#of course she brings him along every after but hardly speaks a word to her

[moss-flesh]

it blows my mind that even after playing solas romance at least 3 times over at this point im still incapable of acting normally after their break up

like i feel AWKWARD and sad going into the rotunda to get to the library

i use the banisters to get to cullen instead of the other way

i use the stairs i dont jump down in the middle as often

i feel weird bringing solas along but also weird NOT bringing solas along i literally dont speak to him in the rotunda until right before the finally coz i cant stand it

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 33

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1973

Warnings: Talk of suicide, swearing

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Tequila Right Now

****

Hangman

A consistent pounding in his ears roused Hangman from his deep sleep. He tried to sit up, but that only worsened it. He swiftly pieced together that it was the blood in his head making the incessant noise, not someone knocking on the door. God, death would be less painful than this. How hadn't he died last night with all the alcohol he'd had? It's not like Hangman intended to drink that much, but he kept making friends at the bar who kept paying for his drinks until they could drink no longer and left. But he had stayed. Stayed until-

Fuck. Although barely memorable, faces belonging to Rooster, Juliette, and Ghost flickered in his mind, along with the drunken ramblings he'd tried so hard to keep to himself, to keep quiet, even if they ate him alive because no one deserved to know his pain, but not because of his lack in trust in them. In fact, three of the four people he trusted most with that pain had rescued him from the bar that night. No. They didn't deserve it because they all had pains and worries of their own, none of which needed the added burden of his own problems that were far darker than anyone should ever know.

Hangman forced his eyes open and, through his blurry vision, recognized the white coffee table with aviator magazines neatly spread out on the surface, the built-in bookshelves with a myriad of pictures, books, and awards dotting the shelves, the navy blue recliner with the curled-up figure of Ghost-

At the sight of her, Hangman rocketed upward. The movement caused his world to spin, and it took all of his willpower to not throw up again. He remembered that from last night, too. So much hurling before they'd lugged him to the couch...

When his world stabilized, he tried to stand, but Hangman had hardly taken two steps before ramming his shin into the coffee table. "Fuck!"

Ghost jerked awake, staring wildly and dazed at him. When she comprehended the situation before her, she jumped up to help him.

Push her away. You're only hurt her more. It doesn't matter how much it hurts. Push her away. "Leave me alone," Hangman snapped when Ghost tried to rest her hand on his shoulder. He stepped out of reach, ignoring the pain wracking his body, both from the hangover and the run-in with the coffee table. 

"Jake-"

"Don't," he hissed. "I'm fine." 

A lie given away by his stumbling, and Ghost knew it, but she listened to him. To his amazement, she listened, staying perfectly still, eyes staring at him with nothing but concern. Why? The last time they'd been in the same room together, she'd rightfully stormed out on him, giving him what had been a final goodbye. Why change her mind so suddenly?

Unless...

He vaguely remembered he'd told her some of his reasoning for not seeing her in the hospital after the crash, but how much else had he divulged to Ghost?

She held her hands up placatingly. "If you want to leave, that's fine, but let me help-"

"I don't need your help," Hangman snapped. "I-"

"What's going on?" Juliette's calm, concerned voice floated from behind him. Hangman turned slowly to avoid toppling over. On Princess's heels was Rooster, eyeing the situation warily. They landed on Hangman, who braced himself for a snarky comment, but none came. That scared Hangman.

"I was just leaving," Jake managed to say, hoping they could avoid any more awkwardness if he ignored the truths he surely divulged last night. "Thanks for letting me crash here, and sorry for dragging y'all out in the middle of the night."

"Don't mention it," Rooster replied evenly. "You want breakfast?"

Hangman shook his head. "I should be getting back to my place."

"Why don't I give you a ride?" Juliette offered, moving toward the garage.

"No." It came out more sharply than he intended, his tone a knife in the tense atmosphere, but he kept it that way. He had to if he had any hope of leaving unescorted. "I'll walk. Sober me up."

"Hell of a walk," Rooster commented, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door frame. Hangman refused to dignify him with a response, only rolling his eyes and moving to the front door.

"You either let one of us take you, or we call someone, but you shouldn't walk alone," Ghost said kindly. "I know my motorcycle might-"

"I don't want you trying to help me because of some stupid, drunken shit I might've said last night. You made it perfectly clear how you feel about me after that fight, so why don't you call Wolfie up about that wine and chocolate he promised you?" The color drained from Ghost's face, and Hangman knew he'd hit his mark. She posted her videos anonymously, possibly only a handful of people knowing about the account. Having not told him about it, Hangman assumed it'd rattle Ghost for her to know he had knowledge about the account she sang her heart out for. But it still wasn't enough to stop her from coming after him if he left. He had to strike lower, harder. Had to rub salt in the wound. Hangman had to keep her away from him. "You want to know what brought that drinking binge on? It wasn't my father's death. It was you. It was 'Forever and Always' after our fight the other night. It was 'Mr. Perfectly Fine' when I was here for the training detachment when I started having a thing for Juliette. It was 'Haunted' on the anniversary of Ghoul's death. It was 'My Tears Richochet' after your lunch with Jackie. It was 'All Too Well' and 'The Story of Us' after running into each other at the Hard Deck the night of Juliette's promotion celebration. It was 'I Forgot That You Existed' after you slept with Rooster. It was every fucking cover song directed at me. It was hearing the anger and hurt in your voice and realizing you not only never moved on from what I did to you but that you thought I stopped caring about you, that I forgot about you altogether, when that couldn't have been further from the God damn truth. It was realizing how low of an opinion you had of me. That's what sent me over the edge. Because I learned how to stop giving a shit a long time ago about what people thought of me, but you mattered. You always have and always will."

"You were never supposed to see those," Ghost breathed, voice barely audible.

Hangman's heart shattered. He might've gone too far, but he'd had to. They weren't good together. No. He wasn't good for her. Hangman did nothing but drag her down, did nothing but hurt her. Ghost gave him chance after chance, and he blew them every single time. She was too good to stop trying to provide him more opportunities to fix what he had broken, so Hangman had to end it for her. Ghost would move on from him, and that's all that mattered to him, whether he found the strength to move on from her or not. 

"Yeah, well, I did." Hangman tore himself away from her and yanked the door open. Stepping into the bright sunshine, he called over his shoulder. "Leave me alone. That goes for all of you."

Slamming the door behind him, Jake strode onto the sidewalk with his head held high until the Bradshaw house could no longer see him. Only then did he sag against a stranger's white fence, letting the emotions and turmoil of what occurred just now and last night wash over him. Hangman had always been good at destroying things: flight records, enemy targets... now he could add 'relationships' to the list, too.

With an effort and lead feet, Hangman shuffled to his apartment, the long trek his personal punishment for treating his three friends the way he had. None of them had done anything wrong except see him at the second lowest point in his life, save Hangman from drinking himself into oblivion last night, and learn his deepest, darkest secrets.

It took him a good hour to walk the short trip to his apartment, but rather than heading to bed like his body screamed at him to do, Hangman forced himself to work out. Stripping off his shirt, he put on the boxing gloves and went to the punching bag, taking all his frustration and embarrassment out on the leather and sand, trying to punch away all his emotions. It'd take him until the end of his life to succeed with that endeavor.

"Dude, you've really got to start locking your doors," Coyote said. Hangman whirled around, wondering how long his friend had been there. As if sensing his question, Javy added, "I just got here, but judging by the sweat, you've been at it for a while."

Feigning casualness and masking the dark thoughts that might've been showing on his face, Hangman said, "I thought you would've been with your date still."

"No, we're taking it slow." Coyote looked him up and down. "You look like shit."

Hangman scoffed. If his friend only knew. "Nice to see you, too."

"Ghost texted me."

Shit. "About what?" Jake replied, dropping his gaze to his hands as he took off the boxing gloves.

"All she said is, and I quote: I fucked up. Hangman needs you. No other explanation, so I figured I should get here quickly."

Ghost's words were an exact echo of the ones Hangman had sent Juliette after their fight. God, why couldn't she stop caring about him? Why couldn't Ghost let his words ruin their relationship like he had wanted them to?

"What happened?" Javy prodded, moving aside when Jake stalked to the kitchen.

"I got drunk, said things I shouldn't have, and told her off."

"What exactly did you tell her?"

Hangman sighed, realizing his friend would only drop this once he told the truth. Again. So he did. Almost every nitty gritty detail, with the exception of the near-suicide jump into the ocean that Coyote had unknowingly saved him from. At the end of the story, Javy sat on the bar stool and sighed. "Wow, you really did tell everything. Even the letters?"

"No, not those." Miraculously, it had been the one secret he kept to himself. How that- over everything else revealed last night- ended up being the one piece he hadn't blurted out, Hangman couldn't figure out, but he wasn't complaining.

"Do you still have them?"

"No," Hangman lied, thinking of the stack of envelopes tucked away in a box on the top shelf of the coat closet, forgotten for most of the year except on the few days he found himself tempted to send them. "Even if I did, they wouldn't change anything."

"Why did you never give them to Ghost in the first place?"

Hangman shrugged, unwilling to admit he'd been too scared, too cowardly, to give the sheets of paper that contained every piece of his love to her, afraid she would read them and then wrench his heart right out of his chest out of pure spite for the pain he'd put her through. "Don't know. Didn't feel like it'd make a difference. I've never been good with words or actions anyway, so probably best I didn't give them to her. Most likely would've made it worse."

Coyote nodded but dropped the subject. "Whatever you need, I'm here for you, starting with telling you- and I mean this in the nicest way possible- you need a shower. You reek of alcohol."

And probably other shitty things. Hangman thought grimly. Nodding in agreement, he shuffled off to the bathroom.

****

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[rennivere]

His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed. When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning. She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

As Aletheia and Emet-Selch ventured out of Slitherbough, the dense foliage of the Rak'tika Greatwood enveloped them in a canopy of shadows, shielding them from the harsh glare of the sunlight. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the faint sound of chirping insects.

Emet-Selch walked beside Aletheia in silence, his presence an ever-present reminder of the complexities of their situation. Despite the uneasy alliance they had formed, there was still an underlying tension between them, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment.

As they walked deeper into the forest, Aletheia couldn't shake the feeling of Y'shtola's piercing gaze lingering on them as they departed from Slitherbough. The Miqo'te had taken Aletheia's confession in stride, her pragmatism shining through as she listened to the mage's words. But underneath her composed exterior, Aletheia sensed a wariness, a caution born from years of conflict with the Ascians.

Aletheia could hardly blame her, of course. She peered at Emet-Selch with the same level of suspicion and uncertainty, and yet the Ascian seemed insistent on lingering.

She had given up trying to shoo him away... though she would also be lying if she said a small part of her wasn't grateful for his presence. It wasn't a matter of feeling safe with him, mind you. Oh, no: quite the opposite, in fact. She felt perpetually on edge as he meandered through the Greatwood at her side, remarking on the scenery or making otherwise unrelated, unhelpful remarks.

And yet, when she thought at one point that he might slip into the shadows, she looked at him with a furrowed brow, her jaw tightening. Something in her eyes must have given her away, because he hesitated.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said lowly, enough that his voice rumbled a bit around every word. "What? Fear you'd be lost without me? Need help finding your way back to Slitherbough?"

"Hardly," she huffed indignantly, lips pursing to form a line as she forced her gaze forward, away from the man, "...I simply wonder why we've journeyed this far together, and you've yet to actually tell me about your world. The one you wish to bring back."

Emet-Selch paused in his stride, causing Aletheia to do the same after a few more steps, the mage pivoting slightly around her staff to peer at the man past the intricate focus that glowed faintly at the top. The Ascian peered at her, eyes squinting, and for a wordless moment, he looked at her with genuine intrigue.

"You truly wish to know of my history - our history? I have to wonder if telling you would be worth the time, to be frank... unless you mean to tell me you are open to possibly considering rejoining the cause after all...?" He questioned, a brow quirking as he peered at the mage.

Aletheia gave a derisive snort in response.

"Like you, I remain steadfast in my beliefs... but if I learned anything from serving under the Emissary, it is that one needs understand their foe. If you would follow me around in an attempt to learn what drives me, then I would know more about the world that has driven you to commit atrocity after atrocity in the name of your God and the Rejoining,"

Her words seemed to surprise Emet-Selch, his brows lifting. For another moment, he quietly peered at her, searching her face with a narrowed gaze. Aletheia thought he might've been inspecting her, searching for any sort of dishonesty or ulterior motive... but there was none. Behind her silver gaze was something... genuine. Almost... innocent.

She was curious. Behind her rough exterior was a girl in search of answers, desperate for information and understanding.

When he saw it, Emet-Selch's expression softened slightly, though the look of gentle consideration he gave her for a brief moment was quickly replaced by the heavy sigh that spilled from his lips as his shoulders and head slumped forward in surrender.

"Fine, fine," he practically groaned, "If you insist on making me waste my breath and your time, then I will share with you the truth - at least as much of it I deem you worthy of. But first, come: Let us find a spot in the shade to rest. I tire of this beautiful, damnable sun."

His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed.

When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning.

She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

That simple gesture would build itself a home in her mind, lingering, leaving the mage feeling confused and uncertain as they made their way through the forest to find a place of respite from the sun.

As they settled into the cool embrace of the shaded forest, Aletheia and Emet-Selch found themselves seated on a fallen log, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating a tranquil atmosphere that belied the weight of their conversation, distracting from the everlasting light that loomed overhead.

Emet-Selch began to speak, his voice soft and melodic as he wove tales of a world long gone, a world of beauty and wonder before the Sundering. He spoke of Etheirys with a fondness that caused an ache to form in Aletheia's chest - a sense of loss and longing as if it were just as much her world.

She supposed, in a way, it was.

"It was a city unlike any other," he said, his eyes distant as he recalled memories of a time long past. "Amaurot, it was called. The heart of our civilization, the pinnacle of our achievements. It was a place of art and culture, of knowledge and wisdom."

Aletheia listened intently, her gaze fixed on Emet-Selch as he spoke. There was a passion in his voice - though not the insincere theatrics that often accompanied his words, but instead genuine adoration - a longing for a life left behind. It gave the mage pause, a slight warmth beginning to fill her chest.

He spoke of Ancient society with reverence, painting a picture of a utopian existence where all were equal, where knowledge was valued above all else, and where the pursuit of truth was the highest calling.

"We lived in harmony with the world around us," he continued, his words tinged with nostalgia. "We were caretakers of the land, guardians of the elements. We knew the secrets of creation, researched the mysteries of the cosmos. We were masters of our own destiny."

As Emet-Selch spoke, Aletheia found herself captivated by his words. There was a depth to him, a complexity that she hadn't fully appreciated until now. He wasn't just a villain, a faceless enemy to be defeated. He was a man with hopes and dreams, with memories of a life long gone.

Despite herself, Aletheia felt a pang of sympathy for him, a sense of understanding that transcended their differences. She could see now why he fought so fiercely for his cause, why he clung so desperately to the hope of restoring his world. It had the mage's brows furrowing as she finally tore her gaze away from him. (How long had she been staring, she wondered?)

A scoff from the Ascian startled Aletheia from her thoughts, prompting her to look towards him once again with a furrowed brow.

"And then, in what was nearly an instant, it was shattered. Chaos overtook the land, our creations turned against us. Suddenly, we were faced with a decision that would shape the future of our star in ways we never could have predicted at the time. We sought only to save our world. So we did what was necessary to fight back against the plague that threatened to destroy us all."

"Zodiark," Aletheia finally spoke, looking at the Ascian, who quirked a brow at her before nodding.

"Aye. We summoned Zodiark. If you know that part, then I assume the Emissary had enough sense to share the rest of the tale with you,"

"Not everything, I imagine," she muttered in reply, turning her gaze to peer across the brush before them, eyes fixating on a distant critter as it scurried up one of the towering trees, "But I know that some were sacrificed to save the many. I know that Zodiark was able to cast out the darkness, but that the damage had already been done to the land."

Emet-Selch peered at her closely, giving a slow nod as she spoke.

"Indeed. Our utopia was shattered, doomed to never return to its former glory without further sacrifice. And so, a decision was made... A decision that not all agreed with,"

His tone grew bitter at the end as a scowl made its way across his thin lips, his brows pinching further together above the bridge of his nose.

(Aletheia forced herself to pay no mind to the sudden urge she felt to reach over and smooth it out beneath her thumb. Instead, she stayed static, frozen.)

"So tell me," he went on, thankfully distracting the mage from her thoughts, prompting her gaze to meet his as he paused to ensure he had her attention, "Did the Emissary deign to share with you what happened next?"

Now it was Aletheia whose brows furrowed as a moment of silence fell between them, followed by a slow shake of her head.

Emet-Selch snorted in response as he leaned back, rolling his head to the side enough that Aletheia could hear an audible pop from the man's neck, his eye twitching with a slight grimace from the sensation.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't have," he said dryly as he leaned forwards again, resting his arms on his knees as he sank into his habitually horrible posture once again.

She'd half expected him to continue, but Emet-Selch returned to silence afterwards, causing her brows to lower further, her jaw flexing for a moment before she finally spoke.

"So? What happened next?"

The man's gaze flicked towards her once again as an arched brow raised, and for a moment, Aletheia thought she saw amusement twinkle in the man's eyes.

"What happened indeed. Your beloved Hydaelyn happened, of course - though I'm not yet sure that you are either ready or worthy of learning the specifics. Either way, I tire of story-telling, so for the time being, that is all you will get."

Aletheia’s frustration was palpable, her fingers curling into fists as she leaned forward, trying to suppress her annoyance. The tantalizing glimpses of Emet-Selch’s past had left her yearning for more, and his sudden refusal to continue felt like a cruel tease.

"You can't just leave it at that," she argued, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying an intensity that made Emet-Selch glance at her with mild surprise. "If you want me to understand, to truly see things from your perspective, you need to give me more than just half-truths and vague hints."

Emet-Selch chuckled softly, a sound that grated on Aletheia's nerves. "Oh, Aletheia," he said, his tone patronizing. "Answers aren't something that can be forced. They must be earned, and frankly, I’m not yet convinced that you deserve the full tale. You may despise me, but make no mistake—Everything I do is for the betterment of the star."

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "You speak of betterment, yet your methods are steeped in blood and suffering. How can you reconcile that? Sacrificing countless lives to summon Zodiark, and single-handedly sowing chaos across the shards."

Emet-Selch's gaze hardened, his expression growing cold. "And what of your precious Scions? Are they so innocent? History is written by the victors, and the victors often forget the price paid by those who lost. The summoning of Zodiark was necessary to preserve what little remained of our star. To safeguard the future, sacrifices had to be made. Our choices were not made lightly, nor were they made with cruelty in mind. As for the Shards... need I remind you that your lives are meaningless to me, a necessary expenditure to help restore the lives of those lost from my world."

Aletheia opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She could see the anguish etched in Emet-Selch’s features, the pain of a man who had lost everything. It was a stark reminder that, for all his flaws, he was not devoid of emotion or regret.

"You speak as if you had no other choice," she finally said, her voice softer now. "But was there truly no other way? No path that didn’t lead to so much destruction?"

Emet-Selch sighed heavily, the weight of centuries seeming to press down on his shoulders. "Perhaps there was, once. But hindsight is a luxury afforded to those who do not bear the burden of leadership in times of crisis. We did what we believed was right, what was necessary to save our world, and that is something I continue to do to this day. You cannot understand the depth of our sorrow, our desperation."

Aletheia's gaze softened, her own heart aching at the palpable grief in his voice. "I want to understand," she said quietly. "I want to know what drove you to such lengths, and maybe then, we can find a way to move forward without more bloodshed."

Emet-Selch looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally, he nodded, though the gesture was laced with reluctance. "Very well. I will tell you more, but not now. Let us rest for a while. The weight of the past is heavy, and even I grow weary of it."

Aletheia nodded in agreement, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the man who she thought would be her enemy. As they sat in silence, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the unspoken understanding that had begun to form between them.

After a while, Emet-Selch shifted, reclining slightly against the log. His eyes, once filled with cold calculation, now held a glimmer of something softer, more human. "You remind me of someone," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Aletheia turned to him, her brows furrowed, curiosity piqued. "What? Who?"

"Someone," he replied unhelpfully, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He peered at her closely for another moment before continuing, his eyes squinting, as if trying to peer at the mage through a thick fog. "Someone who, like you, sought to understand rather than to judge. Someone who sought ways to save even the smallest, most inconsequential life," He sighed then, letting his gaze linger on the woman for another moment, eyes flicking over Aletheia's face with a look of slow familiarity. But before she could question him further, he spoke again. "Perhaps, in time, you will come to see why I do what I do. But for now, let us simply exist in this moment of peace, however fleeting it may be."

Aletheia nodded, allowing herself to relax slightly. Despite the tension that still lingered between them, there was a sense of shared purpose, a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they could find common ground.

[masonxmahir]

⁠— if i die young

Mason Mahir's final moments ( triggers: drinking, death, car crash... probably more? )

A scream rang out into the night.

Mason's giddy laughter turning loud and rowdy as the simple birthday dinner turned into a party he won't likely forget. Head thumped to the beat of the music and vision blurred from time to time but he blamed that on the alcohol. There also was a sharp pain in their side that pulled at his focus every now and then but he chalked that to them bumping into something and being unaware. It really wouldn't be the first time.

He met Jamie on arrival, standing on a chair just to hug their giant friend, of course that act didn't go by with the classic comment of 'how's the weather' chuckling even if it was just to themself and promised for some shenanigans later. He found the birthday twins soon afterwards as well, present in hand that he honestly forgot he bought, but it was wrapped up neat and Mason didn't want to rip into it to figure out the contents. Birthdays and pool parties were a great mix, and Mason, in true fashion didn't bring a change of clothes but such a thing never stopped fun, could hardly pump the breaks on the canon balls he made either.

Bopping along to the tunes and chatting away nonsense with people, Mason was having a grand time. Even if periods of time slipped from memory, he was here making new memories to fill in the gaps the best he could. And with so many things happening tonight he was sure such a thing was achievable. Where fun could be had, Mason was there. But tiredness crept in fast and as he starfished onto a towel, gaze to skies watching it grow dark, energy drooped with fluttering lids but a goofy grin still held onto their features and for a while he felt bliss till their body jerked them awake before sleep could fully pull them under. A yawn tearing through, he spotted Rangi and rested their still damp head onto her shoulder, "Take me home? I'm tired."

The night air held a comforting chill as he left, a gentle soothing breeze as he hopped onto their skateboard. Despite asking Rangi, sluggishness spread quick and rather crash at Jamie's, Mason wanted their own bed to sleep this away.

He wasn't to know that would never happen, couldn't know the peace signs he threw up to the partying crowd would be their last.

Send me away with the words of a love song

Screams filled the night. But not of laughter nor from fun.

A death was heralded by the banshees.

Mason just didn't expect to be their own. He had been told that life came at you fast, did those people know know a car would come at you faster?

The pain in his side spread to everywhere now, muscles aching and skin scraping as he hit the road hard. A harsh screeching of tires and squeal of brakes rang loud in their ears as he blinked sharply up to the sky. A million things floated in their head, from questions to jokes, yet he could not speak on any of them, each time lips parted the only noise to spill were groans of pain. He heard people and shuffling footsteps approach, screams and gasps too off in the distance, and he wanted to see what the fuss was. Did someone out do their canon ball? Would he have to challenge them to a dive off? But each time he tried to sit up or even move, a wince had them fall back. "R-Rangi?" he managed to call out, and maybe she heard him, maybe she was the one to run their way but hands found her and he gripped onto her. "Did I fall? I wasn't trying no skate tricks I swear." He wasn't! Mason just wanted to go home.

Ralph came into vision not too long after, a smile kicking back up into place, "Ayyy..." But he turned their head away at something being offered, "I don't want the sauce man..." It smelt funny too, made his nose crinkle but in the action and having people surround them, a new head adding to the crowd as time ticked by, context came into clarity. A dragged out "Ohhhhh," when he heard 911 being spoken. "Oh...."

Time did not slow, nor did it speed up, life did not flash in front of their eyes, it was right before them. "We'll be gucci gang, don't sweat it. This is just a lil ad break." He did not want to think about dying, always said he was too pretty to die so young, the thought of it didn't grip them with fear, he was in good hands, why worry? The happy-go-lucky, carefree attitude of theirs didn't have space for worrying about what would happen, no, despite it all, Mason only felt the present time. Also felt the pain spread but catching Rangi's tearful eyes he didn't mention it, just gripped her hand a little tighter as he reassured her. "Can you call my mum and ask her to pick me up?"

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colours

As the sonic screams rang out, a scream of such servitude was caught in Neelam Mahir's throat. She sat bolt upright in bed, hand clutching her chest, wide-eyed panic filling her lungs and this strange feeling of wrongness. This pain, this fear felt a lot like a wave of grief about to hit, she didn't have to strain her ears to catch the wails of an imminent death in the air, she felt that in every fibre of her being. A connection to her own fading with each passing minute, yet she could not move, could not weep even, living on that false hope that maybe maybe her child just fell down, just injured themself a little more than normal...

But the call came, and the love she had left to give, the loss that made a hole in her chest spilled out from her eyes, her grief kicked up a heartbeat as Mason's stilled.

The wails of banshees dissipated and a mothers filled its place. Which was worse: the shock of what happened or the ache of things never to come?

Well, I've had just enough time

Hand dropped from Song's and he was shuffled into the ambulance, vision going fuzzy as all he saw were the auras of people, faces blurred but a kaleidoscope of colours danced in front drawing a pleasant a smile to the face. That's how he saw them all; bright shiny people. It was also the last sight the party-goers saw of them as doors shut. He didn't understand the sad faces, didn't know why Rangi was crying, he was just going away for a bit. Likely would heal himself after the docs had a go at them too, be right as rain in not time. But here was Rangi telling him not to go?

"I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her. Perhaps he began to feel the inevitable too, perhaps this was the end, but death was an adventure too. The life he had lived was on with laughter and love, and he wanted that to be reflected in this moment too if that were to be their last. "I'm just tired, babe, that's all." But the impact made speaking a little rough, words coarse and shallow, whatever was happening on inside their body Mason tried to make sense of with their Healing, but be it lack of energy, lack of focus, he couldn't figure it out and hands fell away limply. He nuzzled into her hand, struggling to keep eyes away as the vehicle zipped its way to the hospital, "Just... a lil tired."

Breathing came slowly, thoughts and speech slowing with it, "A lil nap...okay? Wake me up...later...g'night... love you."

12:23 am. Call it.

Go with peace and love Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em

THE END.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Starclan’s Reason (short story)

“Are you insane?”

Jumptail closed his eyes for a few long seconds, hearing the she-cat approach him. He knew what was coming, he had experienced it and had seen others experience it enough times. He turned around to greet Willowbloom, her fur bristling until she was twice her size and her eyes round and wild.

She had passed recently, many moons after the deaths of her sons. That also meant that she had learned quite recently–Jumptail guessed, by the looks of her–very recently indeed–that her younger son, Sprucepaw, had been sent to the Dark Forest.

Beside Jumptail, Firebird sighed. It wasn’t one of exasperation, rather sadness. The she-cat had been a mother herself to four litters. Jumptail couldn’t imagine the pain of learning something so awful about the fate of your kit, even as he looked into the devastation in Willowbloom’s eyes, staring him down. 

She showed her teeth. “He was hardly out of the nursery! Yet you condemn him to suffer an eternity in the worst possible place? Where he’ll be surrounded by murderers and betrayers and-and-and-”

‘Your son was a murderer,’ Jumptail stopped himself from saying. It wouldn’t help the situation.

“It’s heartless,” Jumptail agreed. “A decision made by facts, not emotion.”

That was the wrong choice of words, as Willowbloom snarled. “Maybe you should have utilized emotion! Maybe then you could have realized that exiling a kit from Starclan was wrong! Ha!” she scoffed roughly. “’Facts, not emotion.’ What facts are possibly worth the life of a kit?” Her tail flicked ominously as she waited impatiently for their response.

“Do you know what he did?” Jumptail began cautiously. 

“Of course I was told!” Willowbloom hissed. “And I don’t care–whether it’s true or not or intentional or not–because he was eight moons old, for Starclan’s sake! How was he supposed to know the ramifications of his actions when just two moons prior, he was nestling at his mommy’s belly? It was the only harm he had ever done, as horrible as it had been. He had always tried so hard to be the best warrior his Clanmates could have. Now he can’t even serve them in death!”

Jumptail nodded as she spoke, thinking carefully about his next words. He was both thankful and disgusted that he had had experience with this situation, and had an idea of how to respond. Even then, Firebird beat him to it. When Willowbloom finished, Firebird ran her tail along Willowbloom’s puffed spine.

“I can’t begin to imagine the pain,” Firebird admitted gently. “Your anger goes beyond understandable–it’s something I can never understand, if I wanted to or not. But if any one of my own kits went through the same fate as yours, I can assure you, I would be tearing away at every cat I saw.”

Don’t give her ideas, Jumptail thought, but let her speak.

“Nice words,” Willowbloom sniffed, a mixture of contempt and anguish. “But cheering me up doesn’t change the fact that my son is suffering!” her voice, which had fallen low, increased until she was once again screeching. “I want my son! I want Sprucepaw! Bring him to me!”

“We can’t,” Firebird told her softly.

Willowbloom’s voice cracked. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe,” Jumptail spoke up.

Willowbloom turned on him. “My son would never hurt anyone!”

Jumptail raised a paw, indicating for her to wait. “It wouldn’t be safe for him. I know, and agree, that in spite of the fact that what he did was deeply wrong, he was young and likely didn’t know what it was he was doing. But he did kill, and in many eyes, that means he could kill again, and that puts ourselves in danger.”

“Did you not hear me?” Willowbloom growled.

Firebird ran her tail back along her spine. “We did, please listen to us for a few moments, please.” 

Willowbloom closed her jaws, though her eyebrows were still furrowed and her claws remained unsheathed. The glare she set on Jumptail burned through him.

“View of him would become distorted. They wouldn’t care, sad that it is, how or why he killed. All they would care about is the fact that he did kill. Many would believe–even if that belief goes against the truth–that he could harm someone, especially someone vulnerable, like a kit or apprentice. Their mothers,” Jumptail added quickly when Willowbloom opened her mouth, “would be overprotective. They wouldn’t want to risk losing their kits, again. Because of that, they might choose to harm–even kill–him before he could their kits.”

“But that’s not fair!” Willowbloom’s snarls were turning into desperate cries. “He wouldn’t do that! He deserves a place here!”

“He would be ridiculed here,” Firebird pointed out. “Even if he wasn’t harmed, would anyone want to befriend him? Associate with him? Or are they more likely to avoid him, bully him, spit at him for his crime? Can you honestly say with dead certainty, that your son would be content here?”

“He would have me.”

“Just one supporter for all of eternity,” Jumptail said. 

“It’s better than being surrounded by actual murderers, cats known for killing! How can you say it would be safer for him there than here?”

“Not everyone was a murderer,” Firebird began. “Fewer would harm someone so young. There have been innocent ones like Sprucepaw, older and younger, and ones who’s crimes were believed to be for the greater good. For every single resident in the Dark Forest to be a complete heartless monster would be, well, what we would all like to believe, but it’s just not logical. Out there are cats who understand him in ways we never could. They will look past his actions and see him. He will be safe. Someone will make sure of it.”

Willowbloom was silent for a long moment. Then, she curled her lip and whipped around. “I can make sure of it.”

==============================

--Wanted to make something that explains parts of Starclan’s reason for, well, you get it. Will be making a post about it later that sums it up and expands on other reasons a bit more.

--You probably all know Jumptail by now, but Firebird was also very briefly mentioned in a story before. The story was Little Stars, about Mottlekit and Greykit!

--Jumptail and Firebird weren’t targeted specifically they’re probably just the first Starclan cats she saw other than kin.

--Willow DOES care that her son killed her other son, she hates that that happened, but that doesn’t make her love Sprucepaw any less or cause her to be content with his damnation.

--Sorry if the story is structured odd lol I just finished several hours of studying.

[reeduslovers]

No Good

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Prompt: Daryl Dixon has a big old nasty chip on his shoulder. He also has a way with words. Anger, wrath, and hate all boil down to a final mutual understanding.

Era: Season 2

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Swearing, Arguments, Angry Daryl, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Death, Sad Situation, Slight Self-Harm Mention

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 5.2k

“Hell with all y’all,” he yelled, flailing his arms up, pacing around the group who sat huddled around the campfire, “I’ve been out there lookin’ for tha’ little girl every single day.”

“Daryl-“ Lori piped in, but got shut down almost immediately.

“Don’t ya tell me about getting’ ma hands dirty,” he retorted, pointing at her and then glancing over to the rest of the group.

Everyone was absolutely distraught finding out about Sophia being locked away in the barn the entire fucking time you all were living on the farm. It had been about two weeks. Two weeks searching for her. Two fucking weeks and none of you knew. Not even an inkling. You felt that you had failed her.

“And don’t even get me started about y/n,” he trailed off, receiving particular looks from the rest of the group.

You didn’t mind that Daryl wasn’t particularly fond of you. It was just his way of being around people. He never really made the conscious effort to even look in your direction, ever since you ended up with the group, let alone speak to you. His vocabulary only consisted of slight grunts, pissed off huffing, and curse words. Typical redneck way of being, you always thought.

The only positive attribute you could come to think of was that he’s a very observant person, and knew every single thing that happened within camp. It was probably down to the fact that he is a tracker. He was always watching, taking mental notes, tracking everyone’s whereabouts.

You hadn’t taken to everyone quite how you wanted to when Glenn helped rescue you on one of his trips into Atlanta, but you eventually warmed up to a lot of them. Except for Daryl, of course.

You were holed up in a trashy liquor store for weeks, surrounded by hordes of snarling hungry walkers. You had no concept of time after being trapped, and especially after you had to put your sister down. She was bit. Time blurred, days and nights became one, and you prayed for rescue. You got lucky with Glenn, really.

It traumatised you, losing everything, losing everyone to the world of the dead. It made you anxious, and also very snappy and alert at times. You often had to take breaks from doing the simplest of tasks, and you hardly ever went on supply runs.

This was what pissed Daryl off about your behaviour. He couldn’t understand how you survived this long, having to rely on everyone for support as you barely got by yourself. This was particularly apparent after losing Sophia. He mostly blamed himself, but he also very much blamed everyone who never went out to actively look for her. You absolutely adored Sophia and definitely wouldn’t have wished for that to happen to anyone, especially her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to help look for her. It was too traumatic for you, being out there with the flesh-eating corpses. You would freeze up even at the faintest of sounds. You’d be no good looking for a timid little girl.

Your camp was rather hidden within the grounds of Hershel’s land – not too close to the house, at his request, yet not too far out in case of walker hordes.

You stumbled along the uneven patches of grass, carrying a large blue bucket filled with fresh well water. Luckily, the well you were walking back from was conveniently positioned just a couple of hundred metres behind your camp setup.

And that’s when you heard him.

“Bitch does nothin’,” he spat, still angrily shouting to the rest of the group, “Sits on her fuckin’ ass all damn day,” he carried on, “And damn near expects everythin’ given to ‘er.”

Your heart sank. You knew he was talking about you, considering you were the only one out of the group that wasn’t present for his little lecture about how much he fucking despised you.

You gently placed the bucket down in front of your feet, trying you hardest not to make a noise. The last thing you wanted was around ten pairs of eyes on you after what Daryl had just been shouting about.

Glenn noticed your movements and made his way towards you, hoping to not draw attention to your direction.

“Ignore him,” he whispered, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I-“ you started to say, but the heavy lump in your throat blocked anything from escaping your lips.

Daryl was just having another one of his outbursts, like he did earlier this morning with Carol in the horses stables, throwing one of the saddles in her direction and muttering harsh words under his breath.

It wasn’t long until the rest of the group noticed you were present, stood only a few metres directly behind Daryl, where he kept running his mouth about every single thing that pissed him off. He was just like his fucking redneck brother.

Daryl noticed you then, after a few moments of dead silence, turning around to face you. His eyes lingered over your direction, piercing through your skin like a red laser beam. If looks could kill, you’d be fucking six foot under already.

He meant every single word. He really didn’t care what you heard.

You stood there, trying your hardest not to let tears fall down your reddened cheeks, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. Daryl had created an entire fucking atmosphere. It was so fragile that no one knew what to say next just in case it was the wrong thing to say.

Your eyes glanced up ever so slightly from the rocky ground to look in his direction, but you avoided his immensely intimidating gaze.

“Wha’ do ya want from me, woman?” he snarled, taking a step towards you.

“Da-“ you said quietly, still avoiding his eyes.

“Nah,” he cut you off, nodding harshly and looking down at his shoes, “Don’t wanna hear it.”

He gripped the strap of his crossbow that was draped over his shoulders, secured tightly to his chest, and then hurried off behind the scattered tents towards his own.

Tears eventually fell from your stinging eyes, cascading down your swollen cheekbones, as you watched him disappear behind amounts of foliage that barricaded his lone camp.

Fucking bastard.

You knew Daryl Dixon had a big old chip on his shoulder, dodging eye contact and throwing harsh words to whoever stumbled in his way, but you couldn’t really comprehend what you had done to make him hate you so much.

~ a few hours later ~

It was dusk. 5pm, maybe.

Plates clattered, knives and forks rattled, and minimal chatter dispersed throughout camp. You heard Andrea, Dale and T-Dog compliment Carol’s evening meal of vegetable stew which was kindly provided at Maggie’s request to her father.

Hershel was not happy with what your group had done to the barn. Not only was Sophia in the barn, but it also teemed with Hershel’s friends, family and neighbours – including his wife. The man was going through a whole lot of grief which was in the hands of your groups’ actions. He didn’t want to lend anymore valuable food out to a group that supposedly killed every single person he once knew, but Maggie managed to persuade him. Even if it was just vegetables.

You laid on top of your roll-up mattress, which was spread out across a small two-person tent, trying to focus on the book you were reading. You couldn’t bring yourself to sit with the others during dinner, out of sheer embarrassment Daryl caused you earlier, so you decided to hide away for the night.

“Hey,” a soft voice spoke, “It’s Glenn,” he whispered, knocking on the side of your tent for permission to stick his head through the doorway.

You sat up, placing your book to the side of you, and began to unzip your tent at the very top.

“Hey,” you groaned, forcing a smile.

“Just checking on you, that’s all,” he said, “Have you ate anything? Carol’s stew was incredible. I can get you some if you-“

“Thanks, Glenn,” you interrupted, “But I’m really not that hungry.”

“Well, you know where I am if you need me,” he smiled, knowing to give you space.

Glenn left you alone after that. That’s all you wanted; you were very grateful he did exactly that. He was great at guessing the atmosphere, a specific mood that flooded the air, and he always knew what to say to make you feel at least a little better.

Zipping your tent back up, you exhaled a long sigh after plonking yourself back on top of your makeshift bed. You picked up your novel again, trying your hardest to concentrate, focusing on each sentence that splayed across the slightly yellow tinged pages, but Daryl’s voice continued to run through your head like an echo.

“Bitch does nothin’,”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to rid his cruel words circling your mind.

“Damn near expects everythin’ given to ‘er,”

Shut up. Shut the fuck up.

“Wha’ do ya want from me, woman?”

Fuck off, Daryl. Fuck off.

Pulling your legs up to your chest, and burying your head within the nook you had created, you began to quietly sob. Why the fuck did he say those things? What did you ever do to him?

You wanted an explanation so badly, loathing this atmosphere he had created, but Daryl was intimidating. He’d run his mouth any chance he got, and he wouldn’t do so lightly. He just didn’t care.

Intimidating was an understatement. You hated that he had that effect on you. He probably had that effect on damn nearly everyone in your group though, which made you reconsider talking to him. It couldn’t get any worse than it currently is, you thought. And you knew you wouldn’t be able to eat, sleep, or even look anyone in the eye again if it wasn’t sorted. That was something you couldn’t live with.

However, you really didn’t want him seeing you like this; stained cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and puffy lips. It was an invitation for him to see you weak.

That’s all you were to him. Weak. Nobody. A bitch – that was his words.

Fuck it. Fuck being scared.

It was only Daryl Dixon. Yeah. It was only Daryl Dixon.

You peeled yourself off your roll-up mattress, wiping the last view remaining tears that escaped your eyes, and began to lace up your black converse.

Leaving your tent, you spotted Glenn on your way out of camp, letting him know of your whereabouts so he wouldn’t have to worry about you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Daryl might just want to be left alone, y/n. I’m not telling you what to do, but it might be best to just leave him be.”

“No,” you retorted, “I- I have to speak with him.”

Glenn trusted you, and you were also pretty stubborn when you set your mind to something, so he let you trail off to Daryl’s desolate camp.

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. That was all you kept repeating in your head upon arriving to his space. You could barely call it a proper camp – well the ones that you were used to setting up anyway.

There was no tent, no sleeping bag, and no reliable camping tools – only his brother’s motorcycle, a fallen seated log, a hunting knife, and small embers on an open campfire.

You noticed the motorcycle first. Triumph Chopper. Nice. You knew a little bit about motorcycles since your father was a diehard biker. And a good one at that. He sometimes let you ride around the neighbourhood before you were even old enough to have a licence. He wasn’t your stereotypical protective father figure, but he always made sure you were safe.

Your eyes examined the rest of his camp, searching for the man that brought you to tears nearly every time he spoke to you.

Daryl didn’t seem to be here. Fuck. He was probably sulking somewhere, targeting squirrel with his crossbow bolts, muttering under his breath. You still couldn’t comprehend why he said those things. Why he hated you so much.

You huffed then, dragging your feet slowly, and turned around to find him towering over you.

“Oh,” you said, slightly flustered.

“Hell ya want?” he muttered, cigarette hanging lazily out his parted lips. “Pitched up out ‘ere to get away from you people.”

He passed by you, making sure to lightly nudge your shoulder with his to prove his point. He knew exactly how to rile you up.

“What I want?” you questioned, a high pitched aggravated tone dragging off the end of your sentence.

“Why ya even here anyway?” he interrupted, craning his neck over his right shoulder to eye you from there.

Daryl never really looked directly at anyone he spoke to. Except maybe Rick when they were figuring out where Sophia might have wandered off to, or when they were mapping out what to do with that whole Randal scare.

His broad shoulders, housing that stupid angel winged vest that he always wore, continued to face you. The threaded detailing of its curves arching outwards at first, to which you followed them immensely with your eyes, then running inwards across his shoulder blades, and eventually flicking outwards again to create the wings of an angel.

An angel. You scoffed.

“Askin’ ya a damn question, y/n,” he asserted, continuing his harsh stare through his hooded eyelids.

He was intense. This might have been a bad idea after all. You so desperately wanted to haul your feet back to camp, but that would have been too embarrassing. You had to face this situation head on, even if it meant feeling terribly uncomfortable at his presence.

“Why-“ you started, voice cracking slightly, “Why do you hate me so much?”

He scoffed, dragging his eyes away from your gaze, and dropping his head to look at the dirt that buried beneath his shoes.

“Ain’t likin’ no one in this damn group,”

His voice was hoarse. It unsettled you – not knowing what his next words were.

“Daryl-“

“Nah,” he barked, “Why can’t y’all leave me the fuck alone?”

You exhaled. His demeanour changed so fucking quickly, it frightened the hell out of you.

“Huh? How ‘bout tha’?” he continued, marching over to his motorcycle, “Why y’all gotta ask me the damn questions?”

He laid his crossbow down near his rear wheel, propping it up ever so slightly so it was easier to grab. His cheeks hollowed as he puffed on his cigarette, taking swirls of smoke into his mouth, which trickled back out through his nose as he exhaled.

“Did you know you’re really fucking intimidating?” you shouted, having miraculously gained this newfound confidence once you began to shut off your demeaning thoughts.

You physically shook with every word that left your trembling lips. All you wanted were answers. Answers to why he was being such a fucking dickhead.

“Intimidatin’?” he scoffed, “Wha’re you, like, twelve?”

His words hurt. You felt every single one pierce you like one of his crossbow bolts. It would probably be less painful if he aimed his crossbow to the centre of your chest right now, and shot you right then and there.

You were always more affected by words. You would rather someone physically attack you, than emotionally abuse you. At least then you’d have something to show for it.

Little did you know Daryl had never laid a finger on anyone. Although his verbal attitude always seemed like it would lead to physical violence, it never did. He would shout, holler, and scream before his mind even came close to that type of aggression. That wasn’t him.

“I’d rather you fucking hit m-” you choked, “I’d rather you fucking hit me than scream all this shit at me every time we-“

“Don’t ya dare say that,” he mumbled, eyes darting to your position where he watched you bawl uncontrollably.

“You’re such a dickhead, Daryl,”

He was silent for a moment, chewing at his bottom lip. He did that when he was nervous, or didn’t know what to say next. His thoughts spiralled into traumatic turmoil as you continued to stand there, nervously playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

Hit you?

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Did he really have that effect on people? Is that what Carol thought when he muttered those cruel words to her in the stables this morning? Is that what you always thought when he went off on you for even the slightest of things?

He knew that he didn’t always have the right approach, especially if someone pissed him off, but resorting to physical violence? That wasn’t him.

Everyone was completely unaware of his dysfunctional family. Dead mother. Abusive father. Addict brother (now maybe even dead brother to his knowledge regarding Merle’s whereabouts). It was something he never discussed, never highlighted in midst conversation, and never used self-deprecating humour to wrestle through his troubled past.

That just wasn’t Daryl. Instead, he’d keep it to himself, mostly – but others definitely had to pay the price for it. And it just so turns out that you were the perfect candidate.

You didn’t irritate him personally, he thought. It was how much you relied on the group for everything, and barely reciprocating the same amount of effort.

Daryl always fended for himself. It was his way of living, and it had always been this way, since before he even learned to string proper sentences together. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around why you needed so much protection. Why you had Glenn and Maggie run into town to get you supplies. Why you couldn’t hold a pistol without shaking. Why you didn’t help look for Sophia.

You and Daryl never really saw eye to eye. You heavily respected the man, nevertheless, especially since he was the main supplier of food for your group, even if you didn’t particularly enjoy the taste of burnt squirrel – but you tolerated each other.

And it was going just fine until the last straw was picked, pulled apart, and stamped on just a few hours ago.

“Why-“ he said, “Why the fuck would ya say somethin’ like tha’?”

“What? That you’re a dickhead? That’s because you are, Daryl-“

“Nah,” he mumbled, “Why the fuck would ya say you’d rather get hit?”

“Because it’s the fucking truth,” you stated, “I’d rather you’d use physical violence so it’s over and done with. I’d rather you’d hit, slap, fucking beat me than curse at me every fucking time you saw me.”

He shook his head vigorously. He really couldn’t believe what was coming out of your mouth. Had you even noticed how Ed treated Carol back at the quarry? How could you be so inconsiderate?

“Ya don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he shouted, choking on his words, flailing his arms around again, “Ya don’t get to say shit like tha’.”

You were silent then. Did you just cross a boundary?

Fuck.

“Ya ain’t got a clue wha’ people ‘ave been through,”

Yeah. You definitely crossed a line.

You glanced up to meet his eyes, which turned from enraged to heart-shattering in the matter of seconds. You had never seen his eyes so sad before as you were used to his longing squints, crinkled eyelids, and frown lines.

This was a totally different side of Daryl that you really had never seen before; you felt somewhat embarrassed for him, seeing him so vulnerable and just lifeless.

“I’m-,” you trailed off, your words awkward and clunky, “I’m sorry. I better go.”

You turned around, sharing one last glance from over your right shoulder, and you were off.

Your feet moved faster than you could even comprehend. Stumbling back to your tent, you kicked your shoes off, zipped your tent back up, and eventually laid down to relay what exactly just fucking happened.

Daryl was never the one to spill his feelings. He was never the one to talk about anything like that.

He bottled up that shit, like he always had done. Like he was always taught to do from being a young boy.

Merle would infuse it into him, “Ain’t nobody gonna love ya like I do, baby brother,” he’d declare, patting him on the shoulders, where he was reminded of his father’s infliction, “Ya gotta be a man now.”

And that is exactly what Daryl inspired to be – by the words of his big old brother.

He didn’t know any different, except following Merle around, taking on odd jobs here and there just to get by. Pickpocketing. Drug dealing. Theft.

It was by some odd miracle that the apocalypse came just at the right time for the Dixon brothers.

It was getting late now, feeling the cool air stick to the fabric of your tent, creating water droplets that began to trickle down its sides. Everyone was getting ready to hide away for the night, hopefully without any interruptions from lone walkers, bandits, or feral creatures.

You laid there, sprawled out across your roll-up mattress, recounting everything that was said between you and Daryl once again. This was becoming a frequent thing, you thought. He consumed every inch of your mind, his voice bellowing through your inner ear, and his broad frame illusively nudging you ever so slightly.

Rolling over onto your left side, trying to rid his phantom touch from your skin, you began to tuck your sleeping bag behind your head for comfort.

You sighed. You still didn’t get your answer from him.

~ the next morning ~

It was freezing cold when you eventually woke up. You must have crashed from mental exhaustion last night after a certain redneck’s words continued to spiral your thoughts.

You dreamt of him.

It was a particularly distant dream. All that you remembered was his saddened face, looking down ever so slightly, working to fix one of his crossbow bolts. He was sat on the porch steps of Hershel’s house, yet it appeared to you that he was waiting for someone.

After what seemed like a lifetime watching, waiting for him to eventually move, you saw a dark figure tower him from behind. It looked like him. It looked like Merle. Although, the figure seemed slightly older, grumpier, and stern-looking. It started to consume him after-

And that’s when you woke up, being dragged back to sound of chirping birds and human chatter.

You rubbed your puffy eyes, and groaned at the sore facial muscles that pained every inch of your face.

“Fuck..” you moaned, moving your hands from your eyes to massage the knots in your shoulder blades. That fucking blue water bucket must have ripped some bumps in your upper back yesterday.

It ought to have been around 8am, you guessed. You could never really tell the time accurately these days. All you knew was daytime and night-time, and they often blurred.

You heard Rick, Shane and Glenn just outside your tent discussing plans for the winter.

“I’m gonna talk to Hershel,” Rick said, “Maybe he could let us stay in the house.”

“I mean Lori is pregnant, man,” Shane piped in, “Wouldn’t be fair on her havin’ to sleep under the stars every night until the baby is born.”

You couldn’t see them, but you felt Rick’s expression in the air. Shane really has the fucking nerve talking about Lori like that in front of Rick, even if he did mean it from the kindness of his heart. Take kindness with a pinch of salt.

“He’s got a point, Rick,” Glenn asserted, “We can’t really be having a stillborn baby. It’ll eat her from the inside out.”

Empathy seeped through every word Glenn spoke. You could tell he really meant what he said, not like Shane’s comments.

“Ain’t gonna take no for an answer then,” Rick exclaimed, shuffling his cowboy boots along the gravel, and trailing his way up to Hershel’s farmhouse.

Listening to their last words, you quickly grabbed your toothbrush and shoved your converse over your freezing feet. You were hoping the coast was clear now as you were still incredibly embarrassed from yesterday, and you didn’t want to bump into anyone unexpectedly today.

You unzipped your tent fully, ensuring to peak your head out ever so slightly to see if anyone lingered around your area. No one. Thank God.

Leaving your tent, you trailed over to what Carol liked to call the ‘restroom’, but really it was just a bowl of cold water and a dry rag. You admired her effort though. She really did feel like the ultimate stereotypical mother of the group – cooking, cleaning, washing. It made you miss your own mother.

Snapping you out of your straggling thoughts, you heard his voice.

Shit. Fucking shit.

You didn’t want him seeing you like this. You didn’t even want to look at him.

His hoarse voice inched closer and closer, until you realised you couldn’t keep ignoring him.

“Hey,” he repeated for the fourth time, “y/n…”

“Fuck..” you muttered under your breath, carefully placing your toothbrush down next to the bowl of water.

You couldn’t do this right now. Not looking like this. All you wanted to do was hide, scramble back to your tent, and escape under the covers to never been seen again.

“Need ta talk to ya,” he mumbled, sadness coating his voice.

You clenched your jaw shut, feeling the aching pressure on your back teeth, trying to relieve as much stress as you most possibly could in the moments before you turned around to face him.

“Will ya jus’ turn around?”

Stubborn ought to be your middle name.

“I don’t wanna talk to you, Daryl,” you muttered from the corner of your mouth, still stood with you back to him.

If he was allowed to be pissed at you, for God knows how many fucking months now, you were definitely allowed to be pissed at him.

“Look,” he stated, “I ain’t never been able ta get close with anyone.”

You nodded your head slightly. You got that right.

“And..” he trailed off, nibbling the inside of his cheeks, “Ah, fuck..”

Daryl wasn’t great at expressing his feelings with words. He never spoke about his emotions, thoughts or sensitivities with anyone. It was just too uncomfortable for him.

“All am tryna say is-“ he paused for a moment, exhaling a deep nervous breath, “Am sorry.”

Sorry?

You eventually turned around to face him.

“You’re sorry?” you questioned, scrunching your eyebrows together, “How about you begin by answering my fucking question, Daryl.”

He huffed, soothing the back of his neck with his left hand.

“Am no good..” he trailed off, digging his nails into the skin beneath the hem of his sleeveless burgundy t-shirt.

“Forget it,”

“Nah wait,” he scuffled toward you, grabbing your arm ever so slightly, “Am sorry for makin’ ya cry yesterday.”

“And you still haven’t answered my question,” you demanded again, “Why do you hate me so much?” you questioned, emphasising the word hate this time, which leaked off your tongue like poison.

Accusing him of hating you, however, really started to not still right with you at all, ever since his apology just a few seconds ago, but you didn’t know how else to explain this feeling you got from him. Was it hate? Was it disgust? Was it just something else entirely?

You never would have even thought that the word sorry was in Daryl Dixon’s vocabulary. His lingering touch on your arm made you writhe in discomfort. He was never usually a touchy person, especially from what you gathered other the past couple of months. He would flinch at the slightest of gestures directed towards him, avoid shaking hands with his fellow comrades, and steer clear of eye contact almost every time someone looked in his direction.

You moved away from him slightly, just enough for his arm to drop to his side.

“Seein’ ya sob in front of me yesterday..” he uttered, dragging his feet away from you, “Made me realise how much of a dick ‘av been.”

“You got that right.”

“And for the record, I don’t hate ya,” he announced, continuing to drag his feet backwards, “Hate. Hate is a strong word.”

He was right. Hate was a strong word, but you couldn’t help how you felt. You never used that word to describe anyone before, even if they were annoying, obscene, or infuriating. You disliked people, but you never thought of hatred. Maybe it was because your parents always told you hate wasn’t a nice word when you were a child. Maybe it was because you learned to see the optimism of people, and knowing that change was always doable. That was before the fallen world that you know of now, though – and times have changed.

“Well.. Can you at least tell me why you said all of those things yesterday then?”

“Jus’ want what’s best for everyone,” he murmured.

“What is that exactly? Making people feel worthless? Makin-“

“Always had ta do everythin’ for me,” he interrupted you immediately, “Even before all of this. Jus’ can’t stand when people don’t do their bit. Tha’ little girl.. She deserved more than she got.”

You nodded. He was right. You couldn’t deny your lack of effort within the group, especially since it was now staring at you right in the face.

“Mhm..” you mumbled, still nodding your head ever so slightly, “I know that I need to do better.”

Tears began to soak your eyes. You knocked your head upwards, trying your absolute hardest to not let them fall. Daryl had seen enough of your whimpering.

“It’s just-“ you choked out, coughing away the lump that had formed in your throat, “I’ve not had the time to grieve, I guess. My mother.. My sister..”

Daryl saw how much you were trying to hold it together. And he understood, completely. He lost his mother quite young. His brother is probably dead too.

He sighed, grasping his left hand tightly around his secured crossbow strap, chest rising and then falling again.

“I get it,” he said, dragging his feet further away from you, “Might not seem like it, but I do.”

You nodded again, eventually moving your head down to look at him. You noticed that his knuckles, on the hand that held his crossbow strap, were slightly scabbed over in dried blood. You were never the one to pry, but—

“What happened to your hand?”

His eyes widened. He must have forgot about his hand.

“Nah, it don’t matter,” he muttered, quickly shoving his beaten hand into his pocket.

“Ah shit, sorry,” you said, shaking your head. Well done. You made him feel uncomfortable again, “Guess I have a habit of making you feel uneasy.”

It was silent then. The awkward silence that fell between the both of you could have been sliced directly in the middle with a blade.

“Daryl!” Rick’s voice bellowed through the air, “C’mon, we’ve got stuff to do!”

He began to part from your conversation quickly, marching towards Rick and the others, but then he halted. He peaked over his right shoulder, his back continuing to face you.

“Am always ‘ere.”

Maybe this was the beginning of a newfound friendship with Daryl Dixon. Oh Lord.

-

A/N: This is my first ever angsty Daryl x Reader oneshot. I really enjoyed writing this even if it took me two weeks to finish, but I think I am getting better and quicker at writing. I adore angry Daryl, with a bit of heartfelt in there too. He could shout at me any day, whoops. All likes, reblogs, and comments will be much appreciated.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forbidden Lessons XXII

Masterlist

Today is already off to a bad start and I’m not even working yet.

Warnings: noncon, age gap, abuse of power, coercion, mentions of suicide, depression. Y'all know I do it dark and spicy. You have warnings, use them.

Thots, comments, screaming, and feedback are welcome and highly encouraged. Thank you!

You don’t see your mother the day after her date. You’re relieved. You don’t know if you can face her bubbly boasting. She doesn’t text or call, that’s not unexpected.

Your class passes quickly. The routine is slowly coming back to you. You recall how the first term began, how eager you were for each class, how you devoured articles and chapters easily. You’re still not there but you’re trying.

Bucky, or Professor Barnes, you’re still unsure what to call him, texts as he does every morning. You tell him you’re okay and that class was too. Not too much or too little. Draw the lines and stay within them.

The day winds down in a quiet night spent at your laptop. You’re submitting the week’s forum early. A tweak of pride pinches in your chest. You haven’t felt anything but dread for so long. You hit submit and feel content to let yourself sleep.

The next day, you’re woken by the unfamiliar ruckus of your buzzer. You never have guests and the noise confuses you at first. You go to the speaker by the door and hit the call button. 

“Hello?” you croak.

“Honey, it’s me! Let me up!”

You let go of the button before you groan. You hit the enter button and hold it down until you assume she’s in. You unlock the door and drag your feet into the kitchen. You rub your eyes with the cotton sleeves of your sweatshirt as the burner tics beneath the blackened bottom of the kettle.

The door opens abruptly and slams behind your mother carelessly. She calls to you as she sweeps in. You smell the cinnamon of her latte as she peeks in at you with her Starbucks cup. Of course, she doesn’t bring you anything. How did you never notice these things before?

“Morning,” you grumble.

“So… you’re not going to ask me how my date was?” she trills.

You look at her sleepily, “how was your date?”

“Oh, so wonderful. He’s such a lovely man. I think he’s my age… but we can pretend. But he’s so handsome, so clever–”

You take down a mug to keep from quivering with anxiety. She’s saying all the things you would’ve if you had someone to brag to when he was chasing you. It’s sickening to think she feels like you did, coaxed by his empty words, his deliberate lies. Yet, you don’t feel bad for her.

“Do you think I should stay? Hm? Hang around and see if it could be more?” She blathers, “the young ones are fun but I suppose I could settle down with a man like him. Distinguished and all that. A professor, even.”

You put your mug on the stove and brace the handle along the front. You force a smile and look at her.

“Wow, mom, that’s great,” you say dully but she hardly seems to hear you as she thumbs at her phone.

“Stacy is so jealous,” she sounds like a teenager, “I’ve been sending her the blow by blow.” She giggles and sticks her tongue out, “in a manner of speaking.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. A vision of the bathroom returns to you, that stomach churning rendezvous, the memory alone makes you nauseous.

“Did you see my Insta? What do you think? Isn’t he cute?”

She hold up her phone and shows you the professor’s imperious green eyes and dark hair, his pale skin like porcelain, his expression stoic and statuesque like his features. You nod.

“One day, you will meet a man and you will feel like I do, oh he makes me feel young again,” she giggles once more, “can you believe, he thought I was thirty?”

You almost scoff. Almost. Her dyed hair and caked on foundation can’t hide the lines around her eyes and mouth, or the telling wrinkles around her throat. You keep your mask on.

“I’m sure he’s amazing, mom,” you grit out, “but I have to go to class in a few hours.”

“You are so responsible. I can’t even remember how many classes I skipped when I was your age. I can’t even believe they gave me a degree. Well, I can’t lie and say this is my first professor,” he spins and sips her latte, her thumb flicking over her phone in her other hand, “well, I think I’ll ask him if he’s up for another night.”

The kettle whistles and you stop it from shrieking as you lift it. You pour it over the tea ball of black tea and watch the water darken and rise as the metal orb floats.

You hear a buzz as she turns and flops onto your bed, barely keeping her coffee upright. She grimaces at her phone. You peek over as she glances around, reaching for yours without hesitation. You lurch away from the stove and scurry towards her.

‘Had fun last night, sunshine.’ She reads out, her penciled in brows rising on her forehead, “oooo, I’m not the only one who had a good night, eh?”

“No,” you go to her and grab at the phone, “just a friend.”

“Mhmmm,” she says dismissively as she sets the coffee on the nightstand and stands, shouldering you away as she types into your phone, “‘had a lovely time’... tongue out emoji? ‘We should have some more fun, cutie.’”

“Mom,” you grab her arm and spin her back to her gruffly, “what are you doing? Don’t send that!”

“Too late,” she throws your phone onto the mattress, away from you, “god, with the way you’ve been acting, you should try to get laid.”

“Mom!” you exclaim, mortified.

“What? You’re an adult. And with everything that you’ve done, I think you need a bit of stress relief.”

“Ughhhh,” you growl and stomp to the bed and lift the phone, “don’t touch.”

“Just make sure you thank me after,” she nears and takes her own phone from the bed, “and maybe introduce me to the boy.”

You scowl and rush into the bathroom, locking yourself in as you try to think of what to send before Bucky, no Professor Barnes, thinks you’re wacky. 

“‘Sorry, my mom is playing jokes,’” you send.

He sends back a laughing emoji, then a second bubble pops up, ‘no problem. I’ll gladly beat you at checkers again.’

You exhale, trying to calm your hammering heart, the embarrassment seeping away. You send a simple smiley, not wanting to commit to anything. You put the phone down on the edge of the sink and rub your temples. It buzzes again.

‘Oh, and I’m not cute. I’m devilishly good-looking’.

You blink at the message. You don’t even know where to begin with that. Is he serious? Is he joking? It’s hard to tell when he speaks to you, let alone over text. You pick up the cell and key in a blunt reply.

‘Getting ready for class. Later.’ That should be the end of that.

[onceonafullmoon]

General Sullivan x Reader Headcannons:

————————

You probably end up meeting him either at Maekami’s bar or through working under Yagi, either way you don’t take too much notice of him.

He’s pretty quiet for the most part, and you never really bother to talk to him until you see him breaking down into tears at the bar for no apparent reason.

Now, you never really were the type to get into people’s business, but you always were too soft for your own good, which usually was dangerous, especially in a world like this.

Nevertheless, you decide to approach him and ask him what he’s bawling about (obviously in much nicer terms).

After a tearful and and babbling confession you yourself can hardly understand, you look at Maekami with confusion to which he explains quietly that Sullivan’s daughter has spurned him yet again (possibly for being so pathetic, Yagi says to you).

Either way, somehow you end up becoming Sullivan’s friend, with such duties as: comforting him when he cries, stopping him from getting bullied by Hanten’s parents, stopping him from getting bullied by his boss, carrying him home after he gets drunk, and comforting him when he cries. Truly, you have your work cut out for you.

But truth be told you don’t really mind his antics as much as you think you do, because deep down you know that he really is trying his best.

At least that’s what you tell yourself when you have to comfort him for the 100th or so time at the bar.

Really though, you can tell he’s a kind soul, simply trying his best for his daughter, and perhaps Kurotsuno sees it too when she volunteers to drag bring him back home for you.

It’s hard to tell exactly when you catch feelings, but it’s pretty easy to tell with him. The poor man wears his heart on his sleeve.

He is definitely hesitant to pursue you at first though, he has his doubts about his ability to maintain a relationship due to his relationship with Kurotsuno and also due to the fact that her mother is also no longer in his life.

Eventually, he warms up to the idea, after seeing you and Kurotsuno on shopping trip for chocolate, how could he not?

He confesses at Maekami’s with a slight blush on his face and slightly stuttering his words (of course you accept).

As a lover, Sullivan is very traditional. Definitely plays up the “gentleman” ante for you, holding doors open, pulling your chair out for you.

Also he’s surprisingly overprotective at times, perhaps it’s residual from his human days, but either way, remind him every now and then that you’re capable of protecting yourself.

Does he listen? Yes kind of, but you gotta cut the guy some slack, how can he not freak out when he sees you so casually talking with Yagi?

He’s also extremely touch starved, cuddles are a must for him. He will usually have a hand on you at all times because of this, whether it’s resting on your hip or caressing your shoulder. (Kurotsuno makes a face whenever she sees it.)

Speaking of, most people when they see you together seem to be of the opinion that you’re too good for him. Especially Kurotsuno.

Everyday she looks at you with confusion in her eyes as she sees you hand in hand with her father.

Secretly she’s happy he found happiness, but ssshhhh that’s a secret

You don’t exactly become a mother to her, but you do become someone she turns to for advice or rants too. (You get invited for tea more often than most)

Sullivan is always pleased to see you two getting along, something about his two most important people bonding, which you respond to with a smile and she scoffs at before telling him to get lost.

(You have to comfort him as he sags home dejectedly)

In the bedroom, Sullivan is a very attentive lover, making sure to put your wants first before his.

He definitely has a praise kink, tell him he’s doing well or that he’s so good for you and he’s immediately like x100 aroused

Can be a sub or a switch, but every once in a while he snaps over something annoying him and you are in for a treat.

All in all, the relationship might seem one sided on your part, but in private Sullivan really does pull through to comfort and support you.

Be gentle with him, gods knows he needs someone to treat him with care and maybe this time you can invite his daughter to your place once for tea.

Probably not, but you can dream right?

[thewholecrew]

@headstrongblake: grant, octavia & nick. / verse: all american.

his heart pounded in his chest, but despite the anxiety that prickled along his skin he kept steady in his resolve. despite the look both octavia and nick gave him, despite them trying to understand, to bring him back. he couldn't. he wouldn't. not until what was done was done. until then he would try to do whatever he could to get them out of here. grant couldn't suppress his absolute fury with nicklas bringing octavia here, both of them coming and putting themselves in danger when he explicitly told octavia, told kassy not to let them leave. he knew trying to talk to nicklas was like talking to wall which was why he hadn't even bothered, he knew it would have only riled him up more and made him even more determined to come after him. he supposed it hadn't mattered because here he still was, hardly healed from what garrett had done to him.

his hands tightened on the gun, hating every bit of himself for what he was doing and when nick spoke, his dark and angry gaze snapped back over to him. what did he do? what did he mean? what hadn't grant done? his jaw clenched tightly as nick moved to stand closer beside octavia, grant shifting the slightest to point the gun between the two now as he took another small step back. he nearly flinched at the questions flung his way, eyed hardening as his lips pressed into a firm line nearing a grimace. he wasn't going to answer these questions because it didn't matter, none of this matter and he didn't have time to sit here with them and have a heart to heart, this was fucking dangerous. he hated that nick now seemed to have some kind of insight to his life, to his time with garrett but it wouldn't do nick any good, he was firm in his decision and if he had to knock the two of them out and get them out of here himself he would.

"shut up nicklas," he snapped, "just because you have some fucked up past you're still trying to atone for doesn't mean we all do," he threw his knowledge of jacob in his face, even if every word he spoke tasted like poison to his tongue. "you can't save me if that is what you think you're both doing here," his words were harsh and his tone cutting, making sure to show no remorse in his gaze despite the way speaking to them like this made him want to die. then octavia stepped forward, because of course she fucking did, and he raised the gun a little higher, tensing as he glared at her like a vicious cornered animal might. his jaw ached from how tightly he clenched it, finger nearly trembling where it hovered over the trigger to his gun. he wouldn't shoot her, he couldn't and she knew that.

his eyes flashed a moment when she spoke, every inch of him yearning to go to her, to drop his gun, to drop to his damn knees at her feet, but he held tight to his stance. any chance of weakness could be used against him, he knew that. and they were his fucking weakness, there was no denying that, it was why he had desperately needed them to stay away. stay as far away from him and garrett as he could get them. put as much distance between them and garrett, and for them to be here, now--- grant watched her, despite how it felt as though he was staring directly into the sun, how it took extra effort to keep his expression from softening just a touch. "thanks," he spat, "but you're both missing the fucking point. i don't want to, i'm not going to, now back. up." he warned in a hiss.

nick's attempted helpful threat had panic which appeared as fury as it expelled from him. "NO," he snarled, shooting the ground at their feet, the sound echoing and a small part of him died knowing that after everything she went through, it would frighten octavia, whether she expressed it or not. "I TRUSTED THAT YOU WOULD STAY PUT." he boomed, "I TRUSTED YOU TO LISTEN TO ME, TO NOT GO LOOKING FOR HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE. HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO TRUST EITHER OF YOU?" his voice nearly trembled with rage, eyes black with that hatred. he let his words hang in the air a moment before he spoke again and this time his voice was dangerously low. "i'm giving you one last chance to leave on your own free will," he threatened darkly, glancing at octavia because she was his only hope. "GO." he demanded in a sudden shout in hopes to frighten them away.

@thewholecrew: grant, octavia & nick | all american universe

i fucking remember. octavia shuddered at grant's words, the night in question coming back in haunting flashes. how could any of them forget? most days, octavia can't get rid of nick's agonizing cries, or garrett's accomplice from her mind. & now grant's gaze is just as black as that night, although this time she can't find his devastating fears that they won't reach nick in time...all she can see is his hatred and anger. the way every inch of him tightens and restricts. her hand coiled at her side to prevent herself from reaching for him, desperately wanting to touch him, to ease every ounce of hurt from him.

grant's booming voice fills the space, and immediately, nick shakes his head, adamant that it's simply untrue. more lies garrett has fed grant that clearly, he believes. nick can't let him stay. can't wipe garrett's sinister smirk from his mind that reminds him daily that the man who now haunts his every nightmare with torture had done the same to grant. taught him through torture. how is he supposed to turn his back to leave with octavia when he understands, perhaps more than she ever could, what torment garrett has to be putting grant through? every day, every hour that he's away from them feels suffocating. grant's gaze continues to avoid octavia, staring harsh hatred into nick, but he refuses to back down. eyes only skirting between the two occasionally because he can't make sense of this. grant loves octavia. nick's seen it. witnessed that love on more than one occasion but she hasn't broken his resolve.

as grant lifted his gun a touch more, nick's muscles tighten everywhere. his don't make me sends a rush of adrenaline and anxiety pumping through his veins as grant ordered them to go. he can't shoot octavia. can't hurt either of them, right? "what did you do grant?" nick asked, brows furrowing together as he moved to be at octavia's side, wishing his hands would function long enough to unholster her gun. he begged her to come, he has to keep her safe. "huh? what fucked up tragedy do you have inside of you that you think you've gotta atone for?" the questions keep spilling from his mouth, begging to understand why grant turns to garrett. the times nick had found himself itching for pain that only jacob could deliver were times of intense guilt. self-hatred for the damage he'd caused. "what did he do to you that makes you believe you deserve all this crap?"

clenching her teeth together, octavia's gaze lowered from grant to his weapon. not pointed at her, but close enough to create a barrier between the two. sorrowfilled eyes lifted to his misty gaze. her heart ached, shattering again much like it had when grant had finally picked up a phone call of hers. she promised to love him through anything, assuring him he was not the monster she knew he believed himself to be. he's not a monster. could never be to her. & it's why, despite the way he hurls venom their way, expressing that he doesn't want anything to do with either of them, she can't believe him. can't step back from him even as he does. a year ago...she might've believed him easier. she had when he told her he didn't want her, but now? after all she's experienced from him, all his declarations of love to her...she can't believe it's easily faded.

another step forward, she moved toward his gun without fear. he won't hurt her; she holds onto. nick could ask all his questions, try to find some reasoning in all of this madness but octavia...she simply didn't care. whatever grant felt he had done, whatever garrett made him believe or do since they'd been apart. none of it matters. just him. octavia took another step while watching grant carefully, despite nick's shaky protest, until she was nearly at his weapon. "i meant what i said, grant," she started, feeling a stabbing resignation that his mind was set. he won't return, but she'll still love him no matter what. "you can always come home to us, please hold onto that." she pleaded, her bottom lip trembling despite the way she tried to remain a force in front of him. "whatever it is...grant, brother, we'll kill him...we'll end it right now, you just gotta trust us." nick assured.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part Two 

Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song. 

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!

----

“I’m going for a walk.”

Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him. 

Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.

“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up. 

Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite. 

“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.

“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.

Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch. 

Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.

Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.

“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly. 

“I have to celebrate.”

Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.

“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.

Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”

They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good. 

“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.

“What?” he asked, turning to face her. 

“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said. 

“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin. 

A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years. 

They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long. 

“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”

She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”

“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it. 

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest. 

“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”

His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”

“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”

Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them. 

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted. 

“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway. 

“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.

Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.

The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.

“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”

Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. 

Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control. 

Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest. 

Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far. 

As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt. 

Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away. 

Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.

He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.

He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion. 

She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”

As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always. 

“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch. 

Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?” 

“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem a little jumpy.”

“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”

Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. 

“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”

She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes. 

“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.

The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks. 

“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her. “We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

---

PART II out now!

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 7

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2372

Warnings: Mention of car crash

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: Good Friends Good Friends and a Glass of Wine

****

Ghost

The flashback of her wreck struck her with surprising ferocity. Even after all this time, they still happened, and Ghost continued to hesitate at intersections, afraid to be hit again. It didn't help to see a wreck happen to someone this morning while jogging along the beach. She raced over to help, but an ambulance had witnessed the entire thing and was already helping the driver and the passengers. Perhaps the flashback also had something to do with Jake being in her life again, as infrequent as it was. Ghost knew he and Annalise were acquaintances, but she'd never realized how close they were until she saw them enter the Hard Deck from outside, his jacket around her shoulders. She returned it to him when they approached the bar, and the pair laughed and smiled with apparent ease. Even when Ghost had dinner with Juliette and Rooster a few nights ago, Juliette hardly touched on details about Hangman, although Ghost hadn't asked anything about him or their relationship, afraid it'd open the door to the question of how she knew him and the evident tension between them. Juliette was brilliant; sooner or later, she'd pick up on that tension, and an interrogation would be coming. Ghost didn't want to say anything about it because she feared the reason she was so upset with Jake only made sense to her. 

Ghost pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She tried not to think much about Jake Seresin, or her time with him, the good and the bad. It hurt too much. Besides, tonight was about friends and celebration. She glanced over at the presents for Juliette and Rooster in the passenger seat of her car. She'd gotten some for the parents- like a whiskey and beer glass that said "Because Twins"- and some clothes for the future babies that she couldn't wait to meet. 

Arriving at the magnificent Hotel del Coronado, Ghost parked her car and hid her presents in the back to give to Juliette later. She wasn't sure if the others had brought gifts, and she didn't want to make them feel like they should've. If they did, it would be an easy run to grab them from her car. She slipped on her heels, hating to drive with them on, and then hurried into the hotel, arriving ten minutes early, but not to her surprise, Juliette already waited in the lobby. She looked radiant in a navy blue dress and some red-soled silver stilettos, her blonde hair perfectly wavy and cat-eye eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, as it always was. 

"Are you going to look like a model when you give birth too?" Ghost joked, approaching her friend.

Juliette grinned, hugging Ghost. "That's the plan. It's what I keep telling Rooster that my hair and makeup will be done, although the heels-" she glanced at her Christians with a grimace- "might have to be shelved soon until the twins are born. The extra weight makes these hurt, and they usually never do."

"Then let's get to the restaurant and you off your feet. Come on." Looping her arm through Juliette's, the two girls strolled through the hotel to Serẽa. Both happily plopped down in their seats and took in the beautiful ocean view, chatting until Phoenix, Maria, Halo, and Firefly arrived.

"Were you waiting for us long?" Maria asked, taking a sip of her water.

Juliette shook her head. "No, we've been here about ten minutes. I'm so glad you all could come. Whatever you want and however much you want, it's all on me."

"Are you sure?" Ghost asked, skimming the high prices. 

"Positive. This is my treat. Lord knows I'll be eating a lot."

"You're also eating for three," Phoenix pointed out. "You okay if we drink?"

"Of course. Someone ought to. I'll ask if I can get a mocktail or something, you know, to keep up appearances," Juliette said playfully. A few moments later, the waiter came to their table and took their drink orders and appetizers. Firefly dominated the conversation for a while, talking about her wedding and her honeymoon. The girls let her; Firefly had a penchant for telling stories, and they caused a lot of laughter. 

Once the appetizers were cleared and their dinners arrived, the other girls managed to start conversing. Most of the questions were directed at Juliette, who happily answered them but threw back questions of her own. Ghost stayed quiet, simply happy to be there. It'd been a while since she'd been around friends, let alone girlfriends. Truth be told, she didn't have many. It's not that Ghost didn't get along with anyone. In fact, she got along with most. But the tragedy of Ghoul and Hangman left her scarred. Juliette remained one of the few who had broken down Ghost's walls, and Ghost considered the youngest Kazansky her closest friend. There was little she kept from her. 

"You know-" Firefly started, leaning back in her seat while they waited for their desserts to come- "as hot as Hangman is, I'm glad you ended up with Rooster."

"Hangman's not a bad guy, contrary to popular opinion," Juliette chastised. "He saved Rooster and Maverick. They wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him."

Phoenix smirked. "You'll never get me to admit this anywhere but here, but I agree. He's not too bad once you get past the cockiness and ego."

"He has reason to be. He's the best of the best, along with Mav and Rooster." Juliette checked the time on her phone. "Ladies, I'll be right back. I need the bathroom."

Ghost watched her friend strut away, garnering the looks of men as she walked by. Pregnant or not, she attracted their attention, and she had no idea. Juliette only had eyes for Rooster, and the sentiments were undoubtedly returned. Ghost wanted a love like theirs, a man who would fight heaven and raise hell to be with the woman he loved. 

"How are you settling in, Blackwood?" Firefly queried, her eyes alight with a hidden question that Ghost figured what it would be all too well.

"Good. Juliette and Rooster have been wonderful, and it's great to see everyone again and be on solid ground for a bit, but I do miss flying," Ghost answered, holding Firefly's gaze with a challenging one of her own. "Although, outside of the Hard Deck the first night I was here and seeing the Bradshaws, I haven't gone out again until tonight."

"I can change that," Phoenix said confidently. "Join us tomorrow at dogfight football."

Ghost frowned in confusion. "Dogfight football?"

"You play offense and defense at the same time. It's hectic, and we lose score about an hour in, but it's a lot of fun and a great workout. You can meet Maverick too."

"Maverick?" Ghost perked up at the name. "As in Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell?"

"The one and only. He's the one that introduced us to the game."

"You know what? Sure, count me in."

"Perfect! We've been down a man since Juliette discovered she was pregnant."

"Hangman's going to be there," Firefly pointed out, peering slyly over her wine glass. 

Here we go. Ghost sighed. "Yes, and? What about it?"

"With your history-"

"I can separate my personal feelings from the situation."

"Can you? I heard about your brief conversation with him at the Hard Deck. You can thank Fritz for that."

Ghost dropped her gaze from her friends, staring at the whiskey in her glass. "I wasn't expecting to see him there, let alone for him to say anything to me, and it... rattled me," Ghost confessed. "I shouldn't have said what I did, and it won't happen again. Besides, I'll have the rest of the Daggers to hang out with. I'll be fine."

"Happy faces, ladies," Phoenix warned, a smile gracing her lips. The girls followed suit, and Juliette appeared a few moments later with a waiter in tow, both carrying beautifully wrapped presents. Juliette set hers in front of Phoenix and Ghost, and the waiter placed his in front of Halo, Maria, and Firefly. After thanking him, Juliette took a seat and beamed at the girls, but Ghost noticed she fiddled with her wedding ring discreetly under the table.

"Some of you I've known for years, others just a few months, but the time doesn't matter because at this table sit my five closest friends," Juliette said, straightening in her seat. "You've all been with me through thick and thin at some point in my life and have continued to support me and those I love. This dinner and these gifts are a small token of my appreciation. So, open up!"

Excitedly, Ghost carefully undid the beautiful silver wrapping paper, revealing an elegant, navy blue box with her name etched in silver cursive. Lifting the lid revealed an assortment of goodies: the softest white robe with her name embroidered on the back in blue, a candle that said "Can't Get Hitched Without My Favorite Bitch," a mini bottle of prosecco, vanilla bath salt- Ghost's favorite calming scent- and a massive bag of Skittles, her favorite candy. On top of it all rested a note. In big fancy letters, it read: I got the ring, but now I need one more thing...

With shaking fingers, Ghost opened the card to finish reading despite knowing the question: Will you be my maid of honor?

"Yes, yes, and thousand times yes!" Ghost exclaimed, setting her box down and jumping up to hug Juliette. Her friend happily returned it, whispering in return, "I'm so glad you said yes!"

"Why wouldn't I?" Ghost asked, sniffling and trying to bite back the tears of joy threatening to spill over.

"I don't know. I've been worrying about things I shouldn't be, and this was one of them." Juliette had no further chance to explain as the other girls eagerly accepted her bridesmaid proposal, hugging her as tightly as they could. They only sat down when the waiter arrived with their desserts, but that hardly stopped their spirited mood as they pelted Juliette with questions about the wedding. 

"I don't know much outside of the color theme," Juliette insisted, shoveling a mouthful of her dessert into her mouth, "which is navy and silver, but I wanted to at least do something for it because I'm so excited, but I want to feel somewhat normal on my wedding day, and when you're carrying twins, it's kind of hard feel to like that."

"We'll be ready to do our bridesmaid duties the moment you start planning," Maria promised with a smile.

"Are there any ideas for a location?" Firefly queried.

"Absolutely none," Juliette confessed dismally. "I literally only know who I want as my bridesmaids, the color theme, and who's walking me down the aisle."

"Wait, who's walking you down the aisle?"

"Maverick. Since Dad won't be here, he's the closest thing I have to one. He doesn't know. I haven't asked him yet. I just hope my brothers don't get offended by my choice."

"They know how close you and Mav are," Phoenix remarked assuredly. "I bet they probably expect it."

"I hope so." 

Juliette fiddled with her ring some more, unnoticed by everyone but Ghost, who casually reached over and patted her shoulder and said, "He'll say yes."

Juliette smiled appreciatively at her friend and then carefully shifted the topic. The girls chatted until it was time to depart. Rooster picked up Juliette, greeting the girls with his typical, cheerful smile and Hawaiian shirt. He only left, however, once he was sure they'd all gotten to their cars safely. 

As Ghost drove home, her mind raced with what to do tomorrow. On the one hand, she loved the idea of getting to know the Daggers and making some much-needed friends, for as well as she could get along with people, she never found herself having as much of a social life as other people her age, no matter what age that might be. But, on the other hand, the fear of not fitting in, of being the odd man out, sent her nerves into overdrive. On top of that, Jake would be there. They hadn't seen each other since the trial for the accident. Maybe she should've blamed him for it; it would undoubtedly make her anger at him much more justifiable than the truth behind it. However, he'd been her closest friend and, for a time, her only friend. It hurt to see him, to see that he'd moved on and couldn't care less that they no longer had a place in each other's lives.

Could she handle being around him tomorrow for so long? Or had she lied to herself to save face in front of Firefly, who so aptly pointed out the harsh words she'd hurled at him. Ghost was better than that. She should've taken the high road, but she told the truth when she said his presence rattled her. It'd done more than that. It'd shaken her terribly. It made so many memories resurface, the good and the bad. 

I won't go. If I'm this upset about seeing him, then I shouldn't go. Then there's no risk. Ghost decided firmly. Besides, I'm not one of the Daggers. I don't belong with them. Maybe if Maverick invited me himself, I'd be more comfortable, but he didn't because he doesn't even know me, so, no. I'll stay home.

Ghost pulled into her garage and got out, only then realizing she'd forgotten something crucial in the trunk. Her presents for Juliette and Rooster. Sighing, she pulled out her phone and texted her friend, asking: Hey! Forgot to give you something at dinner earlier. Can I swing by tomorrow to drop it off?

Juliette's response was almost immediate: Of course! Rooster and I are leaving at 10 for dogfight football. Come by at 9:30? We can go to the beach together :)

Ghost groaned, wishing her friend hadn't said anything about the invitation. Maybe she could lie and say she wasn't feeling well? No, Juliette would sniff out that lie. She'd sniff out any lie. It appeared the decision had been made for Ghost about tomorrow.

She was going.

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7

If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)

[irish-trash-cash]

Oh mt GOD I need more of Oz and Nell just fucking there brains out

No Release

The Batman (2022) Oz Cobblepot x OC/Reader

Word Count: 2,300

Thank you for asking me to write more! Once again this is absolutely shameless smut. No plot- a few paragraphs and they’re fucking. I’m not sorry, I just want to ruin this old man’s life.

I’ve been rewatching The Sopranos and James Gandolfini is making me think filthy things about Oz.

Warnings: Sexual content, strong language.

-

“We’ll just be real quiet about it when Carmine’s around.” Oz’s words echo in Nell’s head.

Yeah, real fucking quiet.

Oz was seated across from them in a leather armchair, and Nell was incredibly distracted by the sound of his ring tapping his whisky glass as he did his damnedest to give them his best fuck-me eyes.

In the middle of a meeting with the aforementioned Carmine.

Nell was tense, to say the least. It was taking everything in her not to check Oz out. He was dressed pretty casually- a white button down and navy slacks, paired with his usual suspenders and a colorful tie. He takes a moment to cuff his sleeves- and Nell’s eyes trail to the flex of his hands and the glint of his Rolex as he rolls the material up his forearms.

Their gazes meet again and he smiles- Oz knows exactly what he’s doing.

They hadn’t been… intimate since that night in his office- they’d hardly had time for one another. Sure, Nell had been around him every day while they were on the clock, but they’d taken enough of a risk fucking in his office during operating hours, and it wasn’t like they had much time in private. A fact that was beginning to drive Nell up a wall.

Their frustration wasn’t going unnoticed- Oz had seen the tension in them all week and he loved it. He’d gone out of his way to touch them however he could- simply because he could- and the effect he had on them was a sight to behold. The way they’d lean toward him and sigh as he runs a hand over the small of their back- Nell’s suit separating them too much to enjoy it- pulling him in close for a kiss before leaving the Lounge in the early morning and returning to their respective apartments.

Nell does their best not to blush as Oz stares them down- they don’t even register what Carmine is saying- the only thing on their mind is how quickly the meeting will be over with so they can get Oz alone. It had been a while since Nell had been serious with anyone- and they realized after a few days that their imagination was not enough to sate them. They wanted Oz- his hands, his mouth, his words- fuck. They can feel themself throb at the thought of leaving the meeting- following him back to the Maserati and pulling him into the backseat. It was pouring rain and late at night, surely no one would know if he just bent them over and-

“Have a good night, Carmine.” Oz’s words bring Nell back to reality as he stands, and Nell obediently follows, nodding at their shared boss and finally turning to the door. She feels warm, and she thanks god that her collared shirt hides the lingering bruises along her neck.

The tension between them is palpable as Nell follows Oz down the hall. It’s a Wednesday night and there’s no chance the Lounge will have any visitors. So Nell once again decides fuck it and reaches forward, wrapping a hand around Oz’s arm and pulling him hard to the left. He protests of course, but Nell silences him with a kiss that he eagerly reciprocates- teeth clashing as they throw open the door to one of the Club’s private rooms and back inside.

Oz knows exactly what her intentions are, and he closes the door behind them as Nell grabs him by the tie, pulling him closer. He makes quick work of her jacket- thankful that she wasn’t wearing a side arm tonight- and tosses it to the floor while she makes quick work of her belt.

“You’re that fucking needy, huh Doll?” Oz practically sneers, lips brushing against hers as deft hands grab at the buttons of her shirt. If any other man had treated them this way- getting handsy- speaking to them so filthily- Nell would have knocked his lights out. But coming from Oz? It was so enticing. Nell feels themself flush as he just manhandles them, backing them into the pool table at the center of the room, and Nell doesn’t resist as he grabs them by the collar and bends them over it.

At that point Nell realizes neither of them had turned the lights on and they bury their head in their arms to stifle a moan as Oz’s hands find their way under their shirt, trailing down their waist and giving a squeeze. The sound of the rain outside is loud enough to mask any noises they might make, but Nell doesn’t trust themself to stay silent, especially when the Lounge adjacent is completely empty.

But Nell curses as Oz’s hands move to their waistband, tugging their pants down their hips and smoothing rough hands over the bare skin. Nell wishes she could see him, but the darkness was making it so much more arousing- and it takes everything in them not to moan as he presses rough fingers into their thighs.

“Alright, Sweetheart. Let Oz take care of ya’.” He mutters, breath ghosting over them. Nell realizes he’s dropped to his knees behind them, and they arch into his touch as he squeezes their thighs and spreads, revealing them to him in the dark. “Just try to be quiet for me, okay?”

Nell wonders if they’re dreaming as Oz leans forward and pushes his hot tongue into the apex of their thighs- lapping at them in long, slow strokes- and Nell whimpers, hand coming up to cover their mouth as he hums contentedly, the vibrations shooting straight through them. Nell can’t help but let out a gasp as he sucks hard, right there-

He pulls away for a second, and Nell can’t help but push their hips back into him.

“I told you to be fucking quiet, Nellie.” Oz scolds her, and Nell feels herself flush as he spits on it before tasting her again, tongue dipping into her center as he brings a hand up to tease in hard circles. It felt so fucking good it hurt, and Nell nearly chokes as Oz moans into her, flattening his tongue to spread her out. His hands move up their legs, hooking inside and spreading them wider. Nell stifles a sob as Oz buries his face into it from behind while they’re braced against the table, thighs shaking. Their breath catches and they’re almost-

“Oz, I’m gonna come- I-” Nell whines, but goddamn him- Oz pulls away again, and Nell squirms in near-distress at the absence of his warm mouth. They’re so fucking wet they can feel it drip down their thighs, and they’re relieved when Oz stands up and runs a forefinger through the slick, spreading it over them.

“Oh Honey, you’re such a slut.” Oz chastises, just caressing her for a second before giving it a slap. The sound echoes obscenely, and Nell lets out a sob as he pushes two thick fingers into her with ease, alleviating the growing pressure in her core. He can’t get enough of the way she sighs below him as he breaks her in, and Nell realizes that they can feel his gold ring nearly enter them with each movement. Their hand covers their mouth again, in an attempt to muffle the moans they spill as he scissors them open- the sound of their arousal filling the room when he hooks his fingers just right.

That’s when Nell hears something from the hall outside.

Nell makes a move to stand- they know the door doesn’t lock so they’re acting on instinct, but Oz reacts faster, placing his hands on their hips and pushing them face-down onto the pool table, pinning them in place.

Every instinct is telling Nell to move Oz off of her and re-dress herself, but the thrill of it- the idea of someone walking in and seeing her spread open over a fucking pool table by her boss? It was unfathomable. So they stay still for a moment- revel in the throb in their abdomen as Oz puts weight on their lower back- forcing them to arch into him as they gasp at how hard he is just from toying with her.

“You wanna get fucked that badly, huh Sweetheart?” Oz whispers as he leans over her, hands shifting down the curve of her hips before leaving. Nell doesn’t have to guess where he goes- she can hear the sound of his suspenders snapping undone- and she wishes she could grab hold of something besides the smooth surface of the table. Oz elects to stay fully-dressed again, releasing himself from the confines of his dress slacks and dragging through the slick between Nell’s thighs.

“Please-” Nell tries their best to be quiet as Oz teases them, coating himself- hands holding firmly onto their waist as he rolls his hips forward and sinks into them. Nell can’t help but moan at the feeling of him splitting them open like this, and Oz is quick to quiet them, leaning forward to wrap a hand over their mouth. Then he’s pulling them toward him until she’s arching off the table and her back meets his chest, their hips slotted together as he hits something deep inside of her. He’s so thick, Nell realizes- and she whines against the hand over her face as she throbs around him.

Oz pulls her closer to his chest and fuck- he reaches down and pushes his fingers onto her, rubbing in slow circles as he just stays still. Oz holds her there, listening to the muffled sounds she’s making from behind his hand before he inches out, and Nell chokes as he nearly leaves her before pushing right back in to the hilt.

Oz takes a minute to roll his hips into theirs and fuck he can feel them squeeze along every vein as they come, moaning against his hand, and Oz does his best to fuck them through it. It takes every ounce of his self-control not to come with them, his hips stuttering for a moment before he has to fully pull out, still dripping.

“One isn’t good enough for ya’?” Oz teases as Nell shifts in his arms, trying to get him back inside. She says something- lips moving against his palm, and he obliges her, sliding back in before releasing her mouth, his hand trailing down to settle around her neck.

“Fuck, you feel good.” Nell whines as they squeeze him, and Oz loves the way they sound praising him like that. As they start grinding their hips back against him, Oz lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding- rolling into them as he sets a pace with shallow thrusts. Hand still around her throat, he tilts her head, sinking his teeth into the side of her neck, a little too high on the collar.

Nell wants to be mad at that- she wants to pull away and tell him off, but the reality of him marking her- wanting people to know she belongs to someone. It’s fucking feral , and Nell can’t stop the helpless way she leans back into him when he squeezes her jugular- his other hand trailing down to help as he works her into coming around him again.

“Don’t- don’t stop. Please.” Nell can barely manage to say through gasping breaths as they come again, clamping down around him like a vice. Oz releases them, getting them face-down into the table once more- and Nell blushes at just how wet they sound as Oz fucks the tension out of them. He puts weight on their shoulders, and the new angle nearly makes Nell scream- and they hope the edge of the pool table against their hips will leave a nice bruise to remember it by.

Oz curses as they shift backwards, meeting his pace, taking on some of the work. They know he’s close- they can tell by the way his movements falter and his hands squeeze tighter, moving around to pull their thighs apart and open them up to him more.

“Fuck-” Oz rasps “Where-”

“Jesus, just fill me.” Nell chokes out, and Oz does. He fucks into them once, twice- and then he’s shuddering above them, gasping out their name as he comes. White-hot pleasure rips through him as he growls, giving them exactly what they asked for.

Oz pulls out much quicker than they want him to, releasing their hips and moving up, warm hands settling on Nell’s shoulders.

“You alright Doll, was that too much?” Oz asks, and Nell lets out a soft laugh. His concern is endearing, and she wishes he could be this soft around them more often. They yearn to be that close to him- and they can tell Oz wants the same. But what would they even do? He’s still their boss- it wasn’t like he was going to ask them on a date- anything public was very strictly off-the-table.

“I’m fine, Oz- that was-“ Nell assures him, catching their breath as they push off the tabletop. “I needed that.” they add, as they fix their slacks before feeling around for their discarded jacket.

“So,” Oz starts, and Nell turns to where his voice is as he cracks open the door to check the hall. They watch as the light illuminates the scar across his cheek and his gold teeth as he smiles, and Nell desperately wants to kiss him. Their eyes meet as he continues-

“You want me to make you something for dinner?”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 5

Summary: A very special dinner brings a very special moment for the Darkling and his wife.

Warnings: angst, sexual innuendoes, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four  

=================================

She felt caught in the riptide, finding it hard to stay upright. As the daughter of a general, Y/N had seen so many evils, so much hurt, yet she never buckled under pressure.

Staring at the empty spot beside her, she laid there while battling shadows in her head. So filled with rage, she wondered who she’s becoming as a part of her longed to feel his touch. Perhaps he was right, she’s a foolish girl who is trying to win a game where the rules are nonexistent.

Having stayed awake most of the previous night, she didn’t expect trouble sleeping. With a heavy sigh, she abandoned the bed they shared ��� it felt too intimate to remain there now. They’ve only ever kissed and it was never planned nor did it happen in the very bed she felt is so incredibly vast, so lonely and cold when he didn’t stay there with her.

Pacing the room as she saw his shadow do the night before, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if he had trouble sleeping alone too. It was less than a full week since they married and she already cursed the smallest part of her that seemed to care for him.

Men are easy to love. A woman’s heart was made to care and love those near her. Mistaking love and trust is what a woman should never do. Love and trust are separate entities, one is given, the other must be earned.

Remembering her mother’s words eased her self-loathing. If she dared to love the Darkling, it wasn’t entirely under her control. Trusting him was different. She wasn’t as naïve as to allow the echoes of her heart dictate what her mind long acknowledged – he isn’t trustworthy.

And as the stars rise in the sky, she paced the room tirelessly. Arguing with herself, she paid no mind to the night sky she loved so much. If she had, Y/N might have realized a man with dark skies for eyes had trouble looking away from her shadow.

Exhausted, Y/N rose with the dawn. She had barely scraped up a few hours of decent sleep, tormented by his words even in dreams.

“Enter”, she yawned as Genya readily walked inside. The maids rushed to the bed, willing to change the bed sheets they couldn’t last time as Y/N had sent them away.

“Stop!” She exclaims as they reach Kirigan’s side of the bed, a slightly panicked look on her face relaying uncontrollable desires she had no chance of understanding.

Frowning, Genya licked her lips. While Y/N wasn’t sure what caused her outburst, she believed to know the root. “Leave us. You will be asked to change the sheets when Y/N desires it.”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N turned away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be”, Genya mussed. “We have a dinner to prepare you for.”

“Yes, of course.” Y/N managed a smile, briefly looking to Genya. “I’ll be alone which gives me a perfect chance to find new allies.”

Blinking fast, Genya’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure who could ally with us in the Palace. Everyone’s charmed by our General. If you’d just work with him, they would all be with you too.”

“He works for the emperor.” Y/N reminded her.

Running her hands through her hair, Y/N didn’t know if she could ever trust him enough to tell him the truth. Her plans, her fight, it’s her life’s work. She came into that palace with intention of burning it down. The emperor must die and anyone else who’d fuel the flames of war must perish along with him. The war had claimed her mother’s life, of thousands of humans and Grisha alike, Y/N aimed to end it. And to end it, she had to destroy those who started it, those who refused to implement equality between species, as Kirigan called them. Humans and Grisha must be seen equally worthy, they must ally or they will be exterminated like vermin by surrounding enemies.

She grieved for her mother every day, even now as a decade had passed. Grief is really just love one cannot give to the other. It’s all the unspent love, gathering in the corners of her eyes, the lump in her throat and inside the hollowed heart that’s trying to beat in her chest. If her sorrow was but snow that could melt with coming spring, she’d shake it off her shoulder and be done with it. It doesn’t just disappear or heal with time, she could not just let it go and forgive. Y/N survived the loss of her mother by making a vow, one she was closer to fulfilling.

“Should I prepare your usual kefta?” Genya asked, holding the blue one over her forearm.

Shaking her head, Y/N turned to her with a smile. If she wants to succeeded, she must use all weapons at hand. Being the General’s wife is one of the weapons at her disposal.

“I was thinking about a different color for tonight.”

“How different are we talking?”

Smirking, Y/N’s eyes flickered to Kirigan’s kefta. “Black.”

“No one wears black but Kirigan”, Genya reminds her.

“Until he married. I believe I’m allowed to wear his color.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Genya sighed heavily. “Alright. As long as you allow me to make a few modifications.”

Anticipating the dinner, Y/N felt like a goddess in the kefta Genya had crafted for her. It fit her perfectly, adjusted just above the waist as it properly accentuated her curves. The closed collar wrapped around her neck, fallen stars creating a golden woven blaze as a necklace, while moondust adorned the long, skin tight lacey sleeves. The bottom acted as a floor length dress with a long slit revealing skin up to middle of her thigh.

Entering the room with her head held high and Genya on her hand, Y/N felt even more confident about the eclipsed sun stitched across her heart. It was bound to attract attention if the rest of her makeshift kefta inspired dress didn’t.  

The moment she took a step inside, everybody’s head turned. The chatter died down, replaced by astonished gasps of pure awestruck admiration.

“I believe you’ve created a masterpiece”, Y/N whispers to Genya whose smile widens.

“You are what makes it so spectacular”, Genya winks.

“Don’t be modest. We both know it’s not in your nature.”

Giggling, Genya nods, “You’re right. I’m brilliant and this”, she steps aside to give her a once over again, “You are proof.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N felt her cheeks darken. Her plan was to draw attention so any potential ally she speaks to would be more inclined to accept her request, but she didn’t expect for everyone to stop and stare.

Tugging her by the arm, Genya pulled her closer. “You’ll never guess who is here”, she spoke in a hushed tone, looking to the left as the rest of the guests began speaking again and the music played softly in the background.

Following her line of view, Y/N’s heart came to a near stop as her eyes locked on his.

“Wasn’t he supposed to leave last night?” Genya whispers, but Y/N could hardly speak.

Breath caught in her throat, Y/N stared back at Kirigan who seemed to be just as breathless. She looked like a dream, a golden bird that carried all the happiness of the world on its wings.

“He didn’t”, Y/N looked away, knitting her eyebrows. “Why didn’t he”, she tried to finish her initial thought, but she couldn’t. If she spoke of the sudden ache that settled after the initial shock of his presence dispersed, she’d hate herself more. She’s weak if her feelings are hurt by a single night spent alone in a bed. She was certain now. She is foolish.

“You won’t be able to network tonight”, Genya’s frown made Y/N chuckle.

“You’ve been frowning so often since we met.”

Shrugging, Genya leaned in discreetly. “I can afford a few worry lines. I’ll just erase them later.”

Playfully rolling her eyes, Y/N smiled brightly. She would not allow Kirigan to dampen her mood. He can stay on his side of the room and she won’t spare him a single glance.

“I’ll test the waters”, Genya promised, “If I find anyone that we can work with, we can test their loyalty later.”

Glancing over Y/N’s shoulder, Genya’s eyes widened ever so slightly.

Frowning lightly, Y/N glanced at what has her so perplexed only to huff in frustration.

“Black suits you”, the Darkling compliments her. Holding out a hand for her to take, he glances at his open palm before raising his brow. He’s challenging her.

Looking around, she realizes everyone’s waiting for her reaction. As he told her once before, they may not be a love match, but their arrangement must seem successful to the unsuspecting eye.

“Dance with me and pretend they don’t exist”, his voice softened and she couldn’t believe this is the same man who so cruelly baited her, branding her as foolish earlier. How can he act as if nothing happened when she was still reeling from it? Not that he’d know, she always put care in every move she made around him.

She placed her hand on the palm of his, holding her breath as she chained her gaze to the abyss in his. There’s no going back, she thinks, nearly shuddering as he places his free hand on her hip.

“I thought you were gone by now”, she mussed. Choosing to take control of the conversation, she kept her neck straight as it secured a proper distance between their faces.

“We had a slight delay”, he said, “I’ll be gone tonight.”

Humming, she swallowed thickly. Avoiding looking at others, she remained in a staring match with her husband.

“How did you sleep?” The Darkling smirked, watching her eyes narrow at him.

“Quite well. Did you enjoy sharing your bed with someone else?” While her voice seemed cold and unattached, her words were anything but.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy there?” Pursing his lips, he nearly laughed as she stepped on his foot. “I’ll take that as yes.”

“I’m merely concerned how it would look if word of you sleeping elsewhere got out. I prefer my pride and honor untouched and if you choose to find a lover, I should assume you’ll be discreet.”

Licking his lips, the great general didn’t laugh at her or sneer. There was no angry squinting or vile words. For once, he had a serious expression on his face that had nothing to do with the army or their arguments.

“I’m not the kind who would seek a lover while married. Even if the marriage is a mere arrangement.”

Scoffing, she clenched her jaw as he pulled her waist closer to him. 

“How many lovers have you taken?”

He raised a brow, “That’s a horrible question.”

“Because you lost count?” She narrows her eyes, the lips he found himself so fascinated with formed a thin, red line.

He doesn’t respond, so she tried again, “Why have you not married before?”

Now he looked amused, “That’s even worse!”

Shrugging, she smirks, “Well, ask me a question then! If all mine are so awful, let me hear yours.”

“Do you think I’m a very good liar or a very unlovable being?” Slowly pulling her body flush against his, Darkling looked deep into her eyes. “I’ve never loved anyone and I’ve manipulated everyone who has fallen in love with me. So?” Inhaling sharply, he watched a disarray of emotions cross her face as he asked again, “Liar or unlovable?”

“A liar. Because you are lying, not just to me but yourself.” Her breathing is shallow, strained even. “You have a heart, General, but you’re cowering like a scared little boy instead of just facing the facts.”

“And what are those?” His voice is darker as are his intentions.

If they were alone, she was certain he’d be kissing her lips now. For some reason, it seemed he enjoyed their arguments. He liked it when she fought him almost like he didn’t know any other form of affection.

“That you care. You care and you hate yourself for it.” Stopping their dance, she managed a faint smile. “But don’t worry, I’m not spending my time waiting for you to accept it.”

Brushing his fingers across the left side of her face, he cocked his head ever so slightly, “Is it possible you’ve got this all wrong? From where I stand, you’re the one who cares – perhaps a bit too much? Let me remind you, this marriage is a sham. You are my wife, but I do not love you, I do not care for you and if you were killed right in this very spot, I would avenge you but solely for the arrangement to remain unsullied.”

Nodding, more to herself than him, she took a step back from him. For the first time ever, she drew back. “For once, we’re on the same page of the same book.”

The music stops. Looking to the man clinking his glass, Y/N’s lips part. She didn’t even realize it, but too often she entirely forgoes breathing in Kirigan’s presence.

Taking a deep breath, she nearly laughs. Kirigan…General…The Darkling. She even called him husband, yet she never even heard his first name. How odd is it to marry a man whose first name is a mystery to you, she thought.

“If you’ll excuse me”, she nods curtly without sparing him a glance. 

Her seat at the dinner table was beside Genya, while Kirigan was placed all the way on the other side of the room. She smirked, satisfied she’ll have some peace during her meal. She never quite liked the table formation in a wide U form before, but she blessed the ones who created it on this evening.

Studying him from afar, she couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him. It wasn’t some cosmic connection that she hoped she’d share with her husband, rather wishful thinking. Longing for him is out of the question. He may be the most handsome man she had ever seen, but it’s not at all something she’d thank the saints for. If he were less appealing, she’d at least be free of torment his looks bring. The devil is real and he’s not a goat like man as humans believed. There are no horns, no tails – he’s beautiful, a fallen angel, but an angel nonetheless.

“You’re staring at him again”, Genya speaks in a hushed tone, her smile audible.

“I’m not”, Y/N replies, “I simply looked over in a direction and he happened to be seated there.”

“Then why was that look on your face?” Genya raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Y/N asks, incredulous. “What look?”

“You have a certain way of looking at him”, she informs. Letting out an tired huff, Genya explains, “You look at him and it’s like you’re staring at the night sky littered with stars.”

“So?”

Genya looks down before whispering, “You love night skies littered with stars.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N stared at her food for the rest of the evening. One bite after another and her plate was quickly emptied. Her stomach felt like it would burst, but she didn’t care. Most people claim they can’t eat under stress, but she was the opposite – her appetite only grew.

“He’s standing up”, Genya informed her and despite wishing she remained impassive, Y/N’s eyes shot up to where he was sitting.

With a lump at the back of her throat, she watched him as he headed to the door. A part of her hoped he’d be decent enough to bid his farewell, to acknowledge her at least. That part of her needed to be destroyed, she decided. It’s the part of her that would ruin her mission and for what? If she truly wanted to, she could have him on his back and under her. If she wanted him, he’d be hers – at least his body would. The principle she held onto was more important and so, she swallowed thickly and looked to her empty plate in order to stop her weakness from showing.

As she looked away, the Darkling looked back at her from across the room. He felt a strange tightness in his heart and once he saw she didn’t follow him with her gaze, his heart dropped. Furrowing his eyebrows, he kept his gaze on her for a while longer – her beauty was unmatched by anything he had ever seen. White looked good on her, every color did – but black fabric hugging her curves could bring a dead man back to life.

With a heavy heart and frown etched on his face, the Darkling turned his back and left the room, the Palace, the strangest, most beautiful creature he ever laid eyes on.

He carried her in his thoughts ever since. It aggravates him how quickly she’s gotten under his skin. Most of the month before their marriage was finalized was spent in petty comments about their armies or their distaste for one another. She was insufferable, maddening and entirely different from what he expected.

And yet, even then, the Darkling hoped she’d lose her patience and either leave or tell him she loves him. If she left, he’d be free of her and the shackles of an undesirable marriage, but if she told him she loves him, perhaps he’d believe her. If he knew there was ever a possibility of her loving him, he’d dare assume he might be deserving of love – because she may have dubbed him a liar, but he believes himself to be unlovable too. He never saw the point in allowing himself to feel a thing for her when it would be futile, wasted emotions on a woman sworn to hate him.

Once he was done chasing a rumor of a stag up north, the Darkling had to accept it too was a futile. Going after a legendary animal wasted so much of his time that he couldn’t even believe how foolish he’s become too. The stag must not be real after all.

Approaching Little Palace, he felt almost eager to run up to their shared chambers and see her. Even if she’d likely have a few choice words for him, he hoped he could make her blood boil just to hear her speak. He’d never admit it, but he missed someone he could converse with without dying of boredom.

“General”, Genya rushed to Kirigan who nearly growled at the distraction. However, Genya seemed distraught, panicked enough to draw his attention.

“Yes?”

Swallowing thickly, she wiped a stray tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s Y/N.”

His heart stops at the sound of her shaky voice, his jaw clenching before speaking. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“She went for a ride this morning and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Darkling’s gaze hardens as he grips Genya’s arms and shakes her lightly. “What do you mean?!”

“We sent riders after lunch, because I was worried she missed two meals already”, gasping for air, Genya’s tears made tracks, “The snow covered her tracks.”

She left me, he thought. She deemed me unlovable, unworthy. She left.

“They managed to find her mare”, Genya continues through tears, “It was decapitated and left in the woods.”

“Woods?” He frowns, wondering why she’d stray from the meadow and then he realized. He’s the one she rode into the woods with. She must have thought the woods were safe. They were at the time, only because he was with her and he’d never let any harm come to her.

“There were signs of struggle, but the snow is making it hard for us to track them.”

Releasing a visibly shaken Genya, he grunts. Biting his lower lip, he paced before her as his hand ran through his hair. She never saw him so worried, so mad before. He looked like a man walking a fine line – a line between madness and sanity.

“Call everyone”, he orders, “We must find her.”

Exhaling in relief, Genya smiled as Ivan emerged, having heard everything.

“Why would we do that?”

A pause ensues as the Darkling takes a step toward Ivan. “I haven’t made a promise in so long”, he spoke but in truth, it’s been hundreds of years since he made anyone a promise. “I promised her I’d protect her.” His voice was ragged, but controlled. “So I’m making a new promise right here, if they harm a single hair on her head, I will end them all. I will do it with a smile on face and I will bathe in their blood!”

They took her from him and he had every intention of ripping the world apart with his bare hands and for once, the thought of how far he’d go for that insolent woman didn’t frighten him. He barely knows her, he certainly doesn’t love her, but Saints help those who touched his wife.

=============================

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Part 6

[robininthelabyrinth]

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Nie Mingjue was always glad for an excuse to leave a boring political meeting, although he was surprised that Jiang Yanli had been bold enough to send a note requesting his immediate presence before they were married.

Certain jibes had been made at his expense by his fellow sect leaders, of course, but he had shrugged them off. Let them think him overly indulgent; what did he care? He enjoyed having someone to dote on when he had the chance, and anyway he didn’t think Jiang Yanli would ask him to come out so quickly over nothing – though it was interesting she asked for him to join her, rather than asking for her brother.

“Mistress Jiang?” he said, walking into the room in Jinlin Tower where she was waiting for him. Her posture was tense, her hands clutched together under her sleeves. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you know where the Wen sect survivors were sent?” she asked. “It’s a matter of – some urgency. If you don’t know, we’ll have to find out another way.”

We, he thought. Wei Wuxian, no doubt, since Jiang Cheng was still inside the hall, enduring the politics that came with any meeting between sects. And Wei Wuxian did not, generally speaking, have the best ways of figuring things out.

“The Jin sect has not shared that information publicly,” he said slowly, and saw her shoulders slump in disappointment. “But that does not mean I don’t know it. What is the issue?”

Jiang Yanli explained in a few sentences: a woman looking for a brother, a young man who had helped rescue Wei Wuxian during the war, a doctor’s assistant, who’d even gone so far as to poison his own people to save members of the Jiang sect and then spent the majority of the war in a prison, and yet now they thought he had been trapped in a prison camp, being abused…a young man surnamed Wen.

A young man called Wen Ning, or Wen Qionglin. It was not a name Nie Mingjue remembered.

But the one searching for Wen Ning was his sister, Wen Qing - and that was a name he did remember.

Wen Ruohan’s favorite nurse.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenched at the thought. He’d spent more than half his life avenging his family, and had always assumed the Wen sect would do the same if they were allowed to live; he had never stinted on hating all of them without exception, without quarter. Wen Ruohan was a murderer and a tyrant, and his family supported him with nary a word in protest until the tables had turned and it was their own lives at stake – was it not evil to support evil? Could Wen Ruohan have done as much as he did without Wen Qing’s medicines and treatments, without Wen Qionglin’s silent compliance? Did it really matter that they had been threatened, as so many other people had been threatened?

No. Duress could explain many things, but it never excused standing aside in the face of murder. Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing were, at best, accessories to a hundred crimes, and deserved exactly none of his sympathy.

And yet.

It was not them that was making a request of him.

Patient, calm, gentle. Forgiving. These were all traits he wanted in his bloodline, traits he lacked and knew he lacked. Traits that Jiang Yanli possessed: matching strength to weakness, weakness to strength.

Nie Mingjue did not love Jiang Yanli, not yet, but if he was not willing to even trust her, it was better not to marry at all.

“Very well,” he said, deciding. “Are they waiting outside? We will go at once. Huaisang will make my excuses.”

“…Huaisang will?”

“He’ll stutter and obfuscate and make a tolerable mess of it,” Nie Mingjue said, not without a mixture of exasperation and fondness – he knew his brother too well. “And as a result they won’t know where or why we’ve gone for at least another half a shichen, if not more.”

(Knowing Nie Huaisang, he might ‘accidentally’ end up implying that Nie Mingjue had gone to enjoy some afternoon delight with his soon-to-be bride, but Nie Mingjue was too polite to mention something like that to Jiang Yanli.)

Jiang Yanli nodded, and slipped her hand into his, squeezing briefly. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know what it all means to you.”

“I can only give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, trying to be honest but probably coming off as harsh. “For the rest of it, I will decide when we are there.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have his sword, as always these days, and Wen Qing, shivering behind him, had lost hers, but Nie Mingjue brought along four Nie sect cultivators and ordered two to act as escorts, with the other two trailing behind in the event of trouble. He rather liked Wei Wuxian, especially after that stunt he’d pulled in protest of the Jin sect’s little shooting ‘entertainment’, but demonic cultivation was dangerous and Wei Wuxian’s mentality was said to be unstable. Nie Mingjue had lost so many of his own already - he was taking no chances.

“How did you know where they’re located, Chifeng-zun?” Wei Wuxian asked from where he was balancing behind a long-suffering Nie Zonghui. “I wouldn’t have thought the Jin sect shared that information.”

“Are you not familiar with the concept of spies?” Nie Mingjue asked, voice dry. Jiang Yanli, in his arms, giggled – she’d planned to send them along without her, looking disappointed and worried and resigned, and she’d brightened like a flower exposed to the sun when he’d informed her that she was coming along with them. She was accustomed to being left behind, and he intended to change that.

Besides, they were only going to the Qiongqi Path, which was solidly in Jin territory, to a prisoner of war camp staffed by Jin cultivators. It was hardly a dangerous expedition, and he did not expect to encounter anything that might be a threat, excluding perhaps his own temper.

His temper did, in fact, make an appearance.

“Jin Guangshan swore to Lan Xichen that the Wen remnants would be resettled peacefully,” he snarled, eyes red with rage and Baxia in his hand as the Jin sect cultivators - which had been tormenting the civilians here and that had gotten into Wei Wuxian’s face when he’d charged over first to shout at them - cowered in front of him. They were willing to challenge Wei Wuxian, but it seemed that Nie Mingjue was a different story – bullying the weak and cowering before the strong. Pathetic! “I had not realized that our understanding of the word peaceful was so different. Clearly I will need to have words with Sect Leader Jin.”

A hand touched his arm, and he looked down, surprised; virtually no one approached him when he was in a rage.

Jiang Yanli stood beside him, looking up at him fearlessly. “As much as I’m sure you’d like to chop them into pieces, it’ll be more effective to present them as evidence,” she said, and even smiled, as if they were sharing a joke between the two of them. “We can save the chopping for later. Following the trial that I’m certain Sect Leader Jin will insist upon.”

The Jin cultivators paled, clearly realizing that the likelihood of Sect Leader Jin standing behind them rather than immediately making them scapegoats was very low. They would be much more likely to spill whatever secrets they might have now, knowing that their fates depended more on Nie Mingjue’s mercy than on Jin Guangshan’s, than they would have even in the face of his threats.

Baxia grumbled in reluctant approval, and all of a sudden Nie Mingjue could not wait for Jiang Yanli to have a saber of her own and to cultivate its spirit – he thought it would be a very fine spirit indeed.

“Very well,” he allowed, and put Baxia back on his back, noting but ignoring the respectful looks his cultivators were sending Jiang Yanli. It was nothing more than what ought to be, the proper role of a Nie furen: to incite when appropriate, to restrain when necessary. “Zonghui, return to Lanling and bring a larger force so that we can transport the Wen civilians to safety. And – there’s no need for subtlety.”

By which he meant that he wanted every cultivator who could fly their own sword to be tagging along out of curiosity, and Nie Zonghui knew it. He saluted and left at once.

“What do we do now, then?” Wei Wuxian asked, shifting from one foot to the other. He looked anxious and young, clearly startled by the abrupt lack of violence and worried about Wen Ning – the young man had some nasty injuries that hadn’t been treated by the Jin sect, his body tossed away like so much refuse, but they’d arrived early enough that his sister was avidly working to care for him. She had said that his chances were good, since they had arrived before his consciousness had slipped away.

If they’d arrived later…

If Nie Mingjue hadn’t had the information ready to hand from the spies he disliked using, if Wei Wuxian had had to get the information out of the Jin sect directly, if he had had to ride here from Lanling rather than fly a sword, if he’d gotten stuck in that thunderstorm that was rapidly heading their way…

Well, that hadn’t happened. There was no point in wondering what if.

“Now? Nothing. We wait. Nie Xizhe, Wu Shude, take some of the Wen civilians and have them help you tie up all the Jin sect cultivators; I don’t want anyone sneaking away, and there’s not enough of us to guard them while they’re free. Wei Wuxian, walk with me.” He glanced to his side. “With us, I mean.”

Wei Wuxian obediently trotted over to where Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli were waiting, and Nie Mingjue led the three of them over to a nearby ridge where they could have a little privacy. The storm was getting ever closer, he noticed.

“Very well,” he said finally. “It’s just us now. What debt do you owe the Wens?”

Wei Wuxian froze. “Debt? I don’t – I already said –”

“There’s something you’ve left out,” Nie Mingjue said. “The way you act with them…”

He didn’t know how to put it into words. It wasn’t merely chivalrous altruism, nor even friendship, that was driving Wei Wuxian – he was desperate to help, manic with the need to do something; there was something else there. Some secret. He knew, because Nie Mingjue knew secrets and what they did to a man, even if he was keeping it for the best reasons in the world.

“A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asked when Wei Wuxian said nothing, when Nie Mingjue said no more. “You know you can tell me, right?”

His lips were pressed together, his hand tight on his flute until his knuckles were white. He shook his head. “Shijie,” he whispered. “Don’t ask, please. Don’t.”

At least he’d admitted there was something.

“Your conduct is causing trouble for Yunmeng Jiang,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wei Wuxian turned tormented eyes on him, even as Jiang Yanli’s hand tightened on his. “It’s a Great Sect, but your brother is young, untried, and sensitive to criticism. It will be difficult for him to deal with the issues you present, especially if you persist in your present path of continuing with demonic cultivation instead of returning to the orthodox path of sword cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, looking pained.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said. “Absent yourself before you are forced to leave in truth. Go to the Cloud Recesses the way Lan Wangji continues to pester you about – see if you can’t tell him what secret it is that’s weighing down your tongue, if you can’t tell any of us – and come visit the Unclean Realm when you’re done there.”

Wei Wuxian was staring. Nie Mingjue ignored him.

“When you’re done with that, assign yourself the job of checking up on the Jiang sect’s dependent sects, or even just go around to visit every sect listed as having fought in the war, building relationships with them,” he continued briskly. “As for the reason, you’re clever, you’ll think of something. Get Wangji to teach you some healing spells and come help those in my sect who need it. Say that you’re using your demonic cultivation to help ferret out resentful energy in need of cleansing. Something. It doesn’t really matter what. But whatever you do, go. Give Yunmeng Jiang time to become as strong as it needs to be to protect you.”

“But it shouldn’t be protecting me,” Wei Wuxian protested. “I should be the one protecting it!”

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaimed, and her expression was suddenly fierce. “Are you the eldest? No. I am. You are my A-Xian, my didi, and that means you are part of Yunmeng Jiang – we have as much right to protect you as you us, and don’t you forget it.”

“But – shijie –”

“I won’t hear another word,” she said. “I won’t! Whatever it is, A-Xian, you need to tell us eventually, or else we’ll all fall apart. Didn’t you both promise me that we’d stay together, the three of us, always? You can’t break that promise now.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were wet with tears. “All right, shijie. I’ll figure something out.”

“Start with Gusu,” Nie Mingjue said again, uncomfortable with the display of emotions. “If you tell Lan Wangji the truth, he may even be able to help – in one way or another. Or don’t, it’s up to you. Just get yourself out of the public view. Earn some merits that aren’t related to slaughter.”

Wei Wuxian nodded again, clearly overcome with feeling, and then promptly made up a flimsy excuse to leave, dashing away towards where Wen Qing was still working on her brother.

Jiang Yanli sighed. “Thank you,” she said. “Again. I just wish I knew what was wrong with him!”

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised her. “Even if I have to pick him up and shake the secret out of him.”

Jiang Yanli smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” she said, now a third time over.

“Thank you,” he corrected. “If you hadn’t brought this to my attention, I would be guilty of negligence in regard to the Wen sect remnants – and most of them civilians, no less. As for Wei Wuxian…he’s your didi, and so soon to be my brother-in-law. It’s nothing but what I should be doing.”

“Still,” she said. “I am grateful nonetheless.”

Nie Mingjue looked down at her, fierce and yet patient, kind and righteous in her own quietly determined way, fearless enough to stand by his side and trusting him enough to come to him for help.

His heart moved in his chest.

He decided to be daring, as it had always served him well in the past – he stepped forward, closer to Jiang Yanli, and leaned down to press his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“It is what I should be doing,” he murmured, voice low. “Nie furen.”

Jiang Yanli’s face turned bright red, but she was smiling.

Yes, Nie Mingjue thought – he might not be able to promise love, but accepting Jiang Yanli’s show of initiative was definitely one of the better decisions he’d made.

[lilxberry]

Hardly Burglar Material - Bilbo Baggins

Requested by: @donniethescienceguy​

Helloooooooo! Can I have a Bilbo x hobbit wife reader where after Thorin insults him (in the beginning when he arrives) she defends him and Thorins like: are you sure it’s the male Baggins we want?

I mean, I still did as what was requested but man, did I not know where tf this was going lmao

I followed quite a bit of the manuscript of the film, the only alteration is when reader confronts Thorin

Warnings: Nothing really. Asshole Thorin. Terrible writing lmao. 

Words: 1,796

Pairings: Bilbo Baggins x Reader (female reader) (wife!reader)

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You hadn’t expected your quiet evening meal with your husband to be interrupted but when a dwarf, a big, burly, tattooed, balding, towering one at that knocks your door, there certainly isn’t much you can do.

After the dwarf, who introduced himself as Dwalin, had entered your home and devoured your husbands fish dinner, to which you offered Bilbo your own meal, more and more knocks sounded at the door, each one miffing your husband further and further until he had finally had enough.

“There’s nobody home!” he shouted as another sound came from the front door, arms holding up the abundance of weapons the two brothers’, Fíli and Kíli, loaded on to him.

You felt terrible, watching as your husband becomes frustrated, not knowing what to do other than spectate in concern.

He tossed the items down out of his arms as he stormed towards the door, shouting at whoever was on the other side. “Go away and bother somebody else! There are far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is.”

Bilbo closes in on the door. “I-I-If this is some plotheads idea of a joke,” he laughed in disbelief before grasping the door handle in his hand. “I can only say, it is in very poor taste.”

With that, he pulled the door open and in comes tumbling through the doorway a cluster of dwarves, all grumbling and whining at the other to get off of them. Bilbo and yourself, who stood a few steps behind, looked down at the mess of moving bodies on the floor before his feet, dumbfounded expressions on both of your faces.

Movement behind the pile up caught both yours and Bilbos’ attention, and once the tall figure bent down ever so slightly to reveal himself, your face twisted into that of utter confusion as your husband sighs in exasperation.

“Gandalf.”

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Although you were concerned for your husband, you couldn’t help but find the whole situation quite amusing. You found some of the dwarven folk that had invaded your shared home to be quite a fun, entertaining bunch.

Of course, you were concerned about the possessions within your home, hoping that the dwarves leave your home relatively untouched and that your husband wouldn’t have some sort of mental breakdown.

Your uninvited guests had pillaged the pantry of its food. The race of dwarves certainly did have quite an appetite. Even Gandalf had nibbled on quite a bit of food.

The rowdiness of the dwarves had calmed slightly, if only for moment when they downed whatever drink they had. Even the ridiculous and frankly disgusting belching afterwards was calmer than their initial arrival.

Yet that was quickly replaced with plates, platers, knives, forks, and spoons were tossed from one dwarf to another as they sang a merry tune. Bilbo was quick with demanding caution and for things to be put down. Even you were slightly worried for your kitchen utensils.

The dwarves released hearty laughter when you and Bilbo peered into the kitchen and had seen that everything was clean and stacked, Gandalf chuckling along with them as both you and Bilbo simultaneously release sighs of relief.

Then, the atmosphere became tense as three, loud knocks sound at your front door for a final time that night.

The laughter died out instantly and Gandalf spoke quite ominously. “He’s here.”

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You couldn’t really pinpoint what exactly was unsettled you so much when it came to the dark-haired dwarf who sat at the head of the table. Maybe his stature. Possibly his stoic expression.

Most likely the look behind his eyes.

Well, you certainly didn’t like him all that much whenever he addressed your husband.

Most of the conversation between the dwarves and Gandalf became muffled when reaching your ears, certainly seeing no point in listening in on their talk. The second your husbands voice rang out through the room though had piqued your interest and your attention was brought to the conversation.

They spoke of The Lonely Mountain, the dragon Smaug, how they were on a quest to reclaim their home. Gandalf had produced not only a map of some forts but a key, a key the dwarves seemed to become quite excited about.

You also happened to admire the young dwarfs’ courage. Ori.

Then, the topic of a burglar arrived.

“That’s why we need a burglar,” Ori spoke.

“Hmm, and a good one too. An expert I’d imagine.” Bilbo moves back from peering down at the map, holding on to his suspenders.

“And are you?”

Bilbo glances around to behind him before looking towards the dwarves once more. “Am I what?”

“He said he’s an expert!” Oin spoke cheerily. Of course, the dwarf with the horn to aid his hearing would say as such.

“Me? No, no, no, no, no,” your husband started, eyes darting to each dwarf, hoping his point would get across. “I’m not a burglar. I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”

You nodded your head in agreement. As much as you love your husband, he is quite the stickler for following rules.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Mister Baggins,” Balin was next to speak. “He’s hardly burglar material.”

You supressed a chuckle as Bilbo, although relieved that someone agreed, looked the tiniest bit offended.

The group of dwarves began to chatter and raise in volume, no words could actually be comprehended by yourself, it all a jumble of noises. Then Gandalf raised out of the seat slightly, his voice booming over the racket the dwarves created.

“ENOUGH! IF I SAY BILBO BAGGINS IS A BURGLAR,” he lowered his voice with each following word. “Then a burglar he is.” Bilbo looked as if he wanted to protest but no words left his mouth.

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet,” he continued. “In fact, they can pass by unseen by most if they chose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to them which gives us an distinct advantage.”

The whole discussion about your husband was unnerving for you. You disliked how your husband was talked of like a ploy in some silly game.

“This quest is no place for gentlefolk.” Thorins’ tone was as if the words left a vile taste in his mouth, clearly showing his disgust for your husband. “He probably wouldn’t last 5 miles away from his precious little home. Look at him, Gandalf! He isn’t made for such things, it’s as clear as day. His big feet and rounded belly would slow us down. Your little Hobbit would cry out for home within a day.”

Your blood boiled with each word he spoke, an anger rising in you which you desperately tried to keep down. Your nails dug into the palms of your hands and your jaw was clenched tightly shut, but enough was enough.

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY HUSBAND LIKE THAT?! NO LESS WHILST YOU ARE IN HIS HOME AND IN HIS PRESENCE!”

Your outburst caught the attention of every soul in the dining room around the table. Their eyes settled on your figure that stepped closer and closer to them up to the point where you stood glaring down at Thorin right beside his seat. Even Bilbos’ eyes were wide and looked almost ready to pop right out of their sockets.

“My husband may not be a fighter like you…you BRASS DWARVES! But he deserves no less respect. I will not stand for someone speaking down on my Bilbo in such a manner, even if they are some king,” you all but spat out.

Some of the dwarves looked offended that you spoke to their leader in such a way, others looked thoroughly shocked, surprised that a small thing as yourself had such a fire in you. Gandalf smirked as Bilbo looked like he genuinely feared for your safety. He had witnessed outbursts from you that scared him before, which were quite rare, you barely losing your temper, but for once, he was terrified of the consequences seeing as it wasn’t at him nor a fellow Hobbit.

But it was Thorins’ reaction that had you confused. He seemed…impressed?

Thorin turned towards Gandalf, a smirk of his own forming on his face. “Are you sure it was Mister Baggins you had wanted to join our quest?”

Gandalf chuckled and looked towards you and your husband, you now joined your side, who was silently scolding you with his eyes but nonetheless remaining the concerned, dotting husband. “I was certain on Mister Baggins being the 14th member of your company, but I would highly recommend you take a 15th as I believe Misses Baggins certainly has something of her own to bring to the quest.”

“They both have a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including themselves. You must trust me on this,” Gandalf finished.

Thorin looked at Gandalf and Gandalf at he for a moment, Thorin evidently mulling it over within his head before finally, he spoke. “Very well. We’ll do it your way. Give them the contract.”

Both yourself and Bilbo began to protest as Balin produced the document. He handed it over to Bilbo who unravelled the parchment and began to scan over the words, your eyes peering over his shoulder to read it for yourself.

As Bilbo and you busied yourselves with reading over the document, Thorin had leant over towards Gandalf to whisper within his ear. “I cannot guarantee their safety.”

“Understood,” Gandalf hummed in acknowledgement.

“You’ll be left responsible for their fate.”

“Agreed.”

Bilbo began to read aloud the text, brow furrowed out of concentration, your own face screwed up slightly, straining to peer at the words.

“Terms; cash on delivery up to but not exceeding 1 14th for total profit, if any. Seems fair, uhh-“

“Shouldn’t it be changed to 1 15th if I were to join?” you questioned aimlessly.

Bilbo nodded his head in agreement before continuing. “Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a government, thereof including but not limited to; lacerations. Evisceration?” He unfolds a piece further, reading before looking towards the group with a look of disbelief. “Incineration?!”

“Oh, aye. It’d melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye,” Bofur quipped with ease.

Many more ‘encouraging and reassuring’ words were spoken by Bofur, unnerving both yourself and Bilbo, though you hid it extremely well. The moment your husband passed out, was when Bofur seemed to finally relent.

“Oh dear.” You looked towards your husband laying on the floor unconscious with concern before turning towards the others with a worried expression.

Valar forbid you allow him to go with those dwarves and that conniving wizard alone.

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I mean, I don’t really have anything to say sooooo

If you want to be added to a taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

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LOTR / The Hobbit taglist:

@iwazoomingouttahere​ 

[donaweasley]

Their Little Secret

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Plot: This can be read as a sequel to What If or even as a solo.

The reader and Loki have been best friends for long, but eventually realised that it was more than just friendship. As they secretly step into a new world, the entire team, unbeknownst to it all, makes it their mission to make the love birds realise and confess what they feel for each other.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst in relationship, a happy ending! Oh! And late-night hazards and a long read. Sorry!

Read time: ~26 mins

“(Y/N), could you please take a look at this once?”

Loki waltzed in through (Y/N)’s door with a file in his hand. She was reading a book, when he knocked.

“It’s pretty late. I thought you said you’d go straight to bed. What are you doing with this poor old piece of rat-food now?”

“I did. But then I couldn’t sleep. So...I thought of doing something boring enough to lull me to sleep. But this old file actually turned out to be quite interesting,” he explained animatedly. “I just couldn’t understand one part. So, here I am!”

She eyed him suspiciously as he spread his arms to accentuate his royal presence.

“That, or you wanted to see me, and this file is a flimsy excuse,” she drawled.

“Come on, darling! I’m fond of you but not to the extent that I’ll have to make lame excuses to see you. Besides, why would I need to lie to you?”

After taking a moment to consider his words, she stepped beside him and asked him to show the file.

“It is here - this part,” he pointed at a chunk of printed information.

“This one is…” She pondered aloud. “That doesn’t make sense! Loki, w-where did you get this from? That doesn’t look like any mission report or anything. It looks like...an excerpt...from...a book?”

Before she could register, a kiss landed on her cheek. It was immediately followed by Loki excitedly wishing her, “Goodnight, darling,” and vanishing into a green glow.

She stood stunned for a while. Gradually, the tingling sensation where Loki’s lips had caressed her skin began to spread like wildfire through her face, and soon she was blushing and smiling like an idiot.

“Idiot!” She cursed him as she flopped back on the bed.

After a few seconds of fiddling with the bookmark, and staring at blurred lines on the page, she closed the book, and decided to call it a night. After what Loki just did, nothing else could compare to a happier ending to the day.

As she closed her eyes, sunny memories started flooding her mind.

It had all started hardly two months ago, when they were having their usual midnight snacks, casually talking the day’s stress away, talking nonsense - just the usual best buddy night.

But then something happened: a childish game of “what-ifs”.

It was fun, for the most part, until Loki had asked her about her intentions if she met the love of her life the next day. Already stained with painful memories of past relationships and with the hopelessness about her love life, she tried her best to evade the question. But Loki, being Loki, kept proding her until she gave him a genuine reason for her frustration.

And everything changed after that. Because in trying to save the other from falling down the emotional cliff, they had saved each other. They had found each other.

She laughed softly as she remembered the hesitancy in both their hearts as they had crossed the threshold of friendship.

That was the first time that she had kissed him. On the cheek. And that was even before she had fully realised that her feelings for him were no longer platonic.

That was the first time Loki had put an arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Another giggle escaped her as she remembered the moment when the soft morning light, and a stiff back had awakened her from her sleep.

Both were still sitting in almost the same position as they had been when they were chatting.

She had found herself cocooned in the arms of Loki, her legs tangled with his, both of them safe under the thin blanket that Loki had picked while preparing for their night. Her head rested on his chest, while his rested on the top of her head.

The last thing that she remembered from the previous night was them promising each other that no matter how things turned out, they’d always be beside one another. And then Loki had pulled her closer, and gently laid her head on his throbbing chest.

It was now peacefully moving up and down with his sleepy breaths. Before opening her eyes to reality, she stole a few moments to let this feeling sink in.

When she had closed her eyes the night before, there was an excitement so high in the air that Thor’s thunder would have been ashamed. It was the hammering of Loki’s heart that had eventually put her to sleep.

The morning brought a peaceful rhythm beneath her ears. It was beautiful, it was calm, it was...reassuring. She loved it more than the thrill of the past few hours.

But no matter how long she tried to soak herself in the feeling, the incidents of the night before still seemed somewhat unbelievable. How could something months long change overnight? Was it all a mirage then, cast by the treacherous night?

The darkness of the night sets the mind free to imagine anything, take any decision. But the clarity of the day brings logic to the forefront, which sometimes turns out to be good but sometimes not so good.

But...it had felt right. She took a deep breath to clear her mind. It still felt right. That was all the assurance that she needed for the moment.

As she turned in her bed, she remembered the raspy voice in which Loki had wished her a good morning.

The close proximity, the husky, sleep-laden voice, the sudden change in the air - everything made blood rush to her cheeks and ears. Loki had sleepily chuckled at her flushed state, though he was only slightly better than her in hiding his own flustered state.

Ever since, not a single day had passed when the two of them hadn’t thanked the stars.

She used to think that she loved Loki’s friendship more than anything. She was happy to be proven wrong when she experienced Loki’s courtship.

A different flower everyday, sometimes inside her room, laid carefully near her door, sometimes on her bedside table, and on some mornings, beside her pillow.

She was used to going out with her best friend Loki, but going out with her boyfriend Loki was an experience on a whole new level. Light brushes of the fingers, sometimes an arm around her shoulder, intertwining of fingers, occasional brushes of his lips on her temple, and not-very-occasional blushes that tinted both their skins.

Every day, before parting for the day, she was blessed with bear hugs from him - something that she had never expected him to be fond of.

It was the best time of her life! Almost every doubt that she had about this relationship not working out had evaporated long ago. It was - she dared to say - perfect!

Except for one small hiccup: they had to keep everything off the radar.

For one, they were still testing the waters. No matter how happy and confident they were with one another, their newfound relationship was still at its infancy, and they didn’t want to declare anything to the rest of the team right away.

Second, everybody in the compound had been teasing both (Y/N) and Loki about “getting a room” for a long time. They didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were finally correct. Well, figuratively.

Unfortunately, the team did not know that they had already confessed their feelings to each other. And so, they were desperate to make the love birds see the truth of their emotions. The Avengers, tough and stubborn as they were, never gave up. And Loki and (Y/N) simply decided to play along.

For instance, around a month and a half ago, Tony had thrown one of his usual parties at the compound, and had brought a line of apparent suitors for (Y/N) and a host of gorgeous ladies and lads to introduce to Loki.

Though the new couple was initially confused at the unbridled attention, they eventually understood what was going on: Tony Stark had decided to use the age-old recipe of jealousy to crack either one or both of them.

It was fun, they both admitted later, to dance to the tune, and give the host a frowning face when he realised that neither were biting the bait. Instead, both seemed to be enjoying themselves flirting or dancing with their respective “baits”.

What escaped the eagle eyes of the team were the furtive looks that both (Y/N) and Loki threw at each other from time to time. It wasn’t easy to masquerade those longing glances with playful teases that two friends might share. But they had to.

Late into the night, after the party was over, Loki teleported into (Y/N)’s room. The security cameras were still a threat to their little secret.

“Hello beautiful!” Loki purred when she didn’t turn all her attention towards him as she usually did, but kept herself apparently busy in making the bed.

“Is this my consolation prize for all your flirting this evening?” She tried to keep it casual but her displeasure seeped into her tone.

“Ooh, someone sounds jealous,” he drawled.

“Speak for yourself, God!”

Loki stepped towards her, and gently caught her hand, putting a pause to her actions.

“Look at me. Please?”

She smiled as she faced him, but he could easily catch the facade.

“I know what you're trying to do. You can’t fool me, (Y/N).”

“And what is it that I’m doing?” She tried to question with the same casualness but her voice kept betraying her.

“You are trying to make it look like it didn’t affect you - me being with all those lovely people. But in reality, you are hurt, even if it is a tiny bit.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she couldn’t fool the God of Lies!

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, “I don’t know why you’re saying this Loki. I’m perfectly fine! Why would I-”

“You and I understand each other perfectly,” Loki gently cut her off. “Or did you forget that?”

He reminded her of the one line - of the one realisation - that had triggered the tiniest thoughts of them being possibly together, if at all.

Realizing that all doors were closed for her, she tried to turn away from him, only to be stopped by the trickster.

“If it makes you feel any good,” he resumed, “it did burn me a bit, too, to watch you dance and laugh with those clowns.”

At this, she burst into laughter. Loki was glad at the change of mood, and allowed a few happy creases around his eyes as well.

“Is that true,” she asked, “or are you simply trying to make me feel better?”

He shrugged, “What do you think?”

“I’d like to believe that it’s true,” she confessed shyly.

“It is.”

“Well then,” she said after suppressing a wild grin that tried to crack its way through, “I guess that makes us even.”

“Guess so.”

“I’m sorry, Loki,” she sighed, “I lied earlier because I didn’t want to put any kind of pressure on you or anything. I mean...jealousy? That’s the first stage of obsession. And...I don’t want you to think that...”

“Hey,” Loki held both her hands in his, “your feelings for me will never suffocate me. On the contrary, they help me breathe. You have given my life a new purpose. I thought I was happy being your best friend. But this...this is even better. Never think that you’re putting any kind of pressure on me. None of those men or women out there, or anywhere for that matter, can bring me what I feel with you, for you.”

Words seemed insufficient for what she wanted to say. So, she simply nodded, and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest.

He chuckled as he ran his hand on her head, “Being jealous actually makes you look cute.”

She unwrapped herself from him just enough to look at his face, “Says the man who just confessed being jealous himself!”

“I never said I don’t look cute,” he shrugged again.

Shaking her head and laughing, she pulled his face down, and placed a warm kiss on his cheek.

“Go now, before I punch that cute face of yours.”

“When you say ‘punch’,” Loki drawled, “do you mean…’kiss every inch of’...?”

Blushing furiously, she pushed him towards the door.

“Shut up, and just go!”

Loki laughed as he wished her a lovely night, and disappeared into his usual green glow.

---------------

But the Avengers were not the ones to give up.

Not many weeks later, Natasha planned an evening at one of her favourite nightclubs. While Steve, Vision and Bucky backed out of the plan, given their previous not-so-delightful interactions with the loudness and the crowd, Thor and Tony were adamant on dragging Loki with them.

“We thought you liked a little fun! Since when did you start wearing grandpa’s knickers?” Tony snorted.

“C’mon, brother, don’t embarrass me,” Thor’s voice boomed in Loki’s room. “(Y/N) has embarrassed me enough. She didn’t want to go either. Said she’d rather sleep than be tormented by the blasted noise.”

She said what? That means she’s going to stay back-

“Wait, what?” Tony turned towards Thor with a perplexed look, “She said that?”

He turned around to face Loki again, “Are you two planning something or have you both become boring?”

No, no, no! They’ll add up…

“I am not boring!” Loki declared. He decided to stay quiet on the other option that Stark had mentioned.

“Well, then join us,” Tony shrugged.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Loki agreed.

Needless to say, his eyes went wide when he saw (Y/N) dressed up and ready for the outing when he was expecting her in her pajamas. When she silently questioned him, he immediately realised that he had been tricked.

I have to be more careful.

The team’s plan soon became obvious when, after a few rounds of shots, everyone made a beeline to the dance floor, leaving behind a string of excuses, and Loki and (Y/N) at the bar. Even through the crowd, the duo’s trained eyes could catch glimpses of their teammates shadowing them.

“Do they really think getting drunk will make us confess?” She shouted over the sound of the music.

“I’m a God,” he shouted back. “Midgardian liquor doesn’t affect me anyway.”

“Well, it affects me,” she shrugged and drained another shot down her throat, “and I love it!”

Last one.

She had started feeling dizzy. Getting wasted could be saved for another moment when she wasn’t being spied on.

A few minutes passed in silence as neither was fond of shouting to communicate. (Y/N) bobbed her head to the music while Loki eyed the mass of bodies swaying and moving with the beats.

“Would you-” Loki began but stopped midway.

While her eyes questioned him, he silently slipped from the stool, and came to stand almost behind her.

His hot breath, dipped in a faint whiff of alcohol, hit the shell of her ear as he purred, “Would you like to dance with me?”

She was rendered immobile for a while. A small corner of her mind wondered if Loki knew what he was doing to her.

I bet he knows what he’s doing.

“I’d have loved to!” She drawled. “It’s a shame there isn’t room for a waltz here, and I wouldn’t want a God like you to hop like teeangers in the crowd.”

She felt his chest brush against her back.

“I was actually hoping that you’d be up for that dance,” he pointed at a section of the crowd where bodies were gliding against each other in the most provocative ways.

Her breath hitched again. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Loki was smirking at his achievement.

But this time, she wouldn’t squeal, she wouldn’t push him away with a timid smile. Diffidence and boldness both tugged at polar ends of her heart until boldness won the war.

Not this time. Two can play the game, darling.

“So, what’s stopping you?” Her lips almost brushed his earlobe as she tilted her head to whisper in his ear.

Where did that come from?!

Loki wasn’t prepared for this.

It was usually him who threw mildly suggestive comments which she pushed away with a shy gesture. He never expected the tables to turn so quickly.

She did not even have enough shots to get drunk yet, he noticed.

“What happened, did the cat get your silver tongue?” She smirked.

“I-I...uh...”

While Loki continued to gape at her, an inkling of panic nudged her chest.

Did I take it too far? He obviously wasn’t ready for this, but…

It all must have been another prank for him, and I…

No!

With a cackle, she sliced the apparent tension in the air. “So, finally got you, ha? Mischief!” She winked.

Turning towards the bartender, she ordered another shot.

Loki’s brain was still trying to decipher her behaviour.

Did she really mean it…? It didn’t look like a joke though…

As she focused on her drink, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face, but the incessant dance of light and shadows made her features almost unreadable.

“You should get back to your seat, y’know?” She told him with downcast eyes.

“What?”

“The team might notice and...they might know.”

Did her voice just...tremble?

Loki hated the place: the noise, the dim lights, the secrecy - he hated the way everything seemed to veil her from him.

“I think I’ll go find them.”

Downing another drink, she hopped off her seat, and disappeared in the crowd, leaving Loki to his thoughts.

Once they were back in the compound, Loki went straight to (Y/N)’s room. This time he did not sneak into her room using magic; he knocked on her door. This wasn’t the moment to play a game of cat and mouse. If the entire compound was prying on him, he would gladly allow them to. Well, maybe not gladly.

“Hey! Hi, Loki!”

Her smile was as bright as ever.

Was it all in my mind then?

“Are you alright?” He tried to sound calm but his anxiety turned out to be more stubborn than him.

“Yes, I am. What- Come inside first.”

She stepped aside, allowing him to stride into her room, and flump down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he began honestly, “I thought...I thought you were upset. At the club… I thought I saw you...sad? I’m not sure. I just had this feeling that you’re probably not okay, and-”

“Loki,” she held his shoulders and gently hushed him, “I’m fine.”

Her assurance enabled him to breathe normally again.

Caressing his face, she placed a light kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you, Loki! For everything. For caring so much about me.”

“(Y/N),” he held her hand, “are you hiding something? From me?”

He didn’t miss the way she gulped before replying.

“Why would you say that?”

“Look, I’m sorry if I cross the lines sometimes. I know I tease you but those are… I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable or have hurt you.”

“You are an idiot! Do you know that? You’ve never hurt me or made me uncomfortable. Now, get these stupid thoughts out of your little brain, and give me that devilishly charming smile of yours.”

Despite all her compliments, his eyes did not light up as they usually did.

“Are you sure?” He asked her.

“Absolutely!”

“You’ll tell me if you’re upset, won’t you? Promise me.”

He took note of how she licked her lips before nodding.

Something is not right.

“Come here,” he pulled her in his arms, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “And I’m not an idiot. I am smart.”

---------------

The next few weeks turned out to be more and more challenging as the team was now hell-bent on getting them exposed. What made them so sure of their relationship was still a mystery to the couple.

“Are we that obvious?” (Y/N) asked Loki one day.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It is said that it shows on the faces of those in love. So, I guess...”

The words, coming from him, filled her with warmth. If that be true, and if everyone could see that they were in love only by looking at them, then she’d happily trade their secrecy for more obviousness.

But every time they came close to taking the relationship to the next level, she would find Loki backing away. Every time they had the opportunity to reveal their beautiful secret to the team, he would quickly shield both of them.

Why, Loki? Do you not want us?

---------------

It was a rainy evening when Tony had gathered everyone in the living room. At first (Y/N) thought that it was an urgent meeting for a new mission. But when she knew the actual reason behind it, she couldn’t prevent the snort that escaped her.

“Excuse me?” Tony pointed at her. “You got some problem, princess?”

“Truth or dare? Like, how old are we? Twelve?”

Tony spread his arms as if to silently make a point. “Since when did you start categorizing fun into ages? Ever since you started dating Rock of Ages?”

“Hey!” Loki made a tiny protest at his nickname.

“We are not dating,” (Y/N) deadpanned.

“And there goes my question,” Wanda sighed from across the room.

In response, (Y/N) simply rolled her eyes, and grumbled, “Kids!”

Once the game started, the team wasted no time in getting to the point: (Y/N) and Loki.

The first one to get attacked was Loki.

“No, no truth for you,” Sam chimed in just as Loki sucked in a breath to choose “truth”.

“He’s the God of Lies!” Sam announced, “He can easily slip away with any lie!”

“The bird’s got a point!” Tony agreed, followed by everyone else. “‘Dare’ for you!”

“This is not how it works,” Loki protested.

“Did you play this on Asgard? Thor?”

“No, we had never even heard of it until we came here,” the big brother responded.

“But-”

“Nah-ah!” Tony didn’t let him finish. “This is exactly how it is played. Who wants to give the God of Mischief a mischievous dare?”

(Y/N) wanted to protest; she wanted to tell Tony that he was bending the rules to get to them. But any word of support would further corner them both. All she could do was play along.

“Kiss (Y/N). And you know where I mean.”

Nat’s voice yanked her out of her thoughts. She watched in horror as Loki’s expressions changed from shock to anger while the entire team cheered.

“Nat!” (Y/N) jumped up from her seat, “do you even hear yourself? He’s my best friend! We can’t just...”

“Why not?” Sam questioned with a smirk. “You seemed to be enjoying it when I was asked to kiss Buck. He’s my best buddy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky mumbled.

“C’mon, it’s just a game! Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Steve?? Et tu?

Rubbing her eyes, (Y/N) tried to find a way out of it. She knew well that if Loki kissed her, she’d melt into it. Everything would become obvious.

No, no, no!! This can’t be. They can’t just expose us like this. Loki would be so....

Wait, why isn’t he saying anything?

She opened her eyes to see Loki standing. His expression was unfathomable.

Oh no! Is he going to…

“This is outrageous!” Loki snapped and turned on his heels to walk out of the room.

Oh!

For reasons she did not want to explore then, (Y/N)’s heart dropped several feet. She was expecting a similar reaction from him but wasn’t hoping for it.

Quickly gravitating back to the situation in hand, she stammered an excuse or two for his behaviour, and followed his tracks to check on him.

Once both of them were out of earshot, Tony leaned towards the group, “Did we save it or kill it.”

“Looks like we killed it,” Sam sighed.

“Trust me,” Wanda smiled, “we saved it.”

“Vision? What do you think?”

“I still do not understand why you have to torment them like this. Let them come out when they want to. It’s-”

“Okay!” Tony interrupted him. “Sorry I asked! My bad!”

The door to Loki’s room was half open when (Y/N) arrived. Gingerly, she admitted herself inside.

Loki was standing at the window, with his back towards her. His head was bowed but his hands were curled into fists on both sides of his body.

“Loki?”

The name came out so softly that she couldn’t be sure if he had heard it, given that he did not move at all.

But before she could call him again, he spoke.

“I did not want this to happen,” his voice bore that particular kind of seriousness that usually preceded an unwanted or unhappy revelation.

What?

“I am sorry, (Y/N).” He turned towards her, and she realised in an instant that he wasn’t fooling around.

“What are you talking about, Loki? What did you not want to happen?”

Her chest felt tighter with every passing second.

Please, not what I’m fearing.

“This,” his hand vaguely gestured towards the hallway. “Whatever happened just now. I knew they would come down to this one day. I never wanted-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected. “I did not like that either. Although they meant no harm. It was just for fun… And I understand if you're having second thoughts. This entire thing between us was just something… y’know, a spur of the moment kind of thing. I totally understand if-"

"(Y/N)! Where is this coming from? What are you even talking about?"

She couldn’t make herself look at him, for if she did, he could clearly see the moisture pooling in her eyes. She needed to appear strong.

“Loki, you’ve always been my best friend. And I’ve loved that. You know it. And it’s okay if this new turn in our relationship does not turn out to be something that you had hoped for. It happens. It’s okay-”

“It’s not okay for me,” Loki grasped her hands. “What are you saying? Why? A-are you not happy with me? Have I done something wrong? Did I offend you in any way?”

What is he saying? I thought…

As she looked up at him, a couple of drops ran down her cheeks and on her shirt.

“(Y/N), please tell me. You had promised to tell me anything and everything that upsets you. So, tell me what happened. Why do you speak of our relationship as if it was a mistake?”

“It never was a mistake for me,” she breathed, “I thought you felt...I thought you...”

“What?”

The shaky way in which the question came out of him stung her more than any thought of Loki not wanting this relationship. It was then that she realised how badly she had hurt him.

He never wanted to leave! He always wanted me? Us?

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I thought that you...didn’t want...this. Us. I-”

“Why would you even think so? Why would you bear such thoughts when I love you with every fiber of my being?”

Her head snapped up.

“You love me?” Her own voice became shaky.

“Of course, I do,” he gently placed a hand on her cheek, “always have. At first I thought it was a love for friends until that night, when I realised that I wanted to be more than just friends with you.”

More tears fell down her cheek as she rejoiced in the moment. Loki wiped them all, and placed soft kisses on each cheek.

“And all this time, I was afraid that you’re having second thoughts,” she confessed.

“And why is that?”

“Because...”

How do I say that it’s because you haven’t kissed me yet? And ran away from the one moment we had today, albeit in a not-so-comfortable situation?

“Because I haven’t kissed you yet?” Loki asked her.

Her heart beat so violently, she could have sworn that Loki could hear it. Her tongue felt too heavy to speak.

“I didn’t think you were ready,” he admitted. “That is the reason why I did not dance with you in the club either. I was teasing you, yes, but when you responded I was definitely taken aback. I wasn’t sure if it was you or the ambience talking. So…

You have always shied away from any comments that I make, and...I did not want to push anything on you.”

“Oh, Loki!”

She hugged him so hard that even the Asgardian had to take two steps back to balance himself.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she wept into his shirt. “I misunderstood your actions for… I pushed you away. I thought you weren’t ready for this relationship. I’m sorry!”

Tears of both apology and relief flooded her. He tried to sush her as he rocked her slowly from side to side.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she stood straight. Loki looked at her red-eyed, tear-stained face and tutted.

“Doesn’t suit you, darling. Show me your crazy, grinning face.”

With a chuckle, she gave him a funny face-splitting smile, making both of them laugh.

“(Y/N), I didn’t want to kiss you because of a game or under the watchful eyes of that insufferable bunch of imbeciles. But if you will allow me now, I-”

“Just stop being so polite for a change, and kiss me,” she tugged at the collars of his shirt.

Loki didn’t need to be asked twice.

---------------

In the hall, the Avengers were busy speculating the outcome of their little plan, when the couple in discussion walked in. Hand in hand.

“Yes, we had changed our relationship status around six months ago,” (Y/N) announced to a stunned audience.

“And yes, we kissed. Just now. And I hope you know where I mean,” Loki added before dragging his love away towards the elevator.

“What was that?” She whispered as she was being whisked away.

“What?” Loki asked innocently, although his eyes stated otherwise.

“You didn’t need to declare that we just kissed!” She laughed as the doors of the elevator closed.

He shrugged while jabbing at a button. “They wanted us to kiss anyway. So, I gave them the satisfaction of knowledge. Besides, they need to know who you belong to now.”

“Aha! Possessive?”

“No! I also made it clear who I belong to now.”

He smiled as the doors opened to the hallway that led to his room. And once again, his words had rendered her speechless.

Silver tongue!

***

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You can read the backstory here.

And here's a song to sing along and keep the mood floating...