#my paranoia is getting unbearable

[cordeliawhohung]

cordelia where are you please don’t abandon ur children! (in all seriousness i hope ur okay i know you take hiatuses when people start getting rude and ungrateful about these amazing works you put out!) sending love💌

hi hello yes i am somewhat alive sorry. it was actually some irl stuff that put me out. trying my best to take breaks and all but y'all know how it is. hope you all have been well <3

[kkujo]

last night i had a mix of tinnitus and sleep deprivation induced auditory hallucinations which was basically just like. literal microphone feedback. and i think it was triggered by me testing my microphone yesterday bc the feedback was awful but yeah i was lying awake and all i could hear was extremely loud microphone feedback in my brain i'm so glad it's over 😭

[lucozadehulahoop]

A question of time (Astarion x fem! tav/reader) part 1/?

Summary: Cazador gets his hands on the daughter (tav) of the Elven goddess Sehanine and a common mortal, hoping to manipulate the girl over time and obtain the favor of her protection while he prepares for his Ascension, during which he plans to sacrifice her to gain more power than any devil could ever promise him.

Unfortunately, as the plans for his Ascension become more and more concrete, his ward is summoned every night by the sweet cries of the most tortured out of all his slaves, and she cannot bear to leave his side.

Meanwhile, it has become increasingly obvious to Astarion that his Master does in fact have a weakness, a certain someone he keeps locked away and safe... there is nothing Astarion wants more than to snuff that little light out of Cazador's eyes, no matter if it's the last thing he ever does.

tags and TW pre-bg3! Astarion, slave!Astarion, mentions of torture and abuse, demi-goddess!tav, Cazador being all sorts of creepy, eventual NSFW (minors stay away kindly, thank you darlings)

Part 2 here ! Part 3 Part 4

I'll take you under my wing, Somebody should

-A Question of Time, Depeche Mode

Astarion had come to the conclusion that the excruciating torture Cazador imposed on him every night was becoming unbearable to the point he was now hallucinating.

It had happened three times now, always when he felt at his lowest. When he was so desperate and alone in his suffering, that he could only wish for someone to drag him out in the early dawn and leave him to burn alive, she would appear.

A clear figment of his imagination. A soul so ethereal yet warm, soft, and real. It made no sense for a creature like that to be down in the dungeons with the likes of him, her silk dress soaked from his own blood. Cazador was never really done with him until the entire floor was soaked in the thick red liquid.

Astarion had been afraid at first. He had never even seen her enter the room. She was just there, at his side. He'd made a feeble attempt to back away when she'd attempted to reach out for him. She had stopped herself in her tracks, and spoken to him softly. Astarion hadn't understood a word. He only knew this was another trick, another evil sent to punish him.

He'd passed out soon after.

The following night he'd realised he didn’t feel as weak as he usually did after a beating. He'd been healed. Somehow he'd even been granted a lavish pillow to rest his head on instead of the cold hard ground he was used to.

Alarmed, Astarion immediately did his best to hide it, using all of his strength to stuff the pillow behind a loose set of bricks in the walls of the dungeon. His master would not have been very forgiving if he thought one of his spawn had been stealing from him.

..☆..

A few weeks passed before the hallucination presented itself again.

It had been another terrible night and Cazador had decided Astarion needed to be sealed up in a coffin again.

Astarion cried like a babe. He begged his Master, promised to do anything for him, to give him anything he wanted. At some point he even attempted to convince Cazador to simply kill him once and for all. But it was no use, and soon he was sealed back into the darkness.

Astarion wondered how long he'd be left to rot this time. Another year? Two? What if this time Cazador simply... forgot about him? Left him to suffer his bloodlust and paranoia for all of eternity?

The world would move on, new cities would be built above his head and no one would be able to hear his cries—

Astarion almost jumped out of his bones in fear when the coffin was being opened up again. He was more than happy to take this little mercy from his Master in exchange of whatever other punishment he chose.

But it was not Cazador's face he ended up facing in the dark.

It was his angel, once again there to save him. Or more likely , as Astarion had been beginning to suspect, to lead him on to the next life.

This time he could see her more clearly. At first glance she might have been any other noble young lady from the city, the kind that had an array of suitors waiting outside her door. She looked like the type to make someone go mad from love or heartbreak, and Astarion was certain there were many out there already dedicating songs and sonnets to her beauty.

Yet her regal attire, while exquisite and fashionable, did not suit her. In fact, it seemed as if she were completely out of place wearing something so mundane. Something told him she wasn't exactly human, or elven for that matter. Her wide eyes were reading him like an open book, yet she did not say a word.

"Now, I don't know who you are..." Astarion warned, barely finding the strength to speak after an almost constant state of screaming and crying. "...or what you want with me... but I can tell you're not his. Because, if you were... you would know how dead we're both going to be when he catches you trying to get me out of here."

She attempted to speak, reaching out for a cut on Astarion's cheek. "You're —"

"You better get the fuck out of here, if you know what's good for you—" Astarion growled, snatching her wrist and squeezing it so tight, if she had been human it would have snapped in his hand like a twig. "And I trust you know how to board up this coffin again since you've been capable of roaming around a den of starving vampire spawn and making it out alive. Twice."

She gave out a wail of pain and Astarion finally let her go. He wasn't about to rot even longer than he had to in a coffin because of yet another reason that was completely out of his control.

The young woman stood there in front of him, undecided on what to do.

"I can't." She said, finally.

"But you will!" Astarion, roared, panicking about the very real possibility of Cazador assuming he'd managed to break out of his confinements himself. "By the hells! Put me back the way you found me and be on your way—"

"But you were crying—" She interjected.

"E-excuse you?" Astarion smiled uneasily, tilting his head to the side. What did this silly little girl think she knew about him?

"I heard you." The odd little thing in front of him answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You were calling out for help. You said, anything but the dark-"

Astarion's eyes burned with rage and hot tears. Suddenly he was stumbling out of the coffin, grabbing the woman by her frilly bloodstained clothes, and pinning her up against a wall. "You're here to doom me, is that it? You're some kind of faerie pulling a cruel joke on me, are you? Trying to give him even more excuses to hurt me. Is that it?" He panted frantically, straining his ears to pick up any signs of Cazador's return. "Here to feed on my suffering, are you?" Astarion attempted to grill answers out of her.

The supposed faerie did not seem concerned with the fact an unstable bloodthirsty creature currently had her trapped with no way of escape. She slowly reached for a huge gaping wound on Astarion's abdomen, and for a few moments he was transfixed by how quickly the flesh healed itself back together under his very eyes.

"I do not wish to bring you harm." She explained calmly. "I thought you would enjoy the freedom. He is away. And I promise to put you back as you were before his return."

Astarion shook his head and laughed maniacally. Freedom. His prayers had somehow been answered but he didn't trust the situation one bit. "Is that right, princess?" He taunted her. "And who just might you be to know the comings and goings of the Master of this house better than his own spawn?"

"He calls me his daughter."

..☆..

The revelation never left Astarion's head, even in the days that followed. Cazador... his heartless captor, his psychotic jailor, had a weakness. Initially, he'd thought about what it would have been like to take the life of Cazador's precious daughter right there and then, damned by the consequences.

But that would have been too easy. No, Astarion had finally stumbled upon something that gave him an edge over his Master, and his revenge was going to be carefully thought out. Sweet as can be.

Cazador had never mentioned his daughter to any of them so Astarion had no rules or commandments looming over his head. She was the perfect way to get revenge after almost two centuries of suffering. He just needed to be clever about it. He could not squander an opportunity like this.

The prospect of hurting Cazador made the torture much more barerable during the coming weeks. In fact, Astarion didn't know whether he was delirious or if all of that suffering was just feeding the fire burning inside of him more and more.

Once he'd been finally freed to go out and bring a new victim for Cazador to feast on, his plan he been set into action. Going out on a limb, Astarion assumed Cazador had tucked his daughter in the highest room of the tallest tower of his castle, where none could get to her and where she could never see the true horror of who her father truly was.

Under the cover of night, he scaled the side of the castle walls with nothing but some climbing tools and his own blessed agility. And as he did so, his mind was flooded with the same questions he'd been plagued with since the last night he'd seen the young woman. How was it possible that Cazdor had sired a daughter? What was the nature of her powers? They did not seem to have sliver of relation between them. And why, oh why, was she so determined to care for Astarion of all people?

Had Cazador set her on it? Was it all some sick game? Only one thing was for sure. Cazador had hidden the girl from everything and everyone, so at some fundamental level he must have cared for her.

That was all that mattered to Astarion. It was worth risking Cazador's eternal wrath just to see even a tiny sliver of pain in his eyes. A crack in his armor. And there was no doubt in his mind that would soon be true, just as soon as he found his daughter's lifeless body and her blood splattered all across the castle walls on his return.

"Are you stuck?" Her voice called out to him from her bedroom window as she looked down at him. Yes, Astarion had been slightly stalled by his thoughts. He looked up at her. Well, there went the element of surprise. He certainly was not planning on underestimating her. The girl had true power coursing through her veins.

Yet, he had not anticipated the scenario and now he was at a loss for words. A first for him. "No I was just, well I was—"

"Just close the window when you come up, okay? It's getting cold in here." She admonished him, before disappearing back inside. Astarion was a little taken aback. Had she known he was coming?

When he finally stepped into her chambers, he got a full understanding of just how capable Cazador was of spoiling and pampering someone he cared about. The room was lavish and spacious, almost every single item worth more than the average working person in Baldur's Gate could make in their entire lifetimes.

She was there, simply brushing her hair in front of the fireplace, almost completely uncaring about the fact a stranger had just invaded her private quarters.

Astarion let a dagger slip out of his sleeve, and only then did she turn around to look at him. He hated it, wishing he could have gotten the chance to kill her in her sleep or with a stab to the back, so he wouldn't have had to stare into those mesmerizing pools again.

"You won't hurt me, Astarion." She simply stated.

Astarion ground his teeth in anger. It really wasn't fair how perfect his name sounded on her tongue.

"I see his brat is not only spoiled, but entitled too. What makes you think you'll get out of this?" Astarion marched over towards her. "What makes you think your life will be spared against the countless others I've dragged to the grave in your father's name?" He snarled drawing his blade up to her perfect neck.

The sound of her pulse was enchanting and exhilarating at the same time. If he only could have, he would have gorged himself with her blood, sunk his teeth into her perfect flesh.

"Because... you're afraid the next time you call for help you'll be alone. For good." She answered honestly, seeing right through him as if he were made of glass.

The young woman had meant no offense, but Astarion took it nonetheless. In one swift move, he had a dagger to her throat, tears brimming in his eyes. He hated that she was right, but he was going to prove her wrong nonetheless.

"You think you're so smart, don't you love?" He sneered. "What? Were you so bored all couped up in your tower, you thought you could just have a little fun with one of your daddy's toys? That bastard's going to get what's coming to him—"

Suddenly, she was placing a hand over Astarion's mouth and cutting him off mid-speech. For the first time ever, Astarion saw the strange girl display concern in her features. No... it was genuine fear in her eyes.

"He's... he's down the hall." She whispered, more concerned with her father's arrival than the blade at her throat. Astarion dropped the weapon and froze, completely incapable of doing anything except await for his punishment in silence.

"What are you doing?" She fretted over him. "You need to leave!" The girl tried to put some sense into him but it was useless. Her attempts to drag him towards her closet were also fruitless.

Astarion was frozen, his eyes on the door and his ears keenly listening to Cazador's steps as they drew nearer.

___

AN: Let me know if you'd like part 2, comments are appreciated 🤧🥺

[19-1-20-25-18]

Mystical trio. Stanley is a former homeless struggling with drug addiction, living with Bill and Ford until he gets back on his feet. Bill suffers from BPD, takes medications without therapy. Ford has autism.

My husband wrote this!

ill didn't realize that something was wrong with him until Ford created for him an analogue of pills for what he used to live with. He did not understand that constant outbursts of anger are not normal, that constant mood swings are also not the norm. Many do not see or hear what he sees when he is alone. After Bill began the course of treatment that Ford would prescribe with the advice of several therapists, he began to miss the old feelings. He didn't give out anything that could bring him joy again, or the filled feeling in his chest that was so pleasant to him. He was ready to face again what was hurting him and others. Bill didn't need sleep, but the side effects of the pills, which Stanford hadn't foreseen, were literally disabling his consciousness. He felt detached from the world, as if everything he did was meaningless. Nothing was as enjoyable as before. He tried to drown out these thoughts with work, not allowing himself to relax even for a minute, so as not to face the reality of what was happening again. But the further he went, the further he got away from Ford. He didn't like it.

This pushed him to give up the pills from time to time, after which all the symptoms returned with renewed vigor. Paranoia, mood swings, hallucinations in the form of his parents and their screams before death. He could hear them… "Why did you do that?" The emptiness inside him that he so desperately wanted to fill was coming back, hurting himself and a loved one. He stopped loving again, the world was divided into "black and white", when at one moment he was ready to sing Ford's praises, but at the slightest mistake, Ford turned into something terrible, something that was not worthy of love and something that deserved pain and all the anger and despair that Bill was testing it. Obsessive thoughts of murder, uncontrollable actions, a feeling of unbearable loneliness. All this came back to him with a new wave. It happened that Ford found Bill in a room full of broken things and torn wallpaper on which triangles were painted in blood… _

Bill has many forms. From young women to senile old men. He changed them depending on what people needed, he became someone they wanted to see and love. Having assumed his current appearance, he planned to cause terror in people and show his authority even with his appearance. But even with this look, Ford fell in love with him. It was only after that that Bill decided that this will be the only form he would take.

Bill can only relax when he is next to Ford. In all other situations, he cannot afford himself to do this, both for personal reasons and for reasons of his work.

Bill can also read minds, but after he married Ford, he never did this to him, as he respects him and his personal space.

At their first kiss, Bill couldn't keep his human form because of the influx of emotions. If Ford had reacted in any way incorrectly or said something that might have seemed wrong to Bill, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Ford has been investigating the origin of the triangle on ancient records for a long time. While Bill was with him all the time and listened to Ford's theories, sometimes agreeing with him or confusing him or carrying complete nonsense like: "I'm sure this triangle would be a good kisser."

During all the time that Bill was in the human dimension, he had countless husbands and wives whom he could never love. They either left him, or Bill left on his own. It happened that because of boredom, he stayed with a person for the rest of their life, emotionlessly watching their last moments of existence. And it was only with Ford that he could feel what love was. And along with this, the fear of losing a loved one, the excitement for him. If before that he did not know what the meaning of human life was: so short and worthless, now this "pathetic life" was all he lived for. _ A lot of ideas come up in my head for my AU, and I don't think I have enough time and energy to draw it all, so I'll write it here and now.

Stanley is a trans man. He agreed to an underground mastectomy so that the remnants of it would go to the black market. Only Stan woke up in the hospital, where he found an ugly scar covering his entire chest. According to the doctors, one kidney was removed from him. Stanley was mired in debt because of it, and had been hiding from the police for a long time.

When Ford discovered his all of this, he said Bill could fix it. But Stan refused. This scar is a reminder him of the past. That he is standing here and now in front of his own brother, because he was able to go through all of this, because he found the strength to move on. Waking up every morning on the streets, enduring bitterness and resentment for what happened and his own stupidity, reminding himself every time that no one else will hold him. And no matter how much his unhealed scar hurt, whose seam diverged with every step he took, he remained alive. If he had given up, he would never have seen Ford again.

_ "Question"

ill's diagnosis in my AU dose not define his personality.

Bill loves Ford, values him more than anything in the world. He respects him and would never let anyone hurt him. If Bill is angry, he won't scream or threaten violence/divorce. Bill and Ford had to go through many difficulties in my AU to fully trust each other, even when the demon, as in my sketch below, goes crazy and does not control his actions. If Bill had been an abuser, he would not have clung to Ford with his whole body, crying on his shoulder and bitterly regretting what he had done. He does not hold Ford by force, he can leave at any moment, and Bill will not interfere. He is well aware that he is hurting Ford with his diagnosis, and therefore agrees to take medication and go to therapy. Not only for himself, not for the sake of no longer seeing or hearing the hallucinations of his parents who died because of him, not for the sake of others, he does it for Ford. And of course, his conscience torments him for the fact that he can abruptly stop taking pills, because all Ford's efforts will go nowhere. Bill is not a tyrant to Ford in my AU. He needs help. Just like Ford. And they both give it to each other.

I would also like to show that Ford can make mistakes in their relationship. They're both not perfect.

I managed to make only a few sketches with them, focusing more on Bill and his problems. I understand that you have such questions, because I have not yet shown his relationship with Ford outside of the disease. But believe me, they are both happy with each other.

[nikolais-eyepatch]

THIS TOOK SO LONGGG IM SORRY U GUYS BUT I KINDA LIKE THIS SHOULD I MAKE A PT 2??? <333 YOU GUYS PLS READ THIS I THINK THIS MIGHT BE MY BEST WORKSSS!! also thing is i had dazai in mind for this but then i thought that it might be ooc so the character can be anyone!!

warnings : murder, stalking, suggestive writing, two psychos in love <33 (i do not condone these actions outside of fanfiction)

word count : 3.291K

(credit to @tookio for the dividers throughout the story!! lace one!! )

In the dimly lit streets of the city, where shadows, secrets, whispers and crime had all intertwined. You would have never ever even thought about the fact that you would have met him. Handsome was an understandment, but beneath all that charisma lies a man that you had met that fateful night.

You had simply seen him...everywhere. he was quiet the talk. his name was well-known. but by each passing day the paranoia increased. you had seen his smile, it was so perfect. god even you had a slight crush on the man, who wouldn't?

just like everyone else you had fantasies too, i mean his skin was so smooth...it'd be a perfect addition to you're collection. Out of everyone you had seen he simply had this charm you've never even noticed in others. why not indulge yourself in these weird fantasies? i mean sure you wouldn't be acting them out, so what harm right!

As a detective it was normal for you to get off work late, helping others and solving crimes. The pay was quite good in honesty, that's the only reason you sticked around.

nothing really interested you when you think about it, from a young age everything was all, blank. You really couldn't give a shit about anyone. You were only doing your job.

So when you stumbled across him as you entered the alley and heard the sound of something gushing, was that the sound of... stabbing? You never had thought you would've found him. murdering the man who had asked for your hand, you wouldn't blame him. he was an nuisance.

in the dim lights the eye contact between you two was tense, until you had sighed and raised an eyebrow as the words stumbled out.

"you seem like a busy man tonight, sir." you say unbothered at the sight as you continue observing him, he was wet with blood, obviously, you note. the smell was unbearable, so was the sight...he really did a number on him.

his eyes twinkle with amusement, a devilish smirk playing upon his lips. "Indeed, I am. But fear not, dear detective, I hold no ill intentions toward you." His voice was smooth as he reassured you.

you simply stare at him confused as you decide to do what's best, "That's...fine by me, sir. Have a good night dear stranger." you brush off as you wave goodbye to him and continue your merry way back home.

you weren't bothered...? oh how happy he was! with a grin spread across his face reaching his ears he watched you turn the other way and walk away. thank god! He had his eyes on you for sososo long!! You never knew how much he had wanted to possess you, to claim her as his own, even if it meant succumbing to the darkest corners of his soul! You saw him murder...yet you didn't even react? you could have done anything! gone to the police- ran away- or even decide to do something since you yourself were a detective! but no! you didn't! this means something right? you kept his secret! he knows you will! who else would you tell? this is perfect...that means you agree to be his! i mean c'mon- you didn't even care! he confirms your the one- only one!!! such a Fateful night, gosh!!

your figure gets smaller and smaller as he watched you with a giddy attitude, forgetting all about the body just by his foot...he had wanted to court you...he couldn't have that could he? he did this for you! and you didn't even care much about him! your the perfect one!!!

he always had a yearning to understand his soulmate...who dares to walk the same path as him yet stands on opposite sides of the moral divider. now? he's gotten his answer

As the days passed, the memory of him lingered in your thoughts, a persistent thorn in his otherwise impenetrable psyche. Intrigued by his motives and everything, you had found yourself drawn to his presence, craving the thrill of her company...this was bad.

One night you had no idea how it had happened. some bitch had been getting on your nerves. next second you find yourself in the same alleyway you and that man had met, as you continue stabbing the woman, her face was disformed, her organs were showing as the blood spurted out, god...it felt so right. The greed taking over as you took advantage of her drunk-like state. If her face wasn't disformed from the amount of struggle she put in, maybe you would have used her skin to experiment.

you now see why killing was such a thrill, simply from hearing it from others at your work, to looking for clues, even going to crime scenes and asking witnesses, to reading such books at night before bed, and witnessing that man do a gruesome sin so casually?? you had given up. all the pent up amount of anger and frustration showing up as you showed no mercy to the woman under you and you continue making the same motion.

up, down, squelch, up. up, squelch, down, up. up, squelch, down, actions that were considered psychotic and you were against all going down the drain- you were a detective goddammit! why was this happening?? god you just-

you stop all actions as your moments falter at the sound of footsteps. turning your head to the direction you found him, standing there with a smirk.

you chuckle and soften your eyes as you say "dear stranger, we meet again." you say as you observe him, this time it was you who was covered in blood, him a witness to your deepest desires.

he had always questioned whether his feelings towards you were love or obsession....whether you'd get to live or die was depended on what he had thought of you. yet, seeing you in this light made him question his own motives.

"Once again, fate brings us together," he murmured, his voice cold yet amused. "I see our paths are destined to cross repeatedly." From the corner of his eye, he noticed your hand gripping the weapon tightly, a mask of determination etched onto her face. "What brings you here, my dear detective?" He asked, curiosity mingled with a slight bit of excitement.

"ah business, my dear stranger." you commented as you eye him up and down, you didn't really know if it was in attraction or disgust really, everything was too foggy in your brain.

rights confused with wrongs, left and rights, north and south, west and east, god it was such a ecstatic feeling!

a faint smirk graced his lips as he studied his dear, the veneer of his composure never faltering. "Business, you say?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. "And what kind of 'business' requires the taking of a life?" His gaze shifted to the dead woman on the ground.

you were like him!!! he was so happy!! imagine the dates you could have since you and him were alike!! he wonders if you'll kill for him too as he has for you, his dear spouse!!!

"The usual, now we've both caught each other doing this act of....sin haven't we?" you say warning reminding him oh his own crimes as you cautiously look at him for any reactions as you clutch your knife suspicious at his motive.

The gleam in his eyes intensified, acknowledging the truth in your statement. He let out a soft chuckle, a sinister sound that echoed through the alleyway. "so it seems we share a common bond, after all. you and I, the hunter's. It is a curious coincidence, indeed." Pausing briefly, he continued, "But our roles do not define us, my dear detective. Shall we exchange confessions, or shall we continue our separate journeys?" he asked with a smirk.

god you don't get it!! he's so nervous! he's itching to hold you! please say yes! he'll actually die and drag you with him if you say no!!

after a few moments of silence you break it with a simple, "Shall we have dinner at mine?" you ask as you tilt my head in curiosity of his response.

he raised an eyebrow at the unexpected invitation, but there was no denying the allure of its audacity. There was something about you that piqued his interest, a challenge he couldn't resist. "An intriguing proposition, detective," he replied, his voice smooth as silk. "I accept, under one condition. We shall share our darkest secrets over dinner, and I believe that you have tales worth hearing." With slow steps he walked towards you.

you have no idea what you do to him, your so perfect...he cant believe he had forgotten the ring at home. he'll make it up though, perhaps a night together? Would you enjoy that?

he walks towards you not to startle you as you stay put and clutch the knife by your side, once he reaches you he gently takes the knife out of your hand and holds it by his side,a small gesture to make sure you wouldn't stab him or the woman anymore. Speaking of, he continues observes the woman below the two. he knows your not dumb enough to leave evidence due to your experience, so he leaves it at that.

you speak up continuing the eye contact as you admit, "I don't have much stories, i can assure you that. This is my other darkest secret. The art of killing is quite fascinating, no? The motives, blood, shrill, everything." you sigh out in relief.

Oh? Quite amusing, no?

as you spoke, he observed you closely, noting the dreamy quality in your voice. There was a certain thrill in her words, a shared understanding that surprised him. "The art of killing..." he mused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "It is indeed a fascinating dance, a deadly waltz between life and death. But it is not merely the violence that captivates me; it is the web of motivations that drive individuals to such extremes. Tell me, what fuels your passion for it?" He asked, genuinely interested in her answer. he himself personally knew that beneath the surface of any killer, layered a story untold.

"My story..? I apologize but i'm not that quite fascinating. i simply wanted to feel the thrill and joy, i suppose that's what makes us different. Now dear stranger, care to have dinner with me tonight?" you remind him of the pervious offer as you start to get slightly impatient at the questions.

he nodded, accepting the change in direction of the conversation. "Very well, detective. Your reasons for your actions may not be as elaborate as mine, but they are yours nonetheless." he paused for a moment, considering her proposal. "Yes, I accept your invitation. Tonight it is." A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, the anticipation of their meeting building within him. "Perhaps over dinner, we will uncover more about each other's motivations and the shadows that shape us." he says that more as a promise as the gaze in his eyes are tender yet filled with a look that makes you shiver...surprisingly.

you offer a hand for him, taking the offered hand, he felt the cool body temperature compared to his warmth.

His eyes flickered with surprise, but he hid it well. "You leave no trace, do you?" he remarked, his tone neutral. "a wise precaution, one that I respect." Turning to face you, he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the dimly lit alleyway. "Now, let us embark on this adventure you speak of. to uncover the shadows that shape us, we must first delve into the darkness that binds us."

his arm slides down her shoulder and instead their fingers entwined, the two walked side by side, an unlikely duo drawn together like magnets...

"your skin is so smooth, i'd gladly use it as a use for my future experiment, but for now i shall continue doing research." you note to him as you walk hand in hand to your apartment, a new unlikely bond forming.

he smiles as he stays quiet as he observes you take out your keys, unlock the said door to your apartment, and let him go in first, he does so as he steps in a couple of steps as he comments "Your home reflects your nature, detective. Cluttered yet organized, a testament to your duality."

you lock the door as you step in with him and guide him to the small table, oddly enough you had two chairs across from each other with a small round table in between.

he sits as you gesture for him to sit as his eyes simply watch you, never taking them off you or your figure...this is a dream come true for him, dear. you have no idea of all the nights he's thought about this, a fantasy now a reality.

you start by assuring him "I don't plan on having your head, rest assure my dear. I simply wish to enjoy the warmth of a dinner."

he gets even more ecstatic but doesn't let it show as his lips quirk into a small smile.

"Warmth, indeed. An appropriate word for the evening, don't you think?" he comments as he puts his cheek in his palm which is resting on the table as he tilts his head and continues smiling at you.

warmth, warmth?

in the small moments of chatting and such while you prepare dinner for two as he observes you continue talking about exchanged stories- tales of their past, their motivations, and the darkness that haunted them.

you set down the plates on his and your side as you sit in your chair and begin eating, silence overtakes the two as you continue enjoying the warmth of another person and the food which isn't as bad as the one's from the other days.

you start by saying "now when we first met, did you know the man you had killed my dear? He was planning on courting me the next day...but you had killed him" you say wiping your lips with a napkin to ensure you didn't look improper infront of your new guest.

his moments falter then he hides it with a smirk as his gaze locking onto you. "a twist of fate, then," he said quietly, setting down the fork for a moment to take a sip of the water. "Your intended suitor, replaced by an unexpected encounter with me. A interesting meeting that led us here, sharing a meal and confessions. Quite poetic, don't you think?" He resumed eating, his expression the same. "yet, I wonder, why did you not reciprocate his feelings towards you? Was there something about him that displeased you?"

he asked, curious about her feelings toward the man he had intentionally kiled yet he masks it up with curiosity wanting to know more about his dear,

"He simply...wouldn't approve of my ideals." you say as you shrug your shoulders as you put down your fork and admire the man across from you, the lighting right above the table highlighting his features, his eyes downwards as he focuses on eating, his face looking charming as ever, and him.

he meets your eyes as he then says "Ideals are a tricky thing, aren't they? They can either bring people together or tear them apart. And in this case, it seems like your ideals kept you from that fateful engagement." He pondered for a moment, then added, "Tell me more about these ideals, detective. What drives you to walk this dark path?" He wanted to understand you better, to unravel the threads that made you...you!!

As they continued their meal, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each revelation painting a clearer picture of his dear sitting across from him.

with questions unanswered from your side, you get up as you collect both your and his empty dishes as you walk to the sink and rinse the plates with water before putting soap on a sponge and getting to work.

he watched you move gracefully about the kitchen, a mix of admiration and amusement playing across his features. "You have a peculiar charm, detective. one cannot help but be drawn in by you." He mused, leaning back in his chair. "but I must ask, will you always be the hunter, or do you ever allow yourself to be hunted?" His question was gentle, yet persistent, encouraging you to reveal another factor about your life.

you decide to indulge in his charm as you answer "i can be anything you want, my dear," you say as you continue scrubbing the dishes not bothering to turn back and look at him as you continue your work.

his eyes never move off your figure as he starts by saying "perhaps...there is more to discover within each other than just our dark interests, dearest."

He stood up, crossing the room to stand behind her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he whispered softly into her ear, "And what of your fantasies, detective? Do share them with me, and I promise to fulfill them." His breath tickled her neck, a gentle reminder of his presence. The tension in the air thickened, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

you simply cherish his warmth compared to your coldness as you hum a tone enjoying the temporary- no forever moments between you two.

after a short while you say "our night that day i suppose was a fateful night, no?" you say moving for a bit turning off the faucet and then setting the plates. Afterword's, drying your hands then meeting his body against yours as you put your arms around his neck with a playful smirk.

he returned her smile, his own smirk matching her playfulness. "Yes, indeed, a fateful night-" he agreed yet interrupting himself, leaning in instead to brush a soft kiss against her lips. the kiss was a small one, simply enjoying the softness against lips as you seal an invisible oath.

he continues on "-One that will echo through our dreams and shape our reality. Your hands are clean now, but I fear, my dear detective, I may never wash off the stains of our shared past." He pulled her close, as if that was even possible as he and you enjoy the tenderness as his hand cups your cheek.

"in what way my dear? we have such a bond...our fondness could increase more, it'd be a shame if it went to waste." you say as you nuzzle closer to his hand on your cheek.

" I am merely a shadow, a whisper in the wind that brings forth change," he then plants a soft kiss at the softness of your neck below you jaw as he continues, "but for you? my dear, call me whatever you wish for tonight, i am yours just as if you are mine."

Their embrace lingered, filled with unspoken promises and desires. The air between them crackled with anticipation, a silent agreement to explore the boundaries of themselves to the fullest for eternity.

"care to spend the night, dear?" you ask, a simple question yet very obvious intentions.

knowing the answer yet he considered your invitation, his eyes never leaving yours. "I accept, under one condition: You allow me to learn everything about you, and share with me your deepest secrets." He whispered, his tone low and seductive. "only then can we truly merge our shadows, becoming one in the dance of darkness." His fingers tightened subtly, pulling her closer still despite the closeness.

"Then afterwords...do we forget about everything we had tonight? Or maybe...are you thinking of something else dear?" You ask hopefully as you push a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"Such forgetfulness does have its merits, but it would be foolish to discard the memories we create. Instead, let's keep them locked away in our hearts, to be revisited only for us." He leaned in, brushing his lips with yours as he continues holding your cheek tenderly.

This was more than mere attraction; it was a bond born of shared darkness and mutual understanding. He knew that this encounter would leave an indelible mark on them both, and he welcomed it. Their passion grew, fueled by secrets and desires, until they succumbed to the pull of the night, surrendering to the whims of fate and their own twisted dreams.

OMG YOU GUYS THIS IS ACC NOT BAD??!!! WOW IM BACK U GUYSS <3333

[brucewaynehater101]

Hemlo! Here are some sparkles and hearts for all the delicious posts and answers!! ✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️✨️💕❤️💖✨️ ✨️

I also have ✨️Questions✨️! In Tim being Bruce's Father Figure AU/headcanon, how do you think Tim's 16th birthday will play out? Will Bruce even plan it? And if he does, will this AU's Alfred go with it? How differently do you think Tim will go about tackling Bruce's lesson on paranoia? And how do you think he'll discipline Bruce after all is said and done? (I am sorry for the many questions 😅😅😅)

The sparkles are really cute. Also, don't know if it was on purpose, but urban dictionary says "hemlo" is how dog's pov says hi???

(Also, I love questions and asks so much. I sometimes take a bit to respond [cause I work nights, so my sleep schedule is whenever I can when I don't work], but I genuinely love all of them).

As far as Tim's 16th birthday, fuck. Alright. I guess this AU/hc can get some more angst. It's been too light and funny lately. Why not?

Okay.

~~~

Tim stares at the object that started it all. It's perched innocently on his desk, but the teen wants nothing more than to shatter it into dusty remains.

Bruce, his son that he willing took responsibility of, his son of three years, thought it was fit to cause Tim to have a mental breakdown. Bruce isn't aware of the true nature of their relationship. Bruce thought it was fit to cause rampant paranoia in a child.

Where had Tim gone wrong?

He thought Bruce was getting better.

Were the sticker charts, the car rides for sleep, the persistent checking for injuries, and the forced self care the wrong moves? Was Tim too harsh? Too soft? Where had Tim failed his son so that he thought this was an acceptable and appropriate set of actions? Why did Bruce do this to him?

He doesn't know.

And Alfred. He thought the two of them were on the same page when it came to parenting Bruce. Were the many discussions over tea, the late night baking, the aid around the house, and the chats during gardening for naught? They were supposed to rely on one another, inform the other when Bruce was going too far, and stop the man. Tim had so many fucking conversations with Alfred on permissive parenting and being a bystander. He thought they were in agreeance.

Not only did Alfred fall back to old and wrongful ways, but he was now an active participation in Bruce's emotional abuse and manipulation. Can Tim even trust Alfred to protect Bruce's kids from Bruce? Was Tim just special?

He doesn't know if it is worse for Alfred to target Tim specifically or for the older man to allow such actions against all of Bruce's children. Both thoughts are unbearable.

The man had the audacity to joke about Tim being of age after this clusterfuck, as if Tim hadn't been an adult in a child's body parenting an adult nearly three times his age. As if Tim hadn't aged a decade in the last three years. As if Tim hadn't done enough.

Gods, Tim is tired. He doesn't think reddit can help him out of this either.

Tim brushes a finger against the offending object as his face screws up in overwhelming grief, frustration, and betrayal. The smooth edges of the cube are cold, and his face feels hot.

He won't cry.

Bruce is a bastard, a man-child who criticized Tim for believing in time travel (as if they both hadn't seen it happen before).

It's infuriating and heartbreaking, but it's not the end. Tim can still fix this. He'll be more vigilant this time as he screws the errant pieces of Bruce's morality and judgment back together. He'll study more parenting books, attend more psychology online courses, and find a therapist he can ask parenting questions to anonymously. There's still more Tim can do.

He can still save his son from himself.

There's still time.

Tim pockets the reminder of his failures towards his son as he goes to Bruce.

He won't ask Bruce to apologize.

He can't.

It's Tim's fault, after all.

[rassvetsky]

i was wondering if u can come up with ‘a trust issue who needs reassurance all the time’ reader and ‘i dont know how to communicate my feelings’ bucky. basically a miscommunication trope.

i will accept however storyline and ending you make because i love you and i love ur writing💕❤️❤️

hi babe!! i really really hope i did your wonderful request at least some justice because i got too carried away-- i hope you like it! thank you for existing ♡

Out Of Mind

bucky barnes x reader

"Falling in love with you terrified Bucky, enough to push you away. He was sure that it's better this way. But merely a week later, when you disappear without a trace, Bucky realized that he couldn't handle being without you."

[5.2k] | angst with a happy ending, miscommunication, arguing, bucky being an asshole at first but he has his reasons, natasha being protective, sassy tony, canon level violence, fighting, reader getting minor injuries, clint is the loml, bucky is an idiot in love my dudes, they're so cute god help me

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

Bucky used to be a simple man, Steve had told you long ago. After all those years of torture, he developed… Complexity.

And you couldn't agree more.

He was a tender lover to begin with, the one to always make sure that you were alright, the one to put your wellbeing above his. He wasn't good with words- wasn't the most expressive man out there, but you understood him. You understood why he never included cards in the flowers he sent to you, or sometimes didn't say anything back to your love declarations other than a bashful smile; you understood that for him, these things worked in different ways now.

And that's why he loved you so much. That's why he was terrified.

Because the deeper he fell for you, the more intense his feelings got. The harder his separation anxiety hit, the more mushed his brain became.

And in any other scenario, that would be lovely. Those butterflies that one would feel in their stomach, or the sweet little dumbification that came hand to hand with love. In another life, he'd bask in the feeling. He'd see the world around him under a different light, a light that you cast on his life.

But in this life? It was nothing but dangerous. Nothing but absolutely horrendous.

Because he was supposed to focus. He was supposed to be alert. His fight or flight response had to be on at all times and no matter what, he was supposed to prioritize his life to save the others.

He couldn't do that when you were involved, not anymore. The paranoia got too much- he was terrified of seeing you get hurt, of losing you in any way. That fear brought out the worst in him, causing fights to break out whenever you willingly got yourself in trouble, distracting him, making you drift apart further.

You didn't want that. He didn't want that. But life for you wasn't always just movie nights at the compound, breakfasts on bed, long nights of talking about the future.

He had to let the chips fall where they may.

You needed reassurance, he knew that. But suddenly, after the last mission you went on with the team including Bucky, he suddenly… Stopped doing that. That bashful grin was nowhere to be seen when you told him you loved him, when you held his hand it just didn't last as long as it usually did, he… He didn't even look at you properly. And that went on for days, each day worse than the one before, until he barely even talked to you.

And the dread you felt on your chest was unbearable.

The night-time fell quicker than any other day that one evening, as you prepared yourself a warm tea to accompany your book. Carrying the mug up to your shared room with Bucky, you slowly got under the sheets, holding the book open with one hand, mug with the other.

The plot was barely interesting to you with all the thoughts running through your mind, snatching your attention from the words, making you have to go back and reread the same paragraphs over and over. It wasn't anything new, this type of distraction, but more often than not, it was the aftermath of the latest mission plaguing your mind. Not your boyfriend being excessively restrained towards you, as if your sole existence was a problem for him.

Speaking of, maybe it was. Maybe you were too high-maintenance for him, maybe you weren't giving him enough space, maybe he was just going through something. Or maybe, he was done with you. He didn't need you anymore, now that he got rid of the vivid nightmares and dissociations-

How cruel of you to think that. How cruel of him to leave that open as a possibility.

With your tea half-drank, you set the mug back on the nightstand, pinning the bookmark between the pages before leaving it by the mug. You didn't feel like laying down- didn't think you could fall asleep with your mind on overdrive like this anyway. Getting up from where you were laid across, you slowly made your way over to the window, arms crossed on your chest as you heaved a sigh. The view was nice, moonlight illuminated enough of the surrounding trees, and if you were to squint, you could see the grass shine wetly, with a layer of dew upon them.

You couldn't help the way your shoulders tensed a bit when the door knob twisted open, hearing the heavy steps of your lover and a sigh leaving his lips. Your back was facing him still, and you didn't dare to look at him, figuring he was busy changing his clothes judging by the shuffling sound of fabric.

The slight squeak of the mattress brought a bitter grin to your lips as you spoke up. "Not even gonna talk to me?"

He was quiet for a full minute. "Sorry. I'm tired, sweetheart."

"Of me?"

"What?" he sounded surprised. "Wha- why would I be tired of you?"

"I don't know." you sighed. "You've been acting incredibly distant for the past week. Figured I was tiring you out."

Another squeak, he was on his feet now. Slowly walking towards you, he rested a hand on the small of your back, but you still didn't look at him. You wouldn't admit that to yourself but you really didn't want to know the truth.

"Don't be ridiculous," he spoke, tone quiet. "It's just that… The missions, you know how they-"

"We went through rougher missions back then," you chuckled. "On the verge of death, covered in blood. Missions that went on for months. You didn't treat me like this then."

"How am I treating you?"

"Like I'm a fucking nuisance!" you finally snapped, pushing his hand away from your body before turning towards him. Your eyes were wide with anger, chest heaving. "You're treating me like you don't even want to see me!"

"You're my girlfriend!" he was bewildered, albeit a bit guilty. "Of course I want to see you, what the fuck are you even talking about?!"

A scoff left your lips. "Fuck that! You used to treat me better when we were barely friends," you watched him look away, annoyed. "I've been trying to give you some space but you- you just won't tell me shit! You're barely talking to me, anyway! How the hell am I supposed to know what I did wrong if you won't even talk to me, Bucky?!"

Bucky felt his heart getting heavier. "Stop assuming that you did something wrong-"

"Then what else?! What else can I assume? For fuck's sake, am I supposed to assume that there's someone else, or you're just- you're just sick of me. That you don't need me anymore, is that what I'm supposed to think?" you could feel the tears building up by your waterline. "Fucking hell, it'd hurt way less if I was sure that it's all my fault! Or- even if you were- I just- just tell me what the fuck is wrong with you, please?"

"Nothing!" he was loud, suddenly. The sudden outburst had you taking a step back in instinct, and he panicked so hard for a moment that he almost took a step towards you.

He knew he shouldn't.

"Nothing, okay? Just one of those weeks. Leave it alone."

"Fine." you sighed. "Fine, I'll leave it alone. I'll leave you alone, Bucky, to figure your shit out and- please, for the love of God, don't talk to me until you do. I'm done being treated like garbage." and with a final shove to his chest, you walked out of the door.

Bucky knew that he deserved that.

Hell, he deserved a solid punch for the way he was treating you but he didn't know how else to act. He didn't know what else to do. He was so sick of worrying, being in a constant state of paranoia because of you, so sick of his heart hurting like someone reached right into his chest and severed it off whenever you got hurt.

Was he protecting himself, or you?

"Hey," Sam swiftly sat by Bucky's side with a bowl of cereal on his palms, not giving the other a chance to walk away before speaking up again. "You good? You look like… Hell, I can't sugarcoat this. You look like absolute shit."

Bucky felt like absolute shit.

"I'm fine." he muttered, eyes trained on the big TV screen in front of them. The compound had been pretty quiet for the past few weeks, with the main troublemakers scattered around the globe for a mission.

Sam saw right through his bullshit, though. "Your girl ain't talking to you?"

"None of your business."

"She looks like absolute shit too."

Bucky took a moment to process that.

"Did you guys fight?"

"Again, none of your business, Sam." heaving a sigh, Bucky slowly pushed himself up to his feet, leaving Sam sitting on the couch all alone. Natasha, who was busy making herself something to eat to get through lunch, decided to chime in after Bucky managed to take a few steps away.

"You push her away the second things get hard and then wonder why she hates you."

If looks could kill, Bucky's would murder everyone in that room under three seconds. "She doesn't hate me."

"You want her to hate you."

"Bullshit."

"Because you hate yourself. Isn't that it?"

Sam's eyes were wide when he looked at Natasha. She was the one to deliver a hard kick on the shin when one needed it, tough-loving and relentless with her words- not to hurt the other, but to give them a chance to see things from a different perspective.

When Bucky didn't say anything, Natasha decided to continue. "I don't know how you're justifying this in that 'cyborg' brain but you don't have one single right to punish her. For absolutely no reason, too."

"Natasha-"

"Shut it, Sam." she shook her head. "We get it, you don't like fights. But I never took you for a coward, James, and you're not being anything else but that with the way you're refusing to fight for her."

Nobody said anything else for a solid minute, while Natasha kept glaring at Bucky. His eyes were on the ground now, the harsh nature of Natasha's words hitting him right across the chest- and it hurt. It hurt bad, because he knew that he was hurting you on purpose. "How do I make it right?"

"In my opinion? Leave her the fuck alone-"

"No, no. Natasha, calm your horses," Sam got up from where he was seated, approaching the two with a relaxed expression to calm them both down. "Just tell her how you feel, man. Be real with her. Be completely honest- if you don't love her anymore, just say so. If that's not the case, then-"

"I love her, Sam."

A soft sigh left Sam's lips. "I know. Just talk to her. She'll understand."

Bucky shook his head in a nod. The idea of talking to you was nerve-wracking, to say the least. You hadn't talked to him in a week, despite living in the same compound. Didn't even dare to step into your shared room when he was there, instead deciding to take on a vacant room for a while and get your work done in silence.

You were afraid of continuing that argument, honestly. Because you and Bucky- you two weren't the type to argue. Problems would be solved in peace at all times, with both parties admitting to their faults. So when that dynamic changed, it freaked you out. Just like how falling in love with you freaked out Bucky.

"FRIDAY," Bucky called out. "Where's Y/N?"

An automated voice answered immediately. "I'm afraid that information is classified." Bucky tensed up quicker than he'd like to admit.

"What?" Sam muttered under his breath, gaze finding Natasha's confused one. Natasha spoke up not too long afterwards. "What do you mean by classified?"

"Mr. Stark specifically requested that I keep Mrs. Y/L/N's current location confidential."

"Fucking hell," Bucky heaved a sigh. "Have any of you seen her today?"

"Nah," with a shrug, Sam walked towards the counter to set down his bowl of cereal, suddenly not interested in the food but rather, your whereabouts. "Last I saw her… Yesterday evening, yeah. She was leaving Tony's office, didn't say anything."

"Where did she go after that?"

"Man, how would I know? I'm not keepin' tabs on your girlfriend, that's your job."

"FRIDAY, where's Tony?" Natasha ignored the two, focusing on the matter at hand. For all she knew, you weren't the one to keep secrets from the team. Even on solo missions, you would always keep your tracker on just in case.

"In his office. Shall I inform Mr. Stark of your visit?"

"Nope." lips pressed into a thin line, and a not-so-apologetic shrug. Typical Tony Stark nature. "Just because you live here doesn't mean you have to know everything."

"But she's my girlfriend."

"Just because she made that mistake doesn't mean you have to know everything, Barnes." Tony quipped. "If anyone else in this room was on her position and I were to give away your location, which she specifically made sure that I wouldn't tell, I would be murdered horrendously."

"It's not like her to do that." Natasha's tone was way softer than Bucky's, understandably. She was mad at Bucky and worried about you at the same time but still, keeping her cool was an art form and she was doing it beautifully. "We're just worried, that's all."

"You don't seem like her parents to me."

"Would you tell us if we were her parents?"

"Wilson, use your head. Of course I wouldn't." plopping down on his seat with a huff, Tony rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'd beg to differ but I'm a very virtuous and excruciatingly handsome man, and I made a promise, so… The door is right behind you. I got a lot of stuff to do."

The sound of Bucky's palm meeting the desk separating him from Tony caused everyone's eyes to find his, including Tony. "You have to give me something."

"I don't owe you anything." Tony's words were like venom as they dripped from his tongue, his challenging gaze on Bucky's rampageous one. "But if you really, really want her to hate all of you, fine. She's on a solo mission."

"A solo mission?! You sent her on a solo mission?!" Sam was quick to grab Bucky by the arm, pulling him back a little.

"Man, calm down-"

"Last time I checked, she was perfectly capable of handling a mission and taking care of herself." Tony spoke, calm despite the furious man standing in front of him. "She wanted to go. Why the hell would I say no?"

"Bucky, he's right." Natasha pushed herself up from the wall she was leaning on. Signaling for Sam to possibly take Bucky out of the office with her eyes, she approached the desk. "I'm sure she's fine and she only did that just so you wouldn't go after her."

"Yeah," Sam continued. "Let's just- let's get you out of here. She'll be back before you know it."

Tony didn't miss the glare Bucky sent his way when he left the office with Sam.

Feeling Natasha's judgmental eyes on him, he looked up at her, leaning back on his seat comfortably. "Do you need anything?"

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing, except for her location."

"No," Natasha shook her head. "It's obvious you didn't tell us everything. I'm not expecting you to, but I've known you for a long time, Tony. I can see it when you're leaving a crucial part out."

A sigh left Tony's lips.

"She's indeed on a solo mission. A mission that I know absolutely nothing about, and she disabled her own tracker."

"Are you sure nobody knows you're here?"

"God, Clint, what's with all the secrecy?" you weren't even sure your hushed whisper was heard by Clint, crowded streets of Hong Kong were noisy enough to usher a headache within you. You hadn't seen him in a while, with him retiring again, and God he retired a lot, but after receiving a message with 'emergency, don't tell anybody.' and coordinates, you rushed to his aid rather immediately.

You owed him a lot.

Following him to a small apartment building as he pushed the door open, you looked behind to see if anybody was following, before climbing up the stairs with him. "What's going on?"

"Extraction." he whispered. "Kind of a sensitive one. Tony didn't want anyone involved."

"I really think Laura should lock you up sometimes."

"So do I, kid."

Your time spent in his small hideout apartment was filled with intel and planning. It was supposed to be a very quiet mission, a sensitive one like he mentioned earlier- a swift infiltration to save a former SHIELD agent from where he was held prisoner, just so he could return to his research.

You didn't quite understand why Tony wouldn't want anyone to be involved and to save the agent, but you weren't going to ask. You trusted Clint, sometimes more than you did Tony, and if Clint told you that what he's doing was right, then you'd believe him.

The next day, with both of you suited up, his arrows ready and your secret knives hidden beneath layers of fabric all around your body; the quiet approach to the building went pretty smoothly. He kept telling you to keep your cool and to keep it quiet. This was a stealth op, and made sure to assure you that you were excellent at those.

Except, for all the stealth operations, your partner was Bucky. He was the one who knew exactly what you were going to do without needing you to tell him, he was the one who fought by your side, in so much sync with you that it felt like you two were one mind split to two bodies. You felt safer when he was by your side, calm enough to perform better.

You didn't tell Clint that. You didn't tell him that you felt way too insecure without Bucky by your side to perform well.

He was expecting your help, and you were going to deliver.

Except, things took a turn for the worse far too quickly. You got into the room in which the agent was kept, with Clint following from far behind to keep you safe; and saved the agent from his restraints. Before you could lead him out, though, you heard Clint telling you to stop taking your time because apparently, a swarm of people were coming your way, and he had to hide.

You helped the agent all the way down to the ground from the first floor, through the piping by the outer side of the wall and informed Clint of your current location, before spotting a few men running your way.

Pushing the agent away towards the woods where he could hide and protect himself, you pulled your gun out and managed to down at least two of the five men. You noticed one of them following the agent as the two attacked you; landing a harsh kick by one's neck before sliding out your knife and swinging it at the other's direction, but the distraction that they needed came quickly when through your in-ear, you heard Clint's voice again.

"Shit, abort. Get the hell out of there, get away from the building."

And a loud explosion right to your left followed.

Natasha was torn.

Tony's words kept replaying themselves on her head as she paced around the room, unable to decide between telling Bucky and keeping it to herself. She didn't know what she would be risking if she told him, but at the same time, you could get yourself in a much bigger situation and a supporting pair of eyes at solo missions were always required.

She couldn't bear the worry and uncertainty anymore.

Pushing the back door that led to the living room open with a loud thud, she found Bucky by the kitchen area, and Sam by the couch, watching the afternoon news. "I need to tell you guys something."

Bucky perked up at that, pulling himself away from his moping state to get back up on his feet, and walk towards the couch where Natasha approached. "She disabled her own tracker. Tony has no idea where she is, or what she's doing."

"Shit, how are we supposed to find her, then?" Sam slowly got up from where he was seated in worry. But before any of them could say anything else, a loud explosion sound snatched their attention and brought it to the screen.

"Earlier this morning, a lab explosion took place in a Hong Kong biochemistry lab, for reasons unknown. Public CCTV footage shows two unidentified individuals breaking into the building only ten minutes before the blast."

"Isn't that-"

"Damn it," Natasha whispered. "God fucking damn it, Barton."

No matter how fast the Quinjet was, Bucky felt like they couldn't get there quick enough. His heart was basically beating through his ribs, brain pumping adrenaline into every single bit of his veins as he watched the jet decrease altitude. The news didn't even provide the number of casualties, and the fact that he wasn't sure if you made it out of there alive or not was eating him alive.

The fact that he didn't get to make things right with you beforehand was outright torture.

The jet landed on a clearing by the woods, pretty close to the remote building in which the explosion took place. Bucky's strut seemed like it was made out of steel, as if nothing in this world could even attempt to stop him as he walked in front, Natasha and Sam following close behind. It had been at least twenty hours since the blast, and if you were dead, you'd be identified, right?

The news of your passing would be all over the world by now, right?

"I know where they might be hiding," Natasha spoke up, a bit breathless from having to catch up with Bucky's fast steps. "Clint has a hideout apartment, not too far from here."

"Fuck!" your loud cry was enough to land a grimace on Clint's face, as he let out soft shushes, trying his best to wrap your injuries up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he mumbled, taping down the bandage wrapped around your thigh before giving it a slight pat. "Just a contusion. I know it hurts but you could have it much worse."

"I know, but it still hurts, you idiot!"

"And whose fault is that? Not mine!"

Letting your head fall back on the cushion with a thud, you let out a slight groan. "How's the agent?"

"Called somebody to pick him up," he sighed, pulling himself up from the floor to sit next to your laid out figure. "I genuinely didn't know that they had explosives laid out through the building. Some sort of eradication. Must've been big, whatever they were hiding."

"Couldn't really keep it quiet, huh?"

"Unfortunately," he chuckled. "But we saved him, at least. Probably going to get an earful from Tony when he finds out… But you did a good job. Thanks for coming."

"Didn't have anything better to do," a grin made its way to your lips. "Don't even wanna go back, if I'm being honest."

A frown took over his features. "Did something happen?" and he continued, when your only response was a slight nod. "Bucky?"

"That easy to guess, huh?"

"Nothing else has an impact on you," a soft chuckle followed. "It'll be fine. You two- you shouldn't lose each other. Not over anything."

"I don't know if I can make sure of that anymore, Clint."

"Look, I'm saying this from a man's point of view," he repositioned himself on where he was seated, now completely facing you. "And I don't ever want you to think that I'm sexist or something, but, um… We're different. In a bad way- we're not… Complicated like your kind."

"My kind? Okay, now that's-"

"No, shut up, you know what I mean," he laughed. "Every single woman that I had the pleasure of meeting knew what they wanted. Maybe it was a bit rough around the edges, maybe it was just a scaffolding but there was a plan. There was an… expectation of how things are supposed to go, you know?"

A short silence followed. "And because of that scaffolding, you folks don't freak out as much as we do. And when you do, you still make sense. We don't. We freak out over the smallest inconvenience and everything goes shit because we don't know how to restructure our own plans that quickly. We take longer to adapt. Because we're a bit more primitive, does that make sense?"

You smiled at him, earnestly. "That's… vague, but it makes perfect sense. Thanks."

His hand found yours then, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry about it."

That night, Clint woke up to footsteps across the apartment. He was sleeping on the armchair by the side of the bedroom, making sure that you were safe on his bed since you had to take a pill or two to manage the pain and fall asleep quicker.

Quickly getting up to his feet, he grabbed the pistol he placed on your nightstand earlier, slowly pulling the door open- only to find Natasha, with a gun in her hand, seemingly relieved to see Clint.

Clint brought his finger up to his lips, signaling the room as to let her know that you were asleep. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"That was a sloppy op, don't you think?" Natasha whispered back, teasing. "Gotta warn you, Barnes will be here in a couple of minutes and he's going to be mad, Clint."

"Let him be," he sighed. "She's-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the front door got pushed open, revealing a worried and seething Bucky and an apologetic Sam following suit, shutting the door slowly after the other. "Where is she?"

"She's in the bedroom-" Clint stepped in front of the door, shutting and guarding it. "She's exhausted. Be quiet."

"Why the fuck is she with you?"

"Hey, not like I kidnapped her, alright?" Clint rolled his eyes, still speaking as quietly as he could. "I needed her help and I couldn't call anybody else. I'm sorry I kept your girlfriend away from you for literally two days, Barnes."

Bucky took a step back, heaving a deep sigh. He was angry, angry at you, angry at Clint, angry at himself… Yet he didn't know where to direct that anger. He didn't know how to calm this feeling down. "Why didn't she tell anybody? Not even Tony- what the hell did you make her do that she felt like she needed to hide from everyone?"

A scoff left Natasha. "Bucky, stop making assumptions."

"No- you know what?" Bucky was getting louder by the second, and nobody in the room had the guts to shush him down. "My girl doesn't hide anything from me, ever. I need to know what was so important that she had to turn her tracker off and you had to lead her into a building full of explosives."

"How the hell was I supposed to know that the lab would explode?!"

"You were supposed to make sure that it's-"

"Bucky?" your frowning, sleepy figure appeared by the door that everyone was too busy watching the argument to notice opening. Bucky's gaze visibly softened when he saw you, tense shoulders relaxing before Clint stepped out of the way and with a few steps, he approached you to pull you into his embrace.

You didn't hug him back at first- instead sending a confused look to the rest, to which Sam shrugged as a response. "Are you okay?"

"No, are you okay?" he asked, pulling away to get a good look at your figure. A few cuts and the bandage by your thigh was visible as you were just wearing one of Clint's old shirts and underwear. "Are you okay?" he asked again, tone more stern this time.

"I'm fine," you pushed his hands off of you. "Why the fuck were you yelling at Clint?"

"Yeah, alright, have that conversation without us," Clint sighed, pushing the two of you into the bedroom gently before offering you a small wave and shutting the door, to give you some privacy.

Bucky sighed before looking at you again, wanting so bad to just cup your cheeks and leave kisses all over your face- but he knew he fucked up, and you were mad. "I was worried about you. You left without a word, and when I heard that your tracker was off-"

"I don't owe anyone any explanation." your tone was harsh. "And I'm sorry if I thought that you wouldn't give a shit, Bucky. You made it pretty obvious that you wanted me to leave you alone."

"I never said that," he ran his fingers through his hair, trying his best to stay calm and work this out- but you were almost as stubborn as him, if not more. "I never- I care about you, alright? You're my girlfriend, and you should've told me where you were going."

You shook your head to both sides in disbelief. "You're not entitled to that."

"Y/N-"

"No, you're seriously not entitled to knowing anything about me. Not when you have the audacity to treat me like I'm nothing more than an absolute stranger, and then to not even make an effort to talk to me for a whole week."

"I freaked out, alright?!" he sighed. "I was fucking terrified because- because of you!"

"How the hell is that my fault?!"

"It's your fault! You're the one who made me fall in love with you!" he was loud, and you got cryptically quiet.

He never dropped the L-word before.

"It's your fucking fault because I can't stop thinking about you, I can't stop worrying about you, I can't stop making everything about you and it's putting everyone in danger!" you were biting back a smile now, as he kept ranting. "Including you! I can't- do you have any idea how hard it is to look at you and not just burst into tears because oh my fucking God, you're the love of my life and-"

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, your hands cupping his face. He was shocked at first, unable to comprehend the sudden switch from arguing to kissing, but he wasn't going to complain. Wrapping his arms around your body delicately, he deepened the kiss, exhaling softly against your mouth when your fingers massaged the nape of his neck.

"You're such a fucking idiot," you whispered against his lips. "You're like, the dumbest person I've ever met. Your IQ is so low that-"

"Okay, okay. I get it." he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry. I genuinely am. I'm sorry for making you feel like I don't love you- because I do, I love you so much that it's physically painful."

"I thought you were tougher than that, Bucky."

"I'm just a coward, honey." with a shrug, he pulled you closer to his embrace. "I'm just a fucking coward, nothing more. But you know what? Seeing you so angry at me, telling me that I don't deserve to know anything about you- that hurt more. I guess I- I really can't be without you."

"I can't be without you either," you sighed. "I've been so cranky, just ask Clint."

"Oh, I'm still kicking his ass."

"No, Buck," a soft giggle left your lips. "He actually plays a grand part in me forgiving you. And he's one of my favorite people in this whole world, so, I won't hesitate to punch you if you ever yell at him again."

"In that case, I'm thanking him. And kicking his ass in my head."

[pedrostylez]

The First Time: Part 1

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

chapter summary: You've crash-landed on an unknown moon without a mechanic and have to figure out how to get home, and Din has followed you

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Time travel, confusion, fluff but barely we are only just getting to know ourselves here, not able to eat spicy food reader, Din wants to show affection but restrains, inaccuracies about Star Wars megaverse, please forgive me. 

A/N: Please enjoy my first attempt at Din Djarin you guys I’m lowkey nervous. This will progress into smutty chapters, just not this one. Translations for Mando'a are at the bottom of the story.

Series masterlist

It was a mistake, how you ended up here. 

You found yourself looking around briefly in confusion before shrugging off the paranoia. The planet was familiar, yes, but only parts of it. 

Once finding a main road, you walked cautiously through the streets, stalls of different vendors yelling for anyone to come by and purchase their wares. You flinched at the sound of one, seemingly calling out to you to come closer, a pair of shoes ready to be worn and looked to be made just for you. 

Ignoring as best as you could, you got into a line for one of the food stalls, looking around for a brief moment. You just needed a meal after the difficult trip you just endured, soaring through space as if you had no control over your ship. You were afraid to admit it out loud, but you were worried that you weren’t going to be able to run The Huntress alone. Small in size, typically a three person crew, your friends had either dispersed to start their families or had rotated out enough that you no longer knew who was on your ship. 

Was it possible to run it alone? Of course. Were you panicking when the ship made a noise you had never heard in the six years you had been on the ship? Yes. More so panicked when the ship hurtled forward, your scream not heard by your own ears, and your arms still felt the strain of you trying to control the ship. 

The crash landing was inevitable, and your ability to survive and somehow only destroy one of the wings was a miracle on its own. You still don’t know what happened. 

You had made a simple plan when you stumbled out of the ship onto the dirt and stared at the smoking hunk of metal; some food for your stomach, a strong drink, a good night's rest, and then to the mechanics. Thankfully, this planet was recognizable, and you were lucky to land here without all of the planet's police surrounding you for entering the airspace without asking. Maybe you should go to the docking stations to say something–

“What can I get you?” The woman behind the stall counter asked with a frown. Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you sent a smile her way that she did not return. 

“The stick, please.” You say quietly, pointing toward the kebab-looking meal, mouth already watering at the idea of finally having something in your stomach. 

She hands it to you, wrapped in a parchment like paper and sprinkled with a pepper you know will get your sinuses moving just by looking at it. You drop a few coins into her hand, turning to walk away and letting your teeth sink into the steaming meat. The food is spicy and almost unbearable to your palette, but smiling all the same as it warms your belly and satiates your hunger enough to let you look around a bit more. 

You glance to the other booth across the walkway, noticing that not many people are there, some shuffling outside a door and conversing. You glance around, suddenly unsure of where you are. You thought this street was only for food vendors and shops, not including this larger building. 

Maybe you’re farther down the path than you thought, stepping through the dried mud in the middle of the street and past the people standing around and smoking. A call of what you are in a foreign tongue, human, easily ignored as you finish off your food and attempt to toss it into a trash can. 

When you step into the cantina, trash balled up in one hand and kebab stick twirling through your fingers in the other, you search around briefly. Tables, chairs and booths surrounding a bar, people and alike talking and drinking have you raising your eyebrows briefly. You had never seen this cantina before. 

“Excuse me?” You speak up to the bartender, a Gamorrean with a frown etched into his face, mid scoop of ice as he glances at you. “Any rooms here that I can rent?”

He squints his eyes in your direction, sizing you up. “How long?” He’s quick to go back to what he’s doing after his assessment, setting the cup on the counter and tipping a bottle of liquid into it. 

“Well it depends, where is the closest mechanic?” You think through which planet this may be, wondering if he would name anyone you thought might reside here. 

He barks out a laugh, sending you a quizzical look. “There’s no mechanics here, girl. You’ll have to travel halfway around this moon.”

A moon? Well, shit. “Then at least 2 weeks I’ll need a bed.” You sigh, reaching into your pocket for the cash you have. “How much?”

He’s shaking his head, waving his hands to try and stop you. “I only have a spare bed for a week.” He announces, looking you squarely in the face. 

Your eyes shut, holding back the anger bubbling in the back of your mind. “A week and free meals?” You pull the cash the rest of the way out, sliding it over the bar top and doing your best to hold your ground. 

His eyes blink at you slowly, taking a deep breath and looking down to the bar. A shrug in acceptance before he says, “Alright.”

Din knows you’re here, somewhere. 

His tracker is beeping at him incessantly, and his neck twists and turns on a constant swivel, scanning the area for where you might be. 

His body moves on its own, the steam from the ship still sticking to him as his boots leave tracks in the dirt. This moon is new to him, the strangely colored trees and darker dirt remind him of a few different moons that no longer exist in his time. He assumes he has arrived some time in the past. His visor scans slowly, listing off the plants and information about the surrounding area when he spots your ship. 

Crashed. 

His purposeful walk changes to a run, panic coursing through him. “Kar’ta!”

He’s able to lift the door off the front of your ship, the glass cracking and shattering on the ground as he pushes himself forward. “Where are you?” He calls, panicking and swiveling his head around and around. 

He’s able to get through some of the damage into a pocket of silence, listening for the sound of life. His heart is sinking when he hears nothing, tapping at the side of his helmet to change the settings of his visor; maybe this will help him. 

The heat sensors in his visor brighten, showing where your engine is still warm, where your footprints are as you stumbled through the cargo hold, but you are nowhere. His heart calms, trailing your footprints through your ship to where they lead outside, in the opposite direction he came from. It calms him enough to stop the panic, and recenter his thoughts.

Din shakes himself, cracking his neck and takes a deep breath. This is alright, this is good. You’re alive; that’s all that matters. 

As he begins to trail you, shutting off his tracker and silently making his way through the trees in your steps, he wonders how this was the place you landed? Well…crashed. You maybe had no choice in that. 

The trees are thick, and he can see where you’ve tripped, where you’ve taken a rest before continuing on. Your movements seem unorganized–lost, and unaware of your surroundings. Din feels a wave of discomfort, silently stepping by a den of animals that would have certainly torn you to shreds, but your track continues on. 

He finds himself in a town center, in broad daylight with little movement going on. His visor reads the temperature to be high, likely the reason most life's not out and doing business. He’s come to the conclusion that you have no idea where you are, and he stops to take a breath. 

The suns are shining off his armor, reflecting on the fabric of different stands and he hears whispers from the stalls, speculating about his presence. The attention he is drawing to himself suddenly dawns on him, and he’s quick to step into the cantina that has your footprints trailing though the doors. 

He sighs with relief at the shade, ignoring how it has quieted down substantially, but it doesn’t matter to him. Like a moth to a flame, his head turns and sees you, sitting in a booth with your head tilted over your journal, your arm moving furiously as you remain focused on what you’re doing. 

He takes a step toward you, excitement coursing through him. His hand brushes your shoulder, and his heart warms that he has finally found you again. “Finally, cyar’ika–”

You turn your head, a smile on your face in greeting before it drops, leaning away from him. “I’m sorry?” There’s a sense of alarm in your eyes, your voice shaking slightly, that Din has a hard time realizing.

“Where have you been?” He asks, sitting down across from you and leaning an elbow on the table. He feels like he’s finally able to take a deep breath, ragged from the worry for you. His hand reaches out towards you as he says, “I’ve been looking everywhere–”

“Who are you?” You squeak, hiding your journal from him and eyes widening in what he thinks is fear. It snaps him out of his worry as he examines you.

He stops his movement, fingers curling back toward himself as he looks around the cantina again. All eyes are on him, observing, watching. “I apologize.” He grunts, sitting up straight and leaning away from you. You told him this would happen. 

You stare at him for a moment longer, relaxing your arms back to let your journal lay flat. He keeps his head straight, letting his eyes flick to the pages to see what you’re writing before they go back to your face. 

You’re as beautiful as ever. More frightened, a bit ragged he assumes from a crash landing, but alive and well. But, you don’t know who he is and he can’t stop this pull that he feels. He wants to speak to you alone.

“That’s alright.” You sigh, looking up to him and slowly reaching for your writing utensil. Cautiously, you turn back to what you were doing before, relaxing your arms and the journal in your hands. He watches as you shade in part of the page, catches how your lips mouths out what you’re missing, and he frowns. 

What is he supposed to do now?

You’re more than certain that this Mandolorian is mistaken. 

He has to be. 

You couldn’t possibly have a hit out on you, right?

You’re clearing your throat, trying to gain the courage to ask him if he’s hunting you, when the bartender, Lugho, sets a bowl of soup in front of you next to your journal. “Does your friend need one?” He asks in an unhappy tone. “That one won’t be free.”

You had finally gotten the Gamorrean to tell you his name, begrudgingly muttered to you when you asked for it after the first meal he served you. His cooking was surprisingly good, vegetable based in nature and kept you full for long after. The frown that you thought had started to relax was now back in full swing for the warrior across from you. 

“No.” The Mandolorian snaps before you can speak, not moving his head an inch. 

Lugho grumbles, ignoring your quiet thank you and going back over to the bar to clean up as you pick up a spoon. The first bite is delicious, and you can’t help the smile. “Are you sure? I don’t mind getting you a bowl.” You offer, hoping that niceties might make him go easier on you. 

You think that maybe if you are overly nice to the Mandolorian, that maybe he will forget hunting you. Or he will just get annoyed and take you in sooner. Your knowledge of Mandolorians is limited, and as far as you were concerned they no longer existed, but that didn’t stop the stories that flowed about them.

He shakes his head, tapping a finger on the table top. The silence is deafening, but you continue your meal in the silence, not glancing up at him once. Feign innocence, you are not guilty of a single thing; besides maybe betraying your planet. “Is it…” He begins to ask, your chin tipping up to look at him as you swallow another spoonful. “Is it not too spicy?” 

The question catches you off guard, tilting your head to the side. “Uh…no. Lugho knows I don’t…” you trail off, setting your spoon down and pushing the bowl away. Too spicy? 

“Are you friends with this Lugho?” The monotone voice speaks, and you think maybe he’s angry.

You shrug, turning your head to look at the bartender who is eyeing the Mandalorian with a critical gaze. “No, he was putting up with me.”

He’s silent again, and you have this urge to fill it in with further explanation, to tell him absolutely everything, but you stop yourself. You don’t know why he’s here, or what he wants, so you turn back to your journal. 

You are not guilty. You are not guilty. 

Another part drawn, another label made, and you count the spaces in between before continuing on to the next. 

You feel his eyes on you, but you refuse to look up, not wanting to put anymore attention on yourself. If you continue this journal, ignore his presence, then maybe he will leave you alone; maybe he will tell you why he is there. 

As the day progresses into night, your body still tilted over your journal, you look up as the bar begins to get rowdy, seeing that the Mandolorian is still sitting across from you. You’re surprised at how he remains unmoving, but also with yourself. How have you gotten comfortable with him looming over you? 

You clear your throat, giving him a tight smile. “I’m going to turn in for the night. Feel free to use my free dinner, let Lugho know I said it was okay.” 

He watches you for a moment, twisting his head to look at the bar and then back to you. “Alright, I will see you tomorrow.”

You frown, not sure when exactly you offered to see him, but nod anyway and move to the corner of the bar where a staircase leads to the rented rooms. A couple steps up you take a breath, turning your body to look out into the bar for a final time. You see that the Mandolorian is standing at the entrance, watching you before stepping through the front door and into the night. 

You wake the next morning to the sound of banging on your door. Your eyes squinting open into the dark room, appreciative of the blackout curtains, wondering if you’re dreaming it. You groan unhappily as it occurs again, pulling yourself out of bed to hear Lugho yell your name. “That shiny thing is downstairs waiting for you!”

You wrap a blanket around yourself, groaning again as you grab the handle. You open the door, the frown on Lugho’s face apparent. “What?”

“He’s driving away my customers!” He trills again, pointing a long finger at you. “You get him out of here!”

“I don’t know him!” You hiss, shaking your head. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Give him my breakfast or something.”

“He doesn’t eat! I already asked.” He huffs, crossing his arms. He tilts his head unsurely, looking down the hall toward the stairs before his frown relaxes and turn now whispering. “Is he hunting you?”

“I fucking hope not.” You grumble, shooing him away. You’re able to shut the door again, sighing heavily before turning to the small bag of clothes you have. 

You get dressed, running down the stairs and stopping at the bottom when you see him, sitting in the same spot as the day before. You hadn’t really had a chance to look at him yesterday, but the way he leans, how his head tilts towards you as if he’s sensed that you’re there before straightening up, has something in you stirring.

As you walk toward him, you’re feeling self conscious suddenly. Your hair, still a mess from the bed, your hands stained with charcoal still as they wouldn’t come out in your shower, and this looming possibility that he is hunting you. 

You sit across from him tentatively, a small smile sent to Lugho as he sets a plate of breakfast in front of you before scowling at the warrior across from you. You clear your throat, getting him to go away before you stare wide-eyed at the unforgiving visor in front of you. “Sleep well?” You squeak at him, reaching for your for and slowly taking bites. You’re starving, if you’re honest with yourself, and as you look at the Mandolorian waiting for a response, you accidently take a bite of the sausage that you had found out a couple days prior was too spicy for you. 

You cough, looking down to your plate to see the offending piece of food, reaching for your drink that you thought would be on the table, but struggle when your fingers reach nothing. 

In the silence, you begin swallowing to try and work through the pain. You swear Lugho uses red pepper flakes, or the equivalent on this moon in excess, and now you’re practically choking from it. 

A glass of water slides in front of you, the Mandolorian taking his seat again across from you as he watches you reach for it. It staves your thirst, clearing out the spice slower than you wish but enough to take a deep breath and set the glass down. 

The Mandoloarian stands again, taking the empty glass to the bar and having it refilled again. You sit dumb founded when he sits again, waiting for any further explanation. 

But instead he sits, tilting his head before giving a gruff, “I knew it would be too spicy.” before the rest of the day remains in silence. 

The silence happens again the next day, and the day after. It could be a routine, if you knew it wouldn’t last forever. Waking up to the sound of Lugho banging on your door to announce the Mandolorian’s arrival, your lumbering down the stairs to sit at your table across from him, and not a word passed between you. 

You think that maybe he will eventually speak himself, tell you why exactly he is here, or why he is sitting with you specifically, but he doesn’t. And you don’t intend on providing him with any more reason to take you to wherever he was planning. 

So now, He’s sitting across from you as he has for the past couple days, his hands hidden below the wooden table and that visor staring back at you. Your own reflection startles you, realizing you had been staring up at him in wonder before your gaze jumps back down to your journal again.

Youshift of the book closer to you, your charcoal smudging from the sudden moisture coming to your palms and you clear your throat. “Sorry.” You mumble, keeping your eyes down and starting your sketch again. 

The silence that comes from him is both deafening and comforting, after multiple days in a row of his silence surrounding you while the rest of the cantina made noise. It seems that the rest of the establishment has gotten used to his presence, still watching him but moving about their days as they had been when you arrive. 

Sitting across from him with your head down most days, you aren’t really sure if he watches you, or if he watches the rest of the room. In a way, both of those possibilities have your insides warming, feeling safer to lose yourself in the detailed drawings of the inner workings of your ship. Even with the looming man in front of you likely taking you back to your home planet for a ransom, you are able to relax.  

Looking over your pages and contemplating whether or not you’ve got a better idea of what is going on in your ship, the thought that actually working on it crosses your mind. The idea of taking the panels off yourself and beginning to work on the ship is intimidating, and you’re not sure you’re ready. You’ve always had a mechanic on board, and to suddenly be having ship problems with no mechanic where you landed, you’re a bit hesitant. 

Maybe you efforts to recreate the inside of your ship to test theories you have before actually removing panels will help you–

“What are you drawing?” The Mandolorian asks, his head tilting in question. 

You freeze, eyes traveling up from the table to the visor again and holding your eyes with your own reflection distorted in the curve of the helmet. “Uh, well…”

You trail off, tapping your charcoal against the edge of your journal. The dust from the stick you have begins piling neatly on the table and on the sheet, and you attempt to stop. “I can’t find a mechanic, and I know what the inside looks like, but I don’t know what needs to be fixed so…if I draw what I know is there, I can go through the options before making a bigger mess.”

You clear your throat after you finish, watching for a reaction. When nothing comes as you suspected, you turn your eyes back to your sheet and begin going back to the drawings. You swipe at the edge of the page, the smudge of charcoal now on your thumb and forefinger before circling back to the gear you had been working on. 

You’re unsure how much time passes when his modulated voice reaches your ears again. “Did you throw out the manual?”

You keep your eyes down, continuing your sketch. “No, it didn’t come with it.”

“So you’re drawing it from memory?” He sounds surprised you think, even through the modulation. 

You shrug, feeling a little uncomfortable. “I mean, yeah. You should know your ship if you’re flying it.”

“Then why not just open it up and start fixing it?” He leans an elbow on the table, toward you slightly as if he is relaxed around you. 

You shrug. “I’m not a mechanic. I thought there would be one here.”

“So you landed here on purpose?”

“No, it was an accident.”

“An accident.” He states, his handsresting on to the table and clasping in front of him, leaning toward you more. “Where were you trying to go?”

You stumble, suddenly feeling very defensive. “Why are you asking me so many questions?” I was going home. To the rebel planet, to beg them for forgiveness. But something happened, something changed. Nothing ever goes to plan-

“I was sent here for you.” He says gruffly, as if he whispered it. 

Your eyes widen, looking around briefly to see if anyone was listening. When you find that no one is around, you turn back to him, feeling sick to your stomach. “You’re hunting me?”

He’s silent in front of you, head tilting and you aren’t able to get up. You want to run, to find a way to hide from him, but it’s as if he’s pinned you in place with his stare, even though you cannot see it. “No, cyar’ika.”

“Is someone looking for me?” You squeak, pushing your journal away in a bit of panic. 

“You tell me.” He’s serious again, unmoving. 

“I don’t…I don’t think so!” You shake your head, leaning your head into your hand and thinking that you’ve just smeared charcoal all over your face. “I thought you were!”

“Hmm.” He turns his head to look around and then snapping back to you, a deep sigh heard from under his helmet before he stands and slides into the seat beside you. He leans in heavily, his hand landing on your thigh and squeezing gently.  “What if I told you I know you’re trying to return home?”

You shiver, turning your head to his visor and whispering. “How would you know that if you’re not trying to earn a bounty off of me?”

You think you hear him huff, leaning away briefly to grab a napkin off of a neighboring table and turns back to you. He dips the napkin into your cup of water, pausing with it in his hand as if asking for permission. When you don’t respond he brings the napkin to your face, wiping away the charcoal on your cheek. “I was sent here to find you by very powerful people.”

“Who?” you ask, leaning into his hand unconsciously.

“The Jedi, mesh’la.” He says quietly, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheekbone in a soothing manner.   

You sit up, shocked by his words before it spills out of you. “But…The Jedi don’t exist anymore.”

Translations: 

Kar’ta → heart

Cyar’ika → darling, sweetheart

Mesh’la → beautiful

[stayingstromboli]

kissing in the rain ࣪𐙚✧₊⁺

I don’t wanna fight, you’re the one I like ୨୧

(This song has been stuck in my head all week, omg it’s so good. It heavily influenced this, I was screaming along with Lana while I wrote it. I need this song injected into my bloodstream.)

☆TW: angst, kissing, swearing (pls say if theres more)

☆In which matt gets jealous and fights with the reader and then they kiss and make up in the rain

꩜ ✧₊⁺ ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

“Matt!”

Despite your best efforts to seem strong, the tremble in your wavering voice was undeniable. Your pleas were barely above a whisper as you stood helplessly, tears streaming down your grief stricken face, watching your boyfriend angrily crash around the room collecting his things. Usually you’d run straight into his arms, but now you couldn’t. Rain hammered furiously down against the window, each drop cutting through the air like bullets. The howling wind shrieked, so loud it was somehow still able to be heard over your sobs for forgiveness.

“Don’t leave”, you managed to choke out between sobs while trailing after him down to the hallway, sprinting to the door to try and stop him from leaving.

The only response you got was a smouldering glare as he shoved past me to get his jacket from the back of the door. His footsteps were loud and aggressive, his breathing even more so as he silently simmered with pure rage His sweet ocean blue eyes were now a mix of fire and ice: filled with upmost fury yet also cold and closed. The look he was giving you bore deep into you, rooting you to the spot as you froze in fear. Not fear of what he might do to you- no matter how angry he was you knew Matt would never intentionally hurt you- but more so of what he wouldn’t do to you. Fear of the words he wouldn’t say. Things he wouldn’t do. Romantic things that only he would ever to do for you: movie nights when you’re feeling down, love notes left on the fridge, the feel of him embrace, the comfort of his words. Things that, despite his worry, nobody else will ever do for you. The thought of life without him was unbearable and utterly terrifying but one you had never even considered until now. However, from the look of his face, it seemed more and more likely.

He didn’t turn around once to grant me with a final glance as the door swung behind him with a crash. An ear splitting silence erupted as soon as he left, growing louder every passing second you were without him. It was deafening. Your misery was suffocating, fogging up your brain, taking over you, engulfing you in a heavy hopelessness. You were nothing without Matt. He made you whole. Why did he leave you? Did he not love you? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What would you do without him?

A sudden clap of thunder sounded through the air, like it was breaking you from a trance. Dragging you out from your state of complete paranoia as worries about Matt’s safety spiralled through your head. What if something happened to him? You would never forgive yourself for having let him go run out alone in a storm. Swallowing the sobs caught in your throat, you rush out into the dark turmoil outside, with no regard for your own wellbeing.

Your white t shirt was drenched as you ran down the road towards the figure you were guessing was Matt. The wind was roaring, the winter cold gnawing ravenously as your flesh. But you didn’t care.

“Stay.”

You called out to him as soon as he was within earshot. Your voice was no longer pleading but firm. Ordering rather than asking.

“Why? If you like that other guy so much why don’t you stay him?”

Matt’s words are bitter, dripping with hurt and jealousy, making your desire to pull him into your grasp even more dire.

“Because I love you, you idiot. You, and only you”

He turns around to look at you dead in the eyes before closing the distance between you two, bringing his lips to yours. The initial soft kiss is broken as Matt smiles in clear relief. He parts his lips, pausing for a second to catch his breath, as he let the sentence he’s been holding back for months escape: “I love you, baby”. He said the words with such earnest sincerity, causing your face to brighten with a smile.

His body pressed against yours, you on tiptoes to reach up to him, the rain dripping off him onto you. His arms tangled protectively over your shoulders in his warm embrace, shielding you from the winter cold. His eyes were swimming with adoration as he gazed down at your face. His soaking brown hair hung across his face, tickling your nose as Matt leaned in planting another kiss on you, only this time deeper. You kiss back with passion, not even trying to hide your desperation as you feel yourself melt into him.

When you finally break apart, the sight of Matt’s bright pink lipstick stained lips provoked a giggle to escape you. You lean up to his face, peppering his face with pecks, and looked back at your pink masterpiece in satisfaction.

“You’re the one I like.”

@dirtylittleheart333

[phyrestartr]

HOUND pt.2 | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 2 W/C: 2.7k | Part 2 of 2

#NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: AAAAH ok it's done and now I can struggle to finish my other fics instead asjdkf;weiafjf

--

Miguel couldn’t recall what happened after that. The noises outside the door, the wet sloshing of viscera and pained outcries echoed faintly in the black corners of his mind, but nothing else. Nothing about how he got out of that room. Nothing about what had attacked him. Nothing about where you had gone. 

The mystery led him to reviewing the footage. The security cameras were set in each room, only to be accessed in times where someone was suspected to be infected and other suspicious situations. He found the moments leading up to everything, the moment you pushed him against the wall, when you started taking off the vest, when you threw Miguel into the bathroom and forced the door closed with brute strength. 

What followed was unbearable. The thing, now confirmed to have been one of your kind, rippled with overwhelming, excruciating power. You couldn’t square up with it fairly, but you were smart and fast, hitting when it really counted and pulling the trigger only when you knew it’d strike true. But the problem was its objective; the entire fight, Miguel realized, was a contest for the bathroom door. The monster didn’t care about you. You weren’t its target. It was going for him.

But it didn’t show you any mercy. It tore chunks out of you, shattered your ribs, broke whatever part of you it touched until you’d put it down for good with a full mag into its soft, melted skull. You staggered backwards, feeling behind you for the cool touch of the door before you collapsed against it, trying to stay standing despite it all. It was hard to watch. To see someone suffering and still fighting the good fight even though they’d already lost in order to win. 

You eventually crumbled and held what was left of your stomach and chest as you heaved in air. Loud sounds, like a wooden train whistle, hissed through the gaps left between your exposed ribs and the holes in your tattered lungs time after time, breath after breath, up until the EMTs arrived; you scrambled to get up, nearly spilling your guts and breaking off a leg before a tranquilizer hit you, and put you down. 

After that, you’d been carted off, and Miguel stepped out of the bathroom moments later, shaken and confused. Gabe showed up, thank God, and the thing that’d started all the bullshit was dead, but he couldn’t help the lingering tendrils of paranoia stitching the muscles taut in his shoulders. Then, and now. 

He needed to see you for himself. 

“Listen, listen, it’s suuuper nice that you suddenly have a weak spot for the guy, it’s really cute, but we haveta set you up with a different one for now–”

“What?” Miguel cut in while Lyla spun in her chair and fixed her obnoxious sunnies. “Why do–they heal. I don’t want any other–”

“Yep, yep, yep, I totally get it, but he’s reaaal messed up. He’s gonna take some time to fix ‘n heal and everything, yenno?” Lyla spun around again in a full 360 before coming back to face Miguel and point her pen at him. “If he’s too hard to fix, then they were thinking of scrapping him for parts and testing and everything.” 

Scrapped. For parts. 

“They won’t scrap him.” Miguel frowned. “He’s the best host we have. The most successful specimen the whole fucking project's made.” 

“Uh, yeah, and that's why they're gonna do their best to save him.” She tilted her head, curious. “No one wants to kill a good dog, y'know.” 

It was true. No one wanted to rid Alchemax of one who was dedicated enough to put their life in jeopardy for the sake of protecting their charge. He didn't expect you to go this far. No one did. 

–

It took weeks for you to be reinstated as Miguel's watchdog. In the interim, he was appointed a new guard, but life didn’t feel right. He supposed that bonds and trust played into the feeling more than he'd like to admit. Sure, the two of you hadn't really spoken before that day, but you'd been with each other for years. Silently learning about one another, measuring each other's capacity to be trustworthy. 

So with a new dog, Miguel felt unnerved, maybe even a bit unsteady. It had been one of them who'd snapped, after all. One of them lost their minds and went on a rampage–which was exactly what the current meeting was about. 

“No one saw it coming,” one said. “We didn't think it would happen, and that's the problem, isn't it?” 

“Weeell, things are bound to go awry here and there.” Olivia shrugged and crossed her arms. “It's part of science! I'd say this whole drama has given us some pretty good results on the extremes; one imploded and started eating people, and the other one exploded trying to save one of us.” 

“Still think we should scrap O'hara's mutt for parts,” Aaron interjected, unhelpful and annoying as ever. “Who knows when that one'll blow too, hey?” 

Miguel ignored Aaron. He wouldn’t feed into his prodding and pushing. “He's mine. I decide when he's too dangerous.”

“You sure you're not gonna be blinded by feelings, O'hara?” Aaron spat with an ugly smile. “I saw the footage. You–” 

“Oh my God, don't act like you don't try to fuck everyone else's guards,” another scientist groaned. “You're probably why one snapped.” 

Aaron's face blistered red. Miguel smirked, enjoying the show, enjoying the fact that no one was on the idiot's side. It was the apocalypse. Fucking mutants was the least of their worries. 

Stone, exasperated, called it there, and everyone dispersed. Miguel took his time with his thoughts in the silence of the room. The lack of people around him sparked a jolt of adrenaline, or maybe fear, and sent his train of thought off the rails and into something ungodly. He hated being alone these days. He couldn't bear the thought of being the last man standing, of having to fend for himself after everything. Not that he would have to, no, not unless your replacement did him in, or–

“Sir?” 

Miguel turned and nearly knocked his chair off its wheels. He clutched the desk in a panic just before his eyes landed on you. 

You looked different. Streaks of faint scars painted the side of your face where an eyepatch hid away whatever wreckage laid beneath. A metal brace hugged one of your knees and dripped down into a glittering, high-tech prosthetic limb that told a story Miguel didn't want to indulge in. And you looked tired. So tired. Your voice, once something rough like sandpaper, now sounded like shattered glass grinding underfoot.

But you still had that placid, somewhat judgemental stare that told him, I'm alright.

Your brows raised expectantly, like your return didn't need to be celebrated and you'd much rather like to get on with your day of following Miguel around like a lost puppy. He could relate, and he could comply. 

–

Acting normal until getting you into his new quarters was tough; Miguel had the inexplicable urge to touch you, see your skin, feel your heat singe his palms, but he wouldn't do it in the eye of the others, no. Not for his own decency, but because they didn't deserve it. You were all his. 

Miguel was sure to lock the doors and initiate an armoured lockdown to ease his paranoia before he turned to you with a demand on his tongue: “Strip.” 

You quirked a brow. “This didn't go so well last time.” But you complied, clearly trying to hide away your amusement.

“It's fine. We're fine.” He helped you pull the vest and the shirt off just like he did all those weeks ago, but now with more finesse and determination; he wanted his do-over, and he was going to get it. “I need to see for myself.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your shoulders once your bare skin hit the air and prickled with goosebumps. Even the lifeless spots with angry reddened scars recoiled from the sharp nip, and then the heat of Miguel's touch.

He dragged his gaze all over you, drinking in the ruined expanses of skin with hungry eyes. Every new mark was examined, every stitch and bandage touched and committed to memory, every bruise earned the softest graze of fingertips. It was hard not to be enticed with one another in that tense, long silence. 

Miguel's eyes lingered on your split lip before meeting your eyes, reading whatever he could from you. But he didn't expect what you said. 

“You get hurt?” You grumbled. 

Miguel shook his head lightly, his attention unwavering as his hands made themselves useful and plucked loose the buttons on your cargos again. “I'm fine.” He pulled the zipper down next. The muscles of your abdomen rippled against the palm keeping you still. “Sore from you throwing me, but fine.” 

The corner of your mouth twitched. “If you'd listened and moved–” your next words dissolved against the brutish lips colliding with yours. Miguel's hands slipped further below and palmed your soft cock through the thin material of your undergarments; apparently you weren't surprised by the candid dick grab, but the kiss of all things threw you for a loop. Miguel moved to leaving marks along your neck while your brain scrambled to make sense of the random affection. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You breathed, unsure of where to touch or what to do with your hands.

“Picking up where we left off.” Miguel squeezed your filling bulge again, eagerly massaging you in encouragement to get things going. His ego swelled when your hand found his shoulder after a particularly weak spot was found.

“Hah. I shouldn't be–” 

“You'll manage,” he insisted, watching you like prey trying to woo its predator. “You probably haven't been touched like this in a while, si, guapo?” Your hips jolted against his hand while his husky voice drew you in. “Bed. Now.” 

You didn't have much of a choice, not when Miguel's needy hands guided you to the soft sheets and forced you to lay down. You were just in the middle of a sore groan when Miguel pulled your waistband down just enough to free your hardened cock, and give you a fierce dose of whiplash between the pain of healing wounds and the bliss of hands on you.

For all of Miguel’s want, now that he was this far, he wasn’t sure where to take it. He was going to make you cum, obviously, but how would he go about it? Handjob, blowjob, actually taking it up the ass? Some were obviously more impactful than others, so–

“Christ, alright, now that you’ve played with my dick, we can put it away for today, Doc,” you grouched, sitting up to pull Miguel’s hand away. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Wh–no.” He swatted your hand away like a petulant child and shot you an equally childish glare. “You have to obey my orders, as far as I recall.”

Something akin to a deadpan hit your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re gonna pull that shit now?”

“You’re my subordinate,” Miguel reminded, not bothering to hide his smug demeanor and faux innocence. “Act like it.” 

Before you could bitch back, he started stroking you firmly and slowly, squeezing harder near the tip and base with every motion. You stopped complaining surprisingly fast–Miguel almost wanted you to fight him more, but, maybe for a first run, your utter compliance would serve him. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hold you down or fend off your grabby hands while, at the same time, trying to get a handle on how to properly please another man. 

Just when you sounded like you were about to object again, he took you into his mouth, and shut you up. At that moment, Miguel was glad you were touch-starved. Otherwise, the inexperienced gags and hefty strings of saliva connecting his lush lips to your throbbing length would’ve surely shortened Miguel’s lifespan. He was supposed to be good in bed. He was good in bed. And he’d make damn sure to continue being good in bed with another man. 

Your hand fisting in his well-kempt hair had him growling with warning, thinking you were going to try to make him stop, but one glance up at you through teary lashes washed that thought away; your eyes were shut, bottom lip caught between your lip and welling with the faintest bit of blood from those elongated canines of yours. A kinder shade of crimson painted your cheeks and the bridge of your nose a sweet summer colour that seemed to darken more when Miguel bravely slipped you down his throat and up again. 

“Shit. Fuck. Shit.” You let go of his hair with a pathetic whimper and collapsed onto your back, hands reaching back to claw into the wall and headboard to try and expel your rattling energy someway, somehow. The grating of metal and long, deep marks left in your claws’ wake would piss Miguel off any other day, but right now, your destructive praise fed his ego until it threatened to burst. 

But a slight shift from the scientist and a misplaced hand on the convergence of flesh and metal shook up the easy rhythm. You hissed and sat up, reflexively snatching his hand away from your leg with barbed fingers. Miguel pulled off of you with a choked yelp rattling in his throat as your hold drew blood, and like a dog who'd bit another too hard, you let go. 

“Shit, I didn't mean to–” you stopped yourself, though, and instead took Miguel's hand with a less-lethal touch. You looked at the wound before leaning down and running the flat of your tongue against the wound once, twice, thrice. The pain subsided quickly after, leaving behind a tingly, sparking feeling. “Doesn’t look too bad.” Miguel watched your nostrils flare and pupils dilate–clearly, his blood was having an effect on you. And that fact was having an effect on Miguel, in turn. 

The apology for hurting you was long forgotten by the time Miguel leaned up and kissed you, holding the side of your face with his wounded hand. He pushed hard against the tip of your fang until spongy flesh gave way, and the vile tang of blood pooled in his mouth, and now in yours. 

You moaned, or maybe growled, and Miguel’s hips jerked. He worked on slipping his weeping tongue around your mouth while his good hand continued his work on your stiffy, eager to finish you off while you were distracted. Your hands clutched at him again, claws still nipping into his skin and clothes, but more like a cat kneading its owner rather than a lion latching onto prey. 

But those barbs sunk deep into him when you came. Your hold on him tightened, and the low growls reverberating through your body crescendoed into a few, cherished moans when your lips left his as rapture hit you. Miguel spared a look down at the mess you’d made, but too quickly his gaze returned to the bobs of your Adam’s apple, the muscles pulsing and tensing in the aftershocks, the sheen of red coating your cracked lips. It was enough to make him come undone, untouched by you, only fulfilled by the rub of cotton on his hardened cock.

And of course, you noticed it right away. Ugh. “You’re a freak,” you scoffed out between breaths. “Fucking–cumming from, what? Getting your pet off?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes to betray his embarrassment, and squeezed you hard at the base to pull one last mean, choked groan out of you. “Callate. You could try being grateful, hm?”

“Don’t think that’s in my programming.” You leaned back and looked down at the mess. “Who’s gonna clean this up, Doc?” You prodded looking up at him through your lashes. 

Miguel’s intrigue piqued. “Here I thought you were too tired,” he mocked. 

“Might change your mind tomorrow. Oughta cash in while I can.” 

“Hm.” Miguel let go and leaned back, shaky fingers working on his own clothes. “Guess I can give you another treat.”

But, as fate would have it, one more go of it turned into five, and left him half-alive come the morning.

[quicktosimp]

Why Can't You See?

Summary: The RDA has returned. Since their return, we have not only been fighting with the humans but Jake and I cannot see eye to eye anymore. No matter how hard I try, Jake and I seem to be falling apart. I want to fight for our mateship, but I don't know how much longer I can fight.

Warnings: Canon violence, Disassociation, Attempted Smut (No Actual Smut)

I will never regret the day I met the Sully’s. They are the loves of my life, and I will always cherish them. Having four kids with them was another great gift from Eywa. But I am so tired.

Ever since the humans came back to Pandora, Neytiri and I have taken over the brunt of parenting; not only that, but we have had to fix everything Jake has been doing. He demands and orders the children, especially the boys, to do outrageous things that they end up failing. I then have to go around and reassure the boys before turning around and talking with Jake about it, leading to another argument: Neytiri standing between us, trying to get the two of us to see reason. This has gone on for over a year now, but today is going to be a good day. The raid has been planned to perfection. It’s going to be an in-and-out operation: blow up the tracks, grab the weaponry and supplies, and get out. We already have our chosen spotters: several men who passed their Iknimaya a little after Jake and I did. 

Jake and I lead the team, himself in the air on Bob, while I lead the ground forces on pa’li. My warriors were beside me as we waited for our signal. My anxious emotions were fed back to me by my pa’li, our tsaheylu keeping us connected. My pa’li stomped her hoves impatiently., I sent a wave of calmness to her as I pat her neck soothingly, never taking my eyes off the target. 

Over the comms, I heard Jake say, “Ground teams go,” And we were off.

The resounding sounds of battle cries rang through the air as we raced our way to the tracks. The explosives went off with a bang, turning the tracks to scrap metal, and the train itself flew off the rails, flinging into multiple pieces. Rolling over and on top of each other, each causing their own explosion. The fires were horrendously hot, and the sweltering heat nearly unbearable, but everything had gone as planned. 

I watched as Jake swooped down from the sky, shooting at the aircraft with a cry, Neytiri following after him with her bow, releasing a cry of her own. I shook my bow, releasing my own cry after them, pleased with the results, as I watched the carrier crash. 

“Go! Go!” I shouted at my warriors as we surrounded the crash, “We don’t have long, you know the plan! Stick to your stations!” I ordered as we got into position.

We all got to work; as the air team landed, I noticed that our spotters were on the ground, concerned I reached for my comm, “Devil Dog, you read me? Our spotters are on the ground; who’s in the air?” I asked assertively.

I was handed several more crates before my ear twitched with Jake’s response, “Fireball, we ended up with two more; I put them on spotting, so we have more on the ground.”

I growled as my irritation rose. Damn Jake and changing the plans without telling me.

“We’ll talk about this later,” I growled into the comms before running back to my pa’li and offloading what was in my arms. 

I ran back into the crash site as Jake landed. He watched over the scene, his gun in hand, but did not move a finger in helping us. Neytiri was on the ground, ordering those into collective files. The screeching of our ikrans and our battle cried, making it difficult to hear anything. 

“Let’s go, two minutes, people, let's go,” Jake’s voice rang in my ear. 

I relayed the information, “Two minutes! Let’s go!”

In my haste, I brushed off what I thought was Neteyam’s voice; my boys are back at High Ground; it’s just my paranoia.

On the other side of the destruction, I could hear Norm explaining to grab the high-priority items. I grabbed several more cases of RPGs and ammunition before I noticed my pa’li could carry no more. I swung onto my steed and shouted a call to my warriors, signaling it was time to head out. I looked over to my warriors, watching as they all mounted their pa’li when I heard a war cry, Lo’ak’s war cry. My eyes looked over the wreckage, trying to spot my son, but instead, I was met with the sight of a gunship. A spotter called it first, sounding the alarm. 

“Gunships in bound fall back!” Jake’s voice came through the com.

I hastily replied, “I heard Eagal Eye on the ground! I’m going in!” 

I sent the warriors on their way as I rushed my pa’li into the destruction. 

“Negative Fireball, I have it handled. Head back to base,” Jake ordered through the comm, but I refused even to reply, instead forcing my pa’li faster. 

The gunship fired two shots, blowing up the nearby ground and supplies; someone quickly shot at the gunship, taking out one of its propellers, quickly causing the gunship to spiral and crash. I continued on, the dust and debris coating my face and lungs as the heat became worse than before.

“Lo’ak! Neteyam!” I called as I looked for my sons.

“Lo’ak, where are you? Neteyam?” Jake yelled nearby.

I spotted Jake crouched over; as I approached, I saw Lo’ak in Jake’s arms. I was too relieved to be angry, seeing that Lo’ak was okay. I jumped off my pa’li, joining the two.

“Lo’ak! Are you okay?” I quickly checked over for any injuries. 

Lo’ak quickly nodded his head wordlessly.

“Where’s your brother?” Jake demanded.

Lo’ak attempted to stutter out an answer, only successfully pointing to a general area.

“You two get out of here; go on!” Jake demanded as he continued for Neteyam. 

It felt like a knife had been twisted in my chest, the idea of leaving one of my sons. But Lo’ak was in shock, and I needed to get him home.

I hold Lo’ak’s face in my hands, “Alright, come on, we gotta get out of here; your dad's got Neteyam, okay?”I moved down and grabbed Lo’ak’s hand, pulling him along. 

I rushed through the wreckage, pulling Lo’ak behind me and onto my pa’li, and with a yip, we were off. As we sped through the jungle, I could feel Lo’ak’s arms trembling around me. I reached around and patted at his hair, trying to soothe him the best I could. As we arrived at the meeting place, I helped Lo’ak off my pa’li before turning to the stolen goods.

“Alright, Lo’ak, I need your help. Grab some equipment and load it onto the ikrans,” I explain simply, knowing Lo’ak needs direct instructions. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” Lo’ak answered.

I grabbed his arm, gently pulling him to me; I brushed his braids out of his face, “I don’t care where we are; I’m not a ma’am to you; I’m your Mama.”

A small smile slipped over Lo’ak’s face, “Yes, Mama,” Before he went and continued his duties.

As we continued to transfer the weaponry, the pit in my stomach built. Not knowing if my other son was okay if Jake got Neteyam out of there, was Neteyam hurt? I chewed my lip as I worked on. I watched as Lo’ak started acting like himself again, a bit nervous but much better than before. My team didn’t take long, as soon we were all in the air on our ikrans. I searched the sky furiously, skewering for any signs of my family. Lo’ak flying close to me, he yipped for my attention; as I looked over, he pointed at three ikrans, Neytiri, Jake, and Neteyam. I was finally able to breathe again, seeing Neteyam well enough that he could fly on his own. But as my chest eased from worry, anger took its place. Neither of the kids was to be on this mission, yet Jake wasn’t even surprised! Because he knew, he chanced out the spotters; Lo’ak and Neteyam were the new spotters. Jake deliberately went behind my back and put the kids on the mission! By the time we landed, I was seething, my anger causing me to shake. 

“Sa’nu! Mama!” I heard Tuk yell as he hugged Neytiri. 

I bent over and embraced Tuk and Neytiri, an arm around both of them, using this moment to calm my ire. 

“Fall in,” Jake demanded gruffly, sounding just as pissed as I was.

I couldn’t stop the growl from slipping past my lips as the rage bloomed again. Neytiri and Tuk looked at me, Neytiri with concern and Tuk startled. I placed a kiss on Tuk’s forehead as I watched Lo’ak and Neteyam slowly walk over to stand in front of Jake, both nervous about the outcome. 

And Jake started right into them, “You’re supposed to be spotters. You spot bogeys, and you call ‘em in. From a distance!” Jake’s voice was angry but also wobbled in fear as he got into Neteyam’s face, “Does any of this sound familiar?” Jake turned to Lo’ak, demanding, “Get here!” Lo’ak slowly walked over as Kiri went to check on Neteyam, and Jake continued on, “Jesus! I let you two geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders.” Neteyam couldn’t even look Jake in the eye as his and Lo’ak’s tails flickered nervously.

Jake turned to Kiri, “Kiri, can you go help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?” His voice was softer yet urgent with our eldest daughter. 

Kiri looked at Jake and snarked, “My brother is wounded.”

Neteyam tried to brush off his injuries as Jake pleaded with Kiri, “Baby girl, please,” Tuk had wandered over to Lo’ak, trying to hold his hand, before Jake snapped at Tuk, “Tuk, go with her! Go!”

Our daughters sighed before walking away.

“Dad. Sir, I take full responsibility,” Neteyam started, trying to placate Jake.

“Yeah, you do. That’s right. ‘Cause you’re the older brother. You gotta act like it,” Jake snapped at Neteyam.

My anger could take no more, “That is enough, Jake,” I hissed at him, fangs barred.

Jake stepped back, shocked by my sudden outburst.

“You want to talk about responsibility? As parents, we had agreed that none of the kids would see the battlefield until they were 18, yet you went behind Neytiri and I’s back doing this. We already knew that they weren't mature enough for this! The responsibility for all of it is on you!” I growled out, my eyes wide, as I stalked forward, putting myself between Jake and the boys. 

I force myself to speak calmly, “Boys, go to your grandmother; we will continue this later,” But my eyes never left Jake.

“No! We are not done yet!” Jake demanded as the boys tried to walk away.

I hissed in response, causing Jake to flinch again.

“Ma’Jake, your son is actually bleeding,” Neytiri, the voice of reason, calmly intervenes.

“Sa’nu, it is fine. I..” Neteyam attempted to brush off again.

Jake shook his head, “Just go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed.”

Neteyam walked away, Neytiri following him as she looked back at Jake and me, worried about leaving us there for the moment.

“You do understand that you almost got your brother killed?” Jake demeanded from Lo’ak.

“Yes, Sir,” Lo’ak agreed degectively.

“Absolutely not,” I shut that down, “Lo’ak, you and Neteyam shouldn’t have been there in the first place. No, you shouldn’t have disobeyed your father's orders, and for that, you will be grounded, but the rest of it is on you, Jake,” I quickly turned to Jake.

Jake opened his mouth to speak, only to stop short, turning to Lo’ak, “You’re grounded. No flying for a month. Now see to the ikran. All of ‘em,” Despite wanting to protest, I agreed with the punishment. 

“Yes, Sir,” Lo’ak responded numbly.

And because Jake can’t keep his mouth shut, “And get that crap off your face,” He demanded before attempting to storm off.

I grab Jake’s arm, glaring at him, “This conversation is not over,” I growled before moving away and checking on Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was sulking as he went to bring Bob away; he looked up at me, his eyes dejected.

“Lo’ak, come here,” I demanded softly, opening my arms for him. 

Sluggishly, he shuffles his way to me, wrapping his arms around me as I pull him into a hug. I rest my cheek on top of his head and cradle him close.

“I love you so much, Lo’ak; you know that, right?” I ask him gently.

I could feel him nod his head as he hummed affirmatively.

“And while your father is horrible at admitting it, you know that Jake loves you, right?” I ask again, needing to know.

There was a pause before Lo’ak hesitantly nodded again. Tears pricked at my eyes. Lo’ak should never have to hesitate, yet here I am, holding my son as questions if his own father loves him. 

I kissed the top of his head before whispering, “I promise you, Lo’ak. Jake loves you; he loves every single one of you. I’m not going to go against Jake with your punishment, but I will be talking with him, okay?” 

“Okay, Mama. Can I go now? I have a lot to do,” Lo’ak asked but made no move to leave my arms.

“You can leave whenever you feel like it,” I answer, rubbing his back soothingly.

Lo’ak hugged me tighter before regretfully letting go, “Thank you, Mama.”

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you, baby, because that is what I was made to do,” I explain lovingly to him.

Lo’ak gave me a small smile before walking away. I smile sadly, wishing I could do more right now. I shake my head before spotting Spider out of the corner of my eye—the little human boy who hangs out a lot. I smile at him as I walk over.

“Hello, Spider,” I greet calmly, “I’m sorry you had to see all that,” I apologized, seeing how uncomfortable he was.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Sully, I know you didn’t mean it,” Spider sheepishly replied.

I frowned slightly, “No, Spider, it’s not okay; none of you kids should have seen that. And as an adult, I am in the wrong. I should have handled that better, and that is why I’m apologizing to you,” I placed a hand on his shoulder, “And none of that Mrs. Sully stuff, it’s (Y/N), or you can call me Mama too if you want. You’ve always been my third son,” I smile softly at the teenager.

“Thank you, Mrs., um, (Y/N), um,” Spider stumbled.

I chuckled lightly at him, “Don’t worry about it, kid. Now, why don’t you come over later? I know Lo’ak and Kiri would love to see you and have an excuse to leave the kelku.”

Spider brightened up at the offer, “Will do, Mrs-, Ma-, (Y/N)!”

“Anytime, Spider, it is always a joy when you're around.”

Spider brightened even more, smiling joyfully at me, “I’m- I’m going to go help Lo’ak now,” He explained, backing away.

“Thank you, Spider; I’ll see you later with Lo’ak,” I watch him walk away to tend to the ikran with Lo’ak.

But as I stood there, all the emotions from the day hit me like a ton of bricks. I didn’t know where to scream, cry, shout, punch something. It’s all there, trapping me in place, slowly leaving me numb. A pair of arms wrapped around me, one gentle hand moving my face, revealing Neytiri. Her face was sorrowful as she watched me.

“Ma’Muntxate, today has been hard on you, hasn’t it?” Neytiri’s voice was soothing.

I nod my head, feeling like I was moving through molasses.

“I got you, Syulang,” Neytiri cooed as she grabbed my arms, leading me off somewhere. 

I let her lead me aimlessly, the world nothing more than a blur as my emotions shut off completely. It seemed like it had been mere moments and yet hours simultaneously, but I felt warm. Gentle minstrains along my body, bringing feelings of comfort. I slowly looked around, noticing I was no longer at the High Ground but instead in a small hot spring hidden in the forest. The lush green calmed me. I breathed deeply, noticing that my armored vest was gone, as was my tewng. The colors of my war paint long gone, leaving me bare, just (Y/N), not a warrior, not a marine, not a parent, not a mate fighting for her children, just (Y/N).

“Are you back with me, Tìyawn?” Neytiri asked as she pressed her naked body to mine, holding me close.

I sluggishly wrapped my arms around her waist, leaning my head on her shoulder, “Yeah, ‘m back,” My voice was as sluggish as my body.

We stand there holding each other in the hot spring, simply enjoying each other's presence.

“Do you remember the first time we found this place?” Neytiri asked me as she threaded her fingers in my hair. 

“Yeah, it was when you were teaching Jake still. He had gone and done something stupid. You walked off, and I followed. Didn’t think I’d find your bathing,” I chuckled lightly.

“I was planning on doing much more than bathing, but I heard you coming. Your footsteps were so loud back then,” She chuckled in return.

“Much more? Damn, maybe I should have waited a bit longer,” I hummed appreciatively.

“Skxawng,” Neytiri mumbled back.

“What, that would have been nice. You’d probably have plucked my eyes out, but it would have been worth it,” I smile so hard it hurts my face.

I lay a small kiss on Neytiri’s neck; she sighs, leaning her head to give me more room. I continue leaving open-mouthed kisses along her neck, sucking her flesh into my mouth, knowing that marks will be left in their wake. Neytiri threads her fingers into my hair, pulling me closer as one of her hands travels south. But her touch didn’t bring the pleasure it usually does, instead leaving me wanting to get away. I tried to push through it, only for a sob to break through. 

I back off slowly, disappointed in myself, “I’m sorry, Love, but I can’t right now.” I blinked back tears, hating that I couldn’t give Neytiri what she needed right now. 

Neytiri pulled my face so we were face to face, her forehead resting on mine, “Do not apologize for something you cannot control, Yawnetu. Now come, rest with me.”

I let her pull me deeper into the hot spring. A small ledge in the water allows us to sit submerged up to our necks. Neytiri pulls me into her lap, holding me close as I wrap my arms around her neck. 

For now, everything is fine.

Taglist: @loakstahni, @eywaite

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[isabella-kr]

Heya! I just read your valeria x reader fic and I absolutely loved it!

Would you be willing to write something with her again? Maybe the reader is trying to surprise Valeria with some kind of nice gesture (food, art, honesty anything goes) and tries to keep it secret from her, but Valeria grows suspicious and confronts the reader?

Oh my gosh, yes yes yes!!! I absolutely adore every single woman in existence so I will definitely write for Valeria again. I love her so much mwah mwah mwah! Thank you for requesting anon, this was so fun to write!!!

Splashes of Paint

Synopsis: She was growing frustrated; the constant lies, changes of subject and obvious attempts to hide something away. She was hiding something, and Valeria was going to find out what.

Pairing: Valeria Garza x Female!Reader (Only after finishing this work, did I realise I subconsciously made this an f!reader. If that is not what you wanted - as you didn't state in the request - please let me know and I will change it!!)

Genre: Slight Angst & Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, accusation of unfaithfulness, and kissing

Word Count: 1.6K

General Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine

Hours. Days. Weeks.  

Time went by in a blur; the days merging together as she attempted to perfect the painting in front of her. Splashes of colour littered the large canvas, covering every inch – every corner – to create a beautiful piece of art for the one she loved.  

It wasn’t good enough, however. Not to her eyes. Something was missing. Something crucial. But she had no idea what.  

She wanted to get it done. She needed to get it done, really. She could see the growing frustration on her girlfriend's face when she, for what felt like the millionth time, had to make up a story for what she did during her time off.  

She wasn’t sure whether Valeria has grown incredibly good at reading her, or if she was simply a terrible liar, but a look of disbelief crossed her face at her every word. Valeria could feel something was amiss, and when she began to lock the door to her office, her suspicions only began to worsen. 

Valeria hated to throw accusations her way. She hated growing angry; raising her voice with her arms swinging around wildly. But she also hated how secretive she’s grown, how she began to hide away, sometimes not even greeting her at the door when she returned home.  

Perhaps she was being unfair. She herself, being that she was El Sin Nombre, had more secrets than she could count; secrets she could never tell her. She hid things from her all the time, and yet she couldn’t help but feel betrayed when those secrets were kept away from her instead.  

Maybe it was paranoia; fear. In her mind, any sort of abnormal behaviour quickly became a threat – not just in her line of work, but towards the people she cared most about.  

Was she just afraid? Perhaps she feared losing her, her mind convincing her the sudden secrecy was the beginning of the end.  

She didn’t want to be the controlling girlfriend... and she wasn’t. They both had their moments of isolation, preferring their own company despite the other also being home. They both had their freedom and privacy that they needed. It was a healthy relationship – healthier than any she has had in the past.  

Just talk to her. She tried to persuade herself, but when she began to think about the secrecy, the frustration only seemed to return.  

She could only sigh when she opened the door to her home only to be, once again, greeted by nothing. There was not a sound; no happy squeals that she was used to, and no grinning face of her girlfriend that she wished to see for the past week. Just nothing. Emptiness.  

She felt her heart sink as she took off her boots and ventured further into her home to find it empty. It was almost cold, despite the high temperatures inside the building. The lack of her was clear, and slowly began to become unbearable.  

She wanted to feel her arms around her once again; to have her cling to her like she did every morning and evening when she returned from work. She wanted to feel her skin against hers, to have her press gentle and loving kisses against her skin. She missed her.  

Taking in a decided breath, she shook off her jacket and walked towards the locked door that led to her office. She didn’t try to pry the door open, no, she would never want to impose despite her growing frustration. Instead, she knocked softly, as to not startle her in case she did not hear her come in.  

She said her name lowly, leaning on the doorframe as she waited for the door to open. It wasn’t long after that she emerged, with her hair unkempt and breathing heavy.  

Valeria’s brows only furrowed at her state, “What are you doing in there?” 

“What?” she asked, mildly confused as she stepped into the corridor and closed the door, “Oh, nothing. I didn’t hear you come in, I’m sorry.” 

Valeria didn’t respond, her eyes only narrowing as she listened to her speak. She crossed her arms over her chest, tongue wetting her lips before she let out a bemused laugh.  

“Val?” she spoke, tilting her head to the side, “What’s wrong?”  

“What’s wrong?” she raised her brows in disbelief, “What’s wrong with you?” 

She was taken aback by her words. Sure, Valeria had been extra short-tempered lately, but she had not yet accused her, or blamed her for anything. She should have seen this coming. The gift was taking too long, and too much of her time.  

God, she wasn’t even sure when she began to neglect her partner.

“I-” 

“I never see you anymore,” Valeria complained with a frown, “We barely speak. So, what’s wrong.” 

“Nothing-” 

“Don’t lie to me.” She stated firmly, “It’s clearly something. Either something is bothering you, or you’re hiding something. Whatever it is, tell me because I am starting to lose my patience.”  

She took in a deep breath, her eyes looking downward in shame, “Val, I...”  

Pause. She could not think of what to tell her without ruining the surprise.  

“Is there someone else?”  

“What? No, Val, Jesus,” she defended herself, shocked she would even suggest such a thing. “It’s not that.”  

“Then what is it!” she raised her voice, eyes growing wide in frustration, “What am I supposed to think when you lock yourself up in your office all day, when you never greet me anymore, when you stop... when you don’t even hug me anymore. Nothing. It’s like you’ve disappeared; you’re just gone, and I don’t know where you went, or why.”  

She wasn’t sure wat to say – how to reply. She was left mute, unable to form any words in response.

Valeria breathed out a frustrated laugh and, with a shake of her head, turned on heel and walked away. Her steps were wide and quick as she attempted to get away from the situation before it began to escalate, only letting out harsh huffs when her partner began to follow her throughout their home.  

She was back at the front door, reaching for her boots and ready to leave and cool down after the argument. She was stopped by her lover, however, and was forced to put the shoe down and look into her eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so sorry I’ve been neglecting you. I promise you it wasn’t my intention.”  

She reached for Valeria’s hands, and although hesitant, she let her. Their fingers intertwined, and Valeria couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief at the feeling of her skin pressing against hers. She could never have imagined she could miss someone this much, especially someone she lived with.  

She tugged her forward, leading her through the corridors until they were back in front of her office door. Sending Valeria an uncertain smile, she pushed the door open and approached a Canvas that was turned towards a wall.  

“I think I finished...” she told her lover, “I’ve been struggling with this piece for a while. It still looks off to me, but I’m not sure what else I could do to make it better.”  

She finally let go off her hand and turned the canvas around.  

The painting was incredible; the colours on the canvas blended beautifully, gracefully even, to create a gorgeous painting. Valeria was taken aback, her mouth growing ajar as she stared at the masterpiece before her.  

“It’s for you.”  

“For me?” Valeria questioned in disbelief, eyes widening when she nodded in reply.  

“It’s why I’ve been holed up in here for weeks,” she explained, “This is all, Val. I promise you; I didn’t do anything to betray your trust. I wanted to give you a gift... but I guess it didn’t work out as I wanted it to.”  

With a gentle smile pulling at the corners of her lips, Valeria turned and cupped her cheeks in her palms, “It’s beautiful,” she said earnestly, “Thank you. And I’m sorry-” 

“No, Val, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. This is all on me. I should’ve organised my time better. Given myself breaks to spend time with you. I neglected you, and I am so sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” she assured her, bringing her closer to place a loving kiss against her lips.  

They were both quick to relax into one another, the muscles in their faces growing less tense as their lips moved together in harmony. One of Valeria’s hands reached for the back of her head, keeping her close as the other moved to the small of her back to pull her body flush against hers.  

When they parted, their breaths were heavy as she planted gentle and sweet kisses on Valeria’s cheeks, before moving to place one right between her eyebrows.  

“I love you,” Valeria whispered, her eyes showing a certain softness, “But never do that again.”  

“I know, I’m sorry. I promise this was the only time.” 

Valeria nodded appreciatively, “I missed you, you know.”  

She hummed, her hand moving to her jaw, where she caressed the skin of her cheek with her thumb, “I missed you, too.”  

Valeria pressed a kiss against her forehead, smiling as she turned to look at the colourful painting, “I will hang this up tomorrow.”  

“Actually, we might have to wait a little bit longer so it can dry properly,” she broke the news. 

She hummed in understanding, the smile widening on her face, “Until then, how about we go... cuddle?”  

She couldn’t help but let out a gentle chuckle, “That is going to be a very long cuddle session.”  

“Good,” Valeria grinned, already pulling her out of the room, “I think I deserve it after waiting for so long.”  

“Yes, ma’am!”  

[fmet]

Reading the most recent Mad Dog arc as the antithesis to Chuseok and Sports Festival arc is sooooo crazy it’s so crazy and it makes me want to pull my hair out. So much has improved between them since those few months in part from the distance and alienation that Chuseok arc warranted but ultimately they’re still unable to honestly connect with each other, only now because of opposite reasons. Their spatial closeness and false amicability during Chuseok being what led to them blowing up in the first place: they both wanted to get along so well that they behaved in ways hostile to the others nature: Eunyung misleading/lying about his job, knowing Haejoon’s issues with paranoia, being bullied, and just in trusting Eunyung specifically; and Haejoon putting Eunyung on a moral pedestal knowing that Eunyung would take the standards he set for redemption personally. It was their mutual rejection of each other under the visage of getting along and “improving their relationship” that obstructed them from actually having spent Chuseok together and becoming the family that they had either lost or been excluded from prior.

In Mad Dog, in contrast, so much of their time is spent openly worrying for, advocating for, and seeking each other out. It's an impulsive and honest effort to bring the other closer, not because they have to if they want to get along, but because they're concerned for each other. Haejoon spending hours calling Eunyung to warn him about those forgot-their-name asswipes; Haejoon walking him "home" (even if the way he proposed it was a little odd lol) and Eunyung doing the same in 215; both of them keeping track of where the other is, which culminates in Eunyung being there to call an ambulance for Haejoon, in a situation where otherwise he could have very likely died. And the most striking change about all of this behavior is it’s being in accommodation to each of their characters “imperfections”. Haejoon doesn’t get mad at Eunyung for forgetting to mention he isn’t with his parents any more, Eunyung doesn’t lambaste Haejoon for his ability, or inability, to read people, and actually takes his perspective on their situation to heart. Both of them have adopted traits of the other that they had once found unbearable: In Haejoon, we can see Eunyung’s verbiage, and in Eunyung, a revitalized desire to improve: both are inspired by each other to tailor and limit how they use their strength.

They both clearly admire one another so much and are now at the point that they can openly express this, but at least in Eunyung’s case, his admiration doesn’t invite further contact. The desire for companionship was once so stifling living in the same dorm and bowing under the warped expectations of each other, but now that their influence has actually begun to make marked improvements on their lives, it’s physical distance that’s keeping them apart. Now, that they’re both in the headspace to admire each other, their life outcomes are steering in polar opposite directions, with neither being fully capable of actualizing this without detriment to their individual progress. It makes me really anxious to think about future chapters and how WaNan will handle this new(er) obstacle between them, especially given it’s not something that can be solved purely with further character development. Eunyung and Haejoon knowing each other undoubtedly changed their lives but it’s suspended whether that “knowing” will last as long as said lives, iykwim.

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day. 

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less. 

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you. 

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist. 

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter. 

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

*

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet. 

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist. 

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina. 

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate. 

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours. 

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read. 

IT KNOWS YOU.

*

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin. 

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off. 

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there’s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold. 

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter. 

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work. 

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control. 

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes. 

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum. 

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort. 

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall. 

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments. 

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

💻🍭🥰🤔- if you want to! hope your day is nice 😽

Donuts by the Bay - Sweet/Romantic Kurt Goreshter Headcanons

Warnings: Fluff Q//w//Q

Notes: You don't even know how happy I am that Kurt is next in my queue I love him so much 🥰 I tried to keep all my hc requests between 10-20 but then I keep just going to 20 so that's what I'm gunna keep doing lol I hope you enjoy and thank you for your patience~ I hope your day is nice too! 💗💗💗

the first time you see him, you think he might be the type to mug you in a dark alleyway, between his tattoos and his haircut and his outfit you end up sweating nervously as he gets closer to you, and you're so busy trying to avoid him that you don't even notice yourself get mugged by a completely different guy until he's grabbing the thief by the arm and getting your attention, giving you back your wallet with a thick accent

you run into him again as you're waiting in line for donuts to bring to work, and he has the same idea it turns out as you properly thank him, and when you end up asking for the same thing coincidentally he gives you such a big smile you don't know how you were ever afraid of him

you see him repeatedly as you both stop for morning treats, and you chat while you stand in line each time until he tells you about his job at a security business, a start-up he and his friend own, and when he gives you his card in case you ever need some home security his personal number is written on the back

the next time you see him (after chickening out of calling him repeatedly) you sum up all your courage and ask him out for coffee, and you learn that while the pastries aren't just for him he does have quite the sweet tooth, another thing to contrast your first impression of him, and you can't believe how incredibly wrong you were as you sit with him in the corner of the café without realizing you're actually swooning as he speaks

after you start dating he greets you with kisses to your temple when you meet up at the shop each morning, kisses to your cheek when he takes you out to lunch, and a kiss to your hand when you finally have dinner together

he's surprisingly affectionate despite his more or less stoic nature by default, not the type to climb onto the nearest table and sing your praises to the world, but more the type to casually have his hand on you in some way no matter if you're sitting or standing, needing to be close to you until it becomes so second nature you don't even realize you've started doing it back

he's smart, so much better at computers and tech than you, and he's always ready to help you with something no matter how small or silly, he never laughs when you think you're asking a dumb question, just listens to your problem and takes a look, and without fail he has yet to not fix whatever task you bring to him

his friends mean a lot to him, the only people who had his back when he was dealing with getting out of Folsom State Prison, and when he opens up enough to let you meet them not just in the 'come check out our business' way but the 'let's all get dinner together one night' way you see just how much they compliment him even though they're all so different

whenever they need to work on a new commercial for X-CON, since Luis loves to keep changing it up purely due to nerves, you're the one he offers up as their test audience, since he trusts your opinion so highly, and while he is unbearably cute as he reads off his cue cards and curses in Russian when he messes up, you're always ready to give them pointers and adjust their scripts so it flows more naturally, which they really appreciate

you end up deciding that you could use a bit of home security after you've been together a while, an unintentional paranoia arising in your stomach after spending so much time around them all and their stories of break ins, some caused by them back in the day ironically enough, but he just holds you close, presses kisses to your forehead and promises that he'll never let anything happen to you

when you do order some cameras to put outside he's the one to personally install them, and he sneaks in a few extra bonuses for you without the others knowing, just to make you feel safer

whenever he visits he always waves at the camera by your door, just because he knows you'll eventually see it, and you keep a small collection of each one because you can't imagine letting them be lost to time

he loves cooking old family recipes from back home, sharing things he was taught by his mother, grandmother, telling you all about what each one means to him as you sit on your counter and watch him, and when you eat together he always lets you try it first so he can see your reactions

as you lay together on the couch or in bed he loves to link his fingers with yours and tell you about his tattoos, where he got his ring and necklace from and how the latter's been passed down through the men of his family for generations, and he teaches you the words for them in Russian

when you're held close he'll whisper things to you that you don't understand, and when he translate them you get him to teach you how to say them too, and his eyes shine when you tell him you love him in his native tongue for the first time

on the nights where you're anxious and can't sleep he brings you hot cocoa in bed and holds you to his chest, softly singing lullabies from when he was a child until your heart calms and you relax into his arms

for your birthday you find out that he's been planning a surprise party for you for weeks, he needed to ask Scott and Cassie to help most of all since Luis and Dave have horrible ideas, and aside from a beautiful cake and dinner they all helped make he also gifts you a box of the pastries you always get with a little ribbon on top, and for some reason (you know why) they taste even sweeter than usual as you all share them together in your living room

for his birthday you also need to go to Scott and Cassie, but only because you have no idea what he wants, but they're also stumped and can't help, so when he shows up at your place you feel bad that you have nothing to give, but he's just happy to make his favourite foods together, just the two of you, and spend the night with you while he shows you a movie from his childhood, and he translates every single line as you watch without subtitles

you never talk about marriage, not even when you date long enough to move into a brand new place together that's big enough for the both of you, but you think he might want it as much as you do when you wake up one morning and find him already awake and looking at you in the dawn's light, his hand brushing gently against your cheek as he wishes you a good morning in Russian, and you don't even realize til later that you understood him and wished it right back, English not even crossing your mind as he then kissed you in response

when he proposes to you he uses his own ring, a stand in until he can afford the one you want, but you just say yes and kiss him and tell him that you want to keep his, he's never getting it back now

[darknessisafriend]

hi, can i have another request 👉👈 what about commodus not sleeping or barely sleeping for a long time (cause paranoia) and the reader is the only one who manages to calm him down and finally get him to have a good rest? with a side of Extra Cuddling please

Here it is! always such a pleasure to write Commodus! enjoy^^

Sleepless slumber

Dark and dreadful night, the owl on the roof, the cracking of the fire on the torches of the room, what a nightmare it had become for him, his thoughts running so loud that it became unbearable. How could people sleep so tight at night when there was so much to do? So much for the glory of Rome…

It had been weeks since Commodus had a restful night of sleep. At first, he had tried to come to bed under your encouragements, now he didn’t try anymore. He simply did not sleep. It had started to affect his physical and mental health already, he had grown more emotional, irritable and irrational, his paranoia growing while his body struggled to keep up with training during the day, missing his targets while shooting an arrow or not thinking strategically while fighting with his sword.

His eyes were red and teary as he blanky stared at his paperwork, unable to think clearly. He wanted to cry, to yell, to kill them all…his thoughts were briefly stopping as without realizing he could hear a white buzz in his ear, warning sign of another brief loss of consciousness like he had so often lately. His hold on his quill became lighter, the feather slipping from his hands and dropping on the paper, leaving an ink stain over the assassination list he was making.

“Commodus?” your voice startled him, but he could barely react, his mind clouded by exhaustion. You quickly approached him; this situation had gone for far too long. “Now you will go to sleep.” You stated severely, about to put your hands on his shoulders to help him stand, but he seized your wrist, his hold strong but not as painful as he wanted it to be.

“How dare you…talk to me that way! I am not a child.” he snarled angrily, deeply anchored into paranoia.

You snatched your wrist away easily, another proof of his severe state “As your wife I have to look after you, husband. The state you are in is…you won’t be able to stand for long, especially in front of your enemies.” Your words seemed to move something inside him, making him wince, looking away, his breathing still quick. Your hand came to gently cup his cheek to make him look at you in the eyes. He had that childish look, full of anger and exhaustion. “Come to bed with me, my love. This is all I ask for. I give you my word it will help you with the rest.” You added on a softer tone, a tender smile on your lips; from the start you had grown fond of this ball of emotion Commodus was.

His eyes fluttered, still begging to close, he couldn’t even think anymore, the simple mention of the word ‘bed’ fell like a spell on mind, calling him again and again until he couldn’t resist anymore and stood up. His balance was quite off, but thankfully he could lean on you. The both of you made your way to the Imperial bedroom, not a single word uttered. Commodus needed silence, he was tired of talking and thinking anyway. The more minutes passed and the more he was enjoying surrendering to you, obeying without questioning, following your lead like a soulless puppet.

Once the door closed, you stood before him and slowly started to undress him, he wasn’t moving an inch, his whole focus was on staying up and not collapse. Once naked, his shoulders remained rounded, it wasn’t just the weight of his Emperor outfit, it was the whole weight of the Empire over him. How much it pained you…Commodus had only wanted to be Emperor to prove himself but never because he enjoyed it. You made him sit on the bed and knelt in front of him to undo his sandals; silence remained, not uncomfortable nor angry, it was full of words. Soon, you felt a drop brush against your face, followed by another one landing on your forearm, tears…but those weren’t yours. You lifted you head and looked at your husband in the eyes; he was the one crying, deep pain circulating in his icy orbs.

“Please don’t…” his whimper was barely hearable and made you wonder what he was begging you not to do. You watched him as leaned forward, taking your hand, the one he had grabbed earlier, his hands gently massaged your skin before placing an apologetic kiss on your inner wrist, followed by more, each featherlike, as if he was afraid to touch you, scared of his own inner demons, to hurt you.  You met his eyes, he was afraid, no, terrified.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips, reassuring “Fidelis ero tibi in vita et in morte. Numquam tradet amor meus ...” you murmured, those words of your union ceremony, he knew them by heart and cherished them more dearly than anything else. “Now let me kiss those tears away my love.” You added softly, standing up and leaning forward, your lips gently landing on the trails left on his cheeks by the tears. What more beautiful than the tears of regret absorbed by the kisses of forgiveness?

Commodus closed his eyes, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in bed, rolling over so you would land softly onto the feather mattress. His embrace tightened without being a bother to you, his face nuzzling against your breast. It made you smile; Commodus had always been the little spoon. You pulled the blankets over your bodies, entwining your legs together and then hugging him back, your hand soothingly caressing his dark hair.

“Isn’t this more comfortable?” you asked, referring to his sleepless nights sitting at his desk. He nodded, taking a deep breath and then exhaling, some tension escaping through his lungs, giving space to a growing sense of peace, at least for tonight.

“I wish I could stay in your arms and between your thighs forever.” He replied, his words slightly muffled against your chest. But it didn’t prevent you from blushing, now with those sensual words you could get insomnia. Your fingers buried in his curls, and you kissed his forehead, inhaling the scent of rosemary in his hair.

“It will be my greatest honor and pleasure.” You murmured, from the first time you met him, it had been like the thunder of Jupiter had hit you, condemned to love him forever and against all. Commodus was like the ocean, unstable, sometimes as calm as the dead sea and others a strong wave hit without warning. A true mystery that you knew you could never completely unveil. “How about we go horse riding tomorrow?” you asked, knowing how much he enjoyed it. But you were met with silence and then a deep breathing. You looked down and smiled, he had fallen asleep, finally…how hard it had been and yet so easy. The world could burn, as long as he could bury in your embrace, sheltering him from the rage of the night.

As always do not hesitate to like, comment and share! that's my only salary^^

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