easy.

“Need any help?”

Her head turns and she slides away her phone with a sigh, knowing exactly who had just kindly asked to lend a hand.

Harry squints down at her and in this moment she is especially aware of just how tall Harry actually is. Normally she notices his height and thinks ‘yeah he’s tall’, but right now he towers over her. His hair is catching the surprising fall sun and causing glints of gold to radiate off him. His eyes are especially light right now and she feels oddly unnerved by their color, the hazy mint of some kind of predator. He is such a presence and she thought she had finally gotten used to him being in her life, but in this moment she is taken aback. She shakes her head after a moment too long of staring up at him.

“Hi,” she breathes and stands up from her sitting position. “I was just starting to do some planting, and I don’t know if you can tell but I have no gardening skills whatsoever.”

She gestures to her set up and Harry turns his gaze from her to the plants and smiles. He had been coming back from his morning jog and instead of entering his gate, he walked through hers. He looks at everything and reaches down to pet Rori when he comes running up happily to his friend.

“Well, it looks like a good start. Aster is an interesting thing to plant…” He kneels down to start digging up the soil in the planters.

She kneels beside him and watches him attentively. “I wanted chrysanthemums, they’re one of my favorites. But they were out, so it will have to do.”

“It will do perfectly,” he looks up at her from his work, “you wouldn’t have picked it if it wasn’t amazing.”

She makes a small smile at his statement, but doesn’t respond. Instead, she takes up mimicking his actions with the soil.

“Do you garden a lot?” Her voice is soft, not wanting to disturb the quiet that had fallen over them.

“Not much anymore, I don’t really have the time, but I used to with my mum.”

She hums and scratches behind Rori’s ears absentmindedly when he looks curiously at what they’re doing.

They work silently, only talking intermittently. At one point, she grabs them glasses of water from the kitchen, mostly for Harry because he’s actually working up a sweat planting her garden. Harry hums random songs that are on his mind and she wishes he would sing for her, but she would never dare ask him to.

They talk about the Crown and how much they loved all the clothes in it last night and where the plot is going since they know the true history it’s based on. Harry offers British insight into the Royals that she had never thought about and they even venture into British politics which she admits she never really thought about since usually the US politics is far more in the spotlight.

He talks about his views on politics and she gives hers, even stranger though they even venture further into usually rocky territory and discuss religion. She is very interested by what Harry has to say about religion, his answers are both completely expected and unexpected. Something she’s noticed about Harry with her is that she always seems to be surprised by what he says, but it still manages to make complete sense after a moment.

“I’m going back to LA tomorrow,” Harry muses as he regards one of the pansies, like he’s almost staring it straight in the eye.

“Oh?” She turns to face him.

She stops her aimless moving about of the dirt. She had mostly been playing with the dirt while he did the majority of the work. She just didn’t enjoy it. Harry had definitely made the activity palatable. She’d have to tell him she would have likely given up an hour ago had he not been there.

He sighs and sets the pansy into the hole in the soil he had made for it. “More shooting for the movie, I’ll be gone for another month.”

“Wow…I think saying goodbye to you is just going to get harder and harder.” She looks away, her arms crossing over herself instinctively when the wind blows just a little too hard.

Harry looks at her now and sees her curling in on herself and he wants to hug her, but they weren’t like that. Instead he places a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slowly up and down trying to offer her some warmth.

“I think we’ve made enough progress today. It’s starting to get cold, hm?”

She looks at him now and nods, her hand moving up and capturing his in hers. Like they had when Harry walked her home after his game, their fingers twist and turn around each other. Their eyes shying between each other’s faces and interlocked hands.

She springs to her feet after a couple quiet minutes of dodging eye contact and simply enjoying the feel of one another against each other.

“I should thank you for all this help,” she starts and Harry gets up to stand, beginning to say there is no need for a thank you for what he did.

“No, no.” She stops him, “I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without your help and I took up all of your day, practically.” She takes hold of his hands now to examine the dirt that has managed to cover them since he was convinced that she should wear the gloves her mother gave her. “You should come over tonight and I’ll cook you dinner. I’m a much better cook than I am a gardener.”

Harry looks at her quietly, his eyes blinking slowly. Like he’s basking in the small movements she’s making on his hands. She traces the little cross that straddles his thumb and pointer finger on his left hand.

“I’ll make sure to bring dessert then.” He smiles and tilts his head to the right and a little forward towards her. She gazes up at him softly. “I might even bring something extra special.”

She raises her brows, “A special treat from Harry Styles himself. I’ll be anxiously awaiting your return then.” She taunts him only slightly because what he had said just about brought her to her knees. The way his smile had shifted to a smirk and how his voice has grown quiet and low, it just felt very intimate.

Harry returns at half past six, as requested by Y/N. He was freshly showered and cologned and she had never found a man more attractive than in that moment. Before he came over he told her he was dressing nice and she had no idea what that might mean with him. But when she saw him, she understood.

What it meant was a crisp blue big collared Gucci dress shirt unbuttoned almost half way down his chest revealing his ever present cross and fitted high waisted brown trousers. His fresh haircut meant for the 50’s slicked back with pieces beginning to fall about just perfectly. No belt, no cufflinks, and no suit coat. Instead of a coat he had on a jacket that was similar to her giraffe jacket he had borrowed all those days ago. His own was comfortably settled over his shoulders and it was obviously made of fabrics far nicer than hers and wasn’t fraying in any place.

He posed in her doorway and even gave a twirl at which time Y/N laughed happily. It looked amazing on him, she had no idea how her jacket had been the thing that started this all.

“How do you like it?” He asks seriously. “Does it look alright?”

“It looks perfect on you, Har. Is that the extra special surprise?”

He smirks smugly at her compliment and comes into the home, greeting Rori quickly before following her back into the kitchen where she was still cooking.

“Oh no,” he says and places a bag filled with a bottle of red wine and a pint of her favorite ice cream on the counter (and the surprise tucked neatly at the bottom of the bag).

She looks at him quizzically as he begins to take the items out of the bag.

“There’s one last thing in there,” he points to the bag casually, while putting the ice cream in her freezer. “Do ya’ mind grabbing it for me, dove?”

She rolls her eyes and reaches into the bag. Her hand retrieves a magazine from the bottom of the bag and when she flips it over to the front side, a gasp escaped her lips.

“Harry! Oh my god!” Her hand goes to her mouth as she takes in the cover.

A US Vogue magazine with Harry on the front of it. He’s blowing up a balloon in the photo and he looks beautiful. His skin is flawless and his hair is luscious and flowing a little longer than he kept it now due to the movie.

“I’m a Vogue cover model now, eh?” He asks, looking on apprehensively as she begins to gingerly flick her fingers through the magazine’s pages.

“This is the surprise?” She looks up from the page with him and Gemma sitting side by side.

Harry nods and watches her absentmindedly trace his face on the page.

“Do you like the pictures?” His voice is soft and almost timid?

“Of course!” She exclaims, not wanting to let any doubts pass through Harry’s mind. “Is this what you were doing up in Scotland a couple months ago, right before we became friends and you said you wanted to surprise me with something top secret?”

He nods again, his grin creeping onto his face as she stares at the photo of him in the cover photo’s outfit where you can see the entire dress.

“I want that dress...did they let you keep it?” She continues flicking through the pages lightly and glancing at Harry across from her. The dinner forgotten for the moment.

“It’s Gucci, I didn’t keep it, but I’m sure I could call Susan and get you one ordered,” he replies easily, leaning over the counter to watch the magazine.

She scoffs, “I can’t afford a Gucci gown for no reason...AND before you try to say you’ll pay for it, I would never accept such a gift and I am so for real about that, Harry.”

He waves his hands out in front of him as if to say he’d never suggest such a thing even though they both knew he’d buy it for her in a heartbeat.

“These pants…” she mutters, eyes now fixed on the trousers Harry is wearing in a specific photo in the magazine. They’re tan with a darker stripe on the side of them but the most intriguing part is all of the different drawings on it that seemed to be all related to Harry.

“They’re fab, no?” He quirks a brow at her, his face still holding an apprehensive grin like she’ll take back her praise at a moment’s notice.

“So fab,” she echoes. “Are they bespoke?” Her question has a hint of sarcasm dripping behind it, knowing by now Harry was notorious for custom-made items.

“What gave it away?” He wiggles his brows.

Her eyes flicker to meet his and she sees they’ve ended up face to face once again. It seemed to happen too often with one another. She settles the magazine down and stands up straight. She couldn’t allow herself to indulge in the proximity of his inviting lips. The proximity of his warmth that had seemed to seep into all facets of her life in the last two months or so. It was wonderful and warm, but it wasn’t hers. She shared him with so many other people and she couldn’t get carried away with him because tomorrow he’d be gone.

“That really is amazing Harry. I’m very proud of you, but if you don’t want a burnt dinner, I need to start paying attention to what I’m cooking.” She turns away from him and she quickly takes a palm to swipe beneath her eye, collecting the stray liquid that somehow fell from her eye. Funny thing, she wasn’t cooking with onions.

Harry doesn’t notice the movement, simply sighing that she turned from him yet again. He ran a hand through his hair, further tousling the once coiffed hairdo and then twisted his ‘H’ ring around his finger before settling on a bar stool to flip through the magazine and watch her cook.

“When does the magazine come out?” She calls as she stirs the sauce that she’d be pouring over their spaghetti squash once it was finished baking.

“Next week, They’ll release the story online and then I’ll be hitting shelves,” he muses, reading a different story in the magazine, not particularly interesting in himself.

“I’m sure you’ll be flying off those shelves the second you’re placed down.” She laughs at her joke and Harry rubs his lips with his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully.

“You think so?” His eyes sparkle with mischief at his question.

She turns her head, an open-mouthed grin already on her face, a slight scoff falling from her mouth, “Oh c’mon, you know so. I think you’re one of the most loved men in the world and people fall more and more in love each year.” She almost added ‘and I don’t blame them’ but she refrained thankfully.

“Most loved...I like that. Such an interesting way to put it.”

“I mean, you’ve been famous for what? Ten years now? That’s a long time and I don’t think you’re going anywhere...At this point it’s not about how big your celebrity star is, it’s your level of belovedness and I think that level is quite high.” She comments on something about Harry they never talked too much of. Sometimes they talked about him knowing famous people and about the work he had to fly off to do, but never the specific fame of it all. She didn’t really think Harry liked to talk about.

She didn’t have much of an opinion on it, it didn’t matter to her whether Harry was a famous multi-talented big-C celebrity or he was a nobody with a random job. As long as he was still her neighbour she would never complain. He made her so happy and maybe if he hadn’t been famous he wouldn’t be the way that he was so she would never say it was a nuisance. It just came along with him.

“Well...like I said, it’s a lovely way to put it. So, thank you for that.”

He stands up now, forgetting the magazine and rounding the counter to find a cork for the wine seeing that Y/N was doing the final touches on their food.

They eat dinner across from each other at her modest-sized dinner table. Harry slips his giraffe coat off and rolls up his sleeves to allow him to “really dig in” to the dinner she made for them. Maybe some footsy occurs beneath the table but neither of them would ever admit to it so did it really happen? Just feet moving randomly and happening to rub against one another every so often.

After dinner and a bottle of wine, the two of them join Rori in the living room where he’s curled up on one of the throw pillows. Y/N runs back to the kitchen to scoop them ice cream and whips of two Moscow Mules to go with it because she had brought up how when she usually goes home for the holidays, her and her sister always have a competition of who can make the most unique but best tasting Moscow Mule. Harry had said how he’d love to be there one day for that and she had blushed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear from the comment before taking a large gulp of wine. Since that wasn’t possible right now, her tipsy mind had decided that the next best thing was to make some basic ones right now.

“I bring a Mule and an ice cream,” she says airly, playing like a royal herself, as she holds them out to Harry.

He laughs softly and accepts them graciously, doing a slight head bow to her. Before he can say anything she’s a flash of plaid and red as she runs back for her own ice cream and drink. He had been complimenting her plaid pants with golden bees on them all night and asked her where she got them, teasing that they must be Gucci, but all she would say is that he couldn’t have them to go make a copy of this time.

She re-enters the room and dims the lights with her hip. Then she settles beside him, clinking her glass with him and they both take their first sip.

“Hmmm,” Harry hums after he tastes the cocktail, “I like it.”

“Moscow Mules are a favorite with my family,” she muses, flicking through the television to get them set up to watch the Crown again.

“Maybe I should meet them and thank them for bestowing such a good favorite unto their daughter?” Harry asks and she laughs and rolls her eyes. Questions of meeting family when they were just friends didn’t need a response. Right?

They spoon ice cream into their mouths as the show begins and they murmur comments to one another throughout the episode. They idly pet Rori sometimes as he moves randomly around the room trying to find the place he likes most. Once Harry’s done with his ice cream, Rori thinks his chest is the best place to be and Y/N can’t help but snap a quick photo of it.

“Not quite as handsome without the dress, but it’ll do,” she sighs and snuggles into Harry’s side. Her hand reaches up to scratch at Rori which then leaves her arm wrapped around Harry when her dog inexplicably leaves to go to bed a few minutes later.

He was an awfully good wingman Harry would easily admit at a much later date.

They stay cuddled casually with one another for the entirety of two more episodes and they realize they’re more than halfway done with the season. A yawn from Y/N cues to Harry that he should suggest they pause for the night. She agrees easily, her head nuzzling into his strong shoulder for a little while.

Harry takes the remote from her and turns off the television before flicking on the side table turquoise glass-blown lamp.

“Can I put some music on?” He whispers in her ear, already knowing the answer, but waiting for her to nod her head. She obliges and he slowly slides her onto the couch beneath them. Then he begins padding around her house to find her speaker.

“Arrow Through Me” by Harry’s all time role model Paul McCartney’s second band Wings begins to play through the speakers. What a fucking moutful.

She perks up at the music and sits up straighter on her couch. Her smile grows as Harry shakes his hips a little and moves to the beat of the song as he makes his way back over to the couch. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead of words ringing loud through the room, it's the sound of a phone buzzing from somewhere between a few cushions on the couch

“Oh shit...shit, shit, shit,” she awakens herself out of her daze with her profanity. Attempting to find her phone rather haphazardly, she stumbles around the couch.

It’s Harry who fishes the phone from beneath a throw pillow and hands it over to his friend. She smiles thankfully, her hair a little messy and her eyes slightly crazed, before picking up the phone without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?...Cate?...Oh, hey….No, I didn’t look at the ID...figured it was you or someone in the states...no one in the UK would call me right now...It’s almost midnight here, you asshole,” she pauses and points at the phone and mouths “it’s Cate” like Harry hadn’t been sitting there listening to the entire conversation.

“I’m just hanging out watching the new season of Crown...with Harry...yeah, that Harry,” she flits her eyes to Harry for a second and rolls her eyes sarcastically.

“Talk to him? I mean.. I can put you on speaker, I guess?” She looks at Harry and he nods his head eagerly.

She rejoins him on the couch and places the phone on the coffee table, tapping on the speaker.

“You’re on speaker now.”

“Hi Harry!” Cate crackles over the line, happily, likely just awoken from her slumber in California.

“Hullo, love,” he says sweetly, his voice beginning to slow even more as the night wears on.

Y/N rolls her eyes at both of her friends, knowing Harry was laying it on thick and that Cate would squeal over this exchange for the next three weeks.

“What are you two lovebirds up to?” She inquires sweetly and Harry makes an arched brow at Y/N and she only supplies a shaken head and a shoulder shrug.

“Cate….” Y/N drags out, annoyed with her for both saying that and for calling just as she was planning on going to sleep.

“Sorry! Friends, I know. Even though staying in on a Friday night with just the two of you doesn’t sound very friendly…” She begins to ramble on, but Y/N offers another warning ‘Cate’. Cate takes the hint and finishes her teasing. “Anyways…”

Harry and Y/N are completely red, sitting next to one another but grateful for the minimal lighting.

“I was just calling to check-in. Do you know what you’re doing for the holidays yet? I know you don’t do thanksgiving anymore - which was yesterday by the way - since you’re all British now.”

Y/N scoffs at her close friend and Harry nudges her side about the British thing.

“I don’t know yet, I have to see my work schedule and all that. I don’t know if I want to fly across the world this year though…” She trails off, kind of quieting in hope that Cate will miss it.

Harry regards the conversation, casually interested, yet intrigued since he had been meaning to ask the exact same question.

Cate hums, obviously unhappy with the response. “Alright. And you Harry? Do you usually go home to your family for the holidays?”

“You don’t need to answer that,” Y/N interjects.

Harry places a hand on her thigh to let her know that it’s completely fine. An easy smile on his lips as he speaks to the phone. Y/N places her hand over Harry’s on instinct.

“Usually, yeah. This year we were thinking of all going out to my place in Italy so it’s kind of up in the air right now. When I get back from LA, I’ll probably finalize it.”

“LA you said? We should get together while you’re here.”

“Cate. He’s there on business.”

“I know...but still. It’s fine,” Cate laughs lightly, knowing she was pushing her luck with this conversation as it was. “Anyways, darling, I just wanted to tell you I miss you and that Harry’s not allowed to replace me as your best friend. Y’hear that Mr. Styles?”

“I sure do, love.”

Everyone laughs whole heartedly and Harry and Y/N are still playing with each other’s fingers on top of her thigh.

Y/N thinks that’s enough of the conference call with Harry and Cate so she snatches the phone with her free hand and raises it back to her ear.

“Alright, Cate, I think we’re going to head to bed...not...not like that...I hate you...Now I definitely don’t want to come home...I’m kidding, I’ll think about it...Love you, too….Yeah I’ll tell him...Have a nice day…”

She throws the phone on the coffee table again and falls back on the couch. Her head rolls to rest on Harry’s broad shoulder and she sighs softly. Harry moves his head to rest over hers, chuckling softly. His sweet breaths of joy are why he then receives a soft slap on his far arm, only making him laugh more.

“Shut up,” her muffled voice comes out from against his blue shirt that is far more crumpled than it was when he came over hours ago.

“She’s so funny,” he laughs again, nosing his face into her hair.

“She tries to get away with way too much,” she sighs and Harry just pats at her side, smiling and not caring at all about the things Cate was hinting at because he wanted what she was alluding to to be reality.

“Y’know I have a question because she said I can’t be your best friend and that’s fine with me, but I wanted to tell you something, love.”

Her head raises to look Harry in the eye, slightly confused by his preface.

“You’re my best friend,” he says earnestly in the dark living room, “Is that allowed?”

His accent was thick with anticipation, the night wearing on his vocal cords. It was so quiet in the room, Harry was sure she just heard him swallow his own saliva - he had paused the music after a minute into the call with Cate. He blinks twice while waiting for any response, he stares straight at her.

Her eyes barely shine through the darkness as she looks back at him. His question rattled through her mind. ‘Is it allowed’ for him to think of her as his best friend. It just didn’t make complete sense to her and she wasn’t sure if she should vocalize that doubt. But as his eyes begin to mist like a forest on a cold morning she knows she has to say something.

Her eyelids shut as she lets out a heavy breath, the processing of what Harry’s just said finishes.

“It’s allowed...Do you mean it?”

“Course I mean it,” his voice cracks, an incredulous laugh leaving his lips.

She straightens up, moving slightly from his warm embrace. He becomes fidgety without her tucked in his side. His fingers itch without her arm to caress. His lips move between his teeth without her hair to ghost over.

When she remains silent, Harry decides to continue.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he croaks and she furrows her brow at this. “It was the day you moved in...Had just come home from my morning run and you’d pulled up in your moving van. I thought you had on the coolest pair of jeans I’d ever seen…” He pauses. He takes a deep breath and her eyes are watering now.

“I also thought you were one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen and I knew I had to know you.”

“Why’d it’d take you so long?” Is all she asks as she tries to will away the water welling in her eyes.

Harry rolls his lips together and breathlessly laughs, head tilted up to the sky. “Never knew how to approach ya’. Then you bumped into me, felt like it was the universe kicking me for being so damn slow.”

She bites her lip, a tear rolling down her cheek finally. “Oh, Harry.”

Then there it is. What the last few months had been leading up to. The moment where they no longer were able to wonder what the other would taste like. No more guessing. No more wondering. It was concrete. It was her lips pressed to Harry’s. She laughed lightly after a moment, pressing closer to him. His lips felt like the softest pillow she could ever lay on and she never wanted to get out of bed.

A small breath came out of his nose as he pressed eagerly back against her. She tasted like ginger and chocolate and maybe cherry - her chapstick possibly. He sucked at her lips, never wanting the taste or the feeling to go away. She was so soft and smooth and she responded quickly to his push.

Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and into his hair as he pulled her closer by her waist. They were attempting to inhale one another, taking inventory of every possible crevice of each other they hadn’t touched before.

Harry’s lips part slightly as he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip. She giggles, tugging him over her and opening up her mouth easily. He pushes forward, a small sound leaving his mouth as he shifts them into a lying position on the couch, her legs encircling his waist.

A hand runs along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone and then down her arm. It lands so that he can intertwine their hands together. He feels her smile beneath him and he smiles back despite their lips never leaving one another. His other hand caresses her cheek as he kisses her.

Eventually, his lips roam around her face and on her neck aways, but mostly he focuses on her lips. Both of them are more than happy with this decision as they continue on for what feels like hours. Yet still those hours don’t feel long enough.

She pulls at a button on his shirt at one point, but Harry pulls back.

“I think we should call it a night.”

“Really?” She looks at him with confusion and a swirl of hurt in her eyes.

“It’s late, love, and… we just, I don’t want to rush anything.”

“Alright,” she nods, sitting up and running a finger down the side of his face.

“I think I’ve been doing best friends wrong all this time.” she muses, tracing lines on Harry’s neck now. Her eyes focused on her work.

“And why’s that?” Harry asks, his own hands running up and down her back.

“I’ve never snogged a best friend for hours on end.” She laughs and Harry can’t help his snort.

He moves his head to rest on her shoulder, almost like a hug, but not quite. She doesn’t move away, simply turns her head to continue watching her hands trace him, her work now moving to the back of his neck and his upper back and shoulders.

He hums a little bit, a love song he had played for himself the last few weeks when he tried to fall asleep and all that he could think of was her. She smiles softly and places a kiss on his shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed, darling.”

Harry nods, wrapping his arms around Y/N and carrying her to her room.

The next morning she finds herself wrapped happily in a set of strong, tattooed arms. She sighs content, snuggling closer to the warm naked chest in front of her.

“G’morning,” the man beneath her whispers. His voice a low rumbling rasp, she feels the vibrations below her.

“Morning,” she mumbles, nuzzling her nose into the crevice of his sternum, just above the butterfly that lives on his chest.

He hums at the feeling, slightly shivering from the cold, but pulls her closer nonetheless. She caresses his side with a light touch in response. Her fingers trace unknown patterns down his ribcage and then dip to the ferns peeking from his boxers. He shifts slightly when her fingers travel there. A place no one but him had touched in a long time.

“’ve got a plane to catch,” he says sadly and he brushes a hair from her face as she turns to look at his face.

His neck strains to regard her and he has a bit of a double chin from this angle, but she couldn’t care less. He looked so beautiful staring down at her. She never wanted to look away or lose this image. His eyelashes lightly caressed the skin just below his eyes everytime he blinked. It was quiet enough that if she listened close she could hear each flutter. The eyes behind them were even better, a dark rim of green encases emerald irises that hold black and gold specs, stars and stories swirl hidden beneath it all. She wants to drown in it.

He winks at her as she stares, growing disarmed with her intense gaze on him for so long. Her calming caress keeps him grounded though and she laughs at the wink, relieving him of her scrutiny that he didn’t understand was awe.

She groans, unhappy, “Miss it.”

“I can’t,” he drags out, not wanting to leave either.

“Can’t convince you to stay, no?” She rolls on top of him, pushing her chest against him and giving him doe eyes.

His strong arms encircle her waist as her legs straddle him. She arches more into him and leans down to kiss in between his pecs. Her eyes never leave his face, watching his reaction. It’s his turn to groan with a loud sigh to match. He throws his head back and steals himself to say,

“Not even a chance.”

She remembers when he had begged her to come with him and she smiles at his recycling over her response.

“Fair enough,” she says and rolls off of him. His head falls to the side to watch her get up and begin her day. He takes a deep breath, wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Harry heads back to his place to get ready for his departure. Before he leaves he joins Y/N and Rori for an early tea at the café. They get their drinks to go and walk back to Harry’s together. When they arrive, Harry’s car is waiting and she feels a dryness in her throat. He looks down at Rori and gives him a quick pet. He turns to her and she smiles weakly.

Harry’s hand encircles her wrist, caressing her softly. He leans down quickly and pecks her lips. It feels like he was barely there and then he was gone. It was like a butterfly had landed on her lips and wrist and then it had vanished.

Off his sleek black car goes, soon out of sight and headed for the airport. And there she is, left on Sherwood Avenue. Her fingers move to dance over her lips and then over her jaw and down her neck. Every place his touch had burned her in the past 24 hours. And now he was gone, across the world.

No talk of what came next had been spoken between them. She wasn’t sure what they were and didn’t know if she could handle that talk over the phone. She walked home after a few minutes of standing with her dog in front of Harry’s now vacant home. She sat silently in her house for half of the day.

At dusk, she decides on a run, maybe it will get her mind off her neighbour. She had sat in the same spot for too long. The same spot they had kissed each other last night. Maybe a change of scenery would stop the movie reel of last night that kept playing over and over in her mind.

She runs down the street, specifically keeping her eyes off the lovely home across from her, and keeps running down different streets, past the café, down to the park, and then finally reaches a stream that is past some brush and trees at the end of the park. There’s a bench there that seems like a nice place to rest.

Her music has been playing the entire time, the playlist she chose was inundated with Taylor Swift - but not chosen for that specific reason. Each song thankfully not from 1989. At least not until she’s running through the park. “You are in love” begins to play, it’s soft Twin Peaks-esque opening is familiar to her. It fits the cool rush of wind against her skin and the leaves that have turned brown as fall has worn on. She’d listened to it a thousand times. Sometimes thinking about the man who inspired the song, but all those times were long before she had ever met him.

Now that she knew him, she almost skipped it, but shook her head to herself feeling silly for feeling uncomfortable listening to a song she liked. Her run turns into a walk as she reaches the stream. The chorus begins. Taylor softly serenades about being in love. About a man in love with a woman. About Harry being in love with her.

She takes a deep breath, hearing the words a little different this time. Taylor sings “You kiss on sidewalks” and this morning flashes in her mind. She looks out at the stream, the water rushing along as she stands there, still catching her breath. Then the next part of the song reaches into her heart and twists it with all its might.

“One night he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses, then says, ‘you’re my best friend’.”

And that’s it. She takes out her headphones, her breath no longer capable of being caught. She breathes heavier and heavier. Her throat was as tight and dry as when Harry had left this morning. Possibly even worse. She can’t even swallow this time. Her phone and headphones are discarded on the bench as she raises her hands to her face and begins to pace beside the stream. Her eyes eventually match the body of water next to her and she feels a sob wrack through her. She couldn’t breath, her running and panic had brought her asthma to the forefront and she was hyperventilating, gasping for air. She was drowning and no one was there to help her.

Tears stream down her face and she moves her hands to her thighs as she tries to calm down, not knowing how she reached this level of distraughtness. Deep breaths she reminds herself. She licks her lips and shuts her eyes. “Just ground yourself,” she whispers.

When she’s finally gotten ahold of herself she sits at the bench and stares into the stream. A distorted version of herself seems to stare back. It’s constantly moving, swirling, and changing ��and as she watches that version of herself she wants to scream. Her tears had faded awhile ago, but the fear was still there.

The last few months had been so easy, had been so perfect. Going over to each other’s houses and being with each other. But if she ignored history wasn’t she destined to repeat it? When she heard the confessional of the man Taylor had loved in her song, when he had told her she was his best friend which meant he was in love, she felt hurt. She knew how their story ended. Taylor and Harry’s. He left. He left her when she needed him and today, Y/N realized it’s what he does. It wasn’t his fault, she didn’t blame him for leaving today. It was his job, not another woman. But holy fuck when she heard Taylor sing those lyrics, it felt like she had been hit on the head out of nowhere. Reminded that she had been living in a fairytale for the last few months, swept up in a fantasy that she wasn’t meant to be a part of.

She ran a hand over her face, rubbing slightly at her cheek. The same cheek Harry had caressed last night and she sighed. She stared off into the trees and then shook her head, standing up and heading back home. Alone.

Harry calls her when he arrives at LAX. She doesn’t pick up. He calls the next day. She doesn’t pick up. He texts and receives no response for three days.

She thought she didn't know what she would say.

“I listened to too much of your ex’s music and now I’m insecure.”

“I feel like you’re gonna leave me someday so I’m too afraid to do anything with you.”

“Is it alright if we’re just friends, I don’t think my heart could take the pain of falling in love with you and then losing you.”

“You can’t promise me forever and after just one kiss I knew I couldn’t do anything less.”

“The price of loving you is far too high.”

She types them all out and then deletes them every time. Too scared. Instead:

“I’m busy with work, I don’t know when I won’t be. Let’s just plan on meeting up when you’re home.”

Harry nods when he sees the text on Friday. He tells her to take care and make sure she gets enough rest. He wipes away the stray tear that decided to escape his eyes after reading her response. He exhales and looks to the sky, wondering what could have possibly happened since he had left. He sends little emojis over the next few weeks that she puts a heart on, but she doesn’t communicate otherwise.

Harry doesn’t ask her to pick him up. Instead he sends flowers to her house the Thursday before he returns. They make her smile and she wonders if maybe she can move past every red flag she feels like she sees. After a month away, she can’t lie and say she’s not excited for Harry to return. She missed his warm skin and his soft hair. She missed everything and the flowers had only made her wish it had been Harry on her doorstep a couple days early.

He gets home on the 12th and he’s at her door after throwing his things in his entryway.

She opens the door and bites her lip as she takes in who it is.

Harry says her name breathlessly and she melts. Her doubts fly out the window for the moment and all she wants are his lips on hers.

She falls into him and his lips are on hers. They twist into one another and their lips move softly yet urgently against one another. Not sure how to explain the last four weeks, they both attempt to say everything in that kiss. All her pain and confusion press into Harry’s lip with each breath. All his sadness and longing tug at her lips as he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth and hungers for more.

He pulls back and stares straight into her eyes, “Come to Italy with me for the holidays.”

She tilts her head confused, trying to catch her own breath.

“I’m not sure what happened while I was gone, love. But I know I missed you and I can’t go another month without you. Just say yes and we’ll take it from there...Please,” he begs, voice cracking as he holds her cheek.

She wets her lips and opens them to speak, but her voice betrays her. Instead she just nods and squeaks out a noise of approval. Too elated to speak, they press their lips back together and she pulls Harry into her home.

December was far too cold to snog out in the freezing night air.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one shot #neighbor!harry #I live in the neighbourhood #part 2 #part 3 to come #pls rb and message me ily #surprisingly somewhat proofread

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batarangsoundsdumb · 4 years ago

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guess fucking what? my inbox is so fucking full right now i'm unloading all of this shit in one post.

For the 11th gotham memes: gothamites react to bruce being jacked in a tiktok he made with kids, like super yoked, ripped as hell

fucking hilarious thanks. i think i did it in one meme post, but i genuinely don't remember which one

i dunno which of the batfam would do this but one time i was sleeping over at a friends house and ended up on the floor bc the bed was so very small and i just stayed there because the rug was soft

that's a drunk jason move i don't know what to tell you

tim and jason are "i listen to pop punk" solidarity. whenever jason highjacks the batmobile theyll go on long ass car rides blaring mcr and paramore and then never talk about it again

as they should!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tim: no jason it's my turn using the aux cord i gotta put on my jams jason: don't you dare put on weird shit tim: don't worry, you're gonna love this *plays fearless (taylor's version)

hear me out hear me out, red hood stans 🤝 nightwing stans t h i g h s

holy shit yes.

SNL au: Bruce breaks character when pretending to superman and says something like "I'm not superman! You've seen his gps!! It's from 2001!!!" @sabeanybabe

superman flies past the snl building the next day just to say 'actually it's from 2005, i'm not a heathen'

does your back hurt from carrying the batfam fandom

it hurts more from the exotic rock collection i keep in my backpack, but thanks for the concern.

I love your posts by why would you always leave the best parts in the tags?

as a treat for the people that check the tags ;) (and also because i'm committed to the short post aesthetic)

somehow your playlist was everything i never knew i needed. i mean it. this is my new favorite playlist.

and don't you dare get a new favourite playlist!

babe ur stoner tim playlist is exactly too perfect, earth is literally blessed by ur existence

babe thanks so much! i love my stoner tim playlist because it's just my usual playlist but people think it's an artistic choice that i put taylor swift and britney spears in there, when it's just what i unironically like listening to

JANDKSKDK BILLY RAY CYRUS ON THE STONER TIM PLAYLIST I LOVE IT IT

again it's not even an ironic choice, i know every single word and i genuinely like the song

The last chapter of Fundamentals of Casework has me crying at work. Thanks I love it @dudelookitsalesbian

oh babe, i'm sorry, but also, not sorry i love chapter 4 so much it's my lovechild with the 'mental illness' tag

soooo....stumbled on your tumblr by some stroke of fate??? read your DC fanfic first. which is PHENOMENAL btw. then found all the batmemes; the funniest thing EVER bc everyone forgets about regular old gothamites. kept scrolling and your blog pops up as recommended. clicked on the ao3 for shits and giggles and waddaya know?!?!? it's YOU!!! you're LEGEND!!!! ever seen that meme? it's a video of a cat that got into a baseball field and the two announcers get really invested in his escape attempt and start giving a play by play of the cat instead of the game. memeable moment: "GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!"

i seriously think about this ask every single day and it's so fucking funny to me that i've never seen the meme you're referencing, but i still find myself going 'GREAT stuff from the Cat!!!' whenever i see something funny. but wow i'm glad you liked this steaming pile of garbage

Fav dc character overall? And fav batfamily character?

don't ask me to pick between the loves of my life, but i can tell you i've cried about every single batfamily member and also wally west (my beloved)

What's your opinion on fans having a problem with batfam being "too big"? And some even claim that batfam is just "Bruce Alfred Dick Damian" and the rest of them are just "friends and allies" (source: reddit) Personally, I like batfam because of this reason but idk

stupid. a family can never be too big. i'm not that big a fan of like huge batfam stuff with everybody from every single universe, because as much as it's funny for bruce to have like 30 kids, it just feels a little too OOC for me.

This is the best tag I've seen involving the batfam, thanks for thinking of it

This is canon now @nctxrejects

lmao yeah i think at that point alfred has had to sit through like at least a dozen coming out talks and just has a pride flag collection in the attic that he pulls out whenever a kid comes out

idk why batfam hits different as compared to any other superhero family

bc it's found family and usually the other superhero families are almost all genetically related in one way or another

I don't know if you watch the umbrella academy but I saw your last post about batcest and saw the similarities. But the thing is (although I think it's weird) in TUA, they addressed it by saying "they were raised as weapons, not siblings" or something along those lines, which is simply not the case with batfam.

yeah i watched tua but i also thought it was ridiculous and they still treated each other as siblings so i didn't like the luthor/allison thing, and am glad they stopped doing that shit bc it fucking sucked.

Hot take: Batcest shippers are the same people who believe adopted siblings are not actual siblings

smoking hot take: batcest shippers are the people who watch 'my sister got stuck in the washing machine' porn

Duke was adopted by Bruce?

not technically no, but do i, tumblr user batarangsoundsdumb, look like i care?

True story but I had to change my freaking name because it used to be "Damien" and most people would go "OH LIKE DAMIAN WAYNE" like please I'm just tryna live

true story, but i don't actually think of damian when i hear the name damian, literally the first thing that pops up is damian darkh like bruh what?

apparently dc comics company supported comic stores by giving out new titles and stuff during the beginning of the pandemic to help them run and I just think that's wholesome

ah yeah that's so fucking cool, still don't like dc, the company, because this world is a capitalist hellhole and we're all owned by warner brothers or disney with no in between.

ayo looking at tumblr head canons and finding out bruce is actually a terrible father is a punch in the gut

lmao yes, in like 50% of comics bruce is a terrible father and it gives me whiplash

oooh I just saw the jason todd vs winter soldier post and the real question is: batman vs iron man

while iron man has like hundreds of cases of armor, batman could throw out an emp and have the guy dropping out of the sky in 2 seconds.

dickfast = fastdick = quickdick = quickie

magnum hot take

hey bata(?) just thought I'd let you know I have copied the obnoxious emoji and Billy Ray post for use on simping men going forth

thank you 😘🌷 (@spacebarsidecar)

why would you do that to your followers???? i get why i did it, but why would you???

what is scarecrow made the nightwing funko pop himself, like those diy-ers that paint over other ones

oh god no, horrible take, horrible take, that's a disgusting thought oh no

I see your HC that Bruce and Oliver fucked and raise you this: Dick and Roy ALSO fucked

yes they did and it was a horrible moment for jason to find out dick has fucked both of his best friends

"at this rate bruce adds like 1 child to his family every decade or so" Duke is introduced in 2013, Damian as Damian, not as an unnamed child, in 2006. And he is already 14 years old, Robins rarely remain Robins after 16 😬 It looks like a new Robin and Batkid will appear in a couple of years

i mean i can't wait? but somebody will probably die first tho, we're due for another major character death. my money's on either cass or duke this time.

BRO you're so right all of your Bruce's ex headcanons are amazing but they aren't ships, that's kinda wild. Like I don't want any peeks into how their relationship was I just want to see everyone make fun of them

lmao YES it's just i love bruce being a slut, like good for him.

I am in love with your posts your honour thank you

omg thanks are we like,, gonna kiss now?

The justice league needs to have a meeting to discuss how many of their members/partners have slept with bruce. Because through a combination of cannon & fannon (if DC wasn’t homophobic) we have AT LEAST: 1) clark 2) lois 3) oliver 4) dinah 5) john

Thats not counting villains or random civilians @dudelookitsalesbian

yes yes yes, they'll have a yearly meeting about how many of their collective exes could be out for revenge and batman's list just keeps getting longer.

tim was like "i'm drake now" and everyone was like ahh so your fursona is a dragon and tim was like pffffft no. ducks.

and what about it?

when steph's fighting livewire and she zaps her with lighting and nothing happens and then they both just. stand there awkwardly for a second and talk. yeah i couldn't stop laughing at that batgirl steph is the BEST

oh yeah that was fucking hilarious and i think it would be so cool and sexy of dc to give steph a little comic series,,, as a treat

Hi I absolutely adore all of yours "Bruce and Oliver very badly pretending they didn't fuck each other" memes

lmao i do too

I need you to know that “Bruce Wayne had frosted tips” is one of my favorite Bruce takes of all time it’s so galaxy brained. you’re right and you should say it

he also painted his hair blonde once when he was travelling and in conclusion, this is why he's being blackmailed by the gotham gazette.

you know my thing about gordon being branded as the only good cop in gotham is its a load of shit like arguably he's a good person and not working to screw people over or anything but the fact that he also works w. batman makes him a shit cop. like yea batman is better than the mob but its still illegal its still an abuse of power he just not making bank

babe, all cops are bad cops. (but yeah youre absolutely right, working with vigilantes makes you a shit cop, but also working against vigilantes just makes you an asshole cop yanno?)

ruh roh i think i’m about to add “so not yeehaw” every time i don’t like something

that's a very good vocabulary upgrade

somehow i feel like steph already knew. like babs obviously knew but i feel like bruce got high/drunk in front of steph and started telling his boarding school stories and steph was just like “oh you fucked up i’m never gonna forget this”

steph and bruce have weird uncle/rebellious niece dynamic and they just hang out sometimes and bruce will be like 'i once broke my arm when i tripped over a hedge when i was drunk so oliver drove me to the hospital on an electric scooter' and steph will just have to sit there with that knowledge in her head.

Hello I just wanted to tell you you are So right in all your steph opinions bc she is, in fact amazing and I think that's very sexy of you. Ps. Your Bruce/Oliver fic is hilarious

babe, thank you so much and yes steph is amazing and i love her and she deserves the world and she's the best member of the batfam hands down. also thanks

In Supersons we see a couple of kids that are implied to be Damian and Jon's children and the boy has laser eyes and can fly, so I asume he's not adopted. The girl, who calls Bruce grandpa, can also fly, btw. So it's canon (probably by accident) that Jon can have kids and he must have married one of Bruce's kids. (I'm hoping for Damian, mostly because any other of his children would be waaaaaaaaaaaaay too old.) @artemisa97

lmao that was probably an accident seeing as jon is a 17 year old superhero in the year 3000 (by the jonas brothers)

You know, I'm a die hard fan of your memes, but I gotta say one thing: if Gothamites actually took gas mask everywhere with them, then the Scarecrow would just be a weird dude in a weird costume, and not a villain oh so scary. DC really should just takes notes from you.

bold of you to assume there's no gothamite anti-maskers

How does it feel being the funniest person on this app?

horrible, next question.

I can't listen to Green Day or Billy Joel without thinking of your post about how Bruce got arrested at a Billy Joel concert @nightwings-kid

yeah that's your mistake, i on the other hand can't enjoy billy joel without thinking about the glee rendition of 'uptown girl'

I've FINALLY been watching the Batman animated series and I gotta say, after watching "the gray ghost" I am CONVINCED that Batman is a closeted super hero geek who was 100% freaking out the first time he met Superman and is just REALLY good at hiding it.

superman: so what do you do in your free time? batman, thinking about the superman fanfiction he's writing on the batcomputer: i have no free time

bruce and oliver be like boyfriends to co-workers 401k (do the justice leagues get 401ks??? not that bruce and ollie would need them, but-)

lmao yes just 400 thousand words of bruce realising 'oh dip oliver is such a fucking dumbass' (also i don't know what a 401 k is but i assume they don't?)

Gothamites would totally boo superman as he saves Gotham while batman is out. @meenje

he's like 'okay think about that next time you want to be saved from an alien octopus'

I just took long break from dc comics and I come back to see ric grayson ??

i think it's very cool and sexy of dc to see dick and just think 'you know what? let's just give him a traumatic brain injury' and then didn't develop his character in any real way

SPEAKING OF RIC GRAYSON, gothamites making confused memes out of ric grayson is much needed

'dick grayson is my taxi driver? can anyone explain what the fuck happened he looks like an italian plumber?'

i hate to say it but batfam are def "marvel characters" in that sense they are characters who are human but become superheroes unlike most dc characters who are gods trying to be human maybe this is why I like batfam

fair enough

#this is only like half of it #but at least you can get like a few answers #yanno fuck it #bataranswers #ask #asks #anon

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folkloreguk · 4 years ago

Text

Gold Rush (optional bias)

A/N: I honestly don’t know a lot about the middle ages, so if anyone is a history genius, pls bare with me if I write something that doesn’t make sense asfghjk PS: feedback is greatly appreciated!!

genre: optional bias (male), thief!au, strangers to enemies to lovers, medieval!au, suggestive content, reader is always ready to fight lmao, a tiny bit of angst

summary: As thieves, you both try to steal from the same royal carriage. Only it doesn’t go as planned for either of you. Will you get away before the king sentences you both to death?

words: 8.9 k

You had been tailing the royal carriages for an entire day now. You were sure your horse was getting exhausted, but the sun was setting and you knew what that meant. Soon, the transport would come to a halt. They would find a clearing somewhere, with trees as shelter from all sides. Then, they would set up their camp for the night, only to pack up everything in the morning and travel another two or three days, until they reached their destination: the castle. Only instead of delivering the full carriages, with gold, silver, pearls and gems, a few handfuls would be missing. It would be almost nothing to them, you suspected. They might not even notice it disappeared.

To you, however, it meant existing. You had to admit, being a thief hadn’t been your first choice when it came to choosing an occupation for the rest of your life. You had tried to integrate into different businesses. You were going to learn to be a baker, a glover and even tried to keep a job helping out on a farm. But none of these professions were for you. You were tired of being commanded around by men who tried to make you their little maid or worse – ask you for your hand in marriage. The judgement was tedious. “Aren’t you too old to be unwed?” “Where is your husband?” “How many children do you have?”

You wished you could talk back. “No, I’m just fine, he doesn’t exist and none – is it any of your business, by the way?” But you had learned that arguing with elders would only get you in trouble, and perhaps your decision to refrain from living the typical life was exactly what made it impossible for you to keep a job. That was, until you discovered your talent – a sleight of hand that was invincible. Some would call it avaricious; you would prefer to describe it as a passion. It wasn’t evil, just a thrill you enjoyed chasing. The beginnings had been humble. A few coins out of someone’s pocket here and there, some food from an unsuspecting marketer; you had to keep yourself afloat somehow, right?

But the seasons went by, and you became more audacious and greedier for your beloved adrenaline. Plus, you realized that stealing from the rich had something weirdly rewarding. Maybe it was the anger you felt at the king for hoarding the wealth of the land whilst letting his people starve in the streets. Either way, stealing from those who had power made you feel a sense of benevolence. You gave away some of your stolen goods to those who actually needed them, instead of letting all the money and jewelry rot away in someone’s bag and around someone’s neck. Sometimes you hid in the shadows after your theft had been settled, only to see the reactions of your victims. It might have sounded obsessive, but it gave you assurance, when they moved on after only minutes of complaint, because you knew those few coins were miniscule to all of them.

And currently, you were on to one of your most reckless thefts. You were well aware this could get you killed. Yet you couldn’t help it, the glimmer of the jewels and the gold was hypnotizing. Finally, the carriages had come to a halt. From a safe distance, you observed how they unloaded their tents and checked especially carefully where they kept the most desired goods. The wares would stay in the carriages, probably guarded all night long. You would need to wait for the right moment.

“Good job today, my dearest Dorato,” you whispered to your horse as you tied the reins to a tree. Gently, you pat his nose. He pushed his head closer to you, demanding more affection, but your eyes were already on your objective. For at least an hour you stood, hidden in the thicket, waiting for the sun to set completely and some of the men to lay to sleep. With a hawk’s gaze you counted the men and made sure you knew each of their whereabouts. One of the wagons stood with its back opening facing you – which was perfect. It was like they were presenting the goods to you on a silver plate. To the left of the wagon, some of the men had lit a bonfire and were seated around it. Judging by their laughter and lively conversations, you doubted they would go to sleep soon. One of them was sitting on the edge of the carriage, meant to guard the inside. He, who should have been paying the most attention, however, was fast asleep. And that was your chance.

“Wish me luck, Dorato,” you whispered to your horse, running your hand over his warm neck. Then, you slowly moved towards the carriage. Outside the shielding cover of the trees, you felt you needed to act quickly. The gales of laughter were helping against your vulnerability in reminding you that the men around the fire were trusting their sleeping guard to have everything under his control. Sly as a fox, you kept your distance and approached the opening of the wagon only when the bonfire was out of sight. You pulled the fabric to the side and with a swift jump, you landed on the edge of the carriage right next to the dozed off man. It only took one maneuver and you had opened the wooden chest nearest to you.

You grinned in triumph at the jackpot in front of you. With eyes sparkling just as much as the diamonds and gems, you grabbed handfuls and transported them into your bag.

“Henry, change of shift!” someone suddenly shouted. Their voice sounded scarily close to you, and then you heard footsteps approaching. Even though you had wanted to be greedier and steal some more, this was definitely your cue to get out of there. If they saw you inside the wagon, you’d be done for. So, without second thought, you yanked the cover away and leaped off the edge.

“Thief!” the surprised man howled as you passed him. Luckily, this wasn’t the first quick escape you had ever had to make. Your feet carried you rapidly, over the grass and into the trees where your horse stood. One quick pull and the reins had come off the tree trunk.

“Over there!” a hoarse man growled. Now more voices were heard, curses and angry shouts directed your way.

“Let’s go, boy,” you said and hauled yourself into the saddle. You pushed your legs against his belly, quickly signaled your horse the way and he knew the drill already. He took off sprinting, out of the forest cover. The wind in your face momentarily forced your eyes to tear up a little and you squinted against the cool night air. But just as you thought you were getting onto the gravel road, one of the guards jumped out in front of you. The fire from the torch he was holding danced aggressively in the wind. As he pointed it high, it was a blaze against the darkness of the night sky, and Dorato whinnied in terror. He jumped and reared up, and you lost balance.

“Seize her!” a man shouted at your disoriented figure on the ground. You wanted nothing more than to get back on your feet and flee. But it was no use. You were surrounded by a number of gravely livid men, and should you try anything stupid now, it would cost you your life, probably. Somebody grabbed your shoulders and pulled you up.

“Take the horse,” one of them ordered and your eyes widened. If they hurt your best friend it was the last thing they would do, you swore in silence. But to your dismay, as the men dragged you over to the wagon, they ripped your quiver and your bow from your back. You sat still as they tied your hands and feet and hurled you into the very wagon you had just stolen from.

“There you have your gemstones,” a guard spoke. “Look at them as much as you want, because soon you won’t be looking at anything anymore.”

Giving him a gaze so spiteful it should have hurt him physically, you spit right into his face. Lucky for you, he wasn’t up for a fight. It wasn’t on him to convict you for anything just yet. A complacent smile spread on your face as he walked away, wiping your saliva out of his eyes. At least now you had a guaranteed roof over your head for the night.

You were in slight trouble, you had to admit that. In two days, you would arrive at the castle. Depending on what the king decided, your punishment could be as severe as death. But until then, it would be a while. There was still plenty of time to escape, you assured yourself.

All night long, no matter how much you forced your eyes shut, you didn’t catch a minute of sleep. The men’s chatter was simply too loud and maybe you were concerned for your safety, after all – even if you would have never confessed it to someone other than yourself. The heavy chests of luxurious items sat across and next to you, as if they were mocking you for your foolish actions. For hours you sat staring at them, cursing your greed. Only in the morning, when the carriages continued their journey, the rocking of the wagon lulled you into a slumber.

You awoke later that day. Judging by the dim light falling into the carriage, it must have been the early evening. Curious, you scooted to the edge, lifted the fabric that was covering your sight and checked. Your assumptions had been right. The golden sunlight of the last hour of daytime shone into your face. The wagon you were in was the last of them, behind you only the bright gravel and trees left and right. For a while you daydreamed the boredom away. You went into another world, in which you didn’t have to steal to survive. In your real life, you were either born into luxury or you had to toil each day for the rest of your existence. There was no hard work that could have transported you out of your peasant-state and into something more carefree.

Suddenly, shouts ripped you right out of your dreamworld. The wagon had halted, but when you looked out the back, nothing was there. Trying to learn what the commotion was all about, you concentrated on the chaos of voices. Had they all gotten into an argument? The men were all talking at the same time, so there was really no use but to wait and see.

“You will be delighted to have some company until you receive your sentence from the king,” a man said. Footsteps drew nearer. Someone pulled away the fabric at the end of the wagon. Before you knew it, a figure was pushed inside. It was a young man but clearly not one of the guards, as he was dressed like a peasant. With a groan, he was bracing himself up across from you.

“Enjoying the ride?” the guard outside the wagon taunted you with a sneering grin. You spat in his face. Again.

“You little-“ he snarled.

“Let’s go! We can’t lose any more time!” someone yelled and unknowingly saved you from more trouble. The man disappeared and the carriages began to move again.

You welcomed the newest addition to your wagon by staring him down like he was about to take all the gold and diamonds clearly reserved for you. When he had sat up and checked his surroundings, he noticed your look.

“Is there a problem or something on my face?” he asked.

“Were you trying to steal from them?” you asked back. “Didn’t go as planned, did it?”

“Were you not?” he replied. “My highness, we’re in the same situation, so don’t you try to aggravate me out of tediousness.”

“Don’t you mock me, or you’ll receive the same response as the guard did,” you threatened. “And you are very wrong. You are going to be brought to the castle and thrown into a prison. I will escape.”

“Is that so?” he asked. “I see you’re making great progress with getting out of these ropes. You better hurry, or I’ll get away before you do. I can carry a lot in my pockets.”

You huffed.

“The diamonds are mine,” you stated, matter-of-fact.

“Whoever gets out first will have them,” he replied. “I’m betting on myself.”

“God…could you not have chosen a different day to steal from the royals?” you asked, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was your highness’ turn today,” he said, and his smile was taunting and cocky at the same time.

“I told you to stop calling me that!” you hissed, one second from collecting your saliva in your mouth.

“What do you prefer then?” he asked. His smirk made you wonder whether he was contemplating to suggest some more stupid pet names for you. He better not, you thought.

“I don’t know…what about my name?” you said. “It’s Y/N.”

“All right, Y/N,” he said. “And would you consider sitting on death row one of the more entertaining parts of your job? Are you used to it?”

If only looks could kill, he’d be torn to shreds.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been caught,” you said. “But judging by how lightly you’re taking this, you must spend more time in jail than outside of it.”

“What can I say? The guards love me,” he said. “But didn’t they teach you to be honest? I don’t believe you. Or maybe you were a coward for so long and this is your first time actually trying to steal. What’s the truth, sweetheart?”

There was nothing you despised like people who underestimated you. And with that, you spat in his face and turned away from him. Know-it-alls weren’t going to be granted a second of your attention.

“Hey, talk to me,” he said. “We’ll be here for another while, so we might as well become friends.”

“Missed your chance,” you said. And it was the last thing you said to him for a long time. Even when he tried so hard to lure you back into a conversation. You knew if you gave in, he’d never learn.

“My name is H/N, by the way. Oh, that’s right. You don’t care. I forgot,” he said. And he was right.

Having to rot away by yourself in the back of a carriage was already exhilarating enough. But rotting away in the back of a carriage while an irritating young man filled your head with stupid stories you could care less about? It made hell sound inviting. Even when the guards had set up their camp for the night, he occasionally tried to get you back into conversation. Because you had slept throughout the day, you knew you’d be awake until the early morning hours, a fact that only made your situation more unbearable.

Your ears picked up the crackling of the wood as the bonfire fed on it next to the wagon. Suddenly, a guard pulled aside the curtain. Without a word, he slid a plate with a piece of bread and a bowl with some water inside and left.

“This is going to be hard to eat with my hands on my back!” the young thief in front of you shouted, but the guard only laughed.

“Nice try,” you said, eyeing the food.

“Oh, she speaks after all,” he said. “And at least one of us is trying.”

“If I had one coin for every time you’ve provoked me since we met, I could buy my freedom,” you said. And again, he was in the wrong. Obviously, you had tried hard to figure out a way to get out of the restraints digging into your skin. If only you had a sharp object or –

“Are you gonna eat that?” he asked, pointing his head at the bread. He was willing to share, at least.

“I’ll bite off half and you get the other side,” you announced and bent your head down to the plate.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, shoving you out of the way so you tumbled onto your side with a huff of surprise.

“What the fuck is your issue?” you asked, regaining you posture.

“I’m taking the first bite,” he said. “I don’t know where your mouth has been.”

“I’ll show you where my mouth is,” you snapped. The next moment you tackled him, teeth digging into his shoulder. He groaned in pain, ferociously pushing you off him. His foot hit your thigh and you realized if you had any chance of getting away, an injured leg wouldn’t make it easier. So, you trudged away slightly.

“Are you out of your mind? Did you just really fucking bite me?” he growled.

“Go ahead, eat your damned bread,” you snarled. With a sulky sigh, you leaned back against the chest behind you, shut your eyes and tried to keep your fury in check.

You sat that way for an hour, maybe a few. With time, the roaring laughter from outside had died down. It must have been the middle of the night when you opened your eyes again. The silence let you conclude that your fellow captive had fallen asleep. Finally, you bent down to where you suspected the water bowl to be and took a few gulps. Only now you realized just how empty your stomach was. But your nose picked up something. Bread. In the darkness, you could hardly make out the half of the piece he had left for you. His humble act redacted your opinion of him from 100 to 98% dickhead. Like a starved animal, you gobbled the food. When you took your place against the chest once more, even you managed to snooze off into a much needed rest.

When the carriage steered through a pothole it shook you out of your slumber. Surprisingly, it was completely bright outside.

“You’re just on time,” the young thief across from you announced. “We’re about to arrive at the castle.”

He hadn’t woken you up. Maybe he had earned a few more sympathy points – with emphasis on a few. Only twenty minutes later, you were lead trough the cold halls of some dark part of the castle, down into the dungeon. While the guards dragged you around, even your loudmouth shut. This was new territory and made you slightly nervous. Were you going to make it out of here? So far, nothing was decided. You dearly prayed the king would be in a fantastic mood when he convicted you.

Your whole body was sore from the hours of sitting in the same position on the hard wood of the wagon, so you almost welcomed being shoved through the uninviting halls. One of the guards cut the remaining ropes from your hands, before pushing you into a cell. Much to your dismay, your fellow wagon inmate would also join you in this prison.

“The king will tend to you lowlives when he has time,” the guard said. The loud metallic clash of the prison bars closing and the lock sliding in place sounded like your demise. Your eyes followed the guard’s figure helplessly, until he had disappeared down the dark hallway. A slam of a door indicated that he was gone. Like a nervous animal, you paced from one wall to the other over and over. Your arms were crossed in front of your body and you were trying hard not to have a nervous breakdown. You needed your brain for more vital things right now – like contriving a plan to escape this hellhole before you could be sentenced to death.

“Would you sit down, goddammit!” the young man remarked. He was leaning against the back wall of the cell, eyeing you closely. “I need to think!”

“Do you think I don’t?” you replied. The moment of panic in your voice was short-lived, but he probably noticed it either way.

“I can’t focus if you’re losing it in front of me,” he said. “If you’re already processing your inevitable death, that’s cool with me. But I’m still planning on getting out of here, so please try to process in silence.”

Your nostrils flared in anger and you clenched your hands to fists by your sides.

“You idiot!” you said. “If you hadn’t done everything in your power to make me despise you right when we met, we could have tried to flee together.”

“Last time I checked, you were the one biting me for having a sense of personal hygiene,” he fired back. “We’re stuck in here. But get it together, we’re not on death row yet.”

In disbelief you stared at him, your irritation almost drowning out the restless pounding inside your head. He held his chin high as if to challenge you. And you could have gone for it. Down here in this cold, forlorn dungeon no one would hinder you from fighting each other. No, you knew for a fact that not a single soul in this castle gave one last damn about whether you lived or died. But you were completely drained. After all the sleep you had gotten, you should have been wide awake, and maybe your body was – but your mind was in the middle of shutting down. So, even though it hurt your pride, you stopped your uneasy walking and mirrored his behavior on another wall. Arms crossed and eyebrows furrowing, you kept your eyes on the ground. Maybe he was right. Giving up wasn’t characteristic for you, so why was your head spinning from dread?

In desperate search of some sort of hope, you caught glimpse of his rather relaxed stance. If he could keep up a calm front, maybe you could too. Luckily, he wasn’t looking at you, and not noticing how you drew strength from his so simple but enheartening behavior.

Three days into your stay in the dungeon, you had found a daily rhythm. Your mornings consisted of pretending to be asleep for as long as you possibly could, then holding yourself back from attacking your beloved cellmate because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than five minutes. By midday your arguments had usually turned into playful bickering, because you couldn’t cope with being angry all the time. And frankly, you were bored. Even though standing his endless interrogations about your life was exhilarating, it was still better than losing sense of time and in the process also losing your sanity. Late, when darkness had fallen upon the land, a guard delivered a small ration of food for both of you. This was the part where your bickering morphed back into serious conflicts. If you were going to live on tiny amounts of food, you wouldn’t settle for the smaller ration of the two.

The fourth day was different. When you first reached consciousness, you heard nothing. Usually, he was already awake, noticing like a stalker when you awoke, only to tease you from the moment you woke up. But that day, you opened your eyes to a seemingly empty cell. Until you spotted him in the corner. His body was shaking, and his tiny, husky cough concerned you further.

“H/N?” you asked quietly. Considering the amount of loathing you’d thought you held for him, you sure worried an unnormal amount. But it wasn’t the mere thought of him being ill that concerned you most. It was the idea of having to suffer in the dark, murky dungeon all alone, day to day, until you’d have to face the king, who likely wanted you dead for your crimes. An ice-cold fear crept over you. You didn’t want to – no, you couldn’t – die lonely. Even if he was the last person you could have wished to be thrown into prison with, he was still company. This loathsome cell, the horrors of the near future, the neverending progression of time and the uncertainty that came with it – it all terrified you to the bone. Only now you realized just how much comfort he gave you, all by existing in the same space as you.

Carefully, you approached him. He wasn’t answering you, and he never not answered you. It was a heartbreaking sight. He was curled up in a fetal position, hands clenched to fists on his chest. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead. Whether he liked it or not, you sat down with him. Gently, you reached for his forehead. A second was enough to determine he was burning up.

“Get off me,” he said, slapping your hand away. His voice was so frail.

“Hush. Let me help you,” you insisted. He huffed in annoyance.

“Are you a doctor when you’re not a thief?” he asked.

“No. But improving your mentality will help your body recover faster,” you said. “And you seem to be in a very negative headspace right now.”

His mouth opened to speak, but then a shiver rippled through his body and he wrapped his arms around his knees tightly. All this time, he hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“We need to keep you cool,” you said. “Take off your jacket.”

“This isn’t the time to ask me to take off my clothes,” he said, almost whispered.

“Will you just do as I say so you can get better? Do you want to die in here?” you said, brushing off his words. Something flashed across his face. Fear? Disappointment? Aware that it could invade his comfort zone, you very carefully took his hands. Lucky for you, he let you. When his jacket came off, you noticed the sweat stains that had formed on his thin shirt.

“You can lie down on this, it’ll be more comfortable,” you advised. Without arguing, he followed your instructions and allowed you to spread out the jacket underneath him. This behavior was new, you thought. But you could surely get used it. You knew it must have been serious, if he didn’t give you a silly remark for everything you said.

“I’ll get you more water,” you said, as you retrieved the almost empty water bowl from the center of the stone floor. Set on not spilling a drop, you lifted it to his lips and watched as he swallowed the last few sips. You used the sleeve of your shirt to wipe his wet hair out of his face, as he sunk back down onto the hard ground.

“Sleep now,” you said. You didn’t need to tell him twice. He had been almost unable to keep his eyelids open, so without hesitation, he drifted off into dreamland. For hours, you sat, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes on his anguished figure. Just as you had thought you could deal with the scary ordeal of being held captive in a castle dungeon, this had to happen. Stricken with sorrow, you waited for time to pass. If only you could have slept too, it would have made all the anxious thoughts go away. But someone had to look after him, and you weren’t tired.

His slumber must had been a hag-ridden one. Sometimes, he made small sounds, like whimpers, other times his brows furrowed, and his muscles flexed from whichever terror it was that haunted him in his head.

“Shh, you’re going to be okay,” you assured him, and maybe also yourself. But his tireless stirring only became worse, his body twisting and turning on the uneven ground. He groaned in agony, and your heart clenched like a million little daggers had slashed it.

“I’m here to keep you safe,” you whispered, bending down to his level. With utmost care, you lifted his head and let him rest in your lap. You weren’t really planning what was happening, but your hands found his hands. Softly, you stroked them, waiting for him to calm down and relax his tight fists. His mumbles and quiet moans of distress continued, until you realized. He was trying to tell you something.

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“You’re not go-“ you started.

“No! My- parents need- me,” he stuttered. By now he was grasping your hands desperately. You sighed and his eyes opened ever so slightly. The anger he had held for you was vanished. You almost teared up at the delicateness of his gaze.

“I need to help them... they’re old and sick and can’t be alone,” he added in a small voice.

“We will get out of here,” you said. You had no idea when there had first been a ‘we’, but now there apparently was. “You have to be strong now, do you hear? Then you can meet your parents again.”

He was looking almost through you. His eyes were so dark, it was like staring right into the deepest part of the ocean. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, whilst trying hard to keep a hopeful gaze. For him, you had to appear strong. Or else, how else was he supposed to be?

“I’m sorry- I was such an asshole to you,” he suddenly confessed. “I thought you would steal away the gold before I could. And now look where that brought us.”

“This isn’t your fault. We were both being reckless,” you said. “I’m sorry I bit you. And threatened to spit on your face. And then spat on your face.”

The tiniest smile spread on his face. Success. Any sort of positive emotion could help him now.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he whispered. “I��ll think about whether I can forgive you. You must know, I’m very vindictive.”

His grin was playful, and his eyes were closed, as if he was on the brink of falling back to sleep.

“Forgiveness hurts less than holding a grudge for the rest of your life,” you said. Who knew? Maybe even the king could show remission. All you knew was that you would crumble, would you have to encounter the king alone. Your brain had set on the need for H/N. For years, you hadn’t formed any meaningful relationships – not counting your bond with your ardently loved horse. Now, with his head on your lap and your fingers intertwined with his, you ached for more. Was it really him you wanted? Or had you denied yourself of any affection for such a long time, the smallest contact with anyone appeased your yearning? Would you have felt the same, if it had been somebody else in his place?

At night, the metal noise of the door at the far end of the hallway outside your cell made you lift your head. Gently, so that H/N wouldn’t be awoken, you lifted his head to lay on the jacket instead of your thigh. In impatience, your foot tapped on the ground while you stood in the middle of the cell.

“Sir,” you called the guard with a fake-soft voice. “Will it be possible to receive another cup with water? My fellow inmate has fallen sick.”

The grumpy guard unlocked the metal bars, entering with the usual small ration of food and drink.

“What does it matter if he dies now or by command of the king? Do you think I care?” he growled, not sparing you a glance. You had been almost convinced this would have happened. So, you’d have to resort to different measures.

“Please-“ you begged, suddenly stepping towards the guard, who was on his way out of the cell. Without second thought, you threw yourself onto him, making sure to look extra-devastated and helpless. What could a weak, little young woman do to a guard, other than fall on her knees, right?

“Touch me once more and you’re dead, too, bitch!” he barked. One quick move of your skilled fingers and you eagerly backed off, hands hiding behind your back.

“Sorry, sir!” you said, lowering your head in false shame and guilt. “Please consider my request.”

All he gave you was a grunt of disapproval and he stomped out of the cell, the lock falling into place in a loud crash. Feigning inferiority and intimidation, you didn’t dare move until he was out of the dungeon. Then, you spun to the young man behind you on the ground.

“Open up,” you commanded, suspecting the shouting could not have kept him asleep. Finally, you could pull the flask you had stolen from the guard from behind your back. It seemed to be almost filled to the brim, too. Perfect. He did as he was told, and you let some of the water spill into his mouth.

“I take back what I said in the carriage,” he confessed. “Only full-time thieves have a sleight of hand like yours.”

“It was my pleasure proving you wrong,” you said. “Now, drink up.”

That night, you let him have the full ration of food. For at least ten minutes, he refused to have all of it. But you were stubborn and even though he hadn’t known you for long, he knew that much about you. If you wanted to escape with him, he would need to be fit to run. You had deemed your chances small to begin with, but in his state, you estimated them close to zero. After you had emptied the guard’s flask, you reached through the prison bars and tossed the item as far away from the cell as you could. He should never assume you’d had anything to do with its disappearance. The next day, a different guard would find it there, and bring it back to him under the assumption that he had carelessly dropped it.

Two days passed by. In the first night of the two, you had to comfort him through another few nightmares. During the day, he was sleepy, but had enough energy to have a little conversation with you now and then – something you read as a good sign. The second night, you were able to sleep all the way through, and when you checked his forehead in the morning, it had cooled down a little. On the second day, he had regained his strength enough to be able to sit, leaning against your shoulder.

“Will you stop moving? My head’s pounding,” he said.

“Your complaints make me wonder if you’re doing well now,” you asked, smirking.

“Like I said…my head’s killing me,” he repeated.

“Drink the rest of the water,” you suggested. “I think it’s almost evening. The guard will bring a new bowl soon.”

“It’s your turn to eat tonight,” he stated.

“We’re sharing,” you said. Lucky for him, he didn’t fight back. You wouldn’t have cooperated, either way.

“It’s time to make a plan now, if we want to get out of here. What do you say?” you asked. When he lifted his head, you looked over at him. The color was back in his face, the beads of sweat nonexistent and his cheeky smile bright as ever.

“I wonder…about what your little magic hands did to that guard’s flask…could they do the same with his keys?” he suggested. The way you mirrored his mischievous grin, he knew you agreed. But it would be trickier, this time. From days worth of observation, you had learned that the guards behaved differently. Some adamantly made sure the keys remained in their clenched fists – an instance you couldn’t work with at all – while others preferred to leave them in the lock by the door. You knew you’d never get close enough to even attempt to steal them from there. What you needed was the careless type of guard. The one who snuck the keys into their pockets or left them hanging on their clothes by the keyring. All it took now was to wait and hope the king would keep you locked away for long enough to give you a chance to flee.

That night, luck wasn’t on your side. The guard kept his hands on his keys as if they were his most precious possession.

“Do we really have to go over this again? I told you your pacing is driving me insane,” he said. It was midday of the following day, and you were deep in thought – or you had been – until he had to interrupt you.

“What do you expect me to do? We’re jailed like animals,” you countered. “I can’t stand around like you all day.”

When you saw him open his mouth, you read in his expression what he was about to do. It was his bickering face.

“If there’s one thing I’m not in the mood for currently, it’s getting lectured by you over nothing. Come up with a topic of conversation, please,” you said before he could speak. His smirk concerned you.

“What are you in the mood for, then?” he asked with raised eyebrows. Your death glare said more than a thousand words. “Fine, here’s a conversation topic…let me think…why are you not married?”

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you said in the most impassive tone you could muster.

“Oh, alright, if that’s not good enough, I’ll go back to flirting,” he said. The steps he was taking towards you made your brain activate fight mode.

“I’ve never met a man good enough for marriage,” you said.

“And what qualifies a man to be good enough for you?”

“Hm…where do I begin? I’m not a good cook, nor do I enjoy being a maid, nor do I know how to take care of children. Most men want those things in a woman.”

“You took pretty good care of me, didn’t you? But why waste your thieving talent on running a household?” he said.

“That’s where the issue lays. Men don’t favor women who sneak around the village at night and make their own money from being a criminal.”

“Nothing wrong with being a criminal,” he went on.

You laughed out loud.

“You know what? I like it this way. Why settle for staying with one man who might turn out to be a monster, when I can have them all for a night?” you said.

“Well, right now you’re not having anyone.”

“Seems like that’s bothering you more than it bothers me,” you replied in a feisty tone. If you didn’t call him out for the flirting, who would? Although you had to admit, you greatly preferred being courted to his unnerving teasing.

“Why would that bother me?” he asked. “You hate me, don’t you?”

He was right in front of you now, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that made you consider biting him again. And at the same time, something in your body – not your head – wanted to close the small distance between you two.

“If I hated you, I would have let you die,” you said.

“I assumed you kept me alive because you need me to get out of here.”

Now you had another reason to get up in his face. You gripped him by the collar, looking into his eyes.

“Excuse me? You think I wouldn’t be able to escape by myself? If you’re only trying to rile me up, you better let me know, because I already told you I can’t stand to be underestimated,” you said.

“Alright,” he rose his arms in defeat. “After your little stunt with the guard I’m actually pretty glad I have you in here with me. Honestly, I don’t think I’d get out without you.”

“Was that so hard to spit out?” you said, self-accomplished.

“No. But you only come close to me when you’re mad or worried,” he said. By now, his eye contact was captivating in the most confusing way possible. His eyes occasionally skipped to your lips. “And since I’m not sick anymore, I had to opt for the former.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said. Unbelievably handsome, your brain added. And yes, maybe he was. Perhaps it wasn’t so much his beautiful face, but the way he spoke, understanding, even encouraging your lifestyle. You had just forced him to be honest with you. So, maybe it was time to stop holding back the truth from yourself, too.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked. It’s time to give in, you told yourself. Therefore, rather than telling him, you showed him. With a sudden rush of hunger, your lips crashed against his. Momentarily, he seemed taken aback and let out a surprised groan. But within seconds he caught himself, hands grabbing your sides desperately. You thought addictions needed more time to develop, but the feeling of his mellow lips on yours already seemed like one to you.

You had never kissed anyone who had truly made you feel things. Now, your knees were weak in an instant when his tongue grazed yours only for a moment. After so much arguing, it was hard to believe your hands clasping the fabric of his shirt couldn’t be a product of you cursing him but derived from mere want. The way he claimed your mouth silenced even your most invasive thoughts. It was a serenity you had wished for ever since you had gotten caught a few days ago. A moment to breathe freely, make whichever noises you desired and be as close to him as you could.

You pulled him along, stumbling backwards until you hit the cold stone behind you. Being trapped in a dungeon was horrific – but being trapped between his body and the wall left you feeling safer than you had felt in a long, long time.

But the peace didn’t last long. You suddenly heard the all too familiar metal noise from the distance. Alarmed, you sprung apart. As the unexpecting guard walked down the dark hallway, you smoothed out your clothing hastily.

“Congratulations! Your time in here will be over. Tomorrow the king will see you,” the guard announced. You shot your fellow inmate an alerted gaze, which he returned. Silently, he nodded at you. It was time to do something. The guard was now opening the door, bringing inside your food. His key was in his hands – this was going to be an issue. He set the plate down in the front of the room, and was in the process of spinning around, when H/N spoke.

“Sir, may I attract you to a magic trick?” he asked the guard. “I have been practicing it for so long, and it would be a shame if I had to die before I could ever present it.”

“Go to hell,” the guard said.

“I have a coin here,” H/N added. The guard raised his head. “If you win, you get to keep it.”

“Give it to me,” the annoyed man said.

“That’s not how it works. First, I will need both of your hands,” H/N explained. You smiled slightly when the guard sighed. He complied, letting his keys disappear into his oversized pocket. Retrieving them would be child’s play for you.

“Stick up your hands ahead of you. And keep your eyes locked on the coin. Be quick, or you’ll lose it,” H/N said in his dramatic voice. As he lifted his own hand with the coin in it, the guard followed and looked upwards. This was your time. Like a cat, you tip-toed around the guard’s back, not even paying attention to what H/N was doing anymore. Ever so swiftly, your hand slid into his pocket, fingers closing around the chill metal. As quickly as you had approached him, you stepped away, the key sliding into your sleeve and out of sight.

“Incorrect!” H/N called. “But you know what? I will grant you the coin either way. By tomorrow, I might not need it any longer.”

The guard even went so far as to laugh – even if it was a gloating sort of laughter. The only thing left to do now was hope he wouldn’t discover his missing key. But luck was on your side. Without another word, the man stepped out of the cell, shut the door, and walked off. The tune he whistled became smaller and smaller, until it faded out completely.

“Guess who’s getting out of here?” you asked, triumphantly revealing the key.

“You did it!” he exclaimed. You weren’t sure whether it was a spur of the moment decision, or maybe he was just too ecstatic to stop himself, but he flung his arms around your frame and squeezed you tightly.

“Hey, hey, you can’t crush me so close to my escape,” you laughed.

“Our escape,” he smiled. “We need to act fast. He could notice the missing key any second.”

Nodding eagerly, you grabbed half of the bread and downed half of the water bowl. You weren’t going to leave that behind. After all, you never knew when your next meal would be.

“If we make it to the stables, we can get a horse,” he announced. “I saw them on our way here. They’re to the west. The sun should be setting now, if my sense of time is still correct. Let’s hurry, or else we’ll be out of directions.”

“Dorato!” you exclaimed. “They took my horse!”

“The black horse that was tied to the carriage when we came here? I saw him,” he noted. You nodded, swearing you would leave here without Dorato only over your dead body.

Ten minutes later you had successfully exited the cell and approached the door at the end of the hallway.

“Out there it’s on both of us to keep running, okay?” you whispered.

He only nodded. “Towards the setting sun.”

The second you had slipped past the door you were spotted by a maid.

“Prisoners!” she yelled. Your plan to slip away unnoticed had gone down the drain quickly. With one last glance at the young man next to you, you both took off. The way out of the castle was still burned into your brain from when you had been brought inside. Back then, you had already planned to get out, so you had payed an extra amount of attention. When you reached a turn, you barely had time to think about the right way. By now, two guards were after you and you were forced to trust your intuition. H/N was a little ahead of you. The sudden exercise after being refined to a tiny cell for so long made your chest burn in exhaustion after only such a short while. But the adrenaline drowned it all out easily.

You knew you had to be close to the outside, it was a feeling. But then, all of a sudden, a guard cut off your path in front of you. H/N was racing far ahead, so that he could get away. You, on the other hand, had no time to overthink your actions. Before the guard could catch you, you had ducked under his outstretched arms. Now, sprinting down an unfamiliar corridor over the marble flooring, your sense of direction was gone, but your will to survive vigorous as ever.

For minutes you ran, collecting a horde of guards behind you the longer you kept going. When you turned a corner, you were greeted by another long corridor. Only this time, it was a dead end. Nevertheless, you kept up the speed. What else could you have done? By now, your calves felt like they were on fire, breath coming in short gasps. You suddenly took notice of the precious paintings and statues that adorned the hallway. Maybe this was the answer.

Without slowing down, you took hold of a stone vase. Just for a moment, you gathered all your might. Then, you dashed it forward, against the window at the very end of the corridor. Your body followed shortly after, but it was enough time for the glass to shatter before you. In a protective manner, you folded your arms over your chest and shut your eyes tightly as your figure flew through the opening.

When you had passed the window, your eyes opened, and you ducked. Soft grass caught your body as you rolled onto the ground. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs momentarily. But within seconds you were back on your feet. Aggressive shouts from behind you only motivated you to keep going. Faster. Just a little longer. Dawn had broken in, but the sky was still a bright blue to your left. That’s where you were headed. A market place close by acted as the perfect cover for a while. You barely had time to watch out, crashing into people’s shoulders and knocking over bowls and baskets. An enraged shout followed you, but you were already far gone.

And he had been right. Your nose picked up the scent of hay and animals. You had to be close. What if he wasn’t there? What if they caught you again? A short panic bubbled up inside of you. Stealing might could have been forgiven, but for your current deeds no king would let you live. The wooden stables were in sight by now.

You could barely breathe anymore, but something inside of you kept you up and going nonetheless. Every breath burned as you entered, stalls of horses and other animals to your left and right. But no sight of H/N. Nor of your horse. Did he leave without you? Had he assumed you had been caught and tried to save his own life, at least? Your head spun as you scanned the animals one last time. Then, the men’s deep shouts caught up with you. You needed to get out, or else this stable would turn into a trap.

When your feet hit the cobblestone outside, you spotted the mob of angered men and women coming at you. They were holding spears, torches and pitchforks and were livid.

“Y/N!” someone suddenly yelled from your right. The sound of his voice had never sounded better to you. He was on your horse, careering towards you. One last look at the furious crowd of peasants and guards, and then you only focused on him. Only a little more strength, and you could get out of here.

The second he was close enough to you, you started running again. Like you had done so many times, you hauled yourself onto Dorato behind him. Your hands caught his shirt and you pulled your body flush against him. You needed no words. Now, you only needed to trust your horse to get you out of here. Just for a moment, you closed your eyes in exhaustion and took a few, consciously deep breaths. In lightning speed, you raced across the grass and towards the archway out of the courtyard.

And you made it. He shouted in a boisterous tone, and while at first you laughed, you couldn’t help but join his happiness loudly.

~2 months later~

The rough bark of the tree was digging into your back, but you couldn’t have cared less. Not when he was all over you. Not when his scent was so intoxicating, and his busy hands made you forget about any other sensation on your skin. It took no time. You had escaped together, thinking it was your time to part ways after what you had gone through with him. Now, each day you hung on his every word and couldn’t even bear to be away from him for minutes at a time.

Not far from you, your two horses stood, grazing on the grass by their feet. Meanwhile, the two of you, supposed to be on the lookout for your next target, had found another occupation in the cover of the trees. The market close by wasn’t exactly your goal – it was the nobles who would arrive in their carriages like every weekend to spend time by the beautiful lake. While they had their picnics and gossiped about each other, there was enough time for you two check for some gifts to retrieve from their carriages.

You sighed happily as he kissed your neck ever so softly. In him, you hadn’t just found a partner in crime. He was your muse, your comfort and your home. His family was your new family and finally, you had someone to tell all your most unbridles stories and dreams to – someone who could actually reply, with no offense to your horse. Going out stealing was as exciting as hiding between the sheets with him. In such a short time, he had learned to read your face and knew every curve of your body like it was a part of himself, and you had no problem with that.

Suddenly, he pulled away. He looked over your shoulder, gaze changing from tranquil to fierce.

“There they come,” he announced. That moment, you heard the sounds too. Hooves and the crunch of gravel under wheels. Smiling in excitement, you turned to check the situation as well. But you had to be honest, he was much more entertaining to look at. Like in so many cases, you found yourself tied to his gorgeous features and the way his jaw clenched when he was plotting.

“Eyes on the prize, sweetheart,” he said, not peeling his look from the carriages.

“Don’t you know, I’ve already won the best prize there is in the world?” you asked, hearts in your eyes and a cheeky smile on your face.

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

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Golden, Like Daylight -- Part VIII

Word Count: 1,304 Warnings: PTSD. I don't think anything else needs a warning? Message me if I'm wrong though, I'll fix it. Author's Note: Thanks for your patience in getting this chapter out! Last week was difficult and then I had friends come over for the weekend (FRIENDS! AMAZING!). I'm not super proud of this but I'm also proud of this. We're getting to the end of this series and I'm just really... in fucking awe at all the nice things that have been said to me about this. Like, I'm genuinely over the moon and losing my mind every time somebody says something nice to me. Thank you so much for reading!

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

He slaps the passport against Pope’s forehead, starting a long held tradition between the two and he knows this will be the last time as he slowly says, “Nos vemos.”

See you.

The flatness he gives the words lets Santiago Garcia know, as he takes his friend and brother in, if he sees this man again, it will be through exchanged nods at functions for the others.

Santiago steps forward and Frankie embraces him but it’s wrong. It’s all wrong for who they are to each other. Who they were. It’s wooden, the weight of this mission—this mess—adding a new kind of density to the pain he carries. Frankie’s out for the count. For good.

“Cuídate,” he whispers into his friend’s ear.

Take care of yourself.

And he walks away, heading home where he belongs. A place he shouldn’t have left in the first place. Out of all the regrets Santiago has, dragging that man to Colombia might just be one of his biggest.

Leah was right, Santiago is never the one picking up the pieces. —————

He has to knock.

She disabled the doorbell the day they moved in, placing a small sign where delivers and visitors could easily read:

A combat veteran lives here, please knock gently.

She didn’t want any loud, sudden noises to trigger panic attacks. Wanted him to be comfortable in his home.

He didn’t tell her it would be today, wasn’t sure when he’d be able to get a flight out so he didn’t want to get her hopes up. But it had all worked out and he hadn’t had time to call and he doesn’t have his keys.

He didn’t take any identifying information with him. No phone. No keys. No wallet. Just the black tags that now sit heavy against his chest. He slipped them on mid-flight and walked back into the country with them to a quiet, welcome home, soldier from the customs agent. He didn’t even notice as he stamped the little blue book that the name stamped into the metal was completely different.

Frankie scratches his smooth face and stares down at the near bare feet standing firm on the wood of his front porch.

He made it.

He packed light back into the States, dumping his clothes and boots in the trash. All he has now is eight thousand in cash, a couple gifts for the girls and the fake passport he’ll be running through the shredder tonight. He picked up the flip flops at a vendor where he bought some of the shit to stuff with the cash.

Another steadying breath drags through his lungs and he looks around his silent neighborhood, the one Leah insisted on because of its proximity to the base. Illegal to set off fireworks this close to government property.

She shot down every house he found in any other part of the city and he didn’t even know why until the Fourth of July when his back bristled in anxiety waiting for the attacks to take his mind for the night.

Tears well up in his eyes as he finally brings his hand down on the sturdy wood.

She loves me so much more than I deserve. —————

“You stole my goddamn shirt, Francisco Morales,” she mumbles sleepily into his chest.

They haven’t left the couch all night, both his girls with their faces firmly planted into his chest. Their fitful sleep eased by the peace of his beating heart against their ears.

“I brought it back,” he laughs, smoothing her hair back, “but I won’t take it again, baby, I promise.”

And he means it. The only reason he took it to begin with is because she wears it as often as he does, her smell wrapped up in his and he brought it for comfort. But the rain and the saltwater of the sea wiped that scent away and he’s not doing this shit again.

“Because you’re not going anywhere again, right?” There’s a slight panic to the words, no matter how slowly they roll out.

He pulls her closer, “never, mi alma.”

“Good,” she looks up and he breaks all over again at her bloodshot, tired eyes, glassy and searching. Her pain meeting his but unspoken in favor of quiet reunion, his heart breaks because it wasn’t just him almost losing everything on a risky at best plan and he never even stopped to consider it was her everything too.

He saw it when she opened the door and instead of crumbling inwards with their daughter resting against her chest, she opened her arms and let him crumble instead. It was there when she excused herself to the bathroom and when she came back, falling apart in stolen moments of peace and quiet.

“I won’t do this again,” he says, the pad of this thumb sliding across the curve of her cheekbone; skin already raw with tear stains where they’ve run like rivers around her. She breaks into him then, arms tight around his still sore body as she buries her head into his broad chest. He instinctively moves to running his hand through her hair—his large hands turning her to jelly with each brush against her scalp—before he speaks again, adding reassurance to his words.

“And if I didn’t think you’d love it so much, I’d never even want to go back to St. John's.” He stresses that last bit, because it was the least stressful part of it all and still stabbed at him. Pulled at him. Reminded him that he was away. That he did this to his family.

“If you don’t want to be there,” she hiccups, “then I’ll never love it.”

And she means it. —————

Frankie cuts the last box open to begin sorting through the goods shipped home. The system follows that Frankie unloads the boxes, Benny separates the goods and Will counts the money. It’s worked flawlessly over the weekend as everything is accounted for, including the stacks that bought their way back into the country.

“How do we go about this shit anyway?” It's the question that’s been on Frankie’s mind from the jump, hoping he doesn’t find himself in another goddamn mess to maneuver away from.

“We can’t deposi—“

“No shit, William, so what do we do?”

He doesn’t need more crimes on top of all the ones he’s already committed. Money laundering on top of murder. Doesn’t even know where to start and a hundred thousand is hardly something to open a carwash about. He feels a stress settling in as he realizes he didn’t fully think this through.

“Just be smart about it,” comes the younger Miller’s voice, “keep it in the house, use it for groceries and other errands. Anything small that can be paid for cash, pay for it in cash. It adds up so your bank isn’t hit with constant fees, you can use that for the big shit. If you get in a pinch, deposit a couple hundred but never more than that. If you do need more, give cash to a friend and have them transfer it to your account.”

Benny looks up and finds the stunned faces of his brothers, “what? I dated a chick who was really into that Dave Ramsey guy.”

Frankie just continues to look at him in confusion, not expecting any of this information to come from Benny of all people and it seems Will wasn’t either because he follows it up with,

“Who the fuck is Dave Ramsey?”

“You know,” Benny continues to separate the goods into piles to be donated, “he’s that guy who talks about the money, I think that's the best way to go about it. We can’t exactly Breaking Bad this.”

“You're not smart enough to Breaking Bad this,” Frankie tells him.

“Nope,” he smiles, “I'm smarter.”

#frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #will miller #benny miller #santiago garcia #santiago 'pope' garcia #william 'ironhead' miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #ofc #oc #original character #original female character

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janicho88 · 4 years ago

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Falling For You - Part 1

Pairing- Dean x Lisa(past), Female!Reader x OMC Justin(past), Eventual Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count-3019

Warning- Mentions of cheating, slight angst. This is going to be a bit of a slow burn.

A/N- I had an idea for a one shot, and giving a backstory to Dean and the Reader meeting took on a life of its own. This story is AU, and un beta’d.

Summary- After being burned before you had sworn off finding love for now. Coming home from work one night there is a strange man pounding on your door. Neither of you knew what this meeting would lead to.

Series Masterlist

It had been a long day at work and you just wanted to get home to your couch, although you knew that would have to wait. The apartment needed some cleaning, and you needed to wash laundry too. You had put it off, work keeping you busier than usual the last 2 weeks, and you really should go hit the gym. You had been slacking there too.

The elevator was being inspected when you walked in the building so you had taken the stairs Reaching your floor you were surprised to find a man standing in front of your door continuously knocking. Slowing walking over you looked around, no one else seemed to be near. Knowing the time, your neighbor across the hall, Jess was probably on her way home from work, you weren’t completely certain about her fiancé though. The other two apartments on this level kept to themselves.

“Hi, Can I help you?” You cautiously asked.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

The greenest eyes you had ever seen turned to look at you with a grin forming. “Thanks, but I’m just waiting for my brother to let me in, unless you want to give me your number for later?”

“I’m good thanks, but why is your brother letting you in there?” You didn’t get any danger vibes from this guy, so you weren’t too worried about standing here talking to him yet.

“Well miss nosey, it’s because he lives there.”

“I don’t think he does.”

“Really, and how would you know anything?” The man back to pounding on your door.

Before you could respond Jess’ fiancé Sam came running up the steps sweaty from his evening jog.

“Dude, you weren’t supposed to be here till tomorrow, and why are you blocking Y/N’s door?” Sam unlocked his door across from you and went to hug his brother.

The man backed away from him, “Seriously man? You’re sweaty and gross, shower first. I needed to get out of there, and traffic on the way up was pretty light. You told me you and Jess were 44.”

“No Dean, I told you we were 43. We live on the fourth floor in the third apartment number 43. You weren’t listening,” Sam turned to you still unable to get into your apartment. “Sorry Y/N, this is my older brother Dean. He just got up here from Kansas, he’s staying with us for a little while. I’ll get him out of your way,” He leaned down to grab one of Dean’s bags before heading into his apartment.

Dean turned to look at you then looking at your door before he leaned down to pick up the other bag. “Oops!” With that he headed into the open apartment and shut the door. Shaking your head you went to unlock your own door.

Heading to your bedroom after setting your things down, you figured if you didn't get your workout done first it wasn’t going to happen. Quickly changing you grabbed some laundry and went to throw a load in the washer so the first load would be done when your workout was finished. Very thankful to have a washer and dryer in your apartment. Grabbing your key you headed the gym on the ground floor. An hour on the bike left you feeling a little better, getting out some of your frustrations.

Back inside your apartment you changed the laundry and started on your dusting and window washing before vacuuming. Finally finished, you headed for a shower to clean off the dirt and sweat.

All clean you ventured to the kitchen to see what you could whip up for dinner. When a knock at your door pulled you away. Who could be here now you wondered.

Opening the door you came face to face with Mr green eyes again. Shoot, what did Sam say his name was.

“Your brother still lives across the hall.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I swear Sammy told me it was 44. I just wanted to come say I was sorry for bothering you earlier. I know the right place now.”

“It’s fine. Have a nice visit.”

“Thanks it’s not really a visit. I’m Dean, like he said, I’m his older brother.”

“Y/N, the neighbor. Nice to meet you Dean.” Holding out your hand to Dean his bigger hand engulfed it in a firm shake.

“Would you let me take you out for a bite to apologize for my first impression?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good…”

“It’s not a date,” He hurriedly cut in. “It’s just, I mean, you seem like a nice person, and you would probably be a great date, but it’s not. It will just be food I swear. Tomorrow afternoon, or night? I don’t know if you have big Saturday plans?”

“Shouldn’t you be spending time with your brother?”

“He has a work dinner with Jess they can’t miss.”

You thought about it for a moment. You had been friends with Sam and Jess a little while now and trusted them, so you should be able to trust his brother. “I’m supposed to go dress shopping with my friend Meg, tomorrow. We should be done by 6 if you really want to grab some dinner.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart, I’ll knock on your door again then.”

“Okay, goodnight Dean. Oh and welcome to Michigan.” Shaking your head you shut the door to go back to your search for tonight’s dinner.

The fridge was pretty empty, you didn’t even have any frozen microwaveable meals left. Looks like grocery shopping just became part of your weekend plans. Settling on a bag of popcorn, it is a vegetable of sorts, somehow right? You finally headed for the couch and turned on the Hallmark Channel to see if there was a movie you could get lost in for the rest of the evening. Before you know it, it was time for bed so you could get an early start on tomorrow.

It was an honor to be asked to be the Maid of Honor, right? You needed to keep reminding yourself of this as you wandered through the dress shop the next day with Meg. Meg was a friend from elementary school and sometimes you think you are the MoH because many others would not have been able to handle this process with her. She could be a little blunt and rude, but you were used to this and could take the wedding craziness coming from her. 5 hours and two shops later she finally found the perfect dress for herself. You couldn’t be happier since you had already spent two other Saturday’s out searching.

Her fiancé Cas, thankfully had the patience of an angel. They had met when Meg left for college in Kansas, he was a year older than her. After graduation he had followed her back up here. Six years later, Cas finally got her to say ‘yes’. She seemed to be a better person with him around, a little kinder. They would be good for each other and you were very happy for them.

Your love life on the other hand, was not so lucky. Two months ago, you had broken up with your only serious boyfriend. A night out with friends had ended in tears when trying out the new bar in town. You had turned around in time to see a flash of Justin in a corner booth, walking over you found him lip locked with another woman. You stood there shocked for a moment when the woman noticed you staring and commented on it. A look of shock on Justin’s face as he quickly moved away from her and tried to explain The rest of your drink ended up on him as you walked out of the bar. Meg having seen the whole thing took you home and kept your now ex out when he came over to try and talk to you. The guys you had been out with before him, hadn’t done much for your faith in men either, having made the choice to give up dating for now. You were two years away from thirty, and had always thought by now you would have settled down. Maybe that wasn’t in the cards for you.

It was only a little after three so you decided to stop at the grocery store on the way home, this way you wouldn’t need to run out tomorrow. You would be able to just enjoy a day at home. Arriving home you pulled into your assigned spot and went to empty your car, you were one of those people who tried to carry everything in one trip. At least the elevator passed yesterday’s inspection and was running today, or it would be a challenge carrying everything at once up 4 flights of stairs. Although you couldn’t open your door with your hands full and keys in your pocket. Freeing a hand you finally worked it open as the door opened behind you.

“Need a hand?” Turning around Dean was standing in the doorway leading to the opposite apartment.

“You don’t have to, half the challenge was getting it up here.”

“I know I don’t have to,” As he finished talking Dean leaned down to pick up the discarded bags. “Dinner for tonight or are we still good to go?”

“Still good to go, I just had an empty fridge and decided to hit the store today and enjoy tomorrow.”

Dean set the bags on the counter and started to unpack them. Looking at the various items he turned to you holding up molasses and baking soda, “These aren’t your typical dinner items.”

“No, this is me getting a head start on what I need for Christmas baking. I know it’s the start of October, but December comes quick, and I like to have my baking done for my family’s Christmas party the first weekend of December.”

“You bake?”

“Yes, I actually really enjoy it.”

“So what all do you make cookies, cakes, pies maybe?”

Laughing at the hopeful look in his eye at the last item you nodded your head. “Yes, those plus bars, and different candies. Christmas I do the most, although not usually pie for that. Different holidays or events vary, or when I’m in a funk and just want to get lost in my kitchen.”

“Ever need a pie tester, I’ll gladly volunteer.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The groceries unloaded Dean looked around before heading out saying he would be back at six. Glancing at the clock you saw it was almost five and decided to hop in the shower to get cleaned up.

There was a knock on your door right at six, dressed casually in jeans, a sweater and tall black heeled boots you opened it to see Dean smiling at you. Also having gone casual with jeans and a dark green henley. “Ready to go, Y/N?”

“Yep, all set. So where are we going Mr. Winchester?” Dean turned, giving you a funny look, as you got into the elevator “What?”

“How do you know my last name? Been looking into me?”

“You’re Sam’s brother, right? I kinda thought they would be the same.”

“Oh, yeah, true. As for our destination, I thought I’d surprise you.”

You screwed up your face but just nodded. You didn’t want to come across as rude to whatever he was thinking. Getting in the car he turned to look at you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” There wasn’t much you hated more than surprises.

“Your face said otherwise a minute ago.”

“I was just thinking about something else, all good here,” You gave him a smile before looking out the window.

A short while later you pulled up outside a bar you hadn’t been to in a few months. Quietly getting out of the car you followed Dean inside. “Sam told me about this place, he said it was fairly new, but the food is good. Have you been here yet?”

“Once, but I wasn’t here long enough to eat.” It was early enough still it wasn’t too busy yet, Dean heading over to a booth asking if that was alright. You agreed and sat across from him. After ordering drinks and food it was a little awkward between the two of you. This wasn’t a date, what was it. You didn’t know the man so it wasn’t even friends hanging out. Not wanting to sit in silence any longer you decided to break it.

“How long are you visiting for?”

“I’m working on moving up here actually, I’m staying with Sam and Jess while I look for a place and find some work. Then I’ll head back to Lawrence with Sam and we’re going to drive my stuff back.”

“Oh wow, like the mitten state that much huh?”

Dean was quiet for a moment before answering, it almost seemed like he was having an internal battle on how to respond. “I needed a change and my brother and best friend both moved up here. Sam and I were pretty close growing up, and it would be nice to be near him again. My parents are still in Kansas but have talked about moving for a while. I can see them heading up here if Sam and Jess are here, especially if they end up having kids. I guess I’m going before I get left behind.” There was a sadness in his eyes that told you something was missing from his story.

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

“I actually was in business with my dad before I left. Owned an auto repair shop and we specialized in classic car restorations. Dad’s keeping the shop, but I’m guessing he’ll retire in a year or two and sell it. Going to see if anyone around here is hiring for now. How about you, what is it that you do?”

“Oh, I work at a physical therapy clinic in the business office. It’s usually a nice 9-5 job, but we had someone leave unexpectedly in the front office so I’ve been filling in for her and trying to do my work too. Makes for some later days. Someone new is starting next week so once they are trained it should calm down again.”

Dean was watching you and noticed you were doing your best to avoid looking around the bar, your focus either him or the table. “Is there someone you don’t want to see you here? A boyfriend I should worry about coming to beat me up? What’s up?”

“No, nothing like that.” Taking a deep breath you look up at Dean, “This place doesn't have great memories for me. The one time I was here I caught my then boyfriend making out with someone else. It was definitely a surprise, I wasn’t a fan of surprises before, but that was one of the worst I could have.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I should have checked the place with you first.”

Reaching across the table you put your hand on top of Dean’s, “No it’s okay. I really should just get over it anyways. It’s stupid on my part, right?”

“Not at all Sweetheart,” Dean turns his hand over giving yours a squeeze. “I understand to well how much that stings.” Letting out a deep breath he continues, “I had been dating this girl for over a year. Thought she was it ya know. I came home from work early to surprise her one day and found her in our bed with another guy.”

“Oh Dean, I am so sorry!”

He gave you a little smile before continuing, “It was my house. I kicked her out and put it up for sale, packed up my stuff and ended up storing it at my parents while I was staying in my childhood bedroom. I just couldn’t stay there. Got lucky it sold in a few months. I would see the two of them all around town and needed to get out of there. Sammy, and my childhood best friend, Cas like it up here so I decided to give it a shot”

“Wait, Cas? Is he engaged to Meg?”

“Uh, yeah why?”

“She’s my best friend, I’m her maid of honor. I’ve met Cas, he’s a great guy.”

“Yeah, she’s good for him. Takes him out of his comfort zone. Good for them, me on the other hand. I don’t see myself dating anytime soon.”

“Me either, I don’t have the best luck with relationships. I’m sorry for what you went though, you didn’t deserve that.”

“Neither did you.” You both sat there taking in what the other had said.

Dean spoke first, “I wouldn’t mind making a new friend though. Especially if she needs any taste testing when baking.”

Laughing before leaning back against the booth more relaxed than you had been, “I think new friends are good.”

Deciding it was time to lighten the subject you asked him another question. “So what brought Sam up here? I know Jess was from Indiana, not here either.”

“After law school Sam had been offered a position in a big firm in Ann Arbor, which I guess is like 30-40 minutes from here. Jess didn't want to live in the bigger city, she wanted to be in a little smaller town if they could. She said they did big city living in California during college and could visit Ann Arbor, or Chicago from here. Sam liked the idea of that too. I think they are both thinking of where they want to raise kids eventually”

“This is a good town to grow up in, I did. Why they moved here never came up in conversation. I’ve hung out with her and Meg before, and neither mentioned Sam and Cas were from the same town.”

The two of you spent the rest of the night talking and laughing more at ease knowing where the other stood. It was after 11 when Dean pulled back into the apartment parking lot. This had been one of the best nights you had had in awhile.

Part 2

Thank you for reading!!

Tags @talesmaniac89 @katehuntington @winchest09 @flamencodiva @whatareyousearchingfordean @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @smol-and-grumpy @emoryhemsworth @anathewierdo @malfoysqueen14 @superfanficnatural @jensengirl83 @atc74 @sandlee44 @akshi8278 @fantasydevil2002

#Dean x female! reader #dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #FallingForYou

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years ago

Text

Cabin Fever (Dabi x Reader)

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, pwp

Prompt: Winter with Dabi, sweater, flannel

Summary: Dabi and you get away on a mini vacation in the mountains and end up inside due to the snow.

Word count: 1,384

Tags: @rintomoj @yamichxn @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: My winter entry for the Seasonal Love Event being held by my Discord server! This is just fluff without too much plot, but I hope you guys enjoy the little bit of coziness it might give you~ Stay tuned for the other entries by my friends!

Seasonal Love Event Masterlist

"I hate to be that kind of boyfriend, but what's the point of this?" Dabi trails behind me, boredom visible in his entire expression.

"Because it's our anniversary?" My eyebrow quirks up. "Don't be rude."

"Right."

His last word earns an elbow in the chest from me. "I thought you would've liked spending time all alone with me, considering you're always complaining about your friends constantly butting in."

"Yeah, but did we have to go all the way into the mountains?" His eyes dart around cautiously. "It's a little too secluded for my taste."

"What, are you scared you might cause a fire?" I unload more of our bags out of the trunk. "And as long as we're laying out gripes, it's not fair that you can be out in winter in just that stupid flannel and not be cold."

The man glances down at his black and blue flannel shirt, unbuttoned to reveal just a white T-shirt, a stark contrast to my coat-and-beanie attire. "You can thank my quirk for that." His long arm slithers around my shoulders, his natural warmth a welcome hug to cut through the cold seeping through even my heavy winter coat. "I could share it with you, maybe in more ways than one."

"Ugh, you and your greasy comments." I shove him away, before quickly pulling him back in when the warmth regretfully withdraws. "You can't go a day without making an innuendo."

"Isn't that why you're with me in the first place?"

"No, I'm with you despite that." I hit his chest and carry the bags into the cabin in front of us. "Hurry up and help me take in the rest of the bags, we have a lot of unpacking and stuff to do.

Eventually, we get ourselves settled into the cabin. My uncle usually rents these cabins to other couples, but I asked him when it was available for us to get away from the city for a bit. Work was getting a bit hard for both of us to take - obviously Dabi's work is much more demanding on him - so we needed to get away.

"It's a pretty small place, cozy I guess." He came back after touring the small cabin in its entirety. "Big enough for just the two of us."

I'm unpacking some of the plastic utensils and plates we plan to eat using. "Yeah, my family sometimes vacations here. There were nine of us the last time, so some of us slept on the floor."

"Well," his scarred limbs slither around me again, "At least now there aren't seven other people to bother us."

"Dabi, I swear, do you have anything else in your thick head?" I hit him with a plate and shove him away. "There's a grill and fire pit in the back, we could probably have a little barbecue to ourselves tomorrow night."

His low voice hums right next to my ear. "I don't know if you checked the weather, babe, but apparently we're due to get a lot of snow tomorrow."

My jaw drops and I whine out, "You're not serious! Damn it! Well that plan's down the drain now."

"And we'll have to do something else to warm ourselves up..."

"GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER ALREADY!"

His raven hair shuffles as he throws his head back in a throaty laugh, leaning back against the fridge to look down his nose at me. He's enjoy this teasing a little too much. It's normal for Dabi to be a flirty little shit, but he must be more charged up at the thought of us being all alone in a house in the mountains together. Where no one can probably hear us.

Now that I think about it, that makes sense.

"If I knew your hormones were gonna go into overdrive being alone, I wouldn't have planned our weekend like this, we could've gone to an amusement park or something." I move away from him into the living room.

"It's not such a bad thing though. Might as well take advantage of our situation, right?"

"Dabi!"

The next night, the two of you were stuck in the cabin, the snow storm outside raging on despite your vacation plans. Wind howls outside as it rushes through the swaying trees. It was a good thing my uncle left a few decks of cards and some board games so we wouldn't be terribly bored out here, probably for when he rents them to others.

"Your turn."

I look up from my phone and down at the board game. Gathering the dice in my hand, I make my next move. "I took some nice pictures today, wanna see?"

He scoots next to me, his pinky finger catching onto the long sleeve of my sweater as I flip through my gallery. "That one's nice, send that to me."

"I really like that one too," I smile gleefully. That picture was actually my favorite; it was one I took at dawn while Dabi was still sleeping. The barren trees glistened in the approaching golden light of the rising Sun. The entire sky and lake reflection was bathed in a marriage of pinks and oranges, fighting the dark blue at the edge of the photo while the ice on the branches twinkled as if stars. "I think it's gonna be my new phone background for a while."

"Or you could sell it and make some money off it," Dabi suggests, picking up the dice from where they landed after my toss.

Usually, I would rebuke him for such an idea, but the thought of making a few bucks off my amateur photography is tempting. "Maybe, I'll think about it. Or I'll just print it out to hang in the apartment."

I notice Dabi had left his thick flannel draping over the couch messily. For the love of everything good. "Babe, at least hang your stuff up in the closet." I pick up his clothes and hang it in the closet by the door, retrieving my own jacket from there to hang over my shoulders. My fingers were a tiny bit cold from the weather outside. Although the heat was on, it wasn't up to my standards as someone who's generally always cold.

"You still have that?" It's almost teasing, but there's the slightest bit of pride and affection behind his teal eyes resting on me.

"Of course, you never let me return it," I bite back in a similarly playful manner before snuggling back next to him on the floor.

Dabi and I first met by chance in the city, waiting for the bus. I was probably shaking like a leaf next to him, to the point where I knew I was becoming a minor annoyance to him due to my chattering teeth. To my surprise, he shed his down jacket and draped it around my shoulders.

I was quick to protest and refuse it. "No, it's okay, I don't want you to be cold like that."

That day, he was wearing just a black hoodie. "Nah, it's fine. I'm hot blooded anyway."

Ever since that day when we started talking, I realized this man didn't wear a jacket at all, not even in the dead of winter on the most frigid days. When we would go on dates, he would wear one just in case I got cold. It warms my heart to this day that he would even think of such an affectionate gesture.

Dabi's bare arms wrap around my body. "If you were cold, you should've told me, I would've warmed you up myself." His head rests on mine as he says innocently, "In more ways than one."

"Get away." I shove his chest, but he remains strong.

"You wouldn't push away your human heater, you love me too much," he chuckles, placing a kiss on my temple.

I hum, simply basking in his warmth. "Isn't it funny how you ended up dating someone who's perpetually cold?"

He casually shrugs again. "At least my quirk has a non-destructive purpose, I guess."

Although he says it so uncaring, I know his own warm affection blooms in his chest at the thought of us being matched because of our opposing qualities. "Opposites attract, huh?" I breathe, tracing the staples on his hand as he pulls me closer into his space, eliminating any distance between us.

"Not really. You do have a fiery temperament, sometimes when-"

"Shut up!"

#dabi x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #dabi fluff #mha dabi #bnha dabi #gender neutral reader #dabi imagine #dabi scenario #league of villains #lov dabi #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #seasonal love event

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ichorizaki · 4 years ago

Text

001. finding, bonnie

genre fluff

pairing matsukawa issei x gn!reader

warnings none

word count 3.5k

synopsis when he received the letter, he didn’t know how to even find you. there was no trace of you yet you lived in his mind ever since that night, until fate chances upon him with a cheeky wink.

When Issei Issei first got the letter, he was carrying the heavy boxes of his belongings and unloading them into his car. The sun was at its apex in the sky, rays spread out across the azure blue and dancing through the almost-autumn breeze. His muscles bulged underneath the old shirt he was wearing, sweat prickling at the back of his neck and itching his sun kissed skin. He was leaning against the trunk of his car, wiping off the sweat forming at his hairline with the back of his hand. A refrigerated Red Bull cooled the palm of his left hand, cap unopened when his little sister walked out of the door with an emerald envelope in her hand.

“What’s this?” He murmured, eyes locked on the envelope as she stuck it out to him. Issei then looked at his sister who only shrugged wordlessly in return. He took it and flipped it over to see the characters of his name written in silver glitter ink with a handwriting he couldn’t quite recognise. It was neat, the strokes heavy and he could see how careful the writer was. Perhaps they didn’t want to mess up his name, which was something he found himself smiling at.

“You know who wrote it?” His sister climbed the hood of his trunk, sitting next to him with her legs crossed under her. He glanced over at her briefly before shaking his head no. “Well, open it then! I’ve never heard you talk about a secret admirer before, dude.”

“Idiot,” he rolled his eyes. Truth be told, he was rather nervous about who it was. There was a certain familiarity to that foreign envelope, sealed so neatly and the colour so curious. Different people ran through his head throughout his three years of high school. None of them seemed to fill the shadow of the person who sent him this letter.

Issei was careful with the way he edged the seal apart. In his large hands, the envelope seemed so small and frail. He tried his best not to tear the envelope apart. For some reason, he would be upset if he did. A parchment of white paper was nestled within its confines, waiting for him to open it up and read it.

The second he read the first few words, a grin bloomed upon his usually stoic face. And he just couldn’t stop grinning. His shoulders shook as his hand fell to his lap, clutching the letter and envelope in hand, chuckling in disbelief.

“What is it? Is it a prank from Makki?” She put her phone down, trying to figure out why her older brother was chuckling to himself like a madman. “If it’s yes, say the word and he’s gone.”

“Shut up, you little smurf.” He reached over to flick her forehead gently. She simply made a face in response, faking pain with a grumble. “It’s not Makki. Just let me finish the damned letter.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was from you. The Bonnie to his Clyde; the sun to his moon. Of course it was from you; who else could it be from? Nobody else made sense. It was you and it was enough to send his heart skipping a beat.

Even when he was done reading, he couldn’t help but re-read the letter over and over again. He didn’t think you’d felt that way, and he certainly didn’t think that he found himself wanting just a little bit more than what you both had that night. He remembered the night just like it was yesterday, his favourite bits and pieces rolling like a film in his mind, the ghost of your voice sweet like honey whenever you laughed or spoke or cried your heart out. It was just one night but it felt like half of the eternity he wanted to spend with you.

“Oi,” he called for his sister, who looked up from her phone, humming response. His eyes couldn’t help but fall to the screen to see a picture of you and your younger sister on an Instagram page. “Wait, hold up, who’s that on your screen?”

“Huh?” She looked at him like he’d grown two more heads and a tail. She brought her phone up and tinkered around for a bit before answering him, “It’s my friend’s crush.”

“Your friend has a crush on a college freshman?”

“What?! Don’t be crazy, dumbass! She has a crush on their little sister!” He eyed her suspiciously, hands folding the letter and keeping it inside its designated envelope before tucking it protectively in his back pocket. She punched his arm at his teasing, obviously flustered.

“Just making sure.” He shrugged dismissively. “Why are you flustered, weirdo?”

She let out a loud groan and flipped him off, cursing him with all of the profanities she’d learn in her very short sixteen years of her life. Obviously tickled by her reaction, laughter bubbled from his throat. He was going to miss teasing her in person. Campus was over two hours away and he knew that he would be busy with class. Calls would be more frequent . . . or not. He knew she wouldn’t pick up a phone call even if her favourite celebrity was phoning her.

“Hey, send me their Instagram,” he requested.

“Of the little sister?”

“Of the older sibling, you fucking heathen!” It was his turn to be flustered, his cheeks flushing a deep maroon and her cackling reverberated through the neighbourhood. Their mother shouted at the two from inside of the home he’s spent the past eighteen years of his life in. The two siblings turned to each other, silent, before bursting into giggles and laughter that could barely be contained.

Eventually, they had to part ways when their mother appeared at the door with what seemed to be enough food to feed the entire volleyball team, telling the younger Issei to go back and complete her homework instead of disturbing her older brother. With a whine and heavy grumbling she retreats but not before turning back and flipping him off once again behind their mother’s back. The corner of his lips quirked upwards into a smirk. His sister sure was a handful.

“Issei.” She almost met his height from the way he was leaning against his car. Gently, she placed the wrapped containers of food on the hood before raising her hands to cup his face. They’d barely said a word to each other but he could already see the tears in her eyes. He softly sighed, a sad smile gracing his lips as his hands wrapped around her wrists. “My son, all grown up.” It was all she could manage before choking on her tears.

His heart hurt when he pulled her close to hug her. His head spun when he realised that he won’t be able to hug her like this every morning before he went to school. He found himself holding her tighter as she sobbed into his shoulder, praising him for being such a good role model for his little sister, praising him for being such a good son, praising him for the lessons she’s taught him as a mother. The tears were hot, pricking the corners of his eyes and the weight of realisation that he’ll be away from his family sat on him like a heavy storm cloud, robbing him of his ability to breathe.

“I’ll miss you, Ma,” he sniffled, swallowing his tears. Issei let his mother pull away, her hands leaving his cheeks to wipe her tears away before putting on a brave smile for him. He leaned down and gave her one final kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger on her wrinkling skin before pulling away.

“Don’t cause too much trouble, yeah?” She wiped away the snot on her nose. “We both know how you and Makki-kun have a penchant for mischief. I don’t know whether it’s a blessing or a curse that you and that damn boy ended up in university together.” He wiped away his own tears, cheeks hurting from grinning and chuckling while his lips quivered ever so slightly. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth to force himself to stop crying while his mother wept.

“Take care of Pa and that brat we– ow! Mama, what was that for?”

“This boy!” She pinched his ear teasingly, laughing with him until she heard the window open from his sister’s room. She looked like she was about to say something until she spotted their mother and immediately went back inside and slammed the windows shut. He shook his head, chuckling while his mother eventually let him go. They cried a little bit more and hugged it out a little more until it was time for him to take his leave.

With the letter secured in the bag of packed bentos, safely strapped to the passenger seat, he drove off into the horizon. The long journey seemed like such a drag with nothing but the humming of the air conditioning and the car engine. Even in the broad daylight, he couldn’t help but wish it was dark in the late hours of the evening with you in the passenger seat, windows rolled down and music blasting through the stereo but your laughter and your talking were the music to his ears.

At the first red light he increased the volume of his music until he couldn’t hear your laughter in the passenger seat of his empty car. But even then, the lingering ghost of a whisper of your voice haunted him. He doesn’t even know when he would be seeing you again.

“Hey, Clyde?” Your voice was gentle and quiet, just as it was at the start of the night. Crickets sang their song with the melody of nature accompanying their tune, the metal of his car suddenly so cold underneath you both and behind your backs.

“Hm?” Suddenly he became aware of the way you were pressed up against his chest, your body settled in between his legs, his chin resting on the top of your head with his arms wrapped loosely around you. He was just in his deep green henley while you wore the grey hoodie he had brought along with him, the sleeves long enough to give you sweater paws. If only he could see you, bathing in the moonlight. He relished in your scent—coconuts and springfield, with just the slightest hint of strawberry—like it’s the last time he’d ever get a taste of the bewitching concoction, because for all he knew, it could be.

“Do you believe in fate?” Issei’s shoulders tensed from the question. He felt your hands find his, fingers intertwining with one another before placing them on your laps. The action alone felt as natural as breathing.

“Do I believe in fate?” He echoed, his voice low and silent as if not wanting to disrupt the peaceful tranquility of the hilltop they sat on. You hummed softly in response, squeezing your delicate fingers around his calloused, volleyball-worn ones. Your hands were silk against the linen of his, petals against rocks. “Maybe if we meet again, I will.”

Issei found himself tugging at the strings of fate. He found himself wishing to see you in the corridors when he registered himself into his dorm building. He found himself wishing to hear your laugh in the middle of the courtyard among the other freshmen. He found himself yearning for even the slightest piece of you until he felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his jeans.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he realised it was a notification from his sister. It was an Instagram direct message and all of a sudden his heart started to race. He recalled the request that he had made no longer than five hours ago, suddenly feeling heat creep up his neck. Issei quickly spotted the fountain in the middle of the courtyard and sat down among the students. He was certain he had to sit down or else he wouldn’t be able to contain himself.

Unlocking his screen, he waited for the message to load on his screen. It took just half a second too long and he silently cursed at his phone, flicking at the screen like it was a bug until your Instagram page appeared on his screen. A short gasp was caught in his throat. He found you. He found his Bonnie.

Iwaizumi’s handle didn’t go unnoticed at the bottom of your bio. So he follows you too, huh? What a small world. He saw Oikawa’s handle too, as well as Hanamaki’s, but to what extent were their relationships with you? He knew that Oikawa was a simpleton—he would follow anyone who has a stunning Instagram feed, ‘for the aesthetics’, he would claim—so obviously it would be no use to pry. Hanamaki on the other hand, was a proud member of Team Follow Back. You were probably just the attractive person he came across while mindlessly scrolling and decided to press the follow button.

Staring at the screen, he couldn’t help but ask himself: should he press the follow button?

His thumb hovered over the button. His eyes scanned over your profile once again, in awe at how cleanly messy your feed was. It was an organised mess. There were pictures of you and your friends, you and your pets, storefronts you found stunning, alleyways, you falling asleep on your desk in school . . . it all told him your life. Your Instagram page was more than enough to tell him about you, how you stayed up late at night watching anime and listening to songs, how you loved to sit at home and unwind with your pets, how you were more than what he expected you to be that night. You are everything he’s ever wanted.

He quickly scrolled back up to the top of your profile to see the multi-coloured ring around your profile picture. Curious, he tapped on it and the first thing he saw was the entrance to the university. The same damn university he was attending. What were the fucking odds?

Issei tapped through and he felt his heart soar with every upload until he was brought back to your page. Oh, was he on Cloud 9! He couldn’t help the smile on his face that was threatening to break out into a grin. People might stare at him like he was a madman but he didn’t care. He found you, his Bonnie, and that’s all that mattered.

“What do you mean ‘if’?” You scoffed, releasing one of your hands from his and twisting your body so you could flick him on the forehead. His low chuckles rumbled deep in his chest when he took the hand that flicked his forehead and intertwined your fingers with him once again. His body dwarfed yours so easily that he found it painfully adorable.

“I hate to say it, angel,” he hummed. “I live all the way across the city. I’ll drive you around there for a bit if you’d like. I think it’d be a damn miracle if we saw each other again after today.”

And good lord was it a miracle to see you after so long. Your nose was just the slightest shade of red that matched your cheeks and the colour of your sneakers. You had your earphones plugged into your ears, tuning the world out with music as the both of you did that night in March. Your bookbag was slung over your shoulder, laptop bag clutched close to your chest.

He had been following you for a week through your Instagram stories. He didn’t know if you checked who had viewed your stories but he didn’t care. His profile was private so even if you wanted to snoop around, you wouldn’t know it was him (and he would be way too embarrassed should you DM him out of the blue).

It was well-nigh the afternoon, sun blazing against the cool autumn breeze. You had just ended your first lecture of the day and it was two weeks into university life. He had so many opportunities to walk up to you with the slightly crumpled letter in his hand, tucked neatly into its emerald envelope and hopefully sway you off your feet, but the time just never felt right. Even then, as he stared at your figure quickly walking, undisturbed and completely at peace even with the havoc of the bustling university grounds, he couldn’t help but feel compelled to walk over and re-introduce himself.

His feet, however, were faster than his brain. Before he could comprehend what was happening, he was walking over to you and you were closer. You were closer to him than the past couple of weeks when he tried to plan his introduction behind his phone screen. You were closer to him and he wanted to make sure you were no longer sand slipping through his fingers.

‘Other times I catch myself wishing I would run into you again.’ He recalled your words in the love letter he’s memorised. Now your wish was going to come true, with his arm outstretched and reaching for your shoulder. Time slowed down when you turned around, your lovely doe-like eyes looking so confused and surprised as you searched his face which bravely sported a smug smirk.

He watched as your jaw dropped in shock, yanking your earpieces out of your ears. Your lips gaped open and close like a fish out of water, sputtering air, at a loss of words. Truth be told, he was way more nervous than he appeared. His heart was stammering in his chest and he was sure he forgot how to breathe. The sun was but golden flecks in your e/c eyes, bewonderment shining through the colours of your eyes.

“Hey, Bonnie.” The corner of his lip curled upward into a lazy lopsided grin. Now was his chance to woo you and sweep you off of your feet. Or perhaps, he could bring up the letter and make you flustered. He did have it sitting in his back pocket, after all.

“How . . . How did you find me?”

“I guess life has its ways, angel,” he winked. You scoffed and smacked his chest playfully. He could see the slightest hint of pink in your cheeks and now he was sure it was not the cold or the lovely coral blush you’d put on your face. “What’s this about fallin’ head over heels for me, huh?”

Issei reached behind his back before waving the envelope in your cute face. The second you registered what he was waving, what sounded like a surprised squeak came from you and you grabbed onto his wrist to stop the movement.

“Where did you . . .” Your words got lost in the air as you watched him and he hoped that it was out of wonder and yearning with the way you were looking at him. He simply withdrew his hand to pretend to inspect the envelope.

“It doesn’t matter.” He pockets the envelope. “I believe in fate now.”

He watched as your eyes grew wide, finding amusement in the way your cheeks burned red and puffed out. It was apparent to him that you remembered the fateful and eventful night some months ago in the distant sparkle of your eyes and the way the corner of your lips tugged upwards into a small smile of disbelief.

“When we meet again,” you corrected him. “Let’s re-introduce ourselves. Maybe go on a date if fate wills it.”

“You’re already asking me out, sweetheart?” He grinned, nose gently nudging the crown of your scalp before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your hair. He could tell how flustered you were by his observation of your words, so he decided to carry on the conversation. “I’m definitely taking you out on a date if we see each other again, and of course, if you’d let me, babycakes.”

“I’m Matsukawa Issei,” he thrusts his free hand out for a handshake. “I’m studying Psychology, freshman.” Your smile and gaze faltered at the small pinch of a smirk on his face. Did you think he would forget? How could he? After that night, he was left wanting more and more. How could he pass up the golden opportunity to ask you out?

You took his hand in yours. You took a deep breath, your chest rising and shoulders squaring before staring him straight in the eye. The words that tumbled from your mouth were woven and ingrained in his brain, forever to be kept. He finally had your name. What you studied didn’t matter to him that much. All he wanted was your name and his heart soared at the way your name rolled off of your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, L/N,” he smiled. A breath. “Will you go on a date with me?”

You were struggling to fight off the smile, adamant on looking a little disappointed that it took the both of you too long to find each other. Truth be told, you had always found your way into his mind ever since that night. No matter how hard he tried, you were always there. Now he didn’t need to keep searching or hope that you’d find your way back in his mind, because you were right there in front of him, the smile finally breaking free as giddy giggles bubbled up in your throat.

“I never thought you’d ask, Clyde.”

✎ ❝TO ALL THE BOYS!

THE LETTER SUN&MOON

would you like to try another route?

#꒰🍀꒱ to all the boys #꒰⚡️꒱ ⨾ zeus’ thunderbolt #hq #bbthots #matsukawa issei #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei x y/n #matsukawa x you #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa issei x you #haikyuu matsukawa #haikyuu seijoh #seijoh #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 4 years ago

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As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 12 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11)

Nixon - May 31 - June 6, 1944 “The tables are secure?”  

“Yes.” “And do you have everything you need for your presentation to the officers and non-coms?” “Yes.”

  “What about the pointer?" 

Nixon whirled around to face Emily, “Shouldn’t I be asking you these questions?” “Well, everything should be packed up. I just want to make sure. I won’t be coming until after you, so I want to make sure you have everything you need before I get there,” Emily explained. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’m not presenting until after you get there.” It was early morning and the caffeine from Nixon’s first cup of coffee was still making its way into his bloodstream. Headquarters was consumed with movement; staff members darted in and out of the building carrying boxes full of maps and tools, carrying footlockers, crates of supplies which they loaded onto the backs of trucks. Emily held a clipboard upon which she had pinned a list of everything their department was responsible for. They were on brink of the allied invasion into Normandy. Once they got to Upottery Airfield, Nixon would be responsible for briefing the officers and the troops on the invasion plan. Every day up until the day of days he would be working to make sure every single paratrooper knew every single detail of the plan of attack. The atmosphere was buzzing with energy when Nixon climbed into his jeep; whether it was nervous or excited energy he wasn’t sure. The airfield was alive with action when Nixon arrived; men were putting up tents, unloading arms, and other supplies. “Nix,” Dick Winters walked over towards Nixon, “glad you could join us.” “Hard to believe it’s really happening, huh?” Nixon replied. “Any idea of where we’re going?”  “Oh so now you want me to tell you?” Nixon teased his friend who had shown barely any interest in his divulgement of information before. Winters shrugged and his mouth turned up slightly, “I think I have a bit of an idea.” “Well good, keep guessing. I’m not going to be responsible for the leak on this one - too risky.” “What happened to my fearless friend?”  “It’s not fear, it’s embarrassment I want to avoid.” Nixon said wryly, “what kind of intelligence officer would I be if I let the secret of the allied invasion slip?”  Winters narrowed his eyes at him as if trying to read his thoughts. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Nixon said and clapped Winters on the shoulder. Nixon had enough time to get settled in and to oversee the organization of the intelligence tent before Emily arrived with the remainder of the intelligence staff. In only a few hours, Emily and Nixon had to brief the regimental officers with the geographical details of the plan of action and what resources should be expected. The execution order of Operation Overlord had come from General Eisenhower himself so of course, Colonel Sink knew what his troops' objective was in the coming days. But the top-secret campaign into Normandy was a battle that intelligence staff across the allied nations had been waging for months. Since Dunkirk, codebreakers, scientists, and engineers had been preparing to return to the continent. Nixon and Emily had been part of that effort and now it was time to fill in their superiors on every tidbit of information that would help them achieve victory. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get started.” Colonel Sink sat down at the head of the table that stretched through a large tent, one of the first to be put up at Upottery. Emily passed around briefing memos and situation maps. “In theory, the only people in the regiment who know the who, what, and where about this invasion are in this room.” Sink scanned the limited faces of the most senior officers, “it is vital that we keep information on a need-to-know basis. That being said, it's about time we briefed our troops so that they are prepared when the day is decided, which will be any day now. Cap’n Nixon, and his lovely assistant here, are to fill us in on exactly what we need to know so that you all can inform your subordinates on the plan of action.” “Miss Rooney will you be able to take notes?” Lt. Colonel Strayer asked from Sink’s left. “Oh, uh I-,” “Miss Rooney was prepared to present actually,” Nixon jumped in, “she’s a professional cartographer and is an expert on the region.” “Oh,” Strayer looked between Nixon, Emily, and the other officers in the room, “but you know this stuff too right Nixon?” “I do, sir.”

 “Then why don’t you present the information so Miss Rooney can take notes?”  

“Sir, I-,” Nixon prepared to object. “Lewis, let’s not bicker like old fishwives. The notes are important. No offense, but I trust Miss Rooney’s handwriting more than yours.” Emily and Nixon exchanged a frustrated look of defeat. With pursed lips, Emily retrieved a pad of paper and took a seat in the corner behind Nixon. The enormity of what was about to be attempted settled across the tented room once Nixon finished the presentation. Colonel Sink cleared his throat, “okay men, I want every soldier in this regiment to know this area like the back of his hand. Let’s get the job done.” Sink stood up, prompting the other officers to rise, and walked out onto the airfield.

 “Nicely done,” Emily said to Nixon once the room was clear. She began collecting the maps and memos left behind. “Thank you for putting it all together.” “Happy to do my job.” There was a slight bitterness in Emily’s voice, and Nixon couldn’t blame her. “Hey, I’m sorry about,” Nixon gestured vaguely, “ya know, all that.” “Don’t worry about it,” Emily said resignedly, “story of my life.” “Yeah but you’re a professional, you’re smart and capable.” “Thank you Lew, but even you thought of me as a secretary when I first arrived. Remember?”

  Nixon winced at the memory. He didn’t know what to say. It was true, he had referred to her as a secretary despite her significant professional experience for her age. “Don’t worry about it,” Emily repeated, “I appreciate you trying to stick up for me.” She stacked the memos into a neat pile within a manila folder. “By the way, I’m headed south tonight.” “Already?” Nixon asked. Emily shrugged and tried to smile, “well, who knows when the day will actually be. Could be in five days, could be tomorrow. Don’t want to miss my ship.” “But you’re not going day of right?” “No,” Emily shook her head, “thankfully. I’ll go over a few days later with the nurses and other non-essentials.” “Non-essentials,” Nixon scoffed. “That’s me,” Emily winked at Nixon. “So I guess I’ll see you over there.” The space around them suddenly felt heavy. Her words felt insufficient. Best case scenario, they would see each other over there and the magnitude of that reality was not lost on either of them. Nixon searched for the right words. What was there to say when it was only a maybe goodbye? He didn’t even want to acknowledge the chance that he may never see this woman again.  “I’ll see ya,” Nixon settled on. Emily held his gaze and smiled softly; nothing more needed to be said. Then in a breath, she exited out the tent flap and out of sight. A moment after she was gone a thought popped into Nixon’s head. He bolted out of the tent flap after her, “Emily!” he shouted. She turned and Nixon felt his breath leave him. Something about her innocent expression drenched in the evening's sun was stupefying. Then her face twisted into disgruntled confusion, “what?” she demanded. That was his girl, Nixon thought. Nixon walked a few paces towards her. “I’ve got something for ya,” he tossed her a little box. “What’s this?” she opened the plain, narrow box and tipped the contents into her palm. Out slipped an ornate gold tube of, “lipstick!” she shrieked. “Yeah,” Nixon shrugged, “not that you need it. But I noticed you were running out.”  

“Bésame?” Emily read the label, “where on earth did you get this?” “I have my ways!” Nixon winked, “look at the shade.” “Victory red,” Emily smiled up at him. “Perfect isn’t it?” Nixon allowed himself to grin back at her, “perfect for you.” Emily threw her arms around his neck, “Thank you, Lew!” “Sure,” Nixon unwrapped her arms, “anyways, consider that my parting gift. Gotta have you looking good your first time in France.” The next couple of days were filled with adrenaline and anticipation as the men of the 506th prepared to be called into action. On June 4th, they thought the day had come but due to poor weather across the channel, the jump was delayed. Nixon could sense the tension among the men. Few feelings are worse than hyping yourself up for something that wasn’t to come. There was nothing to do but wait. Nixon took a sip from his flask and wandered outside for some fresh air. The moisture from the storm cooled the evening air. He sighed in relief; just a few steps outside felt like an escape from the nervous energy that permeated the musty tent. Nixon took another swig from his flask and leaned against one of the stacks of boxes. He was so glad to be away from everyone - he couldn’t bear the anxiety of the other men. It was difficult enough to stay focused and too easy to fall into a pit of fear. He had to stay optimistic. Winters must have shared in his restlessness because Nixon saw him emerge from between two tents. “I think it’s clearing up,” he said. Winters gazed up at the sky. “Think it’s clearing up?” Nixon asked walking over. “Nope,” Winters said, pulling on his gloves. Nixon shook his head. Winters was the eternal realist to Nixon’s ironic optimism. “I think it’s clearing up,” Nixon insisted. The two men began to walk down the airfield, the gray sky hanging above them. Nixon didn’t have the energy to discuss the inevitable. Winters didn’t seem to either but seemed contented to walk in silence, which Nixon was not. Determined to think of other things Nixon said, “Five o’clock in New York,” he paused, “four o’clock in Chicago.” “Happy hour huh?” Nixon chuckled, this was why Winters was his best friend. He met him wherever he was. With only a few words, they were on the same page; equally aware of the reality that faced them but understood that discussing it wouldn’t change anything at this point. So why waste the heartache? It was one of the longest nights of Nixon’s life. There seemed to be nothing to do and everything to do at the same time. How does one prepare for an experience they’ve never had before? Everything was organized, everything planned to the minute detail but who was to say what would actually happen when they touched ground in France? No one knew because no one had ever done it before.

 Finally, on the night of June 5th, the 506th Airborne was cleared for departure. They would be dropping down into Normandy in the early hours of June 6th, only hours before the armies would storm the beaches. Nixon loaded into his plane and sat beside Colonel Strayer. They each had a map in hand and were discussing strategy as the remainder of the regiment geared and loaded up. Nixon didn’t have time to be scared. He had to make sure that everything was ready and in position for the men when they arrived at the assembly zone. If he were being honest, he was grateful to have a distraction. It kept the fear at bay as they lifted off the airfield and flew into the setting sun.

#band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #lewis nixon #original character #emily rooney #lewis nixon x oc #as far as friends go #dick winters #dday #june 6

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sakuratragedy · 4 years ago

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Emperors Consort | Chapter 2

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Zhongli / Childe, #Zhongchi Tags: R18, A/B/O Dynamics, Royalty AU Summary: aka "Emperor's consort doesn't know the difference between being a concubine and being a consort" Tsaritsa wants her child to have a good life after serving her on the battlefield for so long, so she makes a deal with an old friend. In exchange for her military might, he will marry her son. Childe who has no formal omega training has to do his best to cover up the fact he has no idea what he's doing. Do your best to be a good omega Childe!

He remembers the familiar ache in his back and knot in his shoulders from the last time he travelled from the mother country to Liyue. The arrival at the harbour was busy per usual. The sounds of Liutian and foreigners alike moving around the harbour, the voices that speak of trades and exchange greetings merge together creating a mess of noise. His fellow Fatui agents unloading the luggage they brought (limited to a single case per person), dressed in their fatui garb ready to split ways after unloading and receiving orders from the youngest Harbinger.

Tartaglia dressed in his civilian clothing and did a quick scan of the harbour. It didn’t look like much had changed much over the years he had been away. He had been wearing his Harbinger uniform up until he could see the outline of the harbour from the ship, before remembering he was not there for a quick mission.

He was there to potentially get mated (and possibly married).

“I’m sure you know what to do.” Childe says without having to turn to look at his agents, but he knows they were listening. “Independent action until necessary, don’t cause any trouble that I can’t get you out of.” He glanced over his shoulder to watch his agents nod at him. Usually they would disappear by now, going their own separate directions but they stood there behind him. Childe raised his brow when he still felt their presence behind him and fully turned to them.

“Speak.”

“Sir, are you truly going to become the emperor’s omega?” He recalls her name, Ekaterina, who was there during his last stay in Liyue years ago.

“It’s part of Tsaritsa's deal with the emperor. Who am I to disobey her?”

“What about your position as a Harbinger, sir?” a skirmisher asks, timidly rubbing the back of his head for speaking so boldly to his superior. Childe gave a half-glare at the taller male before he rolled his eyes.

“I’m still a Harbinger. This ‘mating with the emperor’ shit isn’t solid.” He does air quotations with his fingers. “What is important right now is the mission. If you find out what the emperor's big dilemma is before I do, please relay it back to me.” His agents clung to every word he uttered as if he spoke the gospel, memorising it down to each syllable to avoid missing anything and honestly, he loved it.

Surely this ‘mating and marriage’ could turn optional if he finishes the mission earlier than intended. Childe starts running through various possibilities that could happen to him when he finally starts living at the palace to prepare himself from being caught off guard. If he revealed himself to be a Harbinger right away, the emperor would put him to work immediately. They would solve the problem faster than usual. -

‘Because I’m talented and strong, it would be done in no time.’ Childe thinks to himself.

And in the end the emperor would have to mate and marry him to uphold the Tsaritsa’s end of the bargain. But… if he pretended he was just a useless omega prince, would the emperor be more willing to let him go?

He smirks at the idea before turning to his agents.

“Do not tell anyone that I’m a Harbinger.” He watches them nod once at his command.

“Dismissed.” He smiles and they disappear in the blink of an eye.

‘This could be fun.’ he thinks, his smile stretching holding more mischief from his clever plan. ‘I’ll be back home in no time.’

“You’re the Tsaritsa’s son.” a voice snapped him out of his devious thoughts. He turned to his left, seeing no one. A little cough in the direction he was looking at made him glance down meeting eyes with a small girl, much shorter than himself that she had to tilt her head upwards to meet his eyes. Her mouth was curled into a distasteful pout, likely irritated at the obvious height difference.

Childe couldn’t hold back the smile that grew on his face. She was so tiny. The girl might have mistaken Childe’s smile as a mocking one and grew more irritated, her brows furrowing together.

‘She’s a fighter.’ he thinks as his eyes travel further down, intrigued by the sword attached at her hip decorated with extravagant carvings. The guard was shaped like a lion's head, beautiful listening gold in the afternoon light and the little eyes seemed to glow fiercely with amber gems. Analysing her figure, he realizes could probably beat her if they fought. He should be nice to her, since fighting weaker people did not bring any pleasure.

“I’m speaking to you.” She doesn’t mask the irritation in her voice when she glares at him. He continues to watch her with curious eyes, eyebrow raised as she moves her light purple hair behind her shoulder in one elegant toss of her hand before crossing her arms at her chest. Without having to look for too long, he knows this confident girl that came to pick him up at the harbour must be associated with the Liyue Qixing from the elegant air that she carries.

“Yes, I heard you.” Childe responds. The corner of his lip turns upward again when she rolls her eyes openly at him before turning her face away. Never in his life had he seen someone so openly irritated at him. This girl did not care the slightest that she was in the presence of one of Snezhnaya’s ruthless fighters, let alone foreign royalty.

“We’re leaving for the palace now. Follow me.” she says quickly before turning on her heels and walking away. She seemed to be in a rush to leave Childe behind, but her plan did not go about the way she planned as Childe has longer legs. He took a few big strides and caught up to her walking pace, which seemed to irritate her further. Either way, it was not hard to keep up with her.

He glanced down at his walking partner, seeing her bite her lip and her gloved hands are little balls at her sides as she walked made him chuckle.

“I hope you know I already don’t like you.” She says as she turns on her heel to open the door to the carriage. While different from Snezhnaya carriages that were fully covered and the cushioning surrounded by velvet to keep the warm, he found it cute how Liyue carriages were open, fancy carvings on the wood let air through the carriage. He traced the red wood, admiring it for a bit too long before the girl behind him made noise.

“Just get in already!” He laughed again when he climbed into the carriage, tears brimming his eyes from the way his stomach hurt.

“You’ve amused me like no other. What is your name, young lady?” Childe smiled bright and wide, feeling actual excitement of having someone openly hate him. He reached out to shake her hand, while his other hand wiped away the stray tear at the corner of his eye.

The girl huffed, her cheeks turning pink from either the humid air or his constant teasing. Her gloved hand grabbed his own.

“Keqing.”

“Good morning Taru…” He sat up from his canopy bed decorated with gorgeous red and gold silks stretching his arms over his head.

His room was heavily decorated in exquisite furnishings such as porcelain vases detailed in gold and little statues of long dragons with clouds surrounding them made of marble would decorate the tables. Soft and expensive furs and fabrics draped on his bed. A single round window made of wood with intricate circle and square motive carvings framed all four sides of the window placed just a little further from the door that led out onto his huge balcony beside his bedroom.

“Good morning Qiqi!” Childe smiled at his attendant. He holds his hand out, waiting for Qiqi to give him the item that she was holding. He felt his heart melt when the little girl approached him at his bed and shyly placed a small purple flower in his palm. Childe pauses to look at the delicate plant in his hands.

“What is this?” He asks curiously. The small flower looked a little rough around its edges, but he can tell from the way Qiqi protectively held it before passing it to him that she tried her very best to be gentle.

“Violetgrass…” She fiddles with the hem of her dress, swaying her body from left to right waiting for him to accept the present she had given him.

“I love it. Thank you Qiqi.” He gently sets the violetgrass by his side before he carefully moves out of bed. He kneels in front of her to hug the smaller girl, which she happily hugs back. He feels her little hands grab the back of his silk pajamas, not being able to fully circle around him just yet.

“Let’s start the day, shall we?” Childe pulls away gently from the hug. Qiqi nods in agreement before she leaves him to find the ladies that will prepare his clothing and accessories for the day. As several sets of hands roam his body, brushing his hair and tying robes onto his clothing, another lady reads aloud the schedule that has been fixed for him by Keqing. He shuts his eyes, feeling his head tilt in one direction as a maid brushes his untamable hair. He can feel her frustration as she brushes before deciding it would be best to place little decorative pins in the shape of beautiful flowers into his hair to compensate for the mess underneath. She clips small flowers into the curls of his hair, twisting as they were little branches for the acrylic flowers to sit upon.

The first three days of Childe’s life in the Liyue Palace were very similar, a blur . Qiqi’s presence was the only consistent thing that happened during his time at the palace. Every morning when Qiqi wakes him up, she would bring something small and interesting she thinks that he would like.

The Qixing (Keqing, specifically) had presented him with Qiqi as his personal attendant while he stayed in the palace. He had discovered through the smaller girl that she works part time for Baizhu, picking herbs for hours on end occasionally never coming back to the palace for three days. But since she now waits on the foreign prince, her herb picking hours have been reduced from twilight till the sun broke through the clouds the next morning.

“Don’t you need sleep?” He asks the first day he met her. She was such a small and young girl, how could anyone make her work her bones off from dusk till dawn. Keqing stands further back from them, letting them introduce themselves before she has to haul him elsewhere.

“Qiqi is okay. Adepti are okay.” Childe didn’t know what that meant and he believed her, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little guilty. Small kids should be getting proper rest and not scaling the side of dangerous cliffs for herbs that the doctor was capable of getting for himself.

He didn’t think that he had to make a complete 180 change from the last time he was in Liyue. Ever since Childe stepped foot on that harbour three days ago, he hadn’t touched his belongings he brought with him from Snezhnaya. He hadn’t worn any of the clothes he brought, as the attendants would dress him in Liyue’s traditional clothes specifically made for Liutian omegas.

“Why do I have to wear a dress?” Childe asks as he looks himself in the mirror, the silks and cotton flowy against his skin. The light blue robes detailed in a darker shade of navy blue and gold stitching complimented his eye colour. Several attendants were surrounding him, taking his measurements not missing out a single inch of his body as Keqing stood before him. She monitored the way the ladies moved gracefully about him as if they were in a dance, fleeting touches not more than 2 seconds, a stretch of tape here and there, a little tug of his clothes once in a while before the touches leave him. He watches the redhead in the mirror through the floor to ceiling mirror, the one that looked like him but he could not recognise from the gorgeous silks and cottons that decorated his imposter.

“All omegas, especially those from noble lines wear hanfus.” Keqing explains as she pulls the skirt down. Golden accessories such as clips and small delicate chains started to decorate his hair, neck and ears, Keqing was presented with different silks by the same attendants. He doesn’t say anything when she holds it up against his face, before giving the fabric back and nodding in approval.

“Plus, it’s pretty. Alphas love pretty omegas.” A beautiful woman walks in wearing her own white and golden hanfu, carrying herself like she was a goddess walking amongst men. The way her skirt flowed as she walked towards the two, the slim and elegant smile on her lips as she walked over to them. She gave a little twirl, her gorgeous skirt flaring out like a dream of silk and cotton as she arrived before the foreign prince and blushing noble.

“Don’t you agree?” She asks, leaning a little towards Keqing. Keqing took a step back, face colouring as she looked away in embarrassment. Childe watched as the omega teased the purple haired alpha by inching closer as the other backed away. Gorgeous amber eyes gleaming with mirth, her smile hidden behind her paper fan as she basically teased the alpha. She carries a similar paper fan in her hand, wearing a similarly fashioned hanfu and yet, they couldn’t be any more different.

“Yes. You are very pretty.” her voice barely an audible gasp could be heard, but it was a sufficient response for the fair lady.

From the way her presence alone can suffocate a room, begging its attention to be turned to her and the way comfortably glides around the palace. It was safe to assume that this was the emperor's regina.

“I am Ningguang, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing. It’s nice to meet you.” She gives a little bow of respect that Childe awkwardly returns back. Those titles that came after her name did not hold any meaning to Childe as he didn’t understand what that meant, it was possible he would forget after this meeting.

“You look pretty as well. I think this colour suits you wonderfully.” Ningguang says as she pulls lightly on the baby blue fabric the attendants had put around his arms not for any particular purpose other than decoration, but Childe being who he is naturally assumed he could turn it into a weapon and strangle someone with it if he was given the chance.

‘No, that’s a bad Ajax.’ He thought to himself. ‘No thinking about strangling.’ The voice in his head speaks in a firm tone as if he were speaking to a naughty child. His face sulks a little. When the attendants pulled away after what felt like hours, he was greeted with a sight he had never seen before. He was dressed in beautiful silks and cottons that could give him the illusion of being beautiful.

The style of hanfu was very similar to the long flowing one Ningguang wore, except the colours of his hanfu were softer in comparison to the dramatic whites, bright reds and golds the other omega wore. He didn’t catch himself in time, accidentally openly gawking at how well the attendants had dressed him. When he caught himself and shut his mouth, his eyes met with the Tianquan. She smiled at him, looking genuinely excited that he looked decent in those clothes. He can’t help but feel out of place. The attendants presented a variety of earrings carefully placed on a tray to Ningguang. She hums and carefully picks up one that she thinks would suit Childe best. A single red gem hanging from slim golden chains, smaller red flowers littering the chain in delicate placements.

“Why do you not wear your pheromones?” She asks as she assists Childe by putting on the earring. “You seem to have many scent blockers upon your neck.” She reaches for them, but with Childe’s fast reflexes, he’s immediately off the chair and covering the back of his neck with his hand. He leans against the vanity, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he feels and tries to steel his rapidly beating heart.

Ningguang blinked.

She didn’t even see him move.

“The Tsaritsa said not to take them off.” He says quickly followed by a forced laugh and smile, hoping that she would not press any further concerning the three scent blockers covering every inch of the scent glands on his neck, preventing any pheromones from accidentally leaking.

She was silent, hands still in the air from where she was holding Childe’s other earring.

“Alright.” Ningguang put the other earring down on the tray that the attendant held. “I suppose she would only want you to take them off during your heat.”

Childe nervously laughs and agrees with her.

Presented with portions more than Childe had ever seen, he had been eating a lot of food since he arrived at the palace compared to his home life in Snezhnaya. Childe had never been one to eat for pleasure, as he was the type of prince who found pleasure in pain and fighting, challenges and battle scars.

If Childe was to eat any more food, he felt as if his stomach would simply burst open and a flow of various ingredients would stream from it. But being the kind prince he is, he smiles and opens his mouth, consuming the food that was given to him.

It was an unusual sight for sure. He sat amongst the chefs at their designated dining table in the kitchen of the palace. Their sturdy wooden table plated at least three different kinds of chicken meals featuring different parts, cooked several different ways. He was seated on their wooden bench that could fit five people per side and ate from delicate porcelain wares and golden spoons and forks.

‘Why so spicy?’ Childe holds in the scream he wants to let out, his cheeks glowing a peachy red hue as he chews slowly, the burning sensation in his mouth moving further down his throat as he swallows. He can’t be anything less than regal as a foreign prince, carrying his image by sitting upright with his elbows off the table, but in that moment he feels helpless to the spice. His mouth opened slightly, pink lips huffing out hot air attempting to ventilate the scorching sensation.

“ He’s so thin. Xiangling is there anything else to eat?” A woman much older than him sat to his right, watching him as he steadily ate the steamed chicken dish in front of him cooked with chilies, thinly sliced gingers, and soft wolfberries. A man to his left took away his bowl of rice when he brought the spoon of chicken and rice to his mouth, filling the bowl with more soft fluffy rice before setting it back down before him.

“ I can make chicken feet with dark sauce! ” A young girl says as she rushes around the large kitchen holding a cleaver in her hand. The other chefs laugh fondly when ingredients start flying about the kitchen, some entering pots and nearly missing the pans. The cheery girl hums an upbeat tune while the cleaver cuts fast against the wooden board.

“ His face is red! ” One chef says to another.

“ Youths are so cute. ” The woman decides to fondly pinch his cheek, making him turn to her, rosy blush dusting his face. Childe couldn’t concentrate on the actions of the chefs in the kitchen, too busy blinking away the tears that stinged his eyes from the intensity of the chili.

“ Should eat more though. Get fatter and bear healthy kids.” The same woman wraps her hand around Childe’s slim wrist, seeing how she could easily wrap her thumb and index finger around it.

He exhaled a breath through his slightly parted mouth, the heat never leaving him. While his eyes were clenched closed, the young girl dropped a large bowl of soup beside the spicy chicken he had yet to clean off his plate.

“Eat up!” She says in a language he could understand since he had arrived in this kitchen an hour ago and beams a bright smile at him. He weakly smiles back with as much politeness he could muster in that moment, knowing he couldn’t get out of the situation he was currently in.

The end of Childe’s three busy days had been the most exhilarating despite the slow start. From the moment he woke up, the ladies had brushed his hair and dressed him per usual but this time under the watchful eye of the tiny purple haired Qixing. When he was dressed, she extended her hand towards him accompanied by her sharp glare. He didn’t think much of the gesture, placing his hand on top of hers before the alpha escorted the two of them through the maze of open aired hallways leading to the emperor’s palace in silence.

“Stand here and don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” Keqing said when they had reached the altar, removing her hand from under his. He took a look at her and nodded in understanding. She nodded back, turning away to take a seat just behind him. From the sound of a drag of the chair against the floor, he can tell she pulled a seat closer to her own in that moment he wasn’t looking.

He had stood before the entire Liyue Qixing, seven heads of noble lines seated behind him as he stood what looked like an altar, listening to a man speaking in pure liyuan before him. From the dramatic gestures to his loud booming voice that echoed the hall, he could guess the man was a preacher of some sort. Occasionally he would jolt awake from the way the preacher’s voice would boom.

“ In the consort’s next heat, may the archons bless that an adepti child be born. ” Childe’s polite smile is beginning to fade into a more awkward and strained one. He feels like he had been standing there for ages from the way his back began to hurt from how straight he stood, combined with the heavy weight of the seven pairs of eyes staring holes into his back.

“ The emperor. ” The loud man gestured to the large double door he had entered through, but all Childe could do was stare in confusion. The man spoke such pure liyuan it was difficult for him (someone who only ever heard informal liyuan from his one year stay) it was as if he was trying to process the thick accent along with the pure pronunciations. He tried to interpret the preacher's words with the minimum amount of liyuan he learned during his one year post at Liyue Harbour when he was 21.

‘It’s too fluent.’ Childe furrows his brows in frustration. ‘I don’t understand.’ While he was trying to deconstruct the words the preacher was saying so he could get a hold of what he was on about, he failed to notice two pairs of footsteps that entered the room. One pair had stopped walking just behind him while the other walked up beside him.

“ Two worlds will collide in a united front, to unite two countries, two perspectives, two worlds. ” The preacher made a particularly big gesture before intertwining his fingers together and locking them.

‘Honestly, I should have thought about getting a tutor 3 years ago.’ He tried his best not to show such a confused expression, but failed when he heard a chuckle beside him.

“He said ‘two worlds colliding in a united front’.”

“Ah, thank you.” Childe turned his head to thank the figure beside him before looking away in fear of getting scolded by Keqing, and looking back because fuck getting scolded by Keqing.

‘This man is so handsome !’ Childe practically screamed in his mind, so loud that he was afraid the other man could hear him. He was scared the whole hallway could possibly hear him from how loud his thought was. He didn’t care that he was openly staring with eyes as large as dinner plates at this point.

The prince was suddenly very aware of the taller man standing beside him on the altar.

‘He’s taller than me. No one is ever taller than me.’ Childe snuck another sideways glance, trying to hold back the embarrassment from showing on his face. He clearly was embarrassed, he himself knew it and is accepting of the fact. He tried to steady his breathing when he felt his heart hammer at his chest. He did not prepare himself for the possibility of the emperor being (hot) his type.

‘His jawline is so sharp. He’s so tall. Is it because he’s an alpha? He’s got such pretty eyes.’ Childe’s mind was busy collecting as much information as he could get from simply looking at the emperor, he didn’t realise something slipped from his mouth.

“Pardon?” He turns his head to fully look at Childe, watching as the prince’s fair cheeks bloom a bright red when he realizes some thoughts may have slipped out as real words.

“My apologies, it’s nothing.”

Throughout the ceremony, Childe kept sneaking glances at him. Well, he couldn’t help himself no matter how disciplined he was. This man was so much eye candy he had to openly stare. When the other man noticed him staring and when he caught his eyes, Childe whipped his head to look away.

“Are you nervous?” he hears a soft voice beside him. He looks up to see him glancing with a gentle expression. Childe felt himself blush. The emperor is so handsome, you would never believe he was 40 years old.

“Yes, a little. I can’t really understand what he’s saying.” Childe admits truthfully before he felt him blush rise to his ears. Why did he admit that? Was his face really able to let down his guard?

The emperor chuckles a little before he smiles and looks forward at the officiater. “We’ll get you a tutor. It is an easy language to grasp once you figured out the basics.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem.” He smiled.

‘Fangs!’ Childe’s mind shouted in glee when he saw the sharp teeth but his face kept a calm appearance. He realises he’s been too jumpy during the ceremony and not concentrating at all. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. ‘Of course the man has fangs, he’s an alpha.’ He nods, thinking logically and completely missing the side glance followed by a fleeting smirk the other man gave him.

The preacher hands Childe and the emperor a small cup each filled with fragrant rice wine.

‘Do I drink this?’ He looks at the clear liquid in the goblet before looking up at Zhongli, meeting his eyes for the first time in the hour they had been standing beside each other. Zhongli’s eyes never tear away from him as he slowly puts his own cup to his lips, waiting for him to do the same.

Luckily Childe catches on and drinks the wine, Zhongli doing the same.

“ Congratulations on getting married. ” Ningguang says in pure liyuan dialect, bowing at Childe and the emperor. Her voice carried a smoother tone when she spoke in liyuan compared to when she spoke to Childe a few days ago. He snuck another glance at Zhongli without fully turning his head, trying not to seem too interested in the man.

‘Well, if he hears my thoughts I’d be doomed.’ Childe fully regained his composure after being let go by the preacher, some of the Qixing nobles leaving the hall as soon as it was done with the exception of Ningguang and Keqing, who stood further back towards the door waiting for them to finish their conversation with the emperor. He stood beside the emperor, waiting for him to finish his exchange with his regina before introducing himself, but while that was happening he was running through his mind figuring out how to make a good first impression.

“ Be quiet. ” He says, but the smile that graced his face when he faced her was gentle, yet it held some mirth. The smiles they exchanged held deeper meaning, as if it holds years of bonding that could not be overwritten by the involvement of a second love. Childe feels envious somehow.

Zhongli fully turns to him, with that handsome smile still on his face and Childe finds himself being entranced. He could finally get a good look at the well dressed man who wore layers upon layers from his dress shirt to his vest and his outer coat, this man was covered from head to toe leaving not an inch of skin exposed for imagination to run wild.

“Childe, this is Zhongli.” Ningguang introduces them before Zhongli could open his mouth to speak. “Call him xiansheng.” Zhongli turned to her with disbelief on his face while she giggled mischievously behind her gloved hand.

“You don’t have to call me - “

“Xiansheng?” He feels shy when he attempts to copy Ningguang’s pronunciation. He was rewarded with a thumbs up from the fair lady, but he noticed Zhongli take a step back from him.

“That is good pronunciation, Childe.” Zhongli says.

“My real name is Ajax.” He blurts out, feeling his cheeks get hot from how well this man could play him without having to do anything. He hasn’t actually said his original name for years, not since he had been adopted by the Tsaritsa. He felt as if he could have gone a lifetime without hearing that name again.

“Ajax.” And yet, he wants to hear his name on this man's lips more, drink it up like it was wine and honey. The smile that comes after the syllables of his name were addictive. He feels high, overwhelmed even, as if he had not been breathing oxygen up until he hears his name uttered from this man's lips.

If he could look at that smile for the rest of his life.

“There’s plenty of time for you both to get to know each other,” Ningguang says, but the holes that Keqing had been staring into her head had increased in intensity since earlier. “But not right now.” She smiles, a little nervous about the purple haired noble that was clicking the heel of her shoe against the carpeted floor.

Unfortunately, Ningguang went unheard by the two males. Zhongli looks at Childe like he is the only person in the hall, and Childe looks at him like he was the only person in the universe as they spoke, low and quiet unwanting others to hear their meek conversation.

“Are you really 40 years old?”

“No, that might be an exaggeration.”

“I knew my siblings were joking - “ “I’m 57.”

Childe blinked, his hand moving away from his mouth, to look at the emperor with disbelief. He shook his head, feeling whiplash from the information. The corners of the emperor's lips quirk upwards, amused as he watches the ginger process the information.

“You’re older than the Tsaritsa.”

“Indeed. I’ve known her for a very long time, we are good friends.”

“Ahem.” A loud noise was made, finally attracting the attention of the prince and the emperor. They turned to look at the smaller girl, her fist at her mouth before she crossed her arms. Ningguang stood a little behind her, averting her gaze. She did try to warn them, they couldn’t blame her for their scolding.

“Childe has to meet his tutor and Lady Ningguang and I have a meeting to tend to.” Keqing says bluntly. It seems her clear dislike was not hidden from anyone, not even with the exception of the emperor.

“Oh? I thought we were going on a date?” Ningguang piped up, making the purple haired girl go red in the face, but keeping her usual stoic demeanor. Keqing had her hands balled up in fists when the lady teased her, but couldn’t deny that it had embarrassed her in a good way. Zhongli raised a curious brow at his Qixing before nodding.

“I understand. You may go.” He says to Keqing and Ningguang. They both bow at their direction, before taking off. Childe was in the midst of turning away to follow them but was stopped by a gentle touch of a hand on his wrist. The touch was so gentle, it made his heart flutter. He looked at the gloved hand that caught him, before looking up at the emperor’s face.

“Xiansheng?” He says curiously. Zhongli hesitates, so the both of them were simply studying each other's faces. He looked like he had a lot to say to him, his mouth opening slightly before closing, and opening again and biting his lower lip.

“Till we meet again.” He finally says. Zhongli looked the way that Childe felt, shy. Childe couldn’t suppress the twinkle in his eyes and the smile that crept upon his face.

“Till next time, xiansheng.”

“In Liyue customs, an empress is bred from young, training from a youth until a young adult to be able to take the responsibilities that come with being the empress. Among these responsibilities are overseeing the imperial charity, funding for - '' The words blur and jumble into a ball of sounds as Childe stares at the pen and blank paper in front of him.

Why did he have to learn about the empress anyway? Couldn’t he skip to the parts that he didn’t need to learn since he was a meer concubine to the emperor? He twirls the fountain pen between his fingers, careful to not fling ink out and spray it all over the parchment.

“Childe, are you listening?” He looks up at his tutor. The blue haired boy much much younger than him is sitting at the end of his desk with a thick book placed on his lap.

“Yes, Xingqiu, I’m listening.”

“Good. How many years must an empress candidate undergo training before she can become the official regina?” He places his elbow on his knee, leaning his head on his hands as he watches the foreign prince in amusement. The prince clearly hadn’t been listening to him, instead choosing to spend his time concentrating on not spilling the ink from his pen as he twirled it between his fingers like a baton.

“Sixteen years.” Childe answers effortlessly, avoiding eye contact with his smug tutor. Xingqiu’s head lifted from his hand, a little shocked that the prince actually was paying attention to him.

“Good. We can move on to the inner workings of the emperors palace and its hierarchy.” He clasps the book shut with both hands, placing it onto the ever growing pile behind him before picking up another heavy volume with gold engravings on the spine. The red head looked at the book before his gaze trailed up to his teachers face. There is no way this boy was older than sixteen, and yet he’s sitting on the corner of his desk acting like his boss. According to Keqing who assigned Xingqiu as his tutor, the boy comes from a long line of nobles that had been famed to teach Liyue etiquette to both the descendants of emperors and empresses.

“A summary of the hierarchy would be Emperor Zhongli of course, followed by his son Xiao - “

“His son?” Childe asks, curiosity getting the best of him. ‘I didn’t know Zhongli was married.’ He put a finger to his chin and leaned back into his chair, hiding his troubled expression behind his hand.

“Yes, the sole prince of Liyue and only son of the emperor, Xiao. He is twenty this year, but isn’t taking the throne.” the blue haired boy shrugs as if the information was not anything special before flipping to another page of the thick book. Childe still lost in thought was thinking about the possibilities of Zhongli’s wife and himself having a child together, but still allowing the emperor to take a concubine for the sake of his country.

“He’s the current head of the Liutian army.” His tutor realises that he was no longer paying attention and raises a brow. He figures the prince must have some troubling thoughts to forgo listening to him altogether.

“He’s adopted.” Xingqiu says. He wants to burst out laughing when the information clearly did not reach Childe’s ears, but chooses to muffle his giggle behind his hand. He watches the prince's furrowed brows and smiles gently. Might as well continue reading from the book if the prince was not going to pay attention to his detailed explanations. “After the prince would be the eight heads of the Liyue Qixing starting with the Tianquan, who oversees the law and governance.” Xingqiu continues, the sun setting through the window behind him colouring the room in an orange hue.

- ‘The emperor has a son, which means he has a wife’ was the one thing Childe really took away from his first tutoring lesson with the young noble. He lies down on his bed staring at the ceiling above him, feeling the air gently blow through his open window surrounding him in comforting cold winds. It felt nowhere near as cold as Snezhnaya, but it would have to do for the night. The prince tended to do his thinking in the dead of night while the wind rustled through his fluffy hair.

‘The previous Tsar before mother had over eight omegas as concubines, but mother has never taken a husband.’ He thought, rolling onto his side and propping his head up onto his arm. Through his window, he could see the gorgeous garden filled with trees and white stone walls that sat between the emperor's palace and the palace he currently resides in. Deciding to get off his bed, he walked over to the window letting his long robes drag across the floor, tucking the long fabric under his legs while he situated himself on the bench beside the window.

‘Maybe mom is right? Would I actually have to work hard to impress the emperor?’ He furrows his brow in thought which he found himself doing very often since he had arrived at the palace. Childe thought himself to be the adaptable type, able to mold himself into any situation and conquer the harshest of conditions.

And yet, being treated like a soft and gentle omega was the strangest thing he had ever experienced in his lifetime.

‘Are soft and gentle someone Zhongli likes?’ Childe gets off his bench to walk over to the floor to ceiling mirror in the corner of his room. He looks at himself in the mirror with the robes wrapped tightly around his waist, and yet it was still loose enough to slip off slightly. He wasn’t very much the image of an ‘omega’, having more sharp angles than soft curves, and he is tall nearly the same height as the emperor. Overall in comparison to other omegas he had seen around the palace they had been the exact opposite of him.

Small, soft types with curves and usually very pretty with large doe eyes.

‘I’m more handsome than pretty.’ Childe thinks as he grabs his hip bones with both hands. ‘Sharp.’ He continues to pat his body, feeling the toned muscle and bone on him from years of working for the Tsaritsa. His hands trail to his toned stomach and rubs it in circles with the palm of his hand. He had always thought the best feature of his Harbinger uniform was that it had normally exposed his stomach, which was a part of him that he was proud of. It was sexy to say the least and it aided him agility wise on the battlefield, but now he wasn’t sure. Were omegas supposed to expose themselves like that?

‘I could make the effort. Zhongli is kinda handsome, I guess.’ He rolls his eyes, as if he had now been openly gawking the first time he met the emperor. ‘And helping the Tsaritsa is my priority.’

“Damn, I’ve never been this body conscious in my life.” He walks away from the mirror, but turns to look back at himself, eyes directly dropping to the shape of his ass in the mirror. He laughs a little pathetically before running a hand through his hair.

“This guy doesn’t know me, so it wouldn’t be too hard to hide the fact I was practically a tyrant back home!” With full confidence, he turned to face the mirror and crossed his arms, beaming at his prettier doppelganger in the mirror. He met his eyes, smile falling a little. Who was he kidding, he felt so out of place.

“Right?”

#zhongchi #genshin impact childe #genshin impact zhongli #childe is such a simp #childe #zhongli #tartaglia

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pascal-istheway · 4 years ago

Text

Deep Water - Chapter 1

Read it here on ao3!

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Warnings: Some Violence - Implied Non-Con

Relationships: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader, Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Reader

Characters: Francisco “Catfish” Morales, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Triple Frontier Ensemble

Tags: Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, We are basically torturing Frankie for this, I’m apologizing in advance

Word Count: 3130

MASTERLIST

Two Years Ago - Columbia

The last call anyone had heard from you was four days ago. You’d been in Columbia on a humanitarian mission with a local group, something about teaching today’s youth or whatever, Santiago hadn’t really listened to much if he’d been really honest. He just wanted to make sure his baby sister was safe and with people that could look out for her.

You had assured him on the call that you were fine, you’d brought the knife you were allowed to carry with you, but had to leave the gun he insisted he buy for you back in the states to which he explained how that defeated the purpose of owning the gun. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowing how overprotective your brother was. Santi was always on you for being safe, regardless if it was in Columbia or back home in your apartment in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood.

But as you bounced in the back of a windowless van, hands bound and eyes covered, no clue where you or your crew were being taken, you suddenly wished very much that you’d had that gun.

Five years ago - You

“Load up! Let’s go!” Santi smacked the side of the truck as he yelled out to the apartment for you, boards and cooler loaded up. “Come on! We’re wasting daylight here and the guys are already out there!” he waited a few more seconds before hollering your name again.

“I’m coming! Jesus, hold your fuckin horses, I was trying to find my hat…” you ran out to the truck, opening the old creaky door to his rusted ford and sliding in next to your brother on the bench seat. You casually toss your hat in the back seat before buckling your seatbelt. The beauty of living in California was all the access the best surfing the states had to offer. Your brother and his best friends from his unit were all meeting up for an early morning at the local spot and you decided to tag along, hoping to see the boys again.

You’d known some of these guys your whole life, thankful that they all got to serve together. Santiago would’ve been ok on his own, but he and Frankie had been close since they were kids. Knowing that they were out there in the shit together gave you the comfort that they were having their backs covered.

Santiago drives into the public parking lot, all of the guys already there except for one, Tom, who you had yet to meet. You hop out, saying your good mornings to most of them while keeping your eyes out for Frankie. You knew he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be here but yet, you didn’t see him amongst the guys.

Not wanting to seem desperate, you just helped unload, carrying things to the spot on the beach for the guys to start getting their gear on and ready. The sun had barely started to come up, making the sky a brilliant color of orange and pink. The most beautiful view in California.

“Oh shit! I forgot my hat in the truck! I’ll be right back,” you run back to the truck, feet struggling in the sand.

When you reach the truck, you fling the door open and bend over, searching for your hat that’s fallen on the floor in the back seat.

“Careful, you don’t want to get stuck like that…” you hear him behind you, teasing you as you snatch your hat and spring back up.

“Frankie! You made it!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him. He pulls you in, arms snaking around your back as he tucks his nose into your hair.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says softly into your ear before pulling away, “last real surf of the year” he smiles, the corners of his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

There’s a sadness in his voice, one anyone else would miss if they didn’t know him. But you do know Frankie. You know him better than almost anyone. You know what his voice sounds like during all the highs and lows, what it sounds like when he cried after his mom died, what it sounds like when he told you he got accepted into pilots training, and what it sounded like when he was drunk and whispered he loved you at 3 am.

“What’s wrong?” you pull back, holding yourself at arm’s length from him.

His mouth opens, the words right at the edge of his lips, but then they close again before he shakes his head, “nothing… let’s just enjoy this. Ok?”

So you do… you surf and swim and enjoy the morning with the guys. The warmth of the sun caresses your skin, soaking into your bones to warm you from the ocean. There’s a moment when you’re out on the water, the waves reflecting like glass and you let yourself enjoy the way it casts its light off Frankie’s long hair, bringing out the specks of gold and grey in his messy sea-soaked hair.

You love this - being out here with all of them. Your brother is the only real family either of you have. Your parents died when you were younger and when you were old enough to take care of yourself, Santiago enlisted and gained a new family. Brothers in arms.

You try not to think about the worry in his voice from that morning, doubt creeping in as the day went on. This was a rare occasion that all the guys could get together like this and usually when they did, it was before a big mission out of the country. Your heart sinks, realizing what this could possibly mean. Santi wouldn’t have told you, knowing that he wouldn’t have wanted to ruin the day. But Frankie? He told you everything. What held him back from telling you something as important as this?

“Here, you look like you could use this,” Frankie dumps himself down beside you in the sand, handing you a cold beer. You glance up at him, grateful for the drink, and bring the cold bottle to your lips, taking a long pull before swallowing.

“Thanks, it’s perfect,” you smile, leaning back on one hand and bracing the bottle on your thigh.

“Did you have fun today?” Frankie asked, taking a drink from his own bottle.

“Yeah, it really was the perfect day. Perfect weather too. Got some great waves out there,” you looked out to the water crashing up on the shore and watched as the sun splattered a watercolor of incredible colors throughout the sky.

“I think Santi is setting up the bonfire if you’re planning on stickin’ around,” he nudged your shoulder with his own.

“Yeah of course… he was my ride anyways,” you take another sip, enjoying the familiar feeling the hops gave you on an empty stomach. Knowing where that leads though, you look at Frankie and tell him “we should probably get some food in us soon.”

“I had a feeling you’d be hungry,” he reached behind him into a small cooler and pulled out two sandwiches. Chicken for himself and peanut butter and jelly with a side of Doritos, just like you liked. “Made ‘em special, just for us,” he joked.

A smile crept over your lips as you grabbed the sandwich baggie, pushing your beer in the sand as you ripped the bags open. He watched in disgust as you opened your sandwich and plop the Doritos on the PB&J, closing it and taking a massive bite.

“Dmon’t knmock mit ummil yoo twy it” you say around your food, knowing damn well he didn’t understand a single thing you said.

“Sure thing sweetheart,” he nodded, brows furrowed with amusement as he took his own bite.

You guys laugh and talk around your food and drinks, the effects of everything making you warm and at peace. Frankie is one of those people that you feel so at home with, not that your brother isn’t one of those, but Santi isn’t someone that you’d call at 2 am to come and get you when you’ve had too much to drink. He would just scold you the whole way home while Frankie - well Frankie would let you rest your head in his lap and would rub your head the entire way home, soft fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as you drift off to sleep from the lull of the engine.

And the only reason you know this is because he’s done it on several occasions for you. In college, shit even in high school. He protected you from Santiago when he found out you had your first boyfriend, although he did give you an interrogation of his own privately afterward. He was there for you through your first heartbreak. He taught you how to shoot your first gun… and your second.

When he turned to you, the haze of the drunkenness between the two of you, and blurted out that they were leaving again, despite being under the impression that they wouldn’t ever have to go again being so close to the end of their contracts, you were of course heartbroken. This was someone that was so much more to you than your brother’s best friend. He had become such a pertinent part of your life. You hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for that news.

You looked back over your shoulder at Santiago, Will, Ben, and Tom, laughing and talking around the fire while you and Frankie sat off to the side. The casualness between them all as they joked between each other, not fearing one last deployment. Your heart squeezed for them. They had each other, bound together by something so strong, something you’d never fully understand.

“Take a walk with me?” his voice pulled you from your thoughts and you see Frankie next to you, hand stretched down to help you up.

“Sure,” you take it, dusting the sand off yourself and grabbing another beer for the walk.

You walk until you can barely see the fire in the distance, the night becoming so dark all you can see is each other at your sides under the blanket of stars.

He whispers your name, taking your hand and pulling you to a stop, “I can’t leave this time without saying anything… I have to…” his words get caught in his throat.

You know what he wants to say, the words he needs to say because you’ve been feeling them for as long as you can remember, “Frankie…” his name comes out as a whisper.

You’re inches from each other, breath mingling together between you as he leans in, his eyes searching for the permission that he didn’t need to ask for. He already owned you, heart and soul, he just didn’t know it yet. This man would always own you, no matter what he did, no matter where he went.

You close the space, your lips gently brushing against his. Softly at first, but as his hands come up to frame your face, the passion that ignites behind him explodes. His mouth parts, yours following his lead as you allow him to explore your mouth. God this man knows how to kiss. It’s incredible, unlike anything you could’ve ever dreamt. Your hands move to his neck, pulling him in closer as his tangle in your hair.

“God, you’re so perfect…” he whispers against your lips. His mouth moves down your jaw, kissing and nipping its way down your throat. Your fingers find their way in his hair, playing with the soft curls at the base of his neck. A moan escapes your lips as his teeth graze your skin softly.

“Wait,” he pulls back, attempting to catch his breath, “I want to do this right. Not on the beach like some cheap date,” he half laughs, looking down at his tented pants and groaning, clearly regretting stopping.

“We don’t have to stop…” you suggest.

“No, I don’t want it to be like this for our first…” he pauses, “I want it to be,” his cheeks almost, blush? “I want it to be right… to be perfect.”

The sincerity in his voice carries to his eyes and you can tell he means it. He wants to love you right, the way you deserve. Not in the dirt or in the sand, but in a soft bed with fresh sheets and plush pillows. He wants to be able to wrap you in blankets after and hold you until the morning sun comes through the curtains and shines down on your freshly fucked skin. He wants to wake up next to you and see your hair splayed against his pillows.

The thought makes you smile, and you nod, knowing this is the start of something absolutely incredible. Something you never thought possible…

Columbia - Frankie

“God I fucking hate the goddamn jungle,” Benny slapped a mosquito on his neck, wiping away the blood on his hand on his shirt, “Fuckin’ gross.”

“Would you shut the fuck up Benny and keep your eye on your spot?” Ironhead said over his com, “this is supposed to be recon, not a fuckin’ vacation.”

Pope rolled his eyes at them, anxious to get eyes on Lorea, but more importantly, anxious to get eyes on you. He had told the guys exactly what they needed them to know, which was almost nothing about why they were actually in Colombia. Specifically leaving out the very important detail that you were the reason why he had gathered up the troops, paid them each $17,000 out of his own personal checking account, and practically begged them to come down under false pretenses of the Agency needing them for a recce mission on Lorea.

He didn’t even need to beg them, they all had packed their bags willingly and flown over the border into Columbia to gather intel on Lorea. Pope had shown them around the area and talked up a big game about how the narcos were causing all these problems and Lorea needed to be dealt with.

Technically, the recon wasn’t a complete lie. He had been down here for over three years, running himself in circles around the cops and narcos on Lorea’s payroll trying to find a bullshit way to get to him. He’d tried everything and at the end of the day, everything isn’t enough when it comes to this guy. He had his hand in every single nook of this god-forsaken country.

He had a girl on the inside, someone who ran money for Lorea and had offered to give up the location in exchange for her brother’s safe return from jail. Admittedly, she may not have given him this information if he had not been sleeping with Pope, but no one could blame her. He’d had it with this fucking country and at this point, there were no more rules to break. Sleeping with an informant was the least of his worries, especially now that he knew that you were somewhere in the house he was staking out.

Tom turned to Pope, “so you sleeping with her?” He took a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth, offering one to Pope.

Santiago turned to him and scoffed, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he grabbed the gum and unwrapped it, shoving it in his mouth, “ew man, what the fuck is this shit?”

Tom laughed, “Cola flavored.”

“You owe me a piece of Hubba Bubba dude,” he said, spitting the gum out along with a huge wad of spit. He took his canteen and swished his mouth out as Tom laughed at him.

Back in the day on missions, they had this unspoken rule, someone always has to bring gum. It was like a good luck charm. And Tom, being the leader, always brought the flavor he wanted, never the one that everyone else liked. Fucking asshole. You don’t fuck with tradition…

“I’m at the gate,” Benny’s voice cuts through their ears.

“How’s it looking over there,” Pope responds, holding his binoculars up to take a look from his vantage point.

“Well, looks like things were done about 82% right… They got all the toys out here but these cameras aren’t even aimed at the weakest breach point…” Benny reports.

“Your girlfriend making her normal money drop?” Tom asks

Santiago glares at him, “she ain’t my girlfriend.”

“Informant, whatever…”

“Yeah, she said she’s prepared to record the inside of the house. We need proof of Lorea and the money,” Pope sighs.

Frankie’s voice cuts in, “Hey, uh Pope, I got kids over here. Does he have kids living in here with him? Because that is not what I signed up for.”

“The family is not the problem fish, they are the answer,” Pope says. “Lorea’s very devout… sends his entire crew with his family every Sunday morning. Leaves him, and three guards home alone… every. Sunday.”

Miller pipes up, “why would he do that?”

“Well, he’s worried about someone taking his kids. That and he never leaves his money. Also I don’t think he believes anyone actually has the balls to come out here in the middle of the fuckin’ jungle and rob him,” to this, everyone laughs.

“Look alive guys, we got incoming,” Miller said over the comlink as a van approached.

“Shit Pope, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was beautiful,” Benny says over the com.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Tom turns to Pope and shakes his head.

“Fuck off.”

They watch her pull through the front gate, van bouncing through the mud and muck. Gunshots echo out in the distance and Ironhead comes over the com, “I got an execution going down over here guys.”

“Courtyard?” Pope asked.

“Yep… looks like mostly men and two women judging on the builds, can’t see any faces though,” Ironhead responds.

“Fuck…” Pope whispers, “uh, yeah that’s his spot,” his voice tightened.

Screams echoed throughout the coms from Ironhead’s mic, “shit guys, he’s taking some girl into the house… I -” his voice cuts out, clearly unable to watch anymore.

The screams could be heard even without the coms, Pope knowing exactly who it belonged to. He’d heard every sound you could make, screams, crying, laughter. He was your brother and helped raise you, he may have needed confirmation you were in there but in his gut, he already knew.

No one else would be able to see the way his heart rate had quickened, hoping that you weren’t in that group of people, now lying dead on the court. As the last gunshots echoed out throughout the jungle, and your screaming stopped, Pope did something he hadn’t done in a very long time… he prayed.

#Frankie Morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #santiago pope garcia #slow burn #smut #fluff #angst #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pascal-istheway

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

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In Over His Headboard

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 7560

This is a submission for the first day of Thotumn, organized by @spideysmjs!!! Today’s prompt: Dirty Talk.

Summary: MJ learns that Ned's best friend went through a lot of backpacks as a teenager. And a lot of headboards as an adult.

MJ is very observant.

But that’s old news.

The other O-word she lives her life by is ‘organized’. In kindergarten, she rearranged everyone’s cubby during naptime (without permission) to suit her precepts. As an adult, she keeps her books sorted by topic and, within that, by size. The handles of her measuring cups are perfectly aligned. The apartment that houses both the books and the measuring cups is tidy, full of furniture with secret built-in storage spaces, and fewer than five miles from the house in which she grew up. MJ has organized and reorganized her own space so many times that, even though her few good friends think it’s crazy, it explains why one of her passions is helping people move.

Packing boxes is a delight. Laying down rugs so that their straight edges are perfectly parallel to the walls thrills her. Helping someone determine exactly the correct lineup of toiletries in the cabinet under their bathroom sink is a religious experience. She doesn’t express her joy in smiles or shrieks of excitement, but in her diligence. She’ll be tucked quietly in the closet, ordering jeans by shade of blue, while the rest of the volunteer movers crack open a beer in the kitchen, calling it time for a well-earned break.

Lately, everyone in MJ’s life has gotten disappointingly settled: her brother and his wife upsizing in suburbia for the baby on the way, her parents (who are finally coming down hard on not letting her shift their knickknacks around anymore), and Betty. Betty’s engaged—so engaged—and simply made space for her fiancé to move in with her, so MJ didn’t get to assemble a single cardboard box. She still feels slightly betrayed.

When Betty calls and starts in about schedules and plans and photographer, MJ assumes they’re about to go over more wedding details. But no, her friend informs her, the schedule involves the timed renting of a moving truck and the access date for a storage unit, the plans are who’s lending a hand and with what, and the photographer is Ned’s friend and future best man, some guy named Peter. MJ forgets the name (and asks Betty for it again later—day-of, as they’re driving to the guy’s apartment building). It’s a dull speck on the metaphorical diamond Betty has just held up to the light for her to inspect—whatshisname needs people to help him move.

Before the pleasure of putting someone’s possessions in just the right spot can commence, there’s the grunt work. MJ understands and accepts this as a necessary evil. On the day of Ned’s friend’s move-in, she dresses in overalls—multiple pockets for micro-organization on the fly—with a cropped t-shirt underneath because there will, inevitably, be stairs and it’s July. She’s trying not to begin sweating too far in advance, limiting her anticipation to a foot jumping on the immaculate rubber foot mat of the passenger seat of Betty’s car and a series of probing questions.

“Doesn’t this guy have any friends?”

“He has friends,” Betty assures her, being a responsible driver and keeping her eyes on the road, “just not a lot of super close friends.”

“And the close friends he does have weren’t available?”

“Umm…” She concentrates on watching the pedestrian countdown light as they cross an intersection. “I think a bunch of them went with him to the storage unit to load up the truck. I guess they don’t have the whole day off.”

“Oh, unlike me, who has nothing better to do.”

“Don’t get snippy. And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have begged to help if you’d heard me mention what I was doing today.”

MJ plays with the seatbelt strapped across her chest, feeling defensive. It’s her go-to reaction whenever Betty reveals how clearly she sees her.

“I was just trying to figure out why I was asked.”

“Ned’s his friend, I’m Ned’s fiancée, and you’re my friend.”

“The six degrees of Michelle Jones,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing. He lives in Queens?”

“Yeah, Peter’s local. He and Ned went to school together. Crazy, huh?”

“Crazy that you can travel the world and end up with a fiancé and a circle of friends from your hometown,” MJ agrees. Today, Betty’s in jean shorts and a beachy shirt that ties in a knot at the end of its row of iridescent buttons, but MJ mostly sees her on the news, looking as prim and expensive as a collectible doll. She’s a foreign correspondent for CNN, though she’s reining in the foreign part now that she’s living with Ned and about to get married.

“Crazy,” Betty repeats distractedly, making a perfect, tight turn into the belowground carpark next to the building bearing the address MJ wrote down two weeks ago. This is where the magic will happen.

The pile out and her friend beeps her fob to lock the car. She wants to take the elevator that’ll bring them up to the lobby, but MJ insists on trekking back up the ramp they drove down. It stretches her legs, a good warm up. As they emerge from the darkness of the lot and sun slices across their faces, she feels like she’s walking into Disney World. They stand on the sidewalk and right as she’s about to ask Betty when they guys are supposed to make an appearance, a U-Haul pulls up to the curb.

She sees the driver’s side door open and slam shut without seeing the driver, but Ned comes bounding down from the passenger’s side to hold his fiancée’s hands and give her a quick kiss on the forehead (they’re so engaged), then three more guys fold themselves out of the tight back of the cab and hustle around to the rear of the truck. The couple’s display of affection distracted MJ; she can only assume it’s the driver out of sight in the back, passing belongings down to his helpers, who swiftly stack them on the sidewalk near the front doors of the apartment building. There’s an array of boxes, then staggering steps as the guys navigate couches and mattresses out of the truck, racing against the inflexibility of the No Parking and No Idling signs on this street. If a bylaw stooge comes along, they’re screwed. New York’s street signs exist for the city to make money, not for the ease of citizens needing to unload their furniture.

The guy’s—Peter’s—friends are surprisingly quick, so MJ lets the speech she was mentally writing to argue in favour of his right to park the truck in front of the building he’s moving into dissolve in her head. Peter hops down from the back of the truck. From where she and Betty are standing, she can only see his legs and hear the clang of the rear door closing. The trio of extra helpers clamber back into the U-Haul with the intent and discipline of clowns into a clown car and wheel off to return the truck. MJ finally sees the man she’s come to help as he brushes his hands together and steps quickly onto the curb to avoid another car angling into the carpark. He shakes hair off his forehead and squints towards them, sun in his eyes, already smiling.

“Um, hello,” MJ hisses at Betty, quickly turning to her. “Were you going to mention that your fiancé is best friends with Spider-Man? That’s Peter fucking Parker.”

“And I’m Betty fucking Brant,” she counters breezily. She’s looking past MJ, waving at Peter. “I’m on the news more than he is and you don’t freak out when you see me.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Hey!”

MJ spins to look into the eyes of a municipal—no, a national—no, an international hero. She doesn’t say anything fast enough, so he moves past her to hug Betty before coming back to her with eyebrows raised in what looks like a mixture of inquiry, politeness, and gratitude.

“Michelle?”

“But my friends call me—”

“MJ,” he finishes for her, and normally that would be irritating, but Peter Parker is endearingly boyish close-up. He’s shorter than she is. He’s freckled. He does look like somebody she could’ve gone to school with and had a low-key crush on for years and years. The fame can’t touch that, which is why, she figures, his hero-next-door schtick works so well for him. He’s local, like Betty said. Every bit of him sells that and it’s obvious that he’s not trying.

“And yours call you Spider-Man?”

Might as well get that out in the open—that she recognizes him. He laughs easily and glances down.

“Nah, pretty much just ‘Peter’. ‘Petey’ if they either really want to make me suffer or they really like me.”

He gives her a look and it’s brief, but there’s a lot to it. The propositioning tilt of the head, the wolfish curl of the smile, the assessing cut of his eyes to catch her from the corner of his vision. MJ gets a strong sense that ‘really like me’ is a euphemism for ‘enjoy me sexually.’

“We’ll see how I feel once we’ve moved all your shit upstairs, I guess,” she responds flatly.

“That sounds fair.” His voice is bright now, no lurking depravity. “I hope I don’t have enough boxes to make you hate me.”

“Please. Boxes are nothing. I’d be more worried about that dresser turning me against you. What is that thing made of?”

“Solid oak,” he brags, then grimaces. “It sucked just lifting it onto the truck.”

“Can’t you just…” MJ mimes the motion Spider-Man does when he shoots that gunk at people and buildings.

“Lift the furniture up to my building with web fluid?” Peter crosses his arms and looks like he’s really calculating it in his head. “Wouldn’t be graceful. I’d probably smash some windows if I tried to do it from outside, and doing it from inside wouldn’t be that much easier than just carrying it up the stairs. Also, that’d attract a lot of attention and everything I do doesn’t need to make the news, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” she agrees dryly. “I hate it when I’m just grocery shopping and there’s a whole camera crew right in my face.”

He laughs at her sarcasm. Appealing.

“Right?”

And then they have to scurry to catch up because Ned and Betty have already started moving everything into the lobby.

After it’s all inside and not available to be swiped by anyone walking or driving down the street, they decide to take turns carrying stuff up to the fourth floor. (Fourth? MJ could swear she was told second.) One person stays with the remainder of Peter’s stuff while the other three lug boxes and chairs and, eventually, the dreaded oak dresser. She’s too focused on maintaining a brisk pace to really check out his apartment—beyond noting the large windows and protruding edge of the kitchen countertop (that catches her in the stomach while she’s squeezing around a box Ned left too close to the front door). It wouldn’t matter. Layout and organization haven’t been much on her mind since Peter Parker stepped out from behind that truck.

This process isn’t supposed to be a spectacle, but people notice Peter, and Peter, ever the neighbourhood Spider-Man, notices people.

A man exiting through the lobby nods towards Peter’s desk and starts a conversation about materials and quality. MJ almost trips up the stairs with a box in her arms as she hears him say, “Yeah, I’ve got more wood than I know what to do with.” Betty, on her way down, catches her eye and gives her a funny look.

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot,” she fires back.

Ned’s above, guiding one end of the couch, and Peter and MJ are heaving the other (mostly Peter) when a different dude narrowly gets past them on a landing, only to turn around and remark on the wonder of them being able to maneuver it. “It’s long,” Peter agrees, “but I’ve fit this thing into some pretty tight places.” Right after, he asks MJ if she needs a break. She’s fine. She only almost dropped her corner of the couch because her hand cramped.

As she’s taking a final box through the door of his apartment, she overhears, “I’ll let him choose the position. What do I know? I’m happy to put it anywhere. The only thing I can be trusted to be in charge of is making sure it’s well-hung.” Stumbling forward, she sees that Peter (who just spoke) and Betty are admiring a large, framed print of him and Ned in cap and gown, clutching diplomas. MJ grabs a bottle of water from the case they carried up here at the beginning—it’s lukewarm, but practically glacial compared to the temperature of her face right now—and asks her friend if she wants to step outside to get a little air before they continue.

Leaning against the wall of the building, MJ chugs some of her water, then hands it off to Betty. While her friend’s drinking, she says, “So, he’s gay, right?”

Betty catches the water that slops down onto her chin.

“What?”

“Peter. He’s gay.”

“I’ve seen him with guys when we’ve all gone to the bar together—”

MJ breathes deeply in relief. She needs him to be gay; the knowledge will quell how she feels when he utters these outrageous, completely explainable sentences, or when he walks ahead of her up the stairs and she’s forced to stare at his ass for four floors, or when she remembers that look he gave her before they started moving everything.

“—but Ned mentioned a serious girlfriend Peter had in high school, so I think he’s bi. Oh my god,” Betty adds in a tone of realization that scares the hell out of MJ. “You want him.”

It takes rapid backtracking and a convincing presentation of the facts (those being every suggestive thing Peter’s said today and leaving out the part about his ass) to wipe the excited look off her friend’s face.

“So, you’ve just been misunderstanding him. And eavesdropping.”

“Can we call it eavesdropping if he has nothing to hide?”

“Fine,” Betty says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not eavesdropping because he has nothing to hide. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known Ned and, yeah, he might have an entire second identity, but the guy’s an open book. Peter couldn’t be sly if his life depended on it. He’s a goof, MJ. He’d never say that kind of stuff for real.”

Except that they hike back up to the apartment together and Peter’s voice drifts into the kitchen from one of the rooms down the hall, making the women halt and lock eyes.

“Remember how many backpacks May bought you in high school?” Ned chuckles. “This reminds me of that.”

“I do go through a lot of headboards. I’m not trying to break them, but I always put my legs into it too much and I just go so deep.”

“The room,” Betty babbles next to her, gripping her wrist. “I’m sure he’s talking about the depth of the room, coming in through the window too quickly from patrol.”

“It’s easy for you to tell yourself that,” MJ points out. “You’re engaged. You have no reason to think about Peter like that.”

Ned emerges and heads straight for Betty. These two are so gross together that neither of them protests against being hugged, though they’re sweaty from labour. With his arm around her friend’s waist, Ned turns to address MJ.

“Are you hanging around for a while?”

“Yeah, definitely. I can help unpack,” she pledges.

“Great. I know Peter’d like to get curtains put up for privacy today too, because, you know, being Spider-Man and having all these windows don’t really go well together, and you’re the tallest. He’ll probably want your help.”

She’d rather be assigned the task of choosing which kitchen cupboard will hold his plates, his glasses, the cans of premade soup she imagines Spider-Man relies on when he’s always darting around at night, too busy to devote a lot of time to making dinner. But she’s here to help. It’s not her apartment; she’ll go where she can be useful (any maybe do some sneaky rearranging later if he makes dumb organizational choices).

“Babe,” Ned says to Betty, “I’m going on a beer run—and maybe tacos, do you feel like tacos?—do you wanna come with me?”

“Of course, babe, but I don’t want…”

She looks at MJ, who’s trying to be inconspicuous, sorting the boxes labelled ‘KITCHEN’ from those labelled ‘LIVING ROOM’.

“One sec,” Betty tells her fiancé, walking over to MJ. “Will you be alright here if we go out for food?”

“Mhmm.”

Without glancing over, she plucks the X-Acto knife from her overall pocket and slices through packing tape to reveal nested pans, cloaked in mismatched dishtowels to prevent scraping during transport. The combination of careful and slapdash makes her smile to herself.

“It’s rush hour now, so I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Betty warns.

“That’s fine.”

“I think we all need a little fuel before we settle in to unpack.”

“Yeah.”

“MJ,” her friend says sharply.

“What?”

“Are you ok being alone with Peter for a while?”

“Yes,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “He’s Ned’s best friend and he’s Spider-Man, not some random creep. I’m not afraid he’s going to jump me. Anyway, I have this.” She waggles the knife.

“I’m more worried about you jumping him.”

She narrows her eyes at Betty.

“Have a little respect for my self-control.”

Her friend just shrugs.

“I’d understand. There’s the allure of him being a superhero and, more importantly, the fact that Ned and I can both vouch for him being a genuinely great guy.”

MJ narrows her eyes even more, this time in suspicion.

“Is this a moving day or a blind date?”

“Oh please.”

“That’s not an answer. Betty,” she presses, but her friend turns and grabs Ned’s hand. The wave as they leave the apartment is mockingly innocent.

Alone, MJ darts a glance down the hall, where she knows Peter is still doing whatever in the bedroom. She’s not going to race in there like some glassy-eyed fangirl. Even if Betty does endorse him so warmly, and he does seem so down-to-earth, and his ass does look like that in his jeans. She lifts his cookware out, one piece at a time, then moves on to the tangled jumble of utensils in the next box, trying to separate a pair of tongs from a warped spatula. She doesn’t hear Peter walk into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says suddenly from behind her.

MJ jumps and holds up the tongs threateningly, but her hand falls as she stares at him. He’s wiping sweat from his neck with the hem of his navy t-shirt. There are his abs and the taut skin below his navel.

“If you have a minute, could you give me a hand with this rod? I can’t get it up on my own.”

Her gaze springs up to his face and she stares at him.

“Huh?”

“The… curtain rod?” Peter says. “I can stand on a chair to do the one end, but I can’t do both ends at once. Do you think you could—”

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile is pleasant and relieved and MJ follows him into the bedroom like he hit her with some sort of magic spell, not just artless, unintentional dirty talk. She sets the tongs down on the floor by the wall; whoops.

“Warm in here,” she notes as she sidesteps a clear plastic tote of Peter’s clothes.

“Yeah, I was gonna open the window, but I didn’t know if the humidity would only make it worse.”

MJ watches as he gestures with one hand and props the other on his hip, hiking up his t-shirt to hook his thumb in the waist of his jeans. She encourages him to go ahead and risk it. The space is unbearable without at least the illusion of fresh air. She redoes her drooping ponytail, feeling new sweat slide down the nape of her neck as Peter crouches and jerks the window up from its sticky sill. Her gaze, and possibly her mind, gets lost somewhere in the breadth of his shoulders. His triceps look as hard and as perfectly rounded as the rolling pin that was still in the box when she left the kitchen. Emptying her chest pocket of odds and ends—knife, scissors, permanent marker, Allen key—MJ unbuckles her overalls, letting the straps and the bib hang down. The buttons on the hips keep the pants part up, but she can’t stand to have the whole thing closing her in any longer. She can’t breathe.

They each take an end of the curtain rod and Peter uses his knees to climb onto his nightstand, already positioned against the wall. It’s overkill because he’s not that much shorter and MJ can hook her end into the bracket without even having to get up on her toes. She’s done first and turns to look at Peter, kneeling on the nightstand with his thighs apart. She pictures joining him on that narrow surface, straddling his lap. God. How long have Betty and Ned been gone?

Then again, why fight it?

“Having some trouble getting it in?” she asks.

The rod clunks against the wall as Peter whips his head around to look slightly down at her.

“Your rod,” MJ clarifies. “You want me to take over? I can handle it.” At his continued dumbstruck silence, she goes on. “Or I can just direct you from here. You could try working it back and forth a little until you get the perfect angle. Then I’m sure it’ll ease right in.”

He hardly seems aware when the curtain rod falls into place. After a few extra moments of immobility, he dismounts and swishes the semi-sheer curtain across the window. She can feel his eyes on her, tracing the strip of stomach between the bottom of her crop-top and the folded-over denim of her overalls.

“What’s next?” she asks. “Maybe go into the bathroom and investigate the plumbing? Or, you know what, I didn’t finish unpacking your utensils. Would you rather go back to the kitchen and get your hands on my box?”

“What are you doing?”

It sounds like his chest is tight, like he’s forcing the words out. MJ smiles gently at the real-life superhero into whose apartment she has miraculously been deposited for today and perhaps only today.

“Helping.”

“Did you have to call it handling my rod?”

“Did you have to tell me you couldn’t get it up without me?” she challenges.

Peter’s mouth falls open and he makes a choked sound of protest, but she raises her eyebrows at him, daring him to argue.

“You asked me for a hand with your rod,” MJ presses. “That was you. You started it. And it wasn’t even then, it was hours ago. What is there in this apartment that you haven’t made some sort of phallic reference to?!”

“I… did I? I’ve been doing that?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Spidey. Own it or don’t, but don’t pretend you haven’t heard some of the shit you’ve said today.”

“Are you offended?” he asks, avoiding her eyes, but not her body; he takes his time staring at that.

“I might be if you don’t do anything about it,” she huffs. “I’d hate to think that Spider-Man’s all words and no action.”

“I’m off-duty.” A sly smile.

“We can just talk,” MJ says casually, thinking that she’ll possibly die of heat exhaustion and unresolved sexual tension if they stand around chatting. “Why don’t you tell me how Spider-Man’s managed to crack so many headboards?”

He shoots her the same kind of look he gave her on the sidewalk.

“It wasn’t always Spider-Man.”

She smirks and gives him a look of her own.

“Then why don’t you show me?”

It’s the honesty in his expression that she appreciates as Peter surges towards her, grabbing her face between both hands and kissing her urgently. She grips his waist and scrunches his t-shirt in her hands. At the first little pause they take to snatch a breath, she peels the shirt up and he yanks it off the rest of the way.

“Nice,” she breathes, stroking his torso with her gaze before adding her hands.

He gives her a jerky nod of acknowledgement and goes for her shirt. Tugging it off screws up her ponytail again, but she doesn’t have time to care; Peter’s kissing her, wet and demanding, while he reaches around and fumbles to unhook her bra. When he nudges his hips against her, she feels him. He’s been making sideways insinuations about his dick all day (whether he admits it to her or not), and here’s the real deal at last. MJ presses her tongue slickly into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering at the urge to open her eyes and see what kind of face he’s making to accompany the groan he lets out as she deepens the kiss. As he draws the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms, she regretfully takes her hands off his chest, swiftly unbuttoning her overalls. Left side buttons, then right. Peter hampers her by grabbing her ass and rolling his hips forward as she’s trying to get her pants down. She doesn’t discourage him. It’s thrilling that he’s handsy.

The room’s a mess—not dirty, thankfully, and she assumes he must’ve come on another day to vacuum and clean, but with a short, uneven stack of boxes in one corner, the container of clothing, the box spring and mattress leaning together against the wall, and the headboard, poking out of the closet because he hasn’t put his bedframe together yet. MJ hates disorganization, especially when it fucks with the logistics of what has all the promising tempo and quick chemistry of a fantastic hookup.

“We could just…” He huffs, lifting his mouth off her neck where he’s started licking and sucking. “…tip the mattress onto the floor?”

She’s taken aback by the idea of fucking Spider-Man on a mattress in the middle of his mess of a bedroom. With the curtain as the only thing to show they made any progress in this room before giving in to their libidos. But she’s in her underwear, overalls ringing her ankles, and the man beneath the famous mask looks hot as hell when he’s been kissed hard and riled into an expectant erection. How else are they going to pass the time before their friends return? Fanning out magazines on his coffee table?

“Let’s do that,” she agrees.

They work as a team to control its fall. The room’s carpeted, so the mattress doesn’t make much of a sound beyond a soft thump when it hits the floor. MJ frowns at it thoughtfully. “You don’t have sheets.”

“Fuck sheets,” Peter says, half declaration, half laugh, and walks across the mattress to get to her.

She smiles against his mouth because it’s funny that he’s momentarily taller, standing on the mattress while her feet are still on the floor. Good thing he’s already taken his shoes off. MJ pulls away and drops to unlace her own sneakers, very, very aware of the rasp of Peter unzipping his jeans right above her head. She steps out of her shoes and overalls, then frees her hair of the elastic, flinging it spontaneously across the room, tousling her hair in her hands to fight the tingling of her scalp as she straightens up.

Oh. He’s already stripped his boxers off.

If her mouth actually does fall open as dramatically as it feels like it just has, it’s fine. MJ forgives herself. You’re supposed to be embarrassed after meeting a celebrity, wincing over every rambling sentence you blurted at them and every awkward twitch in your high-strung body language. Only you will ever recall your spastic behaviour. The celebrity forgot you the moment you exited their line of sight. Wait, will Peter mark her down as a horny fan and forget her? She hasn’t known him long enough to separate the man from the heroic icon, but she hopes neither side of his identity involves treating a partner like that. But no. Doesn’t matter. She can overanalyze later. Peter takes her hands and guides her onto the mattress where they make out standing up for a few minutes—him hot and rigid against her stomach, her not quite naked—before things get so heated that they collapse with roaming hands (Peter) and trembling knees (MJ).

For such a wholesome figure, Spider-Man curses wildly as he slides her underwear off, nose skimming down her skin from between her breasts to below her bellybutton while he works.

“You… you look…” he pants, propping himself up on his hands just to admire her. She has to confess, to herself alone, that it’s flattering, that it’s already making her want more of this: reckless afternoon sex in her friend’s fiancé’s best man’s new apartment. “God, I’m so glad you—”

“Called your bluff?” she suggests wryly.

“And everything before that. I’m so glad you were standing on the sidewalk when I got out of that truck.”

Well. That’s a little earnest. Then again, the man is hovering over her in the nude, so they’re in the heat-of-the-moment realm, during which time, comments of disconcerting earnestness do not count, or can be retracted later with no fault to either party.

To counteract it, MJ teases, “Are you saying you’re glad I came?”

“I’m glad you didn’t immediately leave when I said that thing about my wood,” he confides, kissing swiftly back up to her chest and using nothing but his tongue to toy with her breasts. She gasps at the sudden pull of his teeth, then laughs.

“So you were saying that shit on purpose.”

“Don’t be mad that I was too intimidated by your hotness to flirt with you to your face.”

His tone is playfully giddy and she likes this guy, she really does. She gets a good grip on his soft brown curls and tows him up for more kissing. Her knees bump his bare hips as she forms a cradle for him to drop into. Hint, hint.

Luckily, Spider-Man knows his cue.

He rocks between her legs and her chest rises and falls like breathing is a massive exertion. His angle is almost just right, so MJ shuffles and shifts and he’s endlessly patient as she rubs against him from below, testing. Well, not endlessly patient. The instant she moans in satisfaction, he’s got a hand wrapped desperately around her hip as he grinds down with tenacity. Right. This isn’t just any hookup, any guy. This is the guy who makes a career out of not backing down. Heat flows through her at the sudden thought of being handled with the intensity of one of Spider-Man’s mission.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she says as she feels the head of him slip lower, skipping across her entrance. “Condom.”

Intense, and kind of a lustful dumbass.

“Right,” he agrees, flushed when he raises his face from where he’s been breathing in the scent of her hair. “I have one, uh, in my wallet.”

And then he doesn’t break away from her for a good ten seconds, like he’s hoping she’ll let him slide in bare. Horny motherfucker. MJ wants to screw Spider-Man, not birth his crime-fighting offspring. She tucks her chin and gives him a look that promises, as much as it would pain her, this thing is shutting down here and now if he doesn’t wrap it up. With a resigned exhalation (and a little smile implying he knows what he was trying to get away with), Peter pushes off of her and goes to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. She rolls onto her stomach to study the ropy musculature of his thighs. When he extracts the condom with a triumphant burst of sound, she flips onto her back again and watches him trip over the jeans he just dropped. There’s a charming contrast between this unexpected klutziness and her assumption that he could pull anybody with a pulse using those trusting brown eyes and his Avengers status.

He crouches beside MJ and doesn’t take his eyes off her, flapping the condom between his fingers.

“Should I put this on or do you wanna put it on me?”

She presents her palm.

“Give me that. You can’t even be trusted to install a curtain rod.”

“Oh, I’m extremely ready to install a rod,” he says eagerly, watching her tear the condom open and reach for his waiting cock.

“You know, you’re a real dork for a guy with those commitments and that ass.”

“Thank you?”

Before his uncertainty can swell to self-congratulations, MJ rolls the condom roughly down his dick, making him heave and shake, hips bucking into her perfunctory hold. Smirking, she closes her fist and pumps him quickly, eyes on the blank bliss on his face, his slack jaw. After a brisk minute of this, he begs her to slow down, then, still kneeling at her side, cups between her legs and starts fondling her at an even more vigorous pace than she was using on him. Her breaths come in hiccups and she can’t point out how unfair this is. Just as she’s arching for more, thinking she’s about to come faster than she ever has in her life, Peter stops cold.

“Are you ready to—”

MJ glares and knocks him back onto his ass, then scrambles onto his lap, continuing to push him down until his shoulders touch the mattress. His expression is cheerily confused.

“I was this close,” she says, pinching her fingers together until they nearly touch. When her complaint brings an impish smile to Peter’s face, she pinches those fingers around his nipple, so he hisses and curls into himself. Shaking her head at him, she takes hold of his erection and eases down onto his lap. His ecstatic chant of, “Oh man, oh man, oh man,” is moderately distracting, but MJ persists. It’s just who she is: stoic.

“God,” he groans beneath her as she begins swaying forward and back, “this is almost as good as catching the midnight opening of a new Star Wars.”

She covers his mouth with her hand and he laughs behind it.

“I was just trying to lean into your perception of me. I’m kidding.”

“Are you though?”

But she frees him for the noises he makes. Some of these grunts and whimpers scale her spine like a ladder, raising goosebumps as they go, until the whole sensation comes shivering back down and she finds herself riding him harder.

“Firm mattress,” she huffs.

“’S new. The last one was awful on my back and—ughhhhhhhohfuuuck—with the hazards of my line of work, I figured I gotta start taking care of myself.”

“If you won’t, I will,” MJ mumbles, curving forward to lick his chest, charting it all under her tongue, as she continues to shove back against him.

“Fuck,” he says, short and sharp. He seizes her hips and rolls her beneath him. “You should know, you taking control is a big turn on for me.”

“Clearly.”

She’s not sure how much sarcasm comes across in her gasp because his manhandling has knocked the wind out of her. Actually, she’s happy to let him steer things; being on top was starting to remind her legs of every step she’s walked up and down in this apartment building today, carrying Peter’s shit. He kneads some of the tightness away when he grasps her thigh and digs in with a roll of his fingers. Her moan is as much in relief as arousal. Then he starts thrusting so fast and deep that he has to pull her back towards him every so often so she isn’t forced off the mattress. The hum leaving her mouth is somewhere between breathing and moaning, one note that drags on and on, jumping and breaking when he catches her mouth in sloppy, ravenous kisses.

He’s still doing his damnedest to make out with her when her lips part with a genuine shriek. The tickle of Peter’s tongue against the roof of her mouth somehow adds to the sensation, like a high vibration over the low thrum of him drilling in and out of her. MJ comes seconds into the beginning of her scream; Peter comes with a crack. The sheer force of her orgasm—Spider-Man is clearly not without finesse, he simply does not choose to employ it in favour of fucking like he’s a sportscar running a red on a highspeed chase—has her too stunned to figure out why the sound accompanying his was wrong.

“What was that?” she asks hazily as Peter slumps over her body, breathing hard and still gently thrusting. He’s sweaty, but so is she. With something like pride, she realizes he’ll have to go to sleep tonight with his mattress soaked in her scent.

“Leg slipped,” he says.

MJ does vaguely recall that. In the midst of her climax, he’d moved. It wasn’t enough to distract her, so she’d focused on the feeling, as well as the resolution to not let him get her that close to the edge a second time without going over it.

“And hit what?”

“Uhhh…”

He doesn’t appear to know either, with his bleary, punch-drunk expression that’s unfortunately pretty adorable. No, no, no. A hand with moving, a hasty fuck, and she’s out. The whole day’s been extremely worth her while. She tells herself she doesn’t need more.

But Peter rolls off and she misses his weight and warmth, his shape and soft eyes. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress with his knees folded high when he goes, “Shit,” under his breath.

Because he also happens to be handling condom-removing at the time, MJ sits up fast, in a panic.

“Did it break?”

His posture inflates with a deep breath, then sags.

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s any way to salvage it.”

Salvage it? That’s a weird fucking thing to say in the situation, like it could possibly matter whether or not they were able to repair the condom after he’s already come inside her. Still, MJ’s skeptic nature makes her grab Peter’s shoulder and wrench it back, only to see the tied-off condom dangling between his fingers. It looks intact. She grips his chin and turns him to look at her.

“What do you mean it’s broken? It’s not in tatters. It’s not leaking.”

“What?” He squints at her, then follows her gaze to the condom. “Oh, not the condom. My headboard.”

Sure enough, she looks up and there’s his headboard, still protruding from the closet, but now in two pieces. The closest is on a slow, sad slide to the floor. He must’ve kicked it. MJ laughs breathlessly.

“Oh, thank god.” Abruptly, she’s pissed. “I thought you were talking about the condom! You don’t scare a woman like that!”

“You thought the condom broke?”

“You had it in your hands and said ‘shit’ in this horrible way and I thought…” She sighs.

“We could’ve made it work,” Peter argues, making her nostrils flare as she puts her underwear back on. “Our baby would be super cute.”

“Our baby?! We met hours ago.”

“I’ve developed stronger bonds in less time,” he says with a shrug, leisurely getting up and sliding his boxers up his legs. Nice ass. No. “You’d be surprised how soon after meeting me some of the villains in this city get themselves so worked up that they wanna kill me.”

She yanks her t-shirt over her head with silent ire. Then has to take it off again because she forgot to put her bra on first.

“Quit looking like that. Nothing happened to you.” Peter’s mouth turns down as he glances over to the wreckage of his headboard. “I have to replace that. Again.”

MJ’s seriously about to snap at this idiot for his insane priorities when he straights up stiffly as he’s stepping into the legs of his jeans.

“They’re back.”

“Who? Betty.”

“And Ned,” he says, now moving faster, doing the fly, throwing his own t-shirt on.

“Inside out,” she says. Not to be helpful, just so that Peter doesn’t give away exactly what they’ve been doing with their time since their friends left.

She goes to swat him when he comes towards her, but then his fingers are buttoning one side of her overalls while she does the other. MJ’s just clicked the straps back into place when the front door opens and closes. Sourness fading, she gives Peter a grateful nod for his help.

“Wait,” she hisses. “Where’s the condom?”

On the instruction of some bizarre reflex, he grabs it from the floor and whips it clear across the room, sending it sailing out the window. Her jaw drops in horror.

“I can’t believe you just—"

“Guys?” Betty calls. “The Mexican place up the street was closed, so we just hit the liquor store for now. How’s the bedroom coming?”

MJ and Peter race to the door; she pulls it closed so fast that it smacks him in the ass, but then he gives her this stupid look like he liked it. And here’s Betty.

“You’re sweaty,” she notes. “Been working hard? You guys get the curtain up?”

“Yep,” MJ says honestly. “No problem.”

Her friend beams in satisfaction, but her expression shifts to conspiratorial as she links her arm through MJ’s and starts to guide her towards the kitchen, likely wanting to know if Peter said anything else colourful during her absence. Except that moron decides to pipe up from right behind them.

“And when we finished with the curtain, we moved on to the bed.”

“You did what?” Ned demands from the kitchen, then comes hurtling around the corner.

“No,” Peter gasps. He flings himself back to the bedroom door and blocks it, holding both hands out to keep his best friend back.

“MJ?” Betty questions with a growing grin.

She glances between the three of them for a moment and realizes there’s no way Peter’s keeping this secret. Time to go on the defensive.

“You brought me here,” MJ argues. “I can’t be blamed for my weakness for organizing—”

“Oh,” Betty shoots back. “For organizing and not for—”

“—apartments. All I—”

“—Peter, who you were so clearly attracted to from the instant you saw him?”

“—wanted to do was—”

“Me?” Peter says, taking a hopeful stab in answer to MJ’s explanation.

She glares at him.

“You flirted shamelessly with me all day—”

“You didn’t even realize I was flirting.”

“—so how am I supposed to help it if— Oh,” MJ says, catching the end of that comment, “and is that supposed to negate the effect it had?”

“I loved the effect it had. I have nothing to say against it.”

“How did you two go from shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other to an old married couple within the last half-hour?” Ned asks, jubilant.

“You’d have to ask my new neighbours,” Peter says calmly. “I think the scream they overheard is probably enough of an explanation.”

“That scream was on you,” MJ protests.

“And the noise complaint I’ll probably get is on you!”

“Sounds like you two should exchange numbers,” Betty suggests brightly. “In case you need to follow up for that noise complaint.” They both look at her. Then, MJ withdraws her phone from the back pocket of her overalls and pushes it into Peter’s hand.

“Fine,” she says.

He agrees with a shrug, eyes on the screen as he taps out his information.

“Come on, you crazy kids,” Ned coos, “let’s grab a beer while they’re still hot from the walk back.”

Betty giggles at this and twines her fingers through her fiancé’s.

In the kitchen, she pulls MJ aside right as MJ’s contemplating squeezing past Peter a second time on the pretext of getting ice. (The first time, she pressed her ass to his groin and felt him rub against her in response.) She didn’t even need the ice; she dumped it straight into the sink.

“So, how was that?” Betty asks, searching MJ’s face keenly for approval and recognition of a job well done.

“Perfect,” MJ has to grant her. “He did something incredibly irritating right before you guys got back, so I’m sure he found my annoyance entirely organic.”

“Method number sixty-three for getting a guy’s number still works like a charm. Though you know you could’ve just asked me for it.”

“Yeah, but messing with him was more fun.”

Her friend smiles against the lip of her bottle.

“Do you feel bad?”

“Nah. He’s been messing with me all day.”

“Hey, MJ,” Peter calls to her from where he and Ned have started emptying another box marked ‘KITCHEN’. “You wanna help me screw something to the wall later?” Smiling broadly, he waves a magnetic wall-mounted knife holder.

“Like that,” MJ stresses to Betty, then tosses her bottle cap so it bounces off Peter Parker’s stupid, smug, handsome face.

#thotumn #peter parker is a thot #my writing #spideychelle #peter parker #michelle jones

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marveloussupernerd · 4 years ago

Text

Ice Cream - Vanderwood

Uhm so... this idea started w this being abo seven. Then about Unknown. And then about Vandy. Just to clarify, I know lots of different pronouns are thrown around for Vanderwood, but I’m playing the safe route and going by he/him because that’s what the creators said 😀 no judgement if you hc otherwise though! Sorry this is probably gonna be OOC bc I have not played another story so my interactions w him have been slim to none

Summary: You were just kind of... depressed today. With the hacker at large, Seven and Mary Vanderwood III have been tasked with watching you through security cameras. Kinda rough when you won’t leave your room and there aren’t cameras in there. Vanderwood tries to cheer you up

PSA: this lowkey deals w mental health but not explicitly ? Inspired by me bc I get depressed~ esp when I am PMSing (which I am doing now) and genuinely can’t get out of bed and do things (ppl are iffy on mental health so just to say I have been diagnosed and was given birth control to help... which honestly has helped a lil). So I thought this would maybe help me and hopefully some of you, Jesus Christ I’ve prob lost so many of you w all these announcements

You just... couldn’t get out of bed. You had been stuck inside for a few days now, watched over by Seven and Mary Vanderwood III via security cams. But not getting to go outside and have human interaction kinda sucked. And then all your work was stressful too. You just didn’t want to move. And so you didn’t.

You got dressed though. That was a good start. Granted it was in something that could also be considered pajamas, but it felt nice to change your clothes. Felt productive. You went back into bed.

How long had you spent in bed, scrolling mindlessly through social media and watching stupid YouTube videos? You looked at the time; it was 1 pm. You were lucky you had today off, but had hoped to be more productive today. Oh well.

Your video was interrupted. A call from Seven. It was probably important.

“Hey Seven!” You picked up, bringing your voice to its typical cheery state. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” The voice on the other line asked. You jumped; it was deep, much deeper than Seven��s, and very serious.

“Are you using a voice modifier?” You giggled. It felt nice to talk to someone.

“Huh? Oh, no. This isn’t Seven.”

You paused for a minute, raising an eyebrow. Your voice caught in the back of your throat. “Are you... the hacker?”

“No!” The voice sounded urgent.

“Tom? Seven’s childhood friend?”

“I’m not fully convinced he exists.” The voice replied, an edge to the voice making it sound like a joke.

“Honestly? Me neither.” You paused, trying to think of who it could be. “I fold. Who are you? And how’d you get Seven’s phone!?”

“Giving up that easily?” The voice was teasing you now. “I thought you’d do more than two guesses.” You huffed out a sigh, making sure your annoyance was heard. “Come on, who would have access to Seven’s phone?”

That literally made no sense though. “...Mary Vanderwood the III?”

“Is he calling me that to you too now?” The voice asked, clearly annoyed. “My name is not Mary Vanderwood the III, and I’m not Seven’s maid. I just go by Vanderwood.”

“Hi Vanderwood,” you greeted. “You’re... a dude?”

“Yes.” He sounded annoyed still. “I don’t know why he’s said all this stuff.”

You giggled. “Well, back to the beginning of the conversation. Why’d you ask if I was okay? Is anything suspicious happening?”

“You just... you haven’t left your bedroom yet.”

“Oh” was all you could say.

“Oh? Are you okay?”

“Yeah of course!” You figured you might as well explain yourself. “It’s just, uhm, I haven’t really wanted to get out of bed and be productive. Sort of a mental block.”

“Oh,” his voice was much more understanding now. “That sucks.”

“Yeah... I think it’s because I haven’t interacted with people in a while. Just kinda holed up in the apartment. Hard to stay motivated.” Why were you telling him all this? He just wanted to know if you were okay. He wasn’t your therapist. “Oops! Uhm, sorry. Didn’t mean to unload that all.”

“You’re okay. I’m... sorry to hear that.”

“I’ve dealt with it before so like... it’s fine. It’ll pass. There are way more pressing matters right now,” you brushed it off, shrugging even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

“Do you-“ he coughed. “Do you like ice cream?”

“Yes?” What a change of topic. “Who doesn’t?”

“Well, if you want something to do, do you wanna get ice cream? If you’re feeling up for it.” He sounded almost awkward. It was kind of sweet.

But still, more pressing issues at hand. “I don’t know if I should with the hacker and everything. Everyone has security but me and so I-“

“I work with Seven. I think I can protect you.”

“Think?” You teased.

“You know that’s not how I meant it. I know I could protect you if need be. If you don’t want to though that’s okay.”

“No!” You shouted. You covered your mouth immediately, embarrassed from your outburst. “No. I think that’d be really nice.”

“I can pick you up outside the apartment in like ten minutes? You don’t have to worry about getting dressed up nice or anything...”

This was all so sudden. “Oh, I guess you do know the address, huh.” You were more saying it to yourself than him. “Wait! What do you look like? So that I don’t get picked up by the hacker or anything.”

“Uh...” he seemed so confident, but very uncomfortable describing himself. “I’ve got brown hair. Kinda long? It goes down to my shoulders. You know what? The lining of my jacket is leopard print. That should help.”

You were silent. Leopard print?

“Don’t make fun of it.” You could hear the scowl in his voice. “Ten minutes. See you then.” He hung up before you could say goodbye.

He did say not to look nice. Which made sense, in retrospect, because he had seen you for the past few days lounging at home. There was no need to try to impress; he already knew how you looked on the norm.

So you grabbed a jacket, your phone, and your wallet (with pepper spray attached to it for good measure), and headed out.

You kind of felt like a hooker, standing out at the curb waiting for a car to drive up and get you. But, you pushed those thoughts out of your mind. You were getting real human interaction today thanks to Vanderwood.

He pulled up in a very standard car, definitely not one of Seven’s babes. He rolled down the window and called your name.

“Wait! Show me the lining of your jacket!” You requested. It felt ridiculous but it was important. You laughed nonetheless, as did he. He pulled the jacket up, showing the intricate pattern. You grinned and got in the car.

“Hi. Nice to meet you in person,” you started, looking over at him. He kept the window down as he drove, the sound from the car loud and the wind blowing through his hair.

“You too,” he shouted, trying to talk over the wind. “Nice day out, huh?”

You leaned your head slightly out the window, the cool breeze a nice offset to the warmth of the sun beating down on you. “Mhm,” you hummed.

Luckily the ice cream shop was only a few minutes away. Good thing too; you weren’t sure what to talk about. You benefited from the fact that most of your words were carried away with the wind; the conversation starters had sucked anyway. You just focused on his surprisingly good driving and the feeling of the sun.

He got out of the car and you quickly followed. He didn’t wait for you, just kept walking to the order window. You scrambled to catch up. “So what’s your favorite?” He asked, sensing you by his side without even having to look.

“Oh, uhm, I’ll have cookie dough. Always a solid choice. How about you?”

He turned to you, a smile on his face that contrasted frankly with the harsh lines of his features. “Dark chocolate raspberry.”

“I can’t tell if I’m surprised or if I expected that.” You let out a little ‘hm’ and shrugged your shoulders. He went up and ordered for the both of you.

“Oh, uh,” you reached into your wallet, but he brushed you off.

“Relax. I can pay for a $3 ice cream cone.”

Your eyes widened. You hadn’t realized that may insult him. “Oh! Uh, that’s not what I meant to insinuate. I’m sorry.”

He glanced over with that smile of his, brown eyes lighting up. Why did it make your heart flutter? You had literally just met the guy. You were such a goddamn simp.

He grabbed the ice creams and handed you yours, his gloved fingers brushing against your bare ones. It wasn’t even skin-to-skin contact! Why did you feel this way from something so small? You wanted to die right then and there. He suggested you eat in the car to maintain a low profile and you nodded, not trusting your own voice.

Were you supposed to talk? Or eat your ice cream? Or both? Your mind chose for you, as words stumbled out of your lips before you could even stop them. “So is Vanderwood your real name?” Idiot. Of course it isn’t!

“God no.” He sounded hard about it. It was hard to take him seriously while he was licking an ice cream cone like that. You tried to hide your laughter. “No, don’t laugh.” His voice wasn’t hard this time. He was almost begging you to go easy on him.

“No I’m sorry! I wasn’t laughing at your name. It’s just... it’s kind of funny when you sound all mad and annoyed but you look so cute eating your ice cream.” No!!!!! Did you just call him cute? This was going AWFUL. You should have stayed home.

“Well, you can make fun of my name. I obviously didn’t pick it. It’s stupid.” Maybe he hadn’t heard the last part of what you said, considering he didn’t bring it up? But why was he blushing?

“It’s not that bad. You could be named Mary Vanderwood the III,” you teased. He rolled his eyes. “Can I give you a nickname? Maybe make it less insufferable?”

“What, you think we’re going to be talking all the time now?” He had a point. Why did you... do any of this? It was so embarrassing. You stared at your ice cream, praying you didn’t blush or shake your leg or do anything to show how much you felt like an idiot. He nudged you, causing you to glance up at him, and he smiled. “I’d love a nickname.”

“Wood.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed sarcastically.

“V! Oh wait... we can’t do that.” Poor V. You had almost regifted his name. “Vandy!”

“Vandy?” He questioned, trying out the name. “I’m not seeing it.”

“I am. Vandy. That’s the one”

“It’s too...cute.” His cheeks flushed red again. He pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. “I’m not letting you call me that.”

“You don’t get to pick your own nickname,” you stuck your tongue out at him. “I think it’s very fitting. It’s cute, you’re cute...” why were you doing this to yourself? You must have hated yourself.

“You’ve said that twice now. That I’m cute,” he mentioned causally, biting down on his cone, the rest of the ice cream gone.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’s probably just my toxic masculinity.” It sounded like a joke but he also sounded serious? There were so many mysteries surrounding him.

“Well, if it helps. I think you’re quite handsome too. But that’s a lot of syllables to get my point across.” You were a bit more confident this time. If he was genuinely worried about his image, why wouldn’t you help reassure him.

“Uh, thanks.” He pushed back his hair, pausing midway. “I’m sorry, I’m really bad with gratitude. I genuinely appreciate it, especially coming from you.”

“Well it’s not like I’m lying,” you shrugged. You had finished your ice cream. “Uhm... maybe we should get back. Who knows what Seven’s been up to since you’ve been gone.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

The drive back was just as silent as the drive there, the both of you enjoying the sun and the wind again. He turned on the radio this time. It played 80s hits.

He parked in front of the building. “I hope that helped you feel a little better. I mean, I had fun,” he explained. You could tell he was forcing the words out, forcing himself to express some emotion.

“It helped a lot. For real. Thank you Vandy.” You touched his arm gently.

“Can I have your number?” He asked, a small smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “So that I don’t have to call you through Seven’s phone again,” he justified.

You smiled, nodding, wordlessly taking the phone from his hands and putting your number in. Why were your hands shaking? Was he genuinely interested in you? Or was he just a nice guy?

You handed the phone back. “Thank you again.” You smiled, opening the car door.

“Wait!” He exclaimed. You turned back towards him, leaving the car door open. “Can I... kiss you?”

You shut the car door again, nodding eagerly. He pressed himself against the center console to reach you, using one hand to balance himself and the other to brush the hair out of your eyes, cupping your cheek as he closed the distance between the two of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, focused on just how warm and soft his lips were. It was... really pleasant. He didn’t maintain the kiss for long, although you seemed to have lost your concept of time.

He pulled away, hand still on your cheek, smiling that smile again. “Thank you. I hope I made your day a little better. You certainly improved mine.”

Your fingers grazed his own, intertwining with his for a moment as you opened the car door with the other hand. “You did. I’ll look forward to seeing you again maybe?”

“For sure,” he was more flustered now. “Ah, I should probably make sure Seven hasn’t burned down the house. Have a good night.” He regained his composure, winking at you as you exited the car, and driving off, wind still blowing in his hair.

Vandy stans don’t drag me maybe he was OOC but also I wanna think he’s a little less confident in a romantic situation ? Idk. I hope you all liked it tho tyy

#mystic messenger #mysme #Vanderwood

43 notes · View notes

hiscyarika · 5 years ago

Text

Kir’manir: Chapter Two

Narudar

n. temporary ally - specifically your enemy's enemy, where both sides know this is an alliance of convenience and not a lasting pact.

Word Count: 8.0k

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian finds himself stranded on Tatooine following a shootout, forced to help a rookie bounty hunter with his first job.

Warning(s): Violence, Injury, Blood

A/N: Here’s the second part! I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to write. School and having to adjust to coming home early really threw me for a loop and I didn’t have time to devote to a really long chapter like this. I’ve got plenty of time in quarantine though!

Masterlist

Tag Lists

Chapter One: Beroya

Gif made specially for me by @theforceofdarkandlight ❤️

The Mandalorian’s offer has you taken aback. You hadn’t even considered leaving with him and the creature as an option.

“What?,” you say, out of disbelief rather than not hearing him.

“Come with us,” he says again, slower, his voice leaning in towards you, more insistent this time.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and you shake your head slightly as you stare into the visor of the helmet. “Why?”

“The trandoshan will come back for you eventually, and even if he doesn’t, others will. I’m your best chance at getting away from this place before they find you.”

“What does my safety matter to you?” You don’t mean for the question to be harsh even when it sounds like a demand, but you truly have no idea why the Mandalorian would risk having you aboard his ship when his other passenger is already enough of a liability. Then again, with the entire Guild after the child already, there’s not much more of a threat that your presence can add.

The Mandalorian sighs deeply, and he’s quiet for a moment. You think maybe he’s second guessing the offer, but then he finally speaks again. “You could have shot the kid...you didn’t. And you killed two other hunters to protect him. The least I can do is get you somewhere you can find another ship,” he explains.

You consider the offer for a moment. You’re still not sure how you feel about being the Mandalorian’s passenger, even if in the end it means you’ll get away from Sorgan and eventually make enough money to buy another ship. You’ve always been on your own. Since the day you left your home planet and decided to join the Guild, you’ve never had a partner. You’ve never worked with a team. It’s just been you, working to make ends meet.

He takes a step back from you. “So are you coming or what?,” he asks.

You nod. “Alright.”

---

When you return, the village is just as you left it. The people carry around their baskets and the children are running around playing with each other. You spot the little creature in the arms of one of the young girls. You smile at the sight of childhood innocence, but inside you’re angry that the Guild had wanted you to destroy it.

The Mandalorian brings you to one of the villagers. She’s not much older than you, but years of hard work in the sun have aged her, though somehow gracefully. He introduces her as Omera, but before you can even begin to tell her your own name, she’s got her hands on your injured arm, looking at the blaster wound that you had forgotten about in the heat of battle.

“Please, let me help you,” she says, her voice the epitome of gentle maternity. You can’t help but immediately nod, though you think to yourself that she probably wouldn’t let you refuse even if you wanted to.

Omera takes you back to one of the small houses not far from where you’d been standing, and once she has you seated in a chair she leaves to gather what you assume are medical supplies. She comes back with a basket of cloth bandages, a few herbs, and some small bottles that you can’t quite determine the contents of. It’s not the standard medical care that you’re used to, but you understand that pre-packaged gauze and bacta patches are probably hard to come by on a planet like this. Really, it wouldn’t surprise you if the people living on Sorgan have never even heard of bacta in their lives.

You take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as Omera settles herself beside you. You hope that she’ll be quick with her so that you can leave with the Mandalorian and the child as soon as possible, but when she begins to speak, you know that won’t be the case.

“He says you saved his child from other bounty hunters,” she starts, and you could laugh at the Mandalorian’s omission of the truth.

“It wasn’t quite like that. I… I’m a hunter too. But I didn’t know I was after a child… I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. The other hunters showed up just when I was trying to leave the planet,” you tell her, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to divulge this information to her when you could have just left it at what the Mandalorian had told her.

Omera is silent, not meeting your eyes as she cleans your wound with whatever was in one of the bottles. You wince just slightly at the sting, but otherwise show no outward expression of pain.

“Thank you,” she says. “Those other hunters would not have had the same change of heart, and I’m sure they would have caused...unnecessary suffering,” she says. You know she’s right. Daask especially would have enjoyed burning the village to the ground just because he could.

You shake your head at her thanks, watching as she rubs one of the herbs on your arm before wrapping the wound. “I did what I had to,” you say.

She gathers the unused supplies and places them back in the basket, standing from where she’d been kneeling on the floor. Her lips lift in a soft smile, wrinkles appearing around her eyes as she looks down at you. “I’m grateful anyway,” she tells you, and you return the smile as she goes to put the basket back where it belongs.

The two of you walk back outside, where the Mandalorian has loaded a repulsorlift sled with supplies and his belongings. The child stands on the edge of the sled, where all the other kids have gathered to say their goodbyes. Your eyes land on the Mandalorian, who is shaking hands with another woman, though she is clearly not one of the villagers. You can’t help but tense when you see the stripes on her arm, but you say nothing. You’re not an Imperial sympathizer by any means, but you know that those in the Rebellion have a tendency to attract trouble wherever they go. Clearly though, she’s someone that he trusts.

Instead you turn to Omera again, thanking her before going to stand next to the sled. You wait there in silence as the Mandalorian says his goodbyes. You begin to notice that the other villagers are starting to stare at you, and you really wish that you could escape the unnecessary attention that comes with being the stranger in a strange land.

Finally, the Mandalorian takes a seat on the sled. You follow after him, finally close to the little green creature. Big brown eyes are fixed on you, and you watch as he moves a little closer to the Mandalorian, squeaking softly. He never takes his eyes off of you.

The Mandalorian says nothing, instead stroking one of the child’s long ears as a way to comfort him. You sigh softly and turn away, not wanting to distress the little one anymore.

---

The sled stops when you reach the Mandalorian’s ship. You step down from your seat, turning to get a better look at the vessel. It shows its age in its design and the beating that it has taken over time. You don’t immediately recognize the model, but you can tell that it’s been around at least as long as the Galactic Empire, maybe even longer. You had expected someone like the Mandalorian to own something more clean, sleek, new. Based on his reputation, you would think that money wouldn’t be an obstacle.

But you shake your head slightly to yourself. It doesn’t matter what the ship looks like as long as it gets you far away from this backwater planet.

You turn back to the sled, watching as the Mandalorian begins to unload everything and take it into the ship. Your eyes silently ask to help, and once he gives a nod, you start picking up boxes and following behind him.

Between the two of you, the task doesn’t take very long, and soon he’s leading you up a ladder to the cockpit. He takes a seat in the pilot’s chair after placing the child in the seat to the right. It’s been modified with a box to hold him, though the little one doesn’t seem to mind the makeshift handiwork.

You take a seat in the remaining chair, silently strapping yourself in and preparing yourself for takeoff. You don’t ask where you’re going. You don’t ask what he plans to do with you. It’s no secret that the Mandalorian is a man of minimal words. Breaching the quiet that has settled over the ship feels wrong.

Slowly, the ship comes to life and lifts from the wet surface of the planet. As the three of you leave Sorgan behind, you find yourself relieved that you hadn’t been left to your own devices. While so far being with the Mandalorian hasn’t been what you would call enjoyable, you know that it’s better than the alternative.

---

He doesn’t sleep much the first few days that you’re on the ship. In his mind he knows that he’s being irrational, and that you’re not suddenly going to turn on him and take the kid, but he still can’t bring himself to leave the two of you alone. He’s been through enough already trying to keep the little one safe and happy. He won’t ruin it with his own careless decision to bring another bounty hunter on board.

Actually, despite the child being apprehensive, you’ve slowly begun to help him take care of the little creature, whether it be something as simple as keeping him entertained during this long stretch of travel, or feeding him the ration bread at dinner time. You don’t seem to mind doing it either, which is all the more reason that he knows he should trust you a little more. He’ll get there eventually, but eventually is not now.

You haven’t slept much either. It’s quite an adjustment being around the Mandalorian and the child all the time. You spend most of the time in silence, and from what you’ve gathered the Mandalorian prefers to say as few words as humanly possible. You had tried exactly once to strike up a conversation with him, but after that you’d decided against any unnecessary communication.

“Where are we going?,” you ask. You haven’t been away from Sorgan for very long, but if the Mandalorian has any plan as to where the three of you were headed next, he hasn’t told you about it.

“We’re staying in the Outer-Rim. Less of a chance we’ll run into trouble,” he replies, voice flat and monotone through the modulator of his helmet. He doesn’t even turn away from the controls to acknowledge you as you speak.

It doesn’t really answer your question but you let it go, coming to the conclusion that he hasn’t picked another planet to take a chance on. In the spirit of keeping conversation alive, and maybe finding out just a little more about the beskar-clad warrior, you try again.

“Do you have a name?”

The question immediately strikes a nerve. His body stiffens and he’s breathing shallow enough that you can’t see the beskar on his chest moving anymore. You almost feel guilty but it was an honest question. No one knows anything about this man besides the Creed that he lives by and the reputation he has with the Guild. Here is a man whose entire identity is based on mystery and efficiency. He’s one of those people that inspires stories that people can never quite agree on the minute details of. Nameless and faceless.

“...Mando is fine,” he tells you. The words are final and the edge in his tone is a warning against further prying.

“Alright.”

He never does ask your name.

---

When the left engine goes out, you’re sure that you’re about to meet your end.

You can hear the man on the other end of the intercom taunting the Mandalorian, and as he tries a few evasive maneuvers to escape the fire coming from the enemy starship, you instinctively grab the child from his seat, holding him close to your chest to make sure that he doesn’t end up hurt in the turbulent environment.

But the Mandalorian surprises you, and soon enough the enemy is nothing but ash floating in the endless abyss of space.

He turns around in his chair, looking at where you and the child sit, and once he seems to understand that you’re both alright, he looks back to the dashboard. “We’re losing fuel,” he says, though you can’t tell if he’s just voicing the problem or if he’s speaking directly to you.

Moments later, everything goes dark, leaving the three of you in silence as the normal whirring of the ship goes quiet. The child laughs in your arms, and you’d find it amusing if you weren’t aimlessly floating in space.

“We need to find somewhere to land,” you say, as if that’s not the obvious next step.

The Mandalorian nods, standing from the pilot’s chair and walking behind you to flip a few switches. The emergency power reserve. Slowly, things begin to come to life again. Lights come back on and the dashboard screens show scans of the damage that the ship has taken. Mando takes his seat again, and you have to hold back a sigh of relief when the engines reboot.

The Crest moves forward and you can see a planet in the distance. You mentally groan as you take in the orange and red surface and realize that it’s the desert planet Tatooine. Mando reaches up to turn on the commlink again, and immediately a new voice fills the cockpit.

“This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five. Over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for three-five,” Mando answers.

You let out a long exhale, gently placing the child back in his own seat now that the fighting and the chaos have ended. A smile finally graces your lips as the little creature closes his eyes and immediately falls asleep, clearly not at all disturbed by the firefight.

The landing is not pretty. From your seat you can hear the left engine sputtering and knocking, and as Mando tries to lower the ship to the ground, it tilts from side to side. An unceremonious drop tells you that you made it to solid ground.

“That’s not gonna be an easy fix,” you mutter, standing and taking the sleeping child from his seat. You wrap him up in his blanket, holding him to your chest and waiting for Mando to follow. You’re not sure what he plans to do with the baby while the two of you go off in search of work.

The Mandalorian stands and turns to you. “Give him to me,” he says, and once he’s taken the child, you follow him down to the hull of the ship. You take your blaster and holster it to your side, watching as Mando puts the baby to sleep and closes the hatch.

“Are you sure we should leave him here alone?,” you ask.

“He’s asleep. He’ll be fine for a little while. We won’t be gone long,” he assures you. You nod and press the button to lower the ramp.

Mando walks out before you. Standing behind him, you can’t see what it is that he so quickly fires at, but you draw your blaster anyway, a reflex you couldn’t stop even if you tried. When you realize that they’re only pit droids, you shake your head at Mando. “What was that for?”

Before he can answer you, there’s a woman running out from a control hub for the hanger, yelling at the Mandalorian for shooting at her droids. You have to hold back a laugh when he tells her to keep the droids away from the ship. You’ve never seen anyone with the gall to lecture the Mandalorian, but this woman seems to have no problem doing it at all.

You wait for the two of them to settle a deal, and once the engineer has agreed to start working on the ship, you follow Mando out of the hangar and into the street. There aren’t many people around, but you suppose that it’s better that way. With fewer people, there’s less of a chance that your presence here will make its way back to the Guild. You might be able to blend in with the rugged people of Tatooine, but beskar never fails to turn a head.

The two of you make your way down the path, and you pull the fabric of your shirt up to cover your nose and mouth. Already you can feel the dusty air rattling around in your lungs. You hope that your stay on this planet doesn’t last any longer than necessary. Being from a more temperate climate, the desert is the last place that you want to be.

You and Mando both pause for a moment as you reach a display in the road: stormtrooper helmets on bloody spears. As much as you hate the Empire and everything that it stood for, the sight still makes a shiver run up your spine. You don’t hesitate to follow the Mandalorian into a nearby cantina, doing your best to shake the discomfort from your mind.

You’re a few paces behind Mando as he makes his way to the droid behind the bar. As he speaks, you suddenly become aware of eyes boring a hole into your back. There’s a call of, “Think again, tin can,” and you turn to see a man not too much younger than you sprawled out in a booth with his feet resting on the table. “If you’re looking for work, have a seat my friends. The name’s Toro. Toro Calican.”

You instead turn to the Mandalorian, your gaze silently asking if indulging this other man is a good idea. You know that Mando works alone. It’s a miracle he took you on even temporarily. Three seems like a crowd.

“Come on! Relax!,” Toro implores you both.

Mando surprises you when he walks past you to sit down, but you slide in beside him, waiting to hear what Toro has to say. You watch as he puts a puck on the table, and you have to hold back a laugh when you see the holoscreen. This guy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

“I know the name,” Mando says, and when he starts to move you stand from the booth.

“Good luck with that,” you say mockingly. “You go after Fennec Shand and she’ll make sure you’re dead before sunrise.” With that, you turn to leave the cantina. You and the Mandalorian will have to find another way to pay the engineer.

“This is my first job!,” Toro calls to you, and you sigh as you stop and turn again. “You can have the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild,” he says. You have to admit, the idea of taking all of the bounty on Shand’s head is rather enticing. It’s more than enough to pay the engineer, and it might help you find another ship to escape this poor excuse of a planet.

It’s Mando that finally relents. “Meet us in bay three-five. Bring three speeder bikes, and give me the tracking fob,” he says.

Toro holds out the fob, but before Mando can take it, he smashes it against the wall, shattering it. You’re at a loss for words. Who did this kid think he was playing with?

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all memorized, but it looks like you’re stuck with me now!,” he says triumphantly. You shake your head.

“Bay three-five. Half an hour,” you repeat, a warning edge in your tone. You don’t like Toro. You’re not sure what it is, but something about him seems wrong. You don’t argue with the decision to take down Fennec Shand though. This is your best option, probably your only one, for taking back your freedom and solitude.

---

By the end of the day you’re crossing the Dune Sea with the Mandalorian and Toro. You’re not in any hurry, but watching the other two try to race across the sand has been rather amusing. You understand that Toro is trying to prove his capability, but he sure picked the wrong person to go toe-to-toe with. You’re waiting for the moment that Mando finally decides to put the cocky little bastard in his place.

The Mandalorian, however, is far less amused with the younger partner than you are. There’s nothing professional or pragmatic about the way Toro Calican operates. Every move is a test of patience, and he wishes that the three of you could just get the job finished. This is a perfect reminder to himself why he doesn’t have a long-term partner. If Toro were on his own, he would have never even made it to Shand. The Tusken Raiders would have gotten to him first.

Oddly enough though, he hasn’t found himself feeling that way about you. You’ve been compliant, following his lead in dealing with such a dangerous job and the added stress of a rookie. It makes sense though. He knows that this payout will be your ticket to a new ship, at least partially anyway. He’s sure that you feel the same way about this temporary partnership. Things will be easier once it’s over.

The Mandalorian comes up over the edge of a dune, slowing his bike to a halt when he sees a dewback just a short distance away, dragging a dead rider behind it. He steps off his bike, looking back to make sure that you and Toro will stay put as he goes to investigate. If the rider isn’t Shand, then the three of you might already be closer to her than you had anticipated.

“You cover me,” he says. “Stay down.” The order is noticeably pointed at Toro.

As Mando makes his way down the dune, you survey the greater surroundings, but all you see is an endless landscape of sand and rock formations. If there’s anyone out there, there’s no sign of them at all.

“So is it her? Is she dead?,” Toro calls down.

“It’s another bounty hunter,” Mando answers.

The sentence sends the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck standing straight up. She’s out there somewhere.

“Hey I hope you don’t plan on keeping all of that stuff for yourself. Can I at least have that blaster?,” Toro asks, and it’s that question that finally makes you snap.

“Will you shut up? Is any of that really important right now?,” you demand, shaking your head. You then look down at the Mandalorian. You just barely catch a glimpse of the blinking tracking fob in his hand when he stands and calls for you to get down.

But as Toro drops and hides behind the peak of the dune, you look out at the nearest rock structure, able to see where the sniper bolt comes from right before it hits Mando. You hear the sharp clang of metal in the air, meaning that it hit his armor. And there’s another shot just before Mando dives over the edge of the dune...right on top of you.

The unexpected weight of the Mandalorian sends you flying backwards, and the two of you roll a ways down in a tangled mess before finally stopping. You curse under your breath, feeling the edges of his armor digging into your skin. There will be bruises later. You’re sure of it.

The two of you lie there for a moment, just trying to catch your breath. But as he comes to his senses again, Mando quickly hauls himself up and off of you, apologizing and offering his hand to help you sit up.

“Are you alright?,” he asks.

You nod, tucking your messy, sandy hair behind your ears again. “Yeah. I wasn’t the one being shot at.”

“It hit me in the beskar, and at that range, the beskar held up,” he tells you.

“Wait, I don’t wear any beskar,” Toro says from above. You roll your eyes, done with trying to hide your disdain for the younger man.

“If Fennec Shand doesn’t kill him, I will,” you mutter, climbing back up to the top of the dune to try and figure out a next move.

The Mandalorian is lucky that his helmet is there to hide the grin that comes to his lips.

---

After a few hours of light sleep, you open your eyes again, finding Toro standing near Mando, trying to coax him into wakefulness. You don’t move for a moment, intrigued as to why the Mandalorian seems to be so hard to rouse. As a bounty hunter, you’ve trained yourself to wake at the slightest disturbance. It’s the only way to make sure that no one can take you by surprise.

“Look at you, asleep on the job, old man,” Toro says, obviously not aware that you’re watching him. The younger man then whips out his blaster, pointing it at Mando. He then twirls the weapon around on his finger, and you roll your eyes for what feels like the thousandth time since you met the guy.

“You done?,” Mando asks, and immediately Toro straightens up again.

“Uh..yeah. I was...I was just waking you up. Come on.” You have to fight back a laugh as you stand and brush the sand from your clothes. You’re just glad that the darkness mostly hides the grin on your lips. At least you’re not the only one fed up with Toro’s childish antics.

“Get on your bikes. Ride as fast as you can towards those rocks,” the Mandalorian says, and you silently follow along with the plan, mounting your bike again and starting it up. You watch Mando pull something out of his saddle bag.

“That’s your plan? She’ll snipe us right off the bikes,” Toro replies, scoffing lightly as he too starts the engine of his bike.

Mando throws whatever he’s pulled from his bag at you and Toro, and as you catch the small device, you immediately recognize what it is. “A flash charge,” you say, and then you realize what it is that the Mandalorian plans to do.

He nods. “We’ll alternate shots. It’ll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed and we’ve got a chance,” he explains, mounting his bike.

“A chance?,” Toro questions, uncertainty clear in his tone.

“You wanted this. Get ready,” you retort, sliding on your goggles. You then look to Mando, who gives you a slight nod. You push forward on the handlebars of the bike, sending you shooting forward over the dune with the other two right behind you.

The three of you fly across the open expanse of land. Mando fires the first shot, taking point in your formation. You watch as the charge explodes in the air, releasing a bright light that you can’t look at for more than a fraction of a second. You continue forward, kicking up the sand as you go along.

A shot comes from the rock formation, landing between you and the Mandalorian. He signals for Toro to fire off his charge, which then keeps Shand at bay for a few more seconds. More fire comes down on the three of you, and you veer to the side to avoid getting hit. You fire off your charge without having to be told.

You’re getting closer now, but just when you think you’ll make it, Shand fires again, this time hitting Mando’s bike. You watch as he flies off of the small vehicle, tumbling into the sand. You curse under your breath, but keep moving forward. You’re no use to anyone if you stop now. Thankfully, Toro has good enough sense to do the same.

He reaches the rock formation before you do, quickly dismounting his bike and making his way up to where the sniper bolts are coming from. You turn around for just a second, able to see that the Mandalorian is on his feet again. Another shot is fired, hitting him square in the chest. As he falls, you feel your heart leap into your throat. “Mando!,” you call.

You know that there’s no time to go back for him, and so you follow after Toro. Climbing up the rocks in the dark isn’t an easy feat, but soon you find yourself on top. You make your way around a tall column-like structure, finally seeing Fennec Shand taking on Toro. She’s got the kid on the ground a few feet away from her.

As she stalks closer to Toro, you spring into action, throwing yourself at her to give Toro a chance to get to his feet again. The two of you fall to the ground, her body pinned under yours. You land a few well-aimed blows to her face, but she manages to do the same. Her hand wraps around one of your wrists and she tries to flip you over, but you roll away from her and stand.

You allow her to do the same, and out of the corner of your eye you see Toro fumbling around in the sand. Of course he would lose his blaster now.

Fennec makes the next move, trying to land punches to your body, but you’re mostly able to block them. She brings her foot up to kick you in the chest, but you grab it before she can. You pull upward, and her other leg slides out underneath her, the back of her head hitting the ground first.

She doesn’t move, the impact leaving her dazed. You take out your blaster, pointing it down at her as she opens her eyes.

“It’s over, Fennec,” you declare, watching as she lets out a huff of air and then relents. There’s nothing she can do now.

“Damn. You got her,” Toro says, finally standing with his blaster in his hand.

“No thanks to you, obviously,” comes a voice from behind you. The Mandalorian.

“Are you alright?,” you ask, not taking your eyes off of Shand just in case she tries to take you by surprise.

“Yeah. Good work,” he says. You’re not sure why the compliment has a smile threatening your otherwise stone-like expression. This is your job.

You take a step back from Fennec as Mando tosses a pair of cuffs at her, commanding her to put them on herself. Once she’s done that, you lower your blaster, placing it back in the holster on your thigh. You finally turn to the Mandalorian then, immediately noting the scorch marks on his chest from where he’d been shot.

He must notice you looking. “It’s fine. Let’s just get her out of here. We’ll put her under carbonite back on the Crest,” he tells you.

You nod. “The sooner the better.” You run your sleeve across your face, wiping away the blood coming from your split lip.

You make your way back down the rock formation, allowing the Mandalorian to lead Fennec down. When you come to the bikes you sigh softly, knowing that this is going to be much harder with the loss of one.

“We could go get the dewback we saw earlier,” you suggested, turning back to Mando. He nods and then looks at Toro, silently giving the younger man the job.

But Toro shakes his head. “No way. Leave you two here with my bounty and my ride? Not gonna happen,” he tells you. You groan softly, swearing that his goal is to make this job as difficult as he possibly can.

“Fine. I’ll go. You two stay here. Watch her. Don’t let her get near the bikes. She’s no good to us dead,” Mando says. You nod in understanding, watching as he starts the trek back to the animal.

---

When the binary suns begin to rise, the Mandalorian still hasn’t returned, which causes you more concern than you’d like to admit. You start to think that maybe the shot to the chest had been more harmful than he would let on. You stand from where you’d been resting on your bike, keeping an eye on Shand the entire night. “I’m gonna climb back up there and see if I can see him. It’s been a while,” you tell Toro, and he nods, sitting up to rouse himself a bit. Everyone is running on fumes at this point.

You climb back up to where Fennec had been perched with her rifle, looking out across the Dune Sea. It takes you a moment, but finally you see the light of the suns glinting off of the Mandalorian’s armor. He’s still a decent way out, but he’s making progress. You’ll be back to Mos Eisley by the end of the day, and that much closer to regaining your freedom.

You begin to make your way back down, but you stop for a moment when you hear a blaster shot. Curing, you move faster, thinking that somehow Toro had managed to screw up even the easy job of watching a cuffed bounty. But when you reach the bikes again, you find him standing over Fennec’s body, his blaster smoking and pointing down at her.

“What did you do?!,” you demand. Her bounty was guaranteed on the condition that she was brought in alive. Now she’s worthless. You’ll be staying with the Mandalorian and the child longer now.

His answer is another shot from his blaster. It hits your shoulder, and the impact sends you back against the rocks, hitting your head. You fall to your knees in a daze. For a good measure, he shoots your bike too, making sure that you won’t be able to follow after him.

“Mando’s worth more than her. The Guild will worship me if I bring him in,” he says.

“He’ll kill you,” you spit.

“Quiet. Or you’ll end up like her,” he says, pointing the blaster at you again.

“Just kill me. Because if the Mandalorian doesn’t kill you, I will,” you seethe.

“No. I don’t think I will. I’ll let the blood loss and the heat finish you off,” he replies, grinning maliciously. He lowers his blaster and mounts his bike. Before you can say another word, he’s gone, flying across the sand.

You shift, trying to pull yourself up from the ground. You wince as your shoulder throbs in protest, but push through the pain, knowing that you need to get it treated before an infection can set in.

Eventually making it to your feet, you get to your bike, pulling the small med kit from your saddle bag. You’re lucky that it wasn’t scorched when Toro took out the engine.

Taking out a cleaning pad and a bacta patch, you peel back your jacket, making quick work of cleaning and dressing the wound. It’s patchwork at best, but you don’t have the time or the resources at hand to care for it properly. You need to get back to Mos Eisley, even if that means getting there on foot. It’s a long shot. There’s a good chance you’ll die in the desert long before you make it back to civilization, but it’s your only option.

You take a deep breath, looking out in the direction that Toro had gone. You put one foot in front of the other, forcing yourself forward. You’re at the mercy of the Dune Sea now.

---

You climb over another dune, your legs already burning. Your shoulder screams in protest of every movement. You haven’t slept properly in a couple of days now.

You’re not going to make it.

Letting out a shaky breath, you sink to your knees in the sand, resigning to the fact that you have no hope. Either the Mandalorian is dead or he’s not coming back for you, not that you ever expected him to. You're sure Toro convinced him that you were dead right along with Fennec Shand.

But then you hear the dewback.

Your head snaps up and you push yourself to your feet again. You make your way to the next peak, and you feel relief flood through you at the sight. It’s the Mandalorian. Alive.

“Mando!,” you call, and his helmet turns in your direction. He’s dismounting the animal in seconds, getting to you as quickly as he can.

“What happened? Where’s Fennec and Toro?,” he asks as he reaches you, taking your forearms in his gloved hands. He’s looking you up and down, trying to assess the damage.

“He killed her and took off. She must have told him about what you did when you took the kid. He said taking you in would put him in better standing with the Guild,” you explain, getting the words out as quickly as you can.

Mando stops for a moment, going completely still.

“The kid. We gotta go,” he says urgently, dropping your arms and running back to the dewback. Your heart sinks as you realize that Toro is already much closer to the spaceport. It’ll be dark before you even get close. There’s no telling what he’ll have done to the baby by then.

With a renewed sense of strength, you follow after the Mandalorian, making it back to the dewback just a few seconds after him. You let him take the reins as you climb up to the rear seat, but then settle in for the ride.

The Mandalorian urges the animal forward, but once you’re moving, he turns to you. “There’s medical supplies in the saddle bag. From the other hunter,” he says. “Take care of that shoulder.”

---

By the time you get back to Mos Eisley, the suns have set again. When the Mandalorian brings the dewback to a halt, you’re instantly alert again. You’ll make sure that Toro pays for what he’s done. And if he’s hurt the child? Well, you’ll make sure he really suffers then.

“Stay behind me. I’m going into the hangar first to draw him out. If you get a clear shot, you take it,” he tells you. You nod in understanding, following him back to the spaceport under the cover of night.

When Mando goes inside the hangar, you wait in the shadows of the doorway, eyes keen as you wait for Toro to show his face. You watch as he comes out of the Razor Crest, holding a blaster to the engineer’s head.

You have to hold back a sigh of relief as your gaze falls on the child secured in Toro’s other arm. He’s alright.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now, huh partner?,” Toro taunts, coming to a stop in the middle of the loading ramp. The sound of his smug voice has your blood boiling again, but you don’t have a clear shot, not with the engineer still in front of him.

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em,” he commands the Mandalorian. Your gaze shifts to where Mando has his gun pointed at Toro, but he soon obeys the order and tosses his blaster to the floor. “Cuff him,” Toro tells the engineer, pushing her forward with the barrel of his weapon after he hands her the pair of binders. You grit your teeth in anticipation.

“You know, it’s really a shame I had to kill your girlfriend. She’s probably wanted too,” Toro says. “I guess it’s one less thing to worry about though.”

You step into the hangar then, your eyes dark with fury as you look at the betrayer. “Not so fast, Toro,” you say.

He turns to you, but before he can properly aim his blaster at you, you’ve already taken your shot, hitting him square in the chest. He falls backwards and off of the ramp. You move quickly towards him, wanting to get the child away and make sure that he’s unharmed.

Toro is still barely hanging on when you reach him. You plant your boot firmly over his chest. “I told you I’d kill you,” you say darkly, then fire one last shot to end him.

As you holster your blaster again, you feel a heavy hand on your uninjured shoulder. You turn to see the Mandalorian standing right next to you. The engineer stands off to the side with the baby in her arms. You let out a breath, stepping away from Toro’s body and over to the engineer, who silently hands you the child.

You hold the little creature in your arms, looking him over for any sign of injury. He chitters softly up at you, and the sound is enough to bring you down from your revenge-induced rage. You manage a small smile, stroking one of his ears gently. “Yeah. You’re okay,” you murmur to him, your smile growing more genuine as he continues to babble at you.

“Come on. We both need to rest. We’ll settle things with Peli in the morning,” Mando tells you.

“What are we gonna do now? There’s no reward for Fennec’s dead body,” you tell him.

“Our friend Toro left us something,” he says, holding up a small drawstring pouch for you to see. He shakes it, and you hear the credits jingling inside. “There’s more than enough to pay Peli. Hopefully she’ll be able to help you find a ship with what’s left,” he explains.

You nod in understanding, though you don’t feel the elation that you thought you would upon regaining your freedom. You chalk it up to exhaustion though, starting towards the Crest.

The Mandalorian follows right behind you, and once the hatch has been closed and he’s flipped on the lights, he gently takes the child from you, putting him in his pod to sleep for the night. You breathe a soft sight, slowly beginning to remove your jacket again. The movement jars your shoulder, which protests even after your previous care. You bite down on your lip, holding back the grunt of pain that bubbles in your throat.

Once the jacket is off, you open the cabinet that holds the rest of his medical supplies, taking out everything you need to properly clean and dress the wound. You settle yourself on the floor with everything, then begin to gently strip away your earlier work. The bandages pull at the tender skin, and this time you can’t hold back the small whimper that escapes your lips.

“You alright?,” the Mandalorian asks.

You nod. “Yeah. This will just take a minute. Don’t worry about me,” you reply, taking the cleansing pad out from its packaging. You then turn your attention back to your shoulder, making sure that there’s no sign of dirt, sand, or dried blood left in the wound. You bite down on your lip again, not caring that it splits open again under your teeth.

Tossing the soiled cleansing pad aside, you lean back against the metal wall of the ship, giving yourself a few moments of reprieve before you continue. You open your eyes as heavy footsteps approach you, and when you open your eyes again, Mando is settling himself next to you.

“Let me do it,” he grumbles lowly, taking the bacta patch from where it sits next to you. He opens it, and then presses it to your shoulder, holding it there for a moment to make sure that the gel infusion has time to start working. You open your mouth to protest, but he looks straight into your eyes then, silencing you before you can even start. You hate the way that it feels like he’s staring into your soul, and yet you can’t even catch a glimpse of him.

He takes up the roll of gauze then, beginning to wrap it around your shoulder. It’s tight enough to keep the bacta pad firmly in place, but isn’t otherwise uncomfortable to you. You close your eyes, finding yourself fixating on the way that his gloved fingers feel against your bare skin. It’s strange, the way that he hides every part of himself for the world. You understand that it’s part of his life, but you’re sure that being so guarded eventually has to get lonely.

“That should do it,” he says softly, causing you to open your eyes again. You nod in thanks, gathering up the trash to get rid of it. He pulls you carefully back to your feet.

“You can have the cot tonight. I’ll sleep in the cockpit,” he says.

“What? No y–”

“It’s not up for discussion.” His firm tone leaves no room for argument, no matter how much you hate the idea of taking his own sleeping quarters from him.

“Thank you,” you murmur instead.

You watch him as he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit, sighing softly to yourself. You then settle yourself on the cot, curling up under the thin blanket.

You’re asleep as soon as your eyes close.

---

“Peli says this should buy you passage off of Tatooine,” the Mandalorian explains, handing you the small pouch with what remains of Toro’s credits.

“Thank you,” you say, looking up into the visor.

He shakes his head. “I can’t ever really repay you for what you did. I wish I could offer more.”

You tuck the pouch into the pocket on your belt. “This is just fine. I’ll be alright from here,” you assure him. Even though it’s not enough for a ship of your own, you know that you’ll make it work in the end.

Your gaze shifts when you hear the gentle coos of the child, who looks up at you from where Mando holds him. “I’m gonna miss you, little guy,” you murmur, smiling softly as you let him wrap one of his hands around your finger. “You take care of him, okay? He’s got a habit of getting shot at. Someone has to keep him in line,” you tease, chuckling softly as you look back up at the Mandalorian.

“We should get going,” he says. “I’ve got another job lined up.”

“Not Guild work?,” you ask.

He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t always work for the Guild. And these guys don’t ask questions,” he explains.

You nod. “Good. The last thing you need is to have to explain everything that’s happened with the little one.”

He extends his free hand to you. You grasp it firmly and give it a hardy shake, grinning slightly. “It’s been fun, Mando,” you say, letting go of him and taking a step back.

“Take care of yourself,” he says.

“Of course,” you reply. You then give the child one last little wave before the Mandalorian turns, heading back into his newly-repaired ship. You walk out of the hangar and into the barren streets of Mos Eisley, an empty feeling settling in your chest as you go on alone.

You hear the Razor Crest roar to life again, and you turn to watch it leave the atmosphere of the planet. As the ship disappears from your sight, you try to place the unsettled feeling that has washed over you.

You realize that maybe you would have rather been on the Crest with them.

The Mandalorian feels a sense of relief as he steers the ship back into open space, but as he catches one last glimpse of Tatooine, he can’t help but feel like he might have made a mistake. He could have kept you on the ship. You could have worked this next job with him. He sighs at himself. It’s a ridiculous thought. He’s always been alone. He’s never kept a partner. There’s reason for that.

And yet he’s still fighting the urge to turn back for you.

Chapter Three: Ruusaanyc

---

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