#rare pair hell is a terrible place

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 1

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samoyed (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; dom/sub elements; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Some warnings only apply to future parts!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Simon remembers telling Price to ‘piss off with that shite’ when the latter had approached him with the brass’ announcement of granting the Lieutenant the rare permission to become the handler of an emotional support hybrid.

There aren’t many officers on base who are allowed to have one, and Simon knows why that is. In his opinion, the whole handler/hybrid deal has all the negative connotations of a toxic and borderline abusive relationship, and Simon simply doesn’t want to be part of that.

Did anyone of those fuckers ever bother to read his file? He bloody well doubts it.

He does respect the official handlers and trainers of the military K9’s on base, though. Whatever bond they share was forged and solidified in battle and goes way beyond that odd and shallow power play that happens between some officers and their so-called “pets”.

So, Simon said no to the offer, firmly and several times at that. He doesn’t care for the bloody permission, no matter how rare it is, no matter how fellow soldiers who’d caught rumour about it had blatantly stated their envy about the possibility of gaining a hybrid pet themselves. Truthfully, Simon becomes sick to his stomach whenever one of the other officers and NCO’s talk about wanting to own a pretty pleasure puppy; something dumb and docile to have fun and unwind with in their time off duty.

Fucking hell. No, Simon doesn’t want to be part of that, let alone be responsible of some freakish hybrid mutt.

Weeks pass, both thoughts and arguments about hybrids and handlers are pushed back and filed away in some nook inside Simon’s mind as he falls back into his daily grind and familiar routine; running drills, paperwork, field trainings, preparing for missions, more paperwork.

Until one fateful day in January.

The UK weather has been more terrible lately; icy rain and howling winds beating down on base while Simon was trying to keep the rookies in line at the shooting range. By the end of the day, his fatigues were drenched and clinging to his broad frame while the chill was seeping through his pale skin, settling into his bones; making his limbs heavy and turning them stiff as if he’d carried a rucksack full of boulders on his back for a week straight.

The moment Simon arrives at the front door to his flat on base, though, the hairs at the back of his neck bristle immediately. The hallway is empty, but–

Something isn’t right. He can practically sense that someone was here, perhaps even inside his place in the worst case.

Halting in his measured steps while his breathing levels out to that eerie shallowness he’s adapted to on missions, his ears perk up under his skull balaclava as he listens for any odd noises coming from inside. Unable to pick up anything unusual, Simon still chooses to rather be safe than sorry as he reaches for his pistol in the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Simon manages to open the front door without any noise before he slips inside effortlessly, living up to his name as a ghost as he stalks through his flat on high alert; checking the small storage room before sneaking down the short, dark hallway leading up to his open living room. He can bloody sense that something is different, that someone has tampered with his safe space; he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, sweat, and tangy cologne even through his damp balaclava.

The sight that greets him on his old, tattered couch when he eventually flips on the light switch, is unlike anything he expected and Simon’s whole body tenses, eyes widening comically as if he’s met face to face by a firing squad.

But it’s just you, a bloody dog hybrid, curled up on his couch like you belong there–which you don’t.

And Simon slowly lowers his pistol, watches your fluffy white ears appear from under your hair as they perk up before you lift your head, like pristine cotton balls popping open in the sunlight; your body uncurling and stretching slowly while you squint against the bright yellow drop-light.

“What the bloody… fuck,” Simon breathes, chest deflating with a deep sigh as he puts his pistol back into his holster, securing it once more. Dark eyes flicker around the room before he catches a large black suitcase next to what looks like a gift basket.

Simon approaches the basket the way he would a bomb threat while his vigilant eyes keep shifting towards you as if you could attack him any moment, although you’re clearly still waking up, all discombobulated and sleep-drunk.

When Simon catches a clear view at the assortment of goodies and the black folder tucked between them inside the basket, his cold heart stutters and his blood freezes in his veins. At the sight of the pale pink collar with its matching leash, the vein in his temple throbs with a mixture of fury and revulsion.

The sound of your soft, sickly-sweet voice chirping out a greeting nearly makes his wretched soul leave his body. “Hi… Hello.”

Simon takes a step back, needing a protective wall at his back and as much space between himself and you as possible as he tries to assess the situation.

“How the fuck did you get inside my flat?” Simon mutters under his breath, dark eyes widening when he realizes the thumping in his ears doesn’t match his rapid heartbeat but belongs to your fluffy white tail gently wagging against the soft leather of his couch; just as fluffy and white as your ears, like freshly made cotton candy.

“I was brought here and told to wait for my new handler,” you answer as your head tilts to the side curiously, gazing up at the large man with bright doe-eyes. “Are you Simon?”

Simon’s narrowed eyes widen instantly again at the sound of your voice uttering his name so sweetly, so... casually. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he swallows back the sour taste in his mouth as it fills with saliva.

“Who the fuck brought you ‘ere?”

He needs a name, so he knows who to beat to a pulp before he grabs the first poor bastard who crosses his path next.

“Uhm–oh!” Your small, triangle-shaped ears perk up, and the giggle you let out makes Simon grimace underneath his mask. “They had silly names for humans,” you tell him, still giggling softly to yourself before adding: “Gaz and Soap.”

Simon huffs in exasperation and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course, it explains the “special orders” his bloody Sergeants had gotten from Price today; the reason he couldn’t attend today’s training session. And suddenly, it all clicks into place.

“You’re all wet, Simon,” you remark about his appearance; sweet voice laced with a concern so genuine that is has his spine tense and his stomach churn with aversion. “Are you not cold?”

He wants to bark at you to stop calling him by his name, to stop trying to appeal to him just because your bloody stupid nature tells you to, to stop imprinting on your so called “new handler” just because someone told you that you belong to him now. He wants you out of his flat and out of his life before anything terrible and out of his control can take root and blossom behind his ribcage.

“Get up,” he snaps at you before his thoughts can spiral any further and he almost, almost feels bad when you flinch in your seat, ducking your head submissively while your ears flatten against your head. “I’m taking you back. You’re not staying here, lass.”

“W-What?” Your face drops, your fluffy tail stops wagging; eyes glossing over as you begin to tremble and shrink on the spot. The sound of your soft whine only angers Simon more, because it tugs on his heartstring, makes his protective instincts flare.

“You heard me. Get up and grab your fuckin’ suitcase. ’m taking you back to wherever you came from.”

When Simon glances back at you, something mean and violent lodges itself into his chest cavity; twisting and squeezing his rotten heart as soon as he sees the devastated look on your face; ears drooping and shoulders slouching in defeat while another soft whine vibrates in your chest.

“Okay,” you answer eventually, snivelling when fat tear breaches your lower lash line and runs down your supple cheek as you untuck your legs from under yourself to move off the couch. “Okay…”

There’s a shrill ringing in his ears when Simon’s mouth seems to move on its own, making a decision for him. “Wait. Stay–Stay right where you bloody are.”

And you immediately do as you’re told, like the obedient pup you obviously are, settling back and perking up again as you blink dumbly at the brutish man with bright, big eyes and an expectant look that makes Simon groan internally before he reaches into one of his many pockets to retrieve his old smartphone.

He mutters and curses under his breath as the cracked screen lights up, and it doesn’t take long for him to find his Captain’s name in his short contact list. Simon taps the screen with his gloved thumb to call the man, ready to argue tooth and nail to have you picked up by from his flat again, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

Simon’s jaw is clenched tightly while his sharp gaze keeps flickering back to you, still not quite believing you’re not some stress-induced hallucination, or nightmare.

It takes two rings before Price picks up.

“Ghost–“

Simon inhales deeply. “Price–“

“Getting acquainted with your new companion, son? She’s quite the sweetheart. Easy on the eyes, too, judging by what the lads told me.”

His chest deflates, air rushing from his lungs in a long exhale. That comment alone is enough to make him even more furious. “I don’t want her. Take her back to wherever she came from, Captain.”

There’s a beat of tense silence before Price speaks up again, and Simon can hear the squeak of the old office chair as the other man leans back in it.

“Did you read her file yet?”

“No, should I?” Simon counters gruffly, feeling his patience grow thinner by the second.

“Aye, son, I suggest you should.”

“Gimme the short version, Price. I’m this close to handing her over to the next lucky bloke who passes by my fuckin’ flat.”

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Price says decisively on the other; his gruff voice way too calm for Simon’s liking. “She’s a rescue, Lieutenant. Got rescued from one of those terrible puppy mills.”

That makes Simon shut up as his eyes flicker over to you; softening somewhat when his eyes lock with yours. You keep watching him with the slightest pout, waiting for orders or for him to finally send you away. He’s still considering it, though the revelation of your background makes him hesitate for some odd reason. Empathy.

“Simon?”

Simon squeezes the phone harder in his grip; hard enough he thinks he might break it once and for all. “You better find a new handler for her, Captain.” He bites out through clenched teeth. “It’s not gonna be me.”

Price sighs. “Alright.” There is another pause and Simon can hear it when Price scratches his coarse beard in contemplation before he speaks up again. “Just keep an eye on her for the night, aye? I’ll make the necessary arrangement to have her transferred to someone else.”

“Good. She can stay for one night. One. Night.” Simon growls before hanging up.

The soft sound of your tail thumping against the couch catches his attention again and when he looks back at you, you’re practically beaming at him.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

[miserycanary]

MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩

♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all

tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff

"Sir? Sir!”

Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”

You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).

It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him. 

Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.

He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.

Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out. 

One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.

You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.

“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again. 

From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love. 

| The letter: 

‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go. 

With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’

꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[kasagia]

Right Hand V

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: The Bene Gesserit has something... very interesting to show you—something that only makes you question your situation more. During this time, Feyd is also put to a great test. But how much can your relationship endure before you both come to the conclusion that maybe you're not meant to be together? Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; fight; brutality; smut; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART IV ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VI ~•♤♤♤•~

Dreams have a strange power. You can see your future and past in them. You can drift between dreamland and the real world and be semi-aware of your surroundings. You can create a new reality that is more tempting than your real life. Dreams can be either your sweet escape from reality or your dark oppressor.

For you, dreams were reminders of what had been, ghosts of the past, catching you in your most vulnerable state. But this time, you weren't dreaming about your past.

You were in Giedi Prime. You walked through familiar corridors, hiding from the Harkonnens' eyes. It was rare to meet anyone in these corridors. Most of them were dead ends with secret passages that were unknown to most of the inhabitants of Giedi Prime. That's why you were terribly surprised when suddenly someone pulled you by your cloak.

You freeze, startled, and turn slowly to face the small child. The kid looks like Harkonnen's child, but not quite. His skin is creamier than white, and white hair grows on his head in unruly curls. But what you recognised perfectly were the blue, bright irises that only one person could boast on Gieidi Prime.

"Mommy!" A boy around 5 years old runs up to you and hugs your legs as you look at him in shock and confusion. “Dad said he would take us on a trip! To Lankiveil! We will swim in a real lake! Can you imagine that?!” – he asks excitedly and holds out his hands to you. You automatically scoop him up into your arms and place him on your hip, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Someone's quick footsteps echo in the corridor. You look past the child and see one of the harpies approaching you. She breathed a sigh of relief and bowed to you when she saw the boy in your arms.

"You can't run away like that, my lord Na-Baron. The baron told us to look after you."

"I didn't run away. I quickly left to find my mom. Dad wanted to speak with her. Besides, it's not my fault that you're so slow." Both you and the woman next to you do everything in your power not to burst out laughing. You smile, burying your face in your "son's" hair. He was so damn similar to his father and you.

The boy jumps out of your arms and grabs your hand. He runs with you through familiar corridors and hidden passages, not caring if you can keep up with him.

This way, you are in the war room in just a few seconds. Feyd stands with his back to you, analysing something on the hologram of the planets in front of him. He doesn't even flinch when the secret passage closes behind you with a bang.

"Dad, I brought mom." Your boy announces proudly, leading you to Feyd. The man turns and runs his hand through your son's hair. The little one smiles, showing a series of night-black teeth... with small cavities. He looked so damn cute. Like a little version of his father...

"Good job, Feydor. At least you are able to find your mother in her shadows. Go, torment your uncle. I've heard that you promised Rabban a great fight after our lessons." Feyd says teasingly, wrapping his arm around your waist. You roll your eyes at his comment about shadows, but you can't help but watch his interactions with your son in fascination.

Feyd was rarely around children; on Giedi Prime, they were quite... not shown much. They were a temporary inconvenience rather than a source of pride, and the noblest and most important of the inhabitants rarely cared for their own descendants. The nannies and servants usually took care of them. That's why you observed with admiration how soft and tender he was towards the boy, who was a living mix of both of you.

"I did! I can't wait to use the voice on him. I love you, dad. I love you, mom." He hugs you and practically runs to the training room, looking forward to training with his uncle.

"Just don't humiliate your uncle too much! And remember to turn on your shield!" Feyd shouts after him, and you feel like crying at the worried and caring look on his face. You've never seen him like this. Well, not when the two of you were in no danger. "In moments like these, I feel sorry for Rabban. He has to face a deadly mix of both of us. Devious beast, just like us. It doesn't matter that Rabban is not using all his strength against him; he would have defeated him anyway with his tactical mind and the tricks he learned from you. I need to start training with him so that he doesn't become too arrogant and self-confident after his numerous victories over Rabban. He must always be alert and ready for his opponent."

Honestly, you're not listening carefully to what he's saying. You are shocked by this new reality in which you find yourself. It was too surreal for you. But you couldn't stop your heart from fluttering as he spoke about his son with such tenderness and pride. Your son.

"What's wrong? You look pale. Are you two alright? You had unusual cravings again, and now you regret what you ate?" The concern in his eyes confuses you even more. He places his hand tenderly on your stomach and watches you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort as you wonder what the hell happened to make him... like this. It must have been your imagination. This couldn't be any vision of your future, because even in your wildest dreams, you had never imagined it to be so... beautiful. "Y/N? Talk to me, my baroness. Should I call a healer?"

"I'm fine." You reply with a smile, shaking your head and placing your hand on his—the one that was still tenderly caressing your small pregnancy belly.

"You sure?" Your lips hurt from smiling as you try your hardest not to cry in front of him with emotion. So you grab him by the neck and pull him in for a kiss.

He caresses your lips so gently and tangles his hand so carefully in your hair that you feel like you're about to cry from the way this rare, soft side of him makes you feel that he so bravely shows you.

"Yes... we... we are perfect." You whisper, resting your forehead against his, not at all referring to yourself and the child. You close your eyes, letting yourself breathe in his scent as he draws patterns with his finger on your stomach, keeping his arm possessively around you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly and bury your face in his neck, holding him as close as you can. He laughs softly and presses a kiss on your temple.

"There you are... I almost forgot how sweetly clingy you are while carrying my heir under your heart. We should've tried for a sister for our Kwisatz Haderach a long time ago." He murmurs against your skin and lazily plays with your hair, massaging your head. "Are you sure you are feeling good? You have been very quiet. Usually, you would throw all sorts of insults and banter at me. It's not too late for you to swallow your pride and admit that you want to give birth on Arrakis or anywhere other than on this polluted planet. Damn what those old hags think of you; it won't make you any less of a Harkonnen."

Your heart swells with every word he says. It takes a lot of strength on your part not to cry in his arms and to keep your voice from shaking as you try to form a coherent sentence.

"I... just promise me you will never let me go." You ask him, not daring to even look at him because you're afraid you'll cry the moment his eyes meet yours.

"You stuck with us, my baroness. Nothing can separate us." He promises it to you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and tightening his hold on you. You felt safe. Warm. Loved.

"Good." You mumble, snuggling into him even more. You act as if this is really happening, like this is really supposed to be your life and future.

You have come to the conclusion that it is impossible and unrealistic for Feyd to change like this. The Harkonnens were not soft; they did not lead a tender family life and cared for their wives if they did take one. But in the end, it's your dream. So you sink into his arms, enjoying the sweet words he whispers in your ear and the way he strokes your hair.

Feyd had never been in such a hurry to get to his chambers. His heart was beating fast, and adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he thought about what had happened in those few hours. The baron is missing. He was kidnapped or killed by the Fremen. Feyd was to take his place until they found his uncle's body or the council officially declared him dead.

And Feyd had his suspicions about who could have contributed to the sudden disappearance of his beloved uncle. You couldn't have given him a better birthday present. In fact, you could, and he was practically running back to his chambers to pick it up.

He enters the chambers and immediately senses that it is too quiet there. He tries to dispel any suspicions and enters his bedroom, only to find the bed empty.

“Y/N?” He calls out, knocking on the table a few times to make his presence known. He peeks into the bathroom, slightly hoping that maybe you're waiting for him in the hot bath to tease him even more, but you weren't there either.

He frowns. He wonders if this isn't one of your games. Isn't that what you wanted—to play cat and mouse with him, to give him an exciting chase before he wins and can finally ravage you—but he quickly dismisses that (charming) idea. You were as desperate as he was. You wouldn't leave this room unless it was urgent. At least he hoped so.

He clenches his fists as he steps out into the main room of his chambers. The idea crosses his mind that maybe this time you actually ran away from him. He wouldn't be surprised. Maybe you finally snapped; maybe he scared you too much; maybe he went a step too far today by injecting you with truth serum and torturing your former lover/friend.

After all, you didn't say you loved him. You also didn't say that you despised him or that you wanted him to leave you. You could have escaped from him when the perfect opportunity presented itself…

"My lord, Na-Baron?" The frightened tone of one of the guards' voices brings Feyd out of his thoughts. He realises that he has gone out into the hall and is standing in the doorway, staring blankly at his two men. He clears his throat and turns his cold, calculating gaze on one of them.

"Have you seen my right hand?" They both shake their heads, not daring to look at him.

"No one left or entered these chambers except you, my na-baron." His madness grows as he unintentionally compares them to you. You always had the courage to face his anger and look at him, proudly bearing his burning gaze.

If you really run away from him... he will unleash hundreds of hounds, bring you back to him at all costs, and make sure you never leave his side again. He won't give a fuck if that's what you want. He gave you countless opportunities to leave him and end things between you two in a civilised way without brutality or bloodshed, but you didn't want it. The only thing stopping you two from being together were your stupid prejudices and fear. He planned to get rid of them completely once he got his hands on you again.

"Bring her to me." He growls at them, turning to go back to his chambers.

"But my lord..." Before the soldier can finish his sentence, Feyd reaches for his blade and cuts his throat with one skillful move. It eases the tension in his muscles a little, but the moment the man falls dead to the floor in front of him, his mood sours again. Because he remembers how, in moments like these, you often gave him a disapproving look and cleaned up the mess he made.

He growls at the other soldier, who is shaking with fear, to clean up and closes the door behind him with a loud bang. He had to find you. You got too deep under his skin for him to just forget about you. First, he had to determine whether you disappeared alone or whether someone had helped you. And God save him who dared to steal his baroness from under his nose.

He carefully examines his chambers, slowly exploring every corner. He frowns when he sees a familiar, polished dagger in his weapon collection. He picks it up and looks at it carefully. It was your blade. The one you had attached to your thigh. You had never left it—not since you got it from him for your birthday.

"Na-baron. You wanted to see me." You say, walking onto the balcony of his chambers. Feyd doesn't turn towards you. He stares at Giedi Prime spread out below him, the city completely shrouded in darkness. Only the few white stars that managed to penetrate the polluted atmosphere illuminated the planet with a pale glow. You quickly catch the hint and stand next to him, also looking at the buildings.

"I hate it here." He confesses to you without knowing why. "My home planet had seas, lakes, wild landscapes, and tundra that no one dared to tame. And here everything is so..."

"Controlled. Polluted. Defiled. Exploited. No room for anything... wild or natural." You finish for him. He nods, agreeing with your words.

It's been two years since you served him. And he had to admit that he didn't have such a good man on whom he could always count. You were extraordinary. Loyal, faithful, brave, honourable, and cunning. Feyd wanted to liberate you. Not many could live up to his expectations, but you seemed to know exactly what he wanted and needed after just one look. It aroused in him... strange feelings. Disturbing. But he didn't think about it when he was around you.

He preferred to admire your… difference. The hair that flowed slightly in the wind, the way your eyebrows knitted together in anger when someone questioned your position as his right-hand man, the way you walked, the way you could disappear into the shadows, the cunning and strength of your mind. You were an extraordinary woman. He started to appreciate you for the time you spent planning together. Nightly conversations about the nobility of Giedi Prime, your battle plans, and court intrigues became… something other than work for him. He was starting to like being close to you.

And at night, when he was with his concubines... he found himself imagining you in their place. And how much he wanted you... so much so lately that every little thing you did was the hottest, erotic act for him, even the way you moaned in appreciation when you ate good food. He was fucked up. Like a teenager in love.

But he didn't love you. He could not. His uncle had told him many times that the Harkonnens knew no love or affection. He just had to wait until this desire passed or find another right hand and make you his concubine, which was a much more difficult task. There were many pussies and holes he could have used, but you were the only one who seemed to have a mind even remotely like his. He couldn't afford to lose such a good strategist and soldier.

"Do you need anything, Na-Baron?" Your gentle question brings him out of his thoughts. He nods and goes to his chambers. He returns quickly with a black box in his hands. He hands it to you, carefully watching your reaction.

"Happy birthday, little witch." He says, not hiding a small smirk when he sees your shock. He managed to surprise you so rarely that he treated every such moment with reverence, as if it were the most important moment of his life. Pathetic. What power you had over him…

"How did you..."

"I have my ways too. Open it." He interrupts you, excited by your reaction to his gift. He puts his hands behind his back, feeling his fingers tremble slightly as they begin to sweat. He ignores it, completely focused on you as you gently untie the white bow and open the box. You hold your breath, staring at the dagger in awe. "Steel from my home planet. Don't stab yourself with it by accident. When it pierces someone's body, a piece of the blade dissolves under the heat of the attacker's blood. A small dose of this metal in the human body causes, in the worst case, a moribund state and death. We call it the shadow killer because death occurs hours after the attack unless an antidote is administered."

"I... I don't know what to say." You whisper, taking out the blade and running your fingertips over it. He looks at you with pride. He made it all by himself. For you. A detail he would take with him to his grave rather than admit to anyone.

"You can thank me. Didn't the Bene Gesserit teach you this?" He asks teasingly, making you roll your eyes at him. However, you give him such a beautiful smile that his black, rotten heart beats faster, letting him know about you for the first time in years.

"Thank you, Feyd." He melts when you say his name. You used it so infrequently that he had every little moment seared into his memory when you let your professionalism slip through and did it. And he loved the way his name sounded on your lips. He couldn't help but imagine what it would sound like when you shouted it, under much more pleasant circumstances.

"You know, we Harkonnens kiss each other on the lips as an expression of gratitude." He says this as your eyes move back to the dagger. He sees you freeze at the memory of it. You blush slightly, but enough for Feyd to notice the slight change. And he absolutely loves seeing you blushing and confused.

"I'm not a Harkonnen." You respond with a cheeky smile, and he shakes his head in amusement.

"But you are on our planet. I guess you should follow our rules and customs, right? Besides, in a few years, you'll be considered one of us."

"If I survive."

"I think you have a good chance." He smiles at your banter. The pride in his chest grows even more when, instead of looking at his black teeth in horror, you giggle, unfazed. You were so different…

However, he freezes when you take a step towards him. You cup his cheeks in your hands and pull him in for a kiss. He almost moans into your mouth like a total slut. It takes all of his willpower not to kiss you back, not to pull you closer, and not to actually taste your lips. But he can't. He won't show that he is that weak for you. So he keeps this fake kiss very professional. He is digging his nails into his palms until they bleed, as he is too afraid that he will accidentally reach for your body and pull you closer to him.

You pull away from him as suddenly as you place your lips on him. And he's both shocked and angry that your lips left his so quickly. His eyes wander to your lips as you lick them. Feyd curses himself for how badly he wants that pink tongue of yours to wrap around his own... or the hardening manhood in his pants.

"Thank you, Na-Baron Feyd Rautha." You whisper and head towards the exit, leaving him there, completely horny and wanting more of you—your touch, your kisses, your lips, your taste, your everything. He feels himself blushing at the thought of what he wants to do to you.

"Your welcome, my little witch." He mumbles as you disappear back into your shadows. He puts his bloody fingertips on his lips, tasting his blood. He closes his eyes, imagining how sweet you must taste...

Yeah... Feyd couldn't love you. A lie he had told himself since that night every time he felt his heart pound in his chest whenever he saw you.

"Brother… I mean... my Baron…" Rabban's voice reaches him vaguely as he continues to recall that day. Now he knew the taste of your lips... and your more intimate parts. And damn him if he doesn't put his fingers and tongue on you again.

"What?" He growls at him furiously, unsheathing his dagger and attaching yours to his body. The blade of the dagger was a bit uneven. And soft in his hands. It must have been used recently. And from the dried blood on the handle, he guessed that someone had clumsily tried to clean it. Someone took you from him.

He returns to the bedroom and grabs your shawl from the floor. He puts it to his nose and inhales your scent. He calms down a little—not enough for his fury to disappear, but enough to start thinking logically.

He was going to turn Arrakis into a living hell.

"The council has met. All high families. They are waiting for you."

Feyd would ignore it and go straight to find you, but your disgruntled face appears before his eyes. He would know that you would advise him to go to the council and present himself as best as possible—show his strength. He sighed, wrapping your shawl around his wrist as he made a decision.

"I see. Let's go." He announces this as he leaves the room and doesn't wait for Rabban to follow him. His brother runs after him, cursing under his breath as he tries to keep up with his fast pace. Feyd had a plan in his head and a clear goal. He'll have you in his arms at the end of the day, or he'll burn this damn planet down looking for you.

"And your witch?" Feyd suddenly stops. He turns his head slowly and looks at his brother, narrowing his eyes at him.

He shakes his head, knowing full well that you would castrate his brother before allowing him and his men to take you away. Rabban was too stupid for that and too afraid of him. If Feyd had to bet on who did it, he would choose the Bene Gesserit or Atreides with his Fremen.

"She won't be there. Order our men to close the airspace and monitor movements in the desert. Tell them to keep an eye on the Reverend Mothers and the Bene Gesserit. If they object to or question my decision, order to tell them that the baron is only trying to keep them safe. They are to report their every move to me. Once you've done that, join the meeting."

"Me?" He asks in shock, following obediently after him.

"You are my brother. We have to show that we are strong and that there are no divisions between us. Especially after my uncle is dead. They may think we are weak targets and want to get rid of us, just like we did with the Atreides. We must assert our dominance."

Rabban nods, looking at him warily. Feyd doesn't care what he looks like. They took you away from him. He'll do anything to get you back. It doesn't matter if he makes you seem mad or a worse psychopath than he already is.

Why does he need a reputation as a bloodthirsty beast if someone dared to get their hands on what's his anyway? People sentenced themselves to death and then dared to say that he was unpredictable. Pathetic idiots. He hoped you were giving them hell. His heart ached uncomfortably at the thought of someone hurting you while he had to deal with the nobility.

"Let's be honest. Baron Vladimir is dead. Paul Atreides is still at large, probably planning our murder, and the Fremen are rampaging in the desert, worshipping the false prophet. What are you going to do about it, Baron Feyd Rautha?" Feyd clenched his fists under the table. He slowly stopped being surprised that his uncle had become such a man.

After talking to the emperor for a moment, he felt like cutting out his tongue and gouging out the eyes of other high families staring at him. As if his role was to play their hero...

"We have already taken the first measures. It only takes a few bombs to extinguish the spirit of these desert rats. As for Paul Atreides... my people are looking for him. And my right hand went missing the night my uncle died. We suspect this is a related case. I'm going to head out into the desert and join the search. Of course, leaving members of high families in the care of my brother and some of our people. No one will leave Arrakis until the traitors are killed."

His calm, unruffled demeanour, and silent threat caused a slight stir in the room. Feyd suppressed a smirk. He loved controlling the crowd this way. However, he knew that impressing the emperor would be more difficult. Words were not enough to prove that the Harkonnens were a force they should be afraid of. And so far, his brother and uncle have only brought humiliation to their family. He had to fix it. Only with you by his side. That's why he had to leave this pointless meeting as soon as possible and start taking some action. His weapon craved blood.

"It wouldn't be the first time a concubine had gone missing." Princess Irulan comments. Feyd shifts his gaze to her, analysing her carefully. She was paler than usual, her posture more indifferent, as if she were trying hard to hide her true emotions behind her mask. Feyd made a note to look at her more closely.

"Probably not, Princess Irulan. However, in light of recent events—the Atreides attack, the death of my dear uncle, and the increased activity of the Fremen—I am certain that this is not a mere disappearance. This is a deliberate action. Attack on noble houses. Attack on the Harkonnens. And maybe I wouldn't be so concerned about my right hand being missing if it weren't for the baby." After his words, silence fell in the room. Feyd delights in the shocked look from the princess and the nobles in the room.

"The baby?"

"My heir she carries." Feyd nods, repeating his words to the emperor.

Feyd could barely contain his smirk, knowing full well how much you would like to see the faces of representatives of great houses now. To say they were shocked was an understatement. But what else was he supposed to say? That he goes looking for you with a thousand of his troops because he loves you and simply can't lose you? Only the thought of losing his heir was... a good reason to search all of Arrakis and close the airspace—any possibility of leaving the planet.

Because who would stop Harkonnen from desperately searching for the woman who carries his heir? Even a fool wouldn't dare. And if the Bene Gesserit were behind your kidnapping, they wouldn't dare do anything to you either after hearing that... surprising information. After all, they needed his offspring for their plans. Why would they destroy one? Feyd just hoped to get to you first before anyone discovered that you weren't pregnant at all.

"You horny dog! Why didn't you say anything?" Rabban pats him on the back, laughing hoarsely. It breaks the awkward silence in the room. But still, everyone's eyes are on him.

"We preferred to wait with any celebration until we were sure that the baby was growing healthily. After all, this could be our Kwisatz Hederach. Of course, now the safe return of my fiancée with our child is much more important. Therefore, I hope that the Emperor will consent to whatever… measures I intend to take in this matter. Whoever dared to raise a hand against the Harkonnens will pay the weight of their crimes in blood." Feyd continues his lies, knowing full well that you will kick his ass when you find out he called you his fiancée in front of great houses.

"But… I talked to the Baron…"

"My uncle... has not been in good health for a long time. May he rest in peace. Whatever arrangement he made with you, the emperor, during my reign it must be discussed again. Unfortunately, he will not rise from the grave and give us all the details."

"Of course… Baron Feyd-Rautha." The Emperor nods at him. Feyd takes the opportunity and decides to leave the room while he can. He nods to his brother, who turns out to be intelligent enough to understand the message and stands up as well.

"Excellent. If you don't mind, we'll leave now."

He doesn't wait for an answer. He just goes out, with Rabban close behind him. He orders him to prepare the army for the march and place spies around the fortress. They split up halfway to Feyd's rooms. He goes to prepare for his departure, hoping that Rabban will cope with the tasks he has entrusted to him. He missed you. He knew he wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were by his side.

He sighs as he enters his chambers. He stops in his tracks, seeing Princess Irulan next to his collection of weapons. He closes the door behind him with a bang, announcing his presence. The woman trembles and turns towards him.

"Baron."

"Princess." He responds coldly, looking at her carefully. He didn't say anything more. He wanted her to explain her sudden presence in his chambers. He notices, however, that his new title sounds nasty coming from her mouth, no matter how seductively she tries to say it. He imagines you whispering it in his ear as you ride him on his new throne on Giedi Prime...

"I thought you were leaving." He returns to the present moment, making sure he remembers to fulfil this fantasy once you both get back from this damn planet.

"I needed to change first." He replies and clears his throat, suggesting that she should leave. Unfortunately, she either doesn't want to or doesn't understand his hint and stays where she is, watching him carefully.

He feels like he's playing chess. One wrong move, and he loses a pawn. He hated this game until you started playing with him in the evenings, when you exchanged gossip from the court and your own comments. He doesn't remember how many times you fell asleep and he carried you to his bed. His harpies hated these evenings, and he too hated them at the beginning. Over time, he was just waiting for that moment when he was able to watch you snuggle into his pillow, sleeping peacefully.

"I… that's good. I was hoping to talk to you before you left."

"Talk then." He says this and starts taking off his clothes. He notices her blush and the way she looks away. But there's nothing sweet or funny about this gesture, unlike the way you do it. He changes into his usual tactical battle armour as fast as he can, still thinking about the way you used to even shout at him when he was going fully naked around you.

"I was shocked by this news. About the baby. And your fiancée."

"Why?"

"Well, you know very well, my lord, that the Bene Gesserit has planned to unite our families. This shouldn't have happened." He furrows his hairless eyebrows, feeling the anger start to boil within him again. How dare she tell him what he should do? Who should get pregnant, and who should not? He didn't care what the Bene Gesserit wanted. Feyd wanted you, and you probably wanted him. That was all that mattered.

"Would you rather be at my fiancée's place? Would you rather carry my baby instead of her?" He asks dangerously, approaching her slowly. Before she can react, he lunges forward and almost crushes her neck in his grip when he prevents her from using the voice. "You are trembling with fear, princess. It is pathetic that the Bene Gesserit even thought we could connect in any way. Even if we got married, I wouldn't lay a finger on you. At best, I would kill you right after I consolidated my power as emperor. Now that we both know where we stand... Tell me, where is my little witch?"

"The Reverend Mother sent her to Paul Atreides' hideout." She answers him obediently. Feyd smirks sadistically and maliciously as her eyes widen in shock when she realises he has used the voice on her. "How?" She managed to ask before Feyd tightened his grip on her throat again, giving her a bored look.

"With one of your witches by my side, do you think I won't do anything to learn your tricks? I'm not an idiot to let an opportunity like this pass me by. You think that I didn't also see you wince with every move at the meeting? This must have happened right after my fiancée stabbed you when you kidnapped her, right? The poison took effect, didn't it? Are you feeling weak? Do you feel how you slowly lose your vitality with each breath? It will get even worse. Maybe my fiancée will have the mercy to give you the antidote, but I have no intention of doing so. Now listen to me carefully. You won't say or write even a word to inform anyone about what happened. You will lock yourself in your room and endure the effects of the poison without complaining to anyone that something is wrong with you. Get out of my sight before I finish my beloved's work."

He throws her away like a rag doll, feeling defiled just by touching her neck. The only reason he kept her alive was because she was the emperor's daughter, and he couldn't afford to get rid of her YET. She runs away from him as soon as his grip on her neck is gone.

He smiles mockingly and leaves his chambers as well. Now that he knew you would be in the desert, he was going to dig up those damn sand folds and kill all the Fremen and Bene Gesserit who had a hand in your kidnapping.

And once you are by his side again, he will give you the heads of the princess, Corrino's Reverend Mother, and Atreides on a golden platter—an engagement present worthy of a real baroness. Well, he'll have to convince you to marry him first. He sighs, realising how much work is still ahead of him.

You wake up feeling numb. Entirely. There's a gag in your mouth, your hands are tied behind your back, and your ankles are cuffed together, completely preventing you from moving.

You look around your surroundings, realising that you are in one of the Fremen hideouts. A small room carved into the sandy rock resembles a prison cell. You gasp as you try to get off the floor. With a groan, you lean against the cold wall behind you as you somehow manage to sit up. You wonder how the hell you ended up here. And how can you escape when you are completely incapacitated?

Suddenly, the door to the room opens, and Corrino's Reverend Mother enters. You look at the woman with a calculating gaze, showing no emotion other than disgust.

"Y/N Y/L/N. We thought you were dead."

You roll your eyes at her. The old hag knew perfectly well that you had a gag. The fact that she expected any response from you was ridiculous.

"You betrayed your sisters. We should have killed you the moment you were recognised by one of us. You're lucky we're still keeping you alive."

You would snort if you didn't have a gag in your mouth. The Bene Gesserit knew no mercy; if they kept you alive, it was because they still needed you in their plans. After all, you were the strongest of them, which might not be visible now, but it was the truth. They didn't train you all your life and shape you into their ideal form of some sick Holly Mother, just to throw you away now.

You are tensing as the old woman walks up to you and painfully grabs your jaw. You glare at her furiously with your own, not showing an ounce of fear or remorse. What you wouldn't give to have at least a butter knife with you…

"Do you think you are smart, child? That you managed to escape fate? Not at all. Our visions may have been blurry, but now we see everything. Paul Atreides sees everything. After his plan succeeds, he becomes emperor, and you will become his concubine and the mother of the Kwisatz Hederach. Until then, we will keep you under control."

"Who allowed you to come in here?" A cold, commanding voice echoes throughout the small cell. The Reverend Mother steps away from you as if she's been burned by him, giving you the opportunity to look at Paul Atreides as she steps inside. You shiver as his cold gaze falls on you, but you show them nothing but disgust and anger. If you're going to die, at least you will make sure that before you do that, you'll be remembered by them as one big pain in the ass.

"I..."

"Silience!" Atreides yells at her as she feebly tries to explain herself to him. You frown, wondering how the hell he gained such power over the Bene Gesserit. "Leave us alone."

The woman nods obediently and leaves, closing the bars to your cell behind her. You shift your gaze to Atreides, examining him carefully. He was… more portly than you remembered him last time. He became stronger, tougher, and visibly hardened by the sands of Arrakis, since his posture was stiff as armour. You catch yourself thinking that if he stood in the arena in Giedi Prime, he would still lose to your na-baron.

"I am not here to hurt you, Y/N." Atreides says, walking over to you. He crouches down so that you are both at the same height. You look closely at the features of his face, analysing them carefully, trying to read what's behind the strange behaviour of the mysterious Fremen's prophet. "We both have our roles to play here. Something that is above us. I learned a lot about you.I know about your service to the Harkonnens, what you endured as a Bene Gesserit, and every darkest part of your past. And I know you are a wise and very strong woman. You probably understand why all this is so important and why we must fulfil the prophecy and take our places in this story." He says, removing your gag. You clear your throat as he finishes his speech, and, trying to hide your concern, you growl, your voice so hoarse and dripping with madness that Feyd would surely be proud of you:

"You are a mad freak. Feyd will kill you as soon as he finds you. And hell knows, he will come for me. It will be pure joy to fight him for the privilege of being the one who impales your head." Atreides gives you a small smile. He shakes his head, amused by what you're saying. He stands up, helping you to stand on your two feet as well, placing his hands on your waist respectfully, and touching you as little as necessary.

"Come with me. Let me show you something." He says this in an extremely calm voice as he removes the chain from around your ankles. You briefly consider kicking him and trying to escape, but you realise there's not much you can do with your hands tied. You are also still weak—too weak to maintain control over someone else for long with the voice. "Do not be afraid. I told you. I have no reason to hurt you." He encourages, concluding that your hesitation is out of fear and not a desire to attack him.

"I lived for years among the Harkonnens. I'm not afraid of anything except myself."

He gives you an ironic smirk, as if he were convinced that he was an evil worse than the Harkonnens. You don't care about his poor attempts to intimidate you. You weren't some desert rat to be terrified of a man with nice curls and eyes.

You walk through a series of corridors, and of course he leads you, holding your arm tightly and making sure you don't do anything stupid on this little trip around his kingdom. It brings you great satisfaction. Your reputation had obviously taken its toll if he continued to be vigilant around you while you were still half sedated and tied up without any weapons.

You smile sadistically at the Fremen you pass. They look away from you, too afraid to meet your gaze. You were known among them as the Na-Baron's bloodthirsty right-hand, whose cruelty rivalled that of many Harkonnens.

You and Atreides go deeper down. You slowly start to feel dizzy from the number of corridors, corners, and stairs he tells you to take, but eventually you reach a more spacious room. You sigh, feeling the humid air—a sweet change from the dry Arrakis wind. Atreides takes the torch and leads you deeper into the room. You gasp as you see a large pool full of water.

"The Fremen treat water as something sacred. They collect it from the bodies of their people; the water of the more deserving people goes to such pools."

"This is a waste. And stupid, considering that they are dying from a lack of water while having pools of it safely hidden from the Harkonnens." You notice, staring at the pool of water. You tense as you feel Paul's searching gaze on you. You turn your head and give him an intimidating look. He doesn't even flinch. He is unfazed as he continues to analyse you—something you don't like at all. You wish Feyd was here. He would gouge Atreides' eyes out the first time his gaze lingered on you for a second too long.

"Possible. But it's not the first time we waste something in the name of faith, right?"

"Faith befuddles and stupefies. Same as prophecies. We are responsible for our own fate. It doesn't matter what some crazy old man wrote in the books a hundred years ago, probably under the influence of drugs or other alcohol. No one influences our future except ourselves."

His silence at your words worries you. You turn your head to look at him. A small smirk spreads across his face—a sign that your words didn't outrage him as much as they were supposed to. He nods, agreeing with your words, and you realise what he really means. The son of a bitch was testing you. Logical, considering that he was the one who started the cult of him. He thought like you. He did not believe in any Kwisatz Hederach, and even if he did, he considered himself one. He just needed you to keep the propaganda and people's faith in him.

He wanted to show that he had tamed the Harkonnen's witch.

Atreides walks over to you and carefully places a hand on your shoulder, directing you to a different side of the room. You pass by a pool of water. In the centre, there is a large stone bowl on a platform.

"The Reverend Mothers call it the mirror of wisdom. It shows us our future if we continue on the path we are currently on. Look. See what awaits you with your crazy beast by your side."

"It's very brave of you to think that I'm not one." He chuckled at your words. He lets go of you and takes two steps back, keeping his amused, curious gaze on you.

"The Harkonnens are different from us. You may think you are one of them, that you have absorbed their ways and behaviours, but the truth is that you are not one of them at all. You may have adapted to survive among them, but can you look me in the eyes and tell me you don't long for something more... normal?"

"Normality is for the weak." You reply, huffing furiously. "Apart from that, my life has always been different from normal. This is my normality, Atreides."

"Even the bravest warrior needs a break, a moment of respite. Look. Aren't you curious?"

You were very damn curious. Especially after that strange dream/vision you had. So, without saying a word, you approach the bowl of water. You take a breath and dive your head into it, letting the images flood your mind.

This time you are not on Giedi Prime, and you are not a participant in the events. From a distance, you watch the older version of yourself adjust the crown on her head. Empress's crown.

You see yourself flinching in the mirror as the door to your chamber bursts open. Feyd, dressed as an emperor, walks in furiously, heading straight for you. He pushes the large mirror, smashing it against the wall with a roar.

However, you don't care about his sudden attack and watch him, unfazed, as he gasps with rage.

"Is something wrong, honey?" You ask in an almost too-sweet tone, mocking him.

"Do you have the nerve to ask me that? Why don't you tell me where my concubine is instead? Where did you send her? You gave the corpses to the harpies to eat? If any harm has come to her, I will make you eat all three of them before I tear out your cunning heart from your chest, witch."

"You'd have to touch me first. And we both know that lately you're more afraid of laying a finger on me than of our son dethroning you. Which is very surprising, by the way. Has that concubine of yours brainwashed you so much?" You see yourself smiling mockingly as you watch his anger grow with every word you say.

"Don't talk about her like that. Unlike you, she's not a cold, uncaring, selfish bitch."

"Of course not. A smart woman wouldn't willingly sleep with you." This completely breaks the remnants of his composure. He walks over to the older version of you and wraps his hand around her neck, pressing her against the wall.

But he doesn't do it the same way he does with you. It's not a gentle neck hold, a warning, or anything sexual—something that would turn you both on. He just cuts you off, choking you, watching with sick satisfaction as you squirm, trying to get out of his grasp.

"What's stopping me from ending your miserable life? You have already given me a son; your usefulness has long passed, and yet I still let you breathe the same air as me." He says this, tightening his grip on your neck. You gasp as he pushes you away.

From the way you fall to the floor and choke for air, you assume that the older version of you was only seconds away from suffocating. But you don't surrender to him; you don't give him any satisfaction in trying to intimidate you. You start laughing derisively, shaking your head in amusement as you slowly get up from the floor.

"Aw... you couldn't kill me. You're like a dog. You bark and do little. You love me too much to kill me, don't you remember? How did you beg me all those years ago for a piece of my feelings? Who said I love you first? Who was begging on his knees for my hand? Who wanted to have a child? You. You are just a desperate little boy looking for love and affection. You probably even liked the fact that I'm jealous of you and kill your lover? Unfortunately, I don't give a shit who you fuck. I didn't steal your whore, so get out and don't waste my time, husband." You mock him, waiting expectantly for his next move.

He stares at you with pure hatred and resentment. You feel the tension in the room begin to build; the immense anger and disgust between the two of you are palpable. You have no fucking idea how you came to be so hostile towards each other, but... you can't say you're surprised. Because if you were already imagining a future with Feyd... this was the scenario that came to your mind most often.

The two of you were too broken to trust each other and entrust each other with the remnants of the heart that beat and remained within you.

Feyd looks like he wants to say something. But he gives up and instead just leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

You swallow, observing your pathetic fate. The empress locked in a golden palace. At eternal war with everyone. Lonely. Your heart aches at the thought of this being your fate. This is what you were running from. Before relegating you solely to the vessel she was to carry and give to the world, Kwisatz Hederach, Because what would be the use of you then? You would be rejected and alone. Waiting to die. However, you didn't expect your end to look like THIS.

A figure emerges from the darkness of the room through a hidden passage—a man who is a copy of you and Feyd. You see a similarity in him, in your movements, in your creeping through the shadows. He approaches you from behind, holding a dagger similar to the one Feyd gave you on your birthday. You don't react when you feel steel around your neck, as if you had long ago come to terms with how you would die—and by whose hands.

"You were right, mother… I was destined to achieve much more."

And with that, he cuts your throat. Crimson blood runs down your dress, almost invisible against the black material. You die quickly. Quietly. Like a rat...

"Have you seen something interesting?" Atreides' voice reaches you as you step away from the bowl after the vision ends. You sigh heavily, breathing heavily. Drops of water roll down your face and soak into your linen shirt.

"Screw you." You snap at him, trying to wipe your face on the frame. He tears off a piece of his shavl and walks over to you. He wipes the water from your face and hair, not caring about the scowl you throw at him in warning.

"I told you. The future with Harkonnen cannot end well. But if you stay with me, I promise nothing will happen to you. You can be more free with me than you ever could with him."

And you're tempted as hell to accept his offer. You can't say you're not interested at all, that what you saw hasn't made you question your choices... but you've been a Harkonnen for so many years. Could you really forget all this so easily? Forget about Feyd? Maybe in that stupid Bene Gesserit's bowl you saw your tragic end at his side... but did it really have to end like this? You could avoid all this. Take a risk to gain something much better...

"So this is your offer? Freedom and security for lending my uterus for 9 months?" You ask him, wanting to know exactly what options and choices you have.

"In very simple terms, yes." He nods, still staring at you. You find this very irritating of him; you were usually the one who pierced other people with your gaze. Not the other way around.

"What for? You're telling these fools that you're their saviour and the messiah. Kwisatz Hederach, ahead of his time. Why do you need me?"

"I need the support of the Reverend Mothers of other families. I may have... your powers and be the strongest of them all, but I've learned that if you can gain someone's support in a peaceful way, it's better to try it before reaching for a weapon."

Atreides stared at you like you were a puzzle to solve. You didn't like the hidden arrogance in his eyes—the belief that he was truly capable of discovering all your secrets.

Maybe he knew your past, and maybe he saw visions of the future, possible scenarios of what might have happened after his decisions, but the present was yours. And only yours. You will be more than happy to show him that no one could tear out all your fangs and claws.

"Feyd will kill you sooner and bind me with tighter chains than you did, than he ever allowed such a turn of events." You say confidently, convinced that he won't just leave you. In this situation, it's a huge relief for you... but in your head, you can still see his sadistic smirk as he choked you against the wall.

"Not if I kill him." You tense up at his words, and your heart starts to beat faster as you process his words. You would never think that Feyd Rautha could ever die—not by another person's hand, of course. And certainly not Atreides.

He fought too well, was too intelligent and cunning to fail in battle, and yet... you couldn't deny that that one simple sentence Paul said with such confidence didn't send a cold shiver of fear down your spine or that you felt no threat.

"Have you ever seen him in the arena? Or how does he fight? You may have become stronger thanks to your time on Arrakis, but he was trained from childhood to be a small, psychopathic killer and ruthless warrior. You don't stand a chance, Atreides. You won't last a minute fighting him."

"Maybe not in an equal fight. But by trick? More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man."

"Are you talking about your father or maybe even your mother?" You ask mockingly, making his jaw tense and his hands clench into fists. You are very pleased with yourself that you finally managed to hit his sweet spot. Feyd would be proud of you.

"I'm talking about what will happen. Feyd Rautha will die. From my hands." The more he talks about it, the more your anger grows. However, you decide to stay calm and continue the little exchange between the two of you, trying to get something useful from him.

"Are you that sure about your visions? You don't hesitate for a moment, Atreides? It must be so boring knowing what's going to happen. Never having any element of surprise…"

"There are no more certain and clear visions than mine. Maybe you should also start believing in them?"

"Not as long as I have my brain." And my own visions. You add it in your mind, thinking about what you had dreamed about before you woke up in this hole.

"The rumors about you don't lie… Harkonnen's witch." He hums as he walks over to you. His hand reaches up to your cheek, using the pad of his thumb to gently wipe your cheek clean of the drop of water still left on it.

You shiver, staring into his eyes. His touch burns, but not in a nice, familiar way. And when you realise that the reason you're not attracted to him is because he doesn't have the familiar ice-blue irises, pale skin, and bald head, it scares you more than Atreides' sudden proximity to you.

"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you, Atreides." You whisper, moving away from him. You quickly lean in, wanting to bite, or preferably bite off, his finger that was caressing your skin, but he withdraws his hand and takes a step away from you. He laughs at your feeble attempt to harm him.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then the ground around you starts shaking. The sand rock crumbles, causing some of it to fall from the ceiling onto the ground. Atreides looks at you suspiciously.

"Didn't you see it in your visions? Maybe there's a sandworm crawling through your halls?" You ask mockingly, shrugging your shoulders.

"Stay here." He commands you using the voice. He doesn't spare you a second glance, simply heading for the exit. You look at him in disbelief and quickly follow him. The last thing you want is to get buried in one of these rats' corridors because one of them summoned a sandworm in the wrong way.

"I could be of much more use to you there than here." You say, as you are catching up with him, desperately trying to convince him.

"Not if these are Harkonnens!" He replies without looking back and slamming the door shut. You kick them in rage, looking around angrily at the large hall where he left you.

"That's the point…" You sigh, fed up with it all. You walk around the room, trying to find a way out, but even when you manage to find the side passages, you can't take a step beyond the threshold. You are forced to stay inside. "Fucking Atreides."

Instead of wandering aimlessly around the room, you decide to try and break the shackles that bind your hands. You try to smash them against the stalagmite, only to hit harder as the metal cuts into your wrists. After a while, when you have released all your anger, you somehow manage to free your hands. You rub your wrists, letting your blood soak into the sleeve of your linen shirt. You close your eyes and listen to the quiet sound of the water and the footsteps you hear from the upper floors. Something is happening...

Frustrated, you wander over to the pool filled with water. You crouch on the edge and dip your toes in the water. You watch the drops fall, wondering how many people have already given their lives. How many died at the hands of the Harkonnens? You wonder whether your water and blood will also join the ranks of their victims. It seems surreal to you now that Feyd could ever kill you or your own son... but how were you supposed to know what your future was supposed to be? Were you supposed to trust some strange visions or yourself?

While playing with water, you freeze when you suddenly see someone leaning over you. Before you can turn around, a hand covers your mouth, and another wraps around your waist, lifting you up. You scream and kick, trying to get out of someone's tight grip, but your attempts to break free are futile. You freeze when you hear a familiar, raspy voice whisper in your ear.

"Don't worry, it's me. It's just me. Shhh… You're safe. It's me." You relax a little in his arms. You reach your hand up to his and remove it from your mouth. He loosens his grip enough for you to turn in his arms.

"Feyd." You sigh when you see his face. You throw your arms around him and nuzzle your face into his neck. You rest your chin on his shoulder and breathe in his scent as you hold onto him tightly.

You hear him breathe a sigh of relief as well. He places a kiss on the top of your head and hugs you tighter. After a moment, he pulls away from you—not too far away, only a bit—so he can look at your face and see if you have any injuries.

"You're getting out of here. Our men are hidden in every corridor of this hole. Take a few of them and go to the exit. They will take you to the ship. Wait for me there." He gently cups your cheeks in his hands and forces you to look into his eyes. Your heart beats faster as you recognise that concerned look in his eyes from your dream, mixed with anger. "Y/N. I mean it. I know you want to fight; you're brave and a great warrior, but do it for me and just go to that damn ship."

"No. Wait, listen to me. I have to tell you something..."

"You'll tell me you love me later, now you have to get out of here, so I can destroy this place." He interrupts you, gently pushing you towards the exit. You feel anger and frustration building within you as yet another person tries to control you and tell you what to do. No matter how sweet and protective Feyd is acting now, you are fed up with constantly obeying everyone around you.

"Stop!" You shout at him, making him stop in his tracks in shock. Under any other circumstances, you would laugh at the surprised look he gives you, but not now. "Do you trust me?" You ask, looking at him expectantly. You know you're asking a lot of him right now, but if you're going to change your future, you have to act now. And fast. Very fast.

"Y/N this isn't the best…"

"Do you trust me?!" You interrupt him, raising your voice. He must see the desperation and seriousness in your eyes because you see him swallow, considering the question you've asked him. You unconsciously hold your breath, waiting for him to respond.

You both know this isn't an ordinary question. It means something more. Admitting something you both had been avoiding since the first day your blades met in a little skirmish that earned you his sympathy. He had long admired you for your mind, intelligence, ingenuity, cunning, and natural charm. But could he trust you completely?

"I… I do. If I trust anyone, it's you. Only you."

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. You take a step towards him, cupping his cheek in your hand and kissing him. He tenses in surprise but kisses you back pretty quickly, moaning into your mouth as you express all the passion and desire you feel for him. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, wanting to feel your body against his to make sure this isn't some dream. You caress the skin of his neck, shuddering as an electric shiver runs through you as he deepens the kiss, taking everything you have to offer him.

Kissing Feyd always felt like it was the first kiss between the two of you. He kissed like he fought—with his whole being, not holding back, transmitting all his passion and desire. He didn't even know how much you needed to taste all of him right now. And how bittersweet that kiss was for you.

You reluctantly pull away from him and press your forehead against his. You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"I love you, Feyd. I have always loved you. And I was very afraid of it, but I'm not anymore... I... I don't want to be scared of this anymore." You admit it as a single tear falls from your eyes. He reaches to wipe it off, but you shake your head. His hand freezes, hanging between you as he stares at you in shock, trying to process what you said.

Just as he's about to open his mouth, probably to tell you the same thing, you lean in and kiss him again. Slower, more gentle. A few tears escape you, allowing you both to taste them through the kiss.

You reach for the sword attached to his waist with trembling hands.

"I'm so sorry. But it's not our time yet." You whisper, moving away from him just as Paul Atreides returns to the room. He slowly walks towards you, his sword dripping with black Harkonnen blood. And you decide that if anyone spills blood in this room, it will be you. It must be you.

So when Paul is about to approach you and stab Feyd in the back, you close your eyes and stab Feyd with his sword. You hear him let out a shaky breath as his black blood slowly seeps from the wound, staining your hands. You keep your other hand on his shoulder, supporting his weight as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. You try to ignore him, not look at him or in his eyes... you simply cannot. Instead, you stare at Atreides.

Paul is beyond shocked by your actions. He looks for a moment at Feyd's black sword, the tip sticking out of his back—proof of what you did. After a moment, his eyes meet yours. After a while, he approaches you, sheathes his sword, and smiles proudly.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N." He says this, offering you his hand, which you reach for. You shake them, glaring at each other, assessing each other's behaviour as a new agreement forms between you.

You smile, hiding your fear as best as you can and holding back tears when you see Feyd's unconscious body out of the corner of your eye. But you've come too far to change your mind. From now on, you decide your fate.

Only you.

To be continued...

Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...�� I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @harkonnin @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896 @oneandonlybbygrl @noirecatt @iloved1lfs0 @mamawiggers1980 @lololfixu @barnes70stark @obsessedvibee @aaaaaamond @workof-a-rr-t 

[willowser]

katsuki blames the alcohol for making him stupid.

really stupid.

not that he's had a lot, but his tolerance is low for a guy of his size, and he can feel the edges of his inhibitions dulling with every drink of whatever denki has shoved in his hand. it doesn't taste like absolute shit, which is rare enough to have him indulging, just a bit, for the agency halloween party.

another sip has his head feeling a little swimmy, and before he knows it, his eyes are trailing across the room until they find you. again.

whatever the hell you're supposed to be tonight—a witch, or something else in a pointy hat—is really fucking with him, and has since you walked in. the costume isn't revealing in a sense that it's inappropriate for a work event, but it's...hugging you in all the right places. in every single one of them.

without tights, it would be on the too-short side, but—and no, katsuki can't fucking explain this—something about them is making everything worse. and your calf-high boots ain't helping, either.

it's just—your fucking—hips.

katsuki couldn't tell you what song is playing, but you're swaying back and forth to the tune and one of his canines digs into the plastic of his cup, so deeply that it makes a terrible creaking sound and dents beneath the pressure—and that's when a sharp elbow is delivered to the center of his chest.

mina is at his side when he looks, and her wide, freaky eyes scan his face before narrowing in her little shit-eating way.

"you're a pig."

katsuki chokes, and the little freak takes that as an admission of some kind.

"oh my god," she gasps, mouth falling in all her disgust and awe. "you can't even deny it!" and then she laughs, high and chirpy, and there's no way you can't hear her. "oh, you're down bad."

"cram it," he snaps, sinking his scowl into his cup. "i dunno what the hell you're talkin' about."

"you know i really thought better of you," mina sniffs effectively, turning her face up and away. "not the type to be blantly checking out somebody's ass."

katsuki bristles, and his aggrivation growns until the plastic in his hands starts to melt. "i wasn't—"

"i'm kidding!" mina snorts before flicking him in the nose, narrowly dodging the hand he swipes out at her. "quit being a baby and go shoot your shot already."

"piss. off."

but the hero is unaffected by him, simply scrunching up her face in response before turning on her heel to disappear further into the party.

she's wrong, katsuki thinks, because he's not a pig like sero or fucking dunce face or even kirishima, from time to time, who gets red in the face over a low cut shirt and a pair of tits.

fucking ridiculous, katsuki thinks, because he's way better than that.

it's just—the alcohol. that's making his lids heavy and his thoughts dark and his face hot. has him peeking at you over the lip of his cup, has him picturing you in his head when he's forced to look away.

and, well, maybe, the short cut of your dress has a little something to do with it, too—but he's keeping that shit to himself.

taking it to the grave, even.

[imagines4thefandoms]

First Fall of Snow

Bruce x reader; reader experiences her first Snow Day.

Wrote this cause hell froze over in Louisiana and we got SNOW SNOW

15k words pure fluff

Bruce has lived in Gotham for his entire life so he wasn’t new to snow. After 30 years he is tired of Gotham snow days. The snow is annoying. Closing down the streets(temporarily) and no matter how many snow days they experience Gothamites forget how to function. It's too cold and when he goes outside he feels like his 1 minute away from frostbite. 

The kids felt the same. It's just snow, nothing special. Maybe they would go outside for a very intense snowball fight but after 30 minutes they were all back inside doing their own thing. They appreciated the canceled school and the time off work but they were no longer excited like when they were younger. 

You on the other hand were so excited. You lived in the far south where it never snowed and this would be the first time you experienced it. When you told Bruce, he suggested you stay with him so he knew you were safe had plenty of food, and didn’t need to venture out into unfamiliar terrain. 

The night before you kept glancing out the window waiting for the snow to start falling. Watching your excitement brought a smile to Bruce’s face. Ever since he met you it was like you awoken the childlike side of him. He danced in the rain, sang in the shower, and danced while getting ready in the morning. Hell, he even started smiling while in the suit. Clark froze when he first saw him smile at the watch tower. 

The kids have noticed the change too. He goes easy on them but during training lets them take a night off or hell asks them to patrol in his place so he can take you out. When Bruce asked Jason he was stunned. It was the first time Bruce asked him to cover his patrol. Bruce normally asked Dick or even Tim, but it seemed like Bruce was more trusting of Jason since you started dating. 

Jason followed Bruce to your apartment. Watched as he held you and nursed you back to health. After that night the whole house knew about you. Jason needed help with the constant teasing he was ready to dish. They bugged him to officially meet her. For weeks they followed you on dates and subconsciously perched on your apartment building roof. If they were asked it was a coincidence, but in reality they were already protective of their father's girlfriend. 

On Labor Day, you finally went to his place for a family BBQ. You were engulfed in hugs by everyone. They thanked you for making Bruce more bearable and less Brucey. Of course just cause they liked how you changed him didn’t mean you were exempt from a full-on interrogation. They wanted to know everything. Your name, age, birthday, place of birth, why you moved to Gotham, what you did for work, and if you had any pets. 

Bruce pried you away from them when they started to ask if you had a criminal record. He gave you a sheepish smile as an apology but you just laughed. You adored how protective they were of him. Even though Bruce worries how he’s doing a terrible job as a father, they prove him wrong with their antics. 

Ever since that night, you spend more time at the manor than you did at your apartment. You rarely spent the night there, it was always at your place but it didn’t bother you. This would be the first time you spent the night at his place in the 6 months you were dating. And honestly, you were more excited about the projected snow than spending the night at his place. 

Since Bruce knew you never experienced snow before, he got you everything you needed: a thick winter coat, snowshoes, gloves, a scarf, and a hat. He also made sure to grab some thermal underwear and long sleeves. When you insisted that your sweater and leather jacket with two pairs of leggings would be enough, he didn’t argue. He was just going to let you experiment, but your coat will be here waiting for when you change your mind. 

When you woke up, Bruce was still in bed but was sitting up reading something on his phone with a cup of coffee. You stretched popping some bones then rolled over so your arm was across his lap. He placed his coffee on his nightstand and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. Bruce chuckled when you groaned about how it was cold. He pulled you up so he could properly hold you and you just buried yourself in his body heat. 

It took a few minutes for you to fully wake up but when you did you remembered it was supposed to snow today. You jumped out of bed faster than a kid on Christmas day and quickly got dressed in your version of snow clothes. Bruce made you calm down so he could get dressed but you were too excited and just ran out of his room and to the front door. The kids were in the living room watching TV when you started jumping with excitement. They looked at you with confusing looks but laughed when you giggled about the snow. 

Bruce called your name but you opened the door and ran outside before he could catch up to you. The entire yard was covered in snow. You couldn’t tell where the driveway was and where the actual grass was. The bitter wind slammed into your face turning your face bright red, but you were too busy laughing to care. 

You looked up at the sky and tried to catch snowflakes, then you just collapsed in the snow to make a snow angel. Bruce stepped over to you and blocked the sun as he stared down at you with a smile. You held your hands up for him to help you up without destroying your snow angel. As you stood up you slipped on some ice but Bruce caught you. Once you got your footing you turned away and stared at your creation. 

Bruce thought about how he was so lucky to have you in his life. This pure ball of energy that has on more than one occasion literally knocked him off his feet. You were looking around for the perfect place to start building a snowman when he got an idea. He texted the boys and they quickly came out to help him. While you were distracted, Bruce picked up some snow and formed a snowball. After making sure it was packed tight, he threw it at you hitting your shoulder. 

You turned around and saw all of them standing in front of tiny piles of snowballs. Another snowball hit you in the face and you just burst into laughter. You could hear Tim apologize over and over again but you weren’t mad. Jason threw two at Tim to get revenge and then an all-out snowball fight erupted. Jason and Dick were on your team while Bruce, Tim, and Damien were on the other. 

Jason quickly built a fort to hide behind and you helped make as many snowballs as you could. They weren’t the best but they weren’t terrible for your first snowball ever. You hit Tim on the arm and Damien on the leg, while you got hit all over. If there was a reward for the world's worst snowball player it would go to you, but you were having the time of your life. 

Alfred called everyone in for soup, but you decided to get the last laugh. Bruce turned to make sure you were coming inside when you threw a snowball in his face. It didn’t hit him hard but it took him by surprise and knocked him on his ass. You let out a short laugh then ran over to see if he was ok. But you slipped on some ice again and fell on top of him. 

Bruce started laughing, like a deep belly laugh. Everyone just froze. When was the last time Bruce laughed like that? Alfred couldn’t remember. The kids know they never heard that kind of laugh. You slowly got off him and held your hand out to help him up. Doing so almost knocked you on your ass but Bruce kept you steady. His arm was around your waist and he pulled you close to him. He quickly kissed your wind-bitten nose and brought you inside to defrost. 

Bruce had to promise that he would help you build a snowman later just so you would step inside. The next time you went out, you put on the coat Bruce got you. The rest of the day consisted of multiple snowmen and snow angels then going inside to warm up then back outside. By bedtime, Bruce had to carry you to his room cause you passed out on the couch. You mumbled something about playing in the snow again tomorrow, and for the first time since he was a kid, Bruce was excited for another snow day. 

[krypticcafe]

Can you do a part 2 of the platonic reader and the 141+Alejandro where reader gets kidnapped and comes back? I love your writing!

No One Can Hurt You

Sequel to As Long as I'm Here

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic gn!reader x task force 141 + alejandro + rodolfo

warning(s): language, canon-typical violence, torture, blood, military inaccuracies, mild gore descriptions for a hot second, implied ghost zapping a guy's balls, reader is lowkey traumatized, comfort, no use of y/n, no beta read, possible ooc?

a/n: I did NOT expect to get such an overwhelmingly positive response on the first part?? I was worried that the writing felt bland, but you guys seemed to love it, so here's the highly demanded part two!

synopsis: the 141 and Los Vaqueros weren't going to stand for what happened to you. No one would.

alternative title— fuck around and find out

"We found the guys your sources claimed to be the men that were there, Captain. But they're refusing to say anything to us. Honestly, it looks like they're just another pair of lackeys." Gaz was speaking over comms with Price after locating a suspect with Roach. The two had found the pair in a dingy old building, a safehouse conveniently placed far from heavily populated civilian areas.

"Should we-"

He was cut off by a series of loud thuds and glass crashing, immediately grabbing his handgun and running into the room where Roach was keeping an eye on their suspects.

Roach had one of the men pinned to the ground, repeatedly decking him in the face whilst letting out frustrated yells and broken cries. Blood splattered across the floor and on his visor, but he could've cared less, it wasn't his anyways.

"Roach, get off of him, that's enough!" Gaz practically had to tear his teammate away from the man with how Roach flailed, grunting and clawing at Gaz's arms to let him go. "Roach, we can't do anything if you bloody kill them!"

Pushing off Gaz, Roach seethed with pained eyes, nearly tearing up out of sheer frustration. "He's hiding something, I know he is! That sadistic fuck started bragging about what they did to the sergeant and- and the smug shit look he had! These are the guys, but they're not telling us everything!"

He knew it was a terrible excuse, but his own gut feelings about reading people's expressions had never proved him wrong before, not when he had an eye for reading people through their body language. Gaz hesitated. He understood why Roach lashed out and didn't blame him for losing his temper, hell, he rarely did, and Gaz would've done the same in all honesty. You meant as much to him as you did to Roach. They were the first friends you made when joining the 141, the ones who helped acclimate you to the team, and the ones who trained under Price alongside you like you were their sibling. But it didn't help that they nearly broke protocol, which would've compromised the mission and made your sacrifice and suffering for nothing.

Looking down at the unconscious yet still-breathing man, Gaz then noticed how the blood pooled around him. It seemed to stop spreading at some point in the floorboards and spilled into an unusually large crack in the wood that looked suspiciously intentional.

"Roach, take the other one and call for exfil but don't tell them to leave just yet." Once his partner left, Gaz kneeled down to the floor and knocked on the wood. It was hollow.

Seems they would definitely need them alive now more than ever.

"I don't know who supplies us, I just work for them! Just ask-" The man let out a cry as Soap held his shoulder, digging his fingers into it and balling his other hand into a fist before landing a solid punch into his gut. A moment passed he choked on air, the wind knocked from him, his mouth painfully dry except for the tears that dripped from his eyes.

"Tell us who you work for or things are about to get real nasty for you like they did for your friend."

"You're in it if you think I'm gonna say shit! The 141 is just a freak show, ain't it? Bunch of you cowards hiding behind stupid callsigns, what the fuck kind of name is—" That earned him another beating. He wailed, writhing in pain against the tight restraints, but ultimately wasting his energy. He only stopped when he heard screams and crackles of what was undoubtedly electricity coming from behind one of the walls of the room.

"So you do know," Soap growled, beating him once more and backing up when he retched from pain. Blood dripped from Soap's knuckles, to which he scowled in disgust and irritation, his accent growing thick, "No, you just had to make things a fuckin' mess, dinnae you?"

Normally, it was Ghost who took care of interrogations, at least the more painful parts of it. But Soap needed to let out his anger in a useful way, he needed to hear the sickening crunch of ribs so that he could remind himself of what you went through and erase any sliver of doubt or sympathy in his mind for the enemy. Every splatter of blood that'd spill when he'd throw a fist across the guy's face was just another testament to how much he despised what happened and how desperately he needed to let it all out.

The man, in his bleary-eyed haze, made out another figure that entered the room. It was Ghost, with a box of electrical clamps in hand. "What is he doing here?"

Soap and Ghost made a silent exchange of words, nodding to one another in confirmation and speaking purely through eye contact. It only created more fear when Soap left the room and the man was all alone with the lieutenant.

"Hey hey hey where are you going you can't leave me with him! I did what I had to do, it's not my fault your friend was collateral—" The man choked on his words when Ghost pulled out two clamps and tested them, both emitting a spark and loud crackles that echoed off the walls. "—fuck! Oh god, no no no—what the fuck are you gonna use that for?!"

The lieutenant was a different situation. Sure, he wanted nothing more than to dig his hands into the man's open wounds, curl his fingers until flesh separated from bone, make them feel just exactly how much they got 'under his skin'. He wanted to hear the satisfying pop! of bones and cartilage. He wanted them to writhe like worms on a scalding sidewalk, pathetic and left for dead. But that wasn't enough, they didn't deserve the time, the effort, nor did they deserve the pleasure of a quick death. No, he needed to make them suffer.

Ghost brought one clamp up to the man's crotch with one hand and held a rusty knife with the other, lowering himself to look directly at his target. It was at that moment the man came to the realization that he wasn't captured, no, he fucked around, pulling off the stubborn shit act until they'd inevitably grow bored of him and move on, maybe put him out of his misery if he was lucky enough. But there was no moving on, there was no luck in this ring of hell. No, not with what had already been done and what couldn't be taken back even if he begged. The 141 was revered for their soldiers and their work, but it was a myth all at the same time. They were said to be efficient and ruthless, better to surrender to than to suffer at the hands of. Since they were off the books, it was a mystery as to what lengths they would go to, just how far they would push the limits.

He had fucked around, and now he'd find out.

They locked eyes, one pair filled with fear, the other devoid of any emotion. There wasn't the sympathy the man prayed for, nor the anger or violence of Soap, not even a hint of mercy or hatred. It was so empty of feeling that it almost felt dismissive, as if the man wasn't a human held hostage but an object, a book to be torn open for answers, then tossed aside. If Soap had been his judge and jury, then Ghost would surely be his executioner. He felt small, insignificant, and hopeless under the gaze as the man he truly believed was death incarnate responded to his question.

"Last. Chance."

One by one, Price and his crew had cleared the facility, evacuating workers and eliminating guards and cartel. After bringing their "guest informants" to the brink of delirium, wrenching them like wet towels to get every drop of info. Along with the intel Gaz gathered from a hidden basement where hard drives of transactions were being kept, they found the main supplier and other bases. If they took down the heart of the operation, it would cause a domino effect, shutting things down to a point where the Los Vaqueros would be able to handle them on their own. With every bullet shot, they were closer to their goal and closer to making up for what they considered a personal failure to protect one of their own and many more.

Maybe it was crazy that their primary motivation beyond recovering the drugs was to seek justice for a single soldier. But it was to prove a point. To prove that they weren't just a team of highly skilled and trained soldiers, to prove that they were a force to be reckoned with, and to prove that you were no less valuable of a member than the others, all of whom would lay their lives on the line for one another. After all,

The 141 was not to be messed with.

Making his way through the rooms and getting closer to the center of it all, Price was interrupted when a door to his side busted open from a man toppling back into it, falling to the ground. He tried to scramble back, a boot quickly stomping onto his chest. Alejandro towered before him, pressing a rifle to his head, growling in Spanish, "Where is your leader?"

The man responded, and without hesitation, the colonel gave him a quick and painless death for his obedience. Looking up, Alejandro nodded in acknowledgment at Price, "I'm not the only one that owes your sergeant, they protected my men, and I owed them a favor even before that."

That caused Price to chuckle, even despite their current circumstances. There was no denying how much of an unnecessarily reckless saint you could be with those you worked with. "I suppose you got a location from that poor bastard?"

"Yes. Have our teams regroup, it's going to be a long night for us all, my friend. But it's worth the trouble for Las Almas and the kid, no?"

"Yes, indeed." Price hummed, the two making their way out and on to finally settle the score.

You woke up blinded by a bright light, briefly contemplating if you were dead and if heaven was actually real all along. But after some time passed, your eyes adjusted to the all-too-familiar setting of the infirmary with its barren walls and sickly sanitized scent. With a groan, you tried to prop yourself up on your elbows until a hand gently pressed you back. Puzzled by the motion, you rubbed your eyes and found your captain looking back at you.

"Easy there, soldier." Price cautioned, and you kept your eyes on him as you laid back down. He had a small smile on his lips, but the way he looked at you signified that he was still concerned for your state, "You alright? Need the nurse or anything?"

"No," You shook your head, wincing at how hoarse your throat was. Price laughed softly and handed you a cup of water he had prepared at the side of your bed, and you started to wonder if he had always kept one there for you and if he even regularly changed it for you. You wouldn't put it past him to, the ol' sap.

Gulping the cool liquid down heartily, you took a few breaths before continuing, "How- how long was I out?"

"About a few days, no longer than a week." He shrugged, your eyes widening in response, "Cut yourself some slack. When you came back, you were bleeding out all over base and in hysterics. Doctor told us that if you got back any later, we would've lost you from the blood loss alone."

"Just the blood loss? Not the drugs? I would've figured the latter would be the end of me." You chuckled until you saw Price's expression, muttering a sheepish 'sorry, too soon?' and sipping your water cup, "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"Well, you did punch Garrick square in the chest, but he's been through worse. Wouldn't stop making puppy eyes at you the entire time after, I think you wounded his heart. Ghost had to restrain you afterward, and you were too weak to do any real damage at that point, just kept screaming your head off until you passed out."

"Shit," You cringed, your face burning hot with shame, "I'm sorry, Captain. I should've been more careful, I could've compromised the mission and-"

"Don't be. Sure, you made a bloody fool of yourself, but you saved your team in the process. And that's got to count for something, yeah?" He nudged you gently, "So don't beat yourself up, especially after you fought your way out of hell."

The sympathetic look he gave you held unspoken words, No one could've known. You couldn't have known. The urge to tear up right then and there was strong, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already apparently had. Biting back the sting in your eyes, you only quietly nodded in response.

"Good. I'm proud of you, got that?" Price stood from his seat, giving your head a firm pat, "Rest up after they're done with you, alright? Can't have one of my finest on the sidelines for too long, now can I?"

"Honored to be one, Captain." You faltered for a moment, "Wait, 'they'?"

Price only gave you a sly shrug and left the room. You remained to wonder what he meant for approximately ten seconds until Gaz and Roach burst in, the latter immediately glued to your side. So this is who he meant by "they", why were you even surprised?

"Feeling alright there?" Gaz smiled, taking a seat at your other side.

"I should be asking you that, didn't you get all heartbroken after I punched you?"

"I shouldn't have asked," Gaz groaned, shaking his head despite his smile, "Cheeky as ever, huh? Can't even be sympathetic without you trying to make fun of me."

"Well, I for one was pissed!" Roach interjected, "Right after you got here, we got to work on finding the assholes who hurt you and made them eat shit for dinner. Man, I wish I could've been in the interrogation room with Ghost and Soap but Price said I'm only finding an excuse to beat them up more."

Gaz raised a brow, "You were finding an excuse to."

"Well yeah, but I was only gonna mess with them a little bit, not zap their balls like Ghost—"

"I'm sorry, what?" You coughed, stunned by all the information coming out of them and hardly able to keep up. "What happened when I was knocked out?"

"Price didn't tell you? Oh, well," The two began to give you a run-down of events, from how Roach nearly beat the living hell out of your torturers, to the hidden basement, Ghost and Soap's whole interrogation (with great detail via Roach intel), and how both Price and Alejandro held a whole operation and shut down the suppliers.

Gaz shrugged, "Of course, it was mostly to shut it down and for the sake of Las Almas-"

"-but I mean, we also had to defend your honor!" Roach huffed, passionately signing to emphasize his point, "At least I wanted to. Seriously, how fucked up is it that they drugged you? It wasn't even helpful, they're just sickos that-"

Before Roach could further rant, Gaz tugged at the back of his uniform collar and glanced at his watch. "C'mon Roach, we've been here for a good hour and Price has us on duty right now." Roach only whined at Gaz in response but he ignored it, giving you one last glance, "Get some rest and get well soon, mate. I can't babysit all on my own after all."

"Hey!"

You broke out in laughter, watching the two leave and waving them goodbye. While you wished they could've stayed longer, your heart still warmed at the thought of how they cared, waiting for you to wake up and immediately being at your side. It reminded you of how you stayed at their side when they got sick from a mission in the rain and you didn't, so you felt somewhat obligated to help them as the 'survivor'. Perhaps they felt the same way too, that as your friends, they felt obligated and willing to stay by your side in return.

Hours passed since Gaz and Roach had visited, morning turning to late afternoon. The only ones who did pass by were either other soldiers on base needing medical attention or the nurses themselves, who regularly checked up on you. It wasn't exactly the company you wanted, but it was better than agonizing silence and isolation, which you quickly found to be the worst of it all. Not the scars, not the stiff bandages, not even the sickly clean smell, but just when things were silent. When things were silent, your mind went back to the time you spent, the hours you waited in between questions and beatings with nothing but you in your own head fighting for your consciousness. The buzz of the fluorescent lights in the infirmary drilled a hole in your skull the same way that singular overhead light had, drowning out your thoughts in an uncanny way. The IV drip was no better, it kept you awake the same way the rhythm of your own blood dripping had. You hadn't even noticed the way your breathing suddenly turned ragged just like it did when—no, you had noticed, but you didn't want to.

It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did, it was only a few hours, you've been through worse, others have been through worse.

But god, the silence.

"You doing okay there, uh-" A nurse walked in through the curtains, pulling up the clipboard at the end of your bed and reading your name, "I'm just going to administer some painkillers real quick, okay?"

Unconsciously, you nodded and watched in a slight daze as she pulled up a cart of medical supplies. Your hands balled into fists to stop the trembling you weren't even aware of but somehow knew you had to hide. It hadn't quite registered to you what was going on or what she had said, even as you watched her fill up the syringe and flick it. But the moment you felt the needle against your skin, you roughly grabbed her wrist, causing her to yelp and drop it.

Your hands began to tremble again, growing clammy. You became all too aware of how muffled the nurse's panicked words were but how sharp the ringing in your ears was, piercing your brain. Words wouldn't come out of your mouth, replaced with small, quick breaths while your eyes darted around to find something, anything to focus on with your blurred vision.

"At ease, sergeant." A heavily accented voice spoke, ripping you from your haze and you turned to find that familiar skull mask standing by the curtains.

"I... I'm sorry," You mumbled, letting go of the poor woman's wrist and hanging your head apologetically. Your breaths returned to normal, the lights were less bright, and the noise was gone for now.

"I think it's best if you ask the doctor to try other kinds of painkillers with our friend here, miss. They aren't too fond of needles, ain't that right?" Soap appeared behind Ghost, trying to keep things lighthearted with how tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate in. The nurse nervously nodded her head before walking away with the cart, understandably still shaken by what had happened.

"I'd ask if you're doin' okay, but it seems a bit obvious now, ain't it, Ghost?"

The other grunted in response, sitting down at one of the chairs by your side. "You'd think they'd know better with these kinds of things."

"Don't be mean now, they're just doing their jobs," The scotsman chuckled, turning back to you, "Now, aren't you quite the sight for sore eyes? Sorry we couldn't make it earlier, we got tied down with paperwork after the whole fiasco, you know about that yet?"

"Yeah, I didn't expect you guys to get the job done so fast."

"Aw, did you want us to leave you some left over? If I'd known, I would've told Ghost to go a little easier on the lads." Soap was the only one trying to make any conversation out of this visit and you already knew the reason for Ghost's silence. It was just like in the helicopter after you took the blow for him, though you were pretty sure a pun wouldn't be enough to break him from "brooding" like last time.

"Sure. Would've loved to get a few punches back on them," You teased back, "But thank you guys. Really. I know it wasn't the main purpose, but I really appreciate that you guys had my safety in mind. Never figured joining the 141 would come with vengeance perks, or am I just that special to you guys?"

"You little shite, you," Soap cackled, ruffling your hair.

"Looks like they beat us here, Rudy." Alejandro's voice chimed out of the blue, appearing soon after.

"Too bad, I was hoping we'd have them to ourselves," Rodolfo hummed, followed behind with a gift basket in hand, "At least we bought something, eh?"

"Oi! We would've brought something too, we just wanted to get here as soon as we got back." Soap pouted, "Tell 'em Ghost."

"Actually I was hoping to get a 'get well' card on our way here." The masked man mumbled, ignoring his partner's offended gasp.

"You seein' this?" He whined, but you also ignored him, favoring the sweets that were in the gift basket.

"How'd you know this was my favorite?" You gasped, your reaction had the two Vaqueros looking at each other with proud faces.

"I have my sources."

"Ale, you just asked around base."

"That still counts as sources."

The whole lot of you started breaking into conversation, the boys exchanging their accounts of their ambush. In return, you shared what had happened when you were caught and how you escaped in a small summary of events, which led to them ranting about the men they interrogated and about the drugs themselves. Even Roach, Price, and Gaz popped in one last time for the day to visit you and join in on the discussion. Seeing them all like this, gathered around your bed, laughing and bantering, it almost made you forget all that had happened. You wanted to cherish this moment, keep a mental picture of it framed over the locked box in the back of your mind. Being in the military never allowed much room for friends gathering and all this chit-chatting outside of pubs, so it was a rare sight for sore eyes.

In a way, it made your life a little more meaningful. Reminded you that you weren't just a "good soldier", you were a teammate, a friend. You were important, someone worth fighting for. A purpose.

Although the job was harsh and you always felt like you had a gun to your head, that everyone wanted you dead on the battlefield, the 141 always showed you that someone out there still cared, still wanted you to fight and stay alive. Even if life tried to put you six feet under, they'd be there to pull you out without hesitation. You didn't have to doubt or question why, you already knew the answer.

You were family.

Unfortunately, the moment couldn't last for long, the poor nurse from before had been startled by the sheer volume of people around you, especially when most of them were high-ranking. Regardless, she chastised them for keeping you up when you needed your rest (you didn't) and began to shoo them all out. It was almost comedic how the group of giant, intimidating men left with little resistance in a pile of shame. Christ, they look like a pack of sad puppies, you humorously thought to yourself.

Ghost was the last to leave, hesitating to say something by the way he just stood there, curling his hands into fists. You had to force yourself not to laugh right then and there. For someone who was so silent and stoic for most conversations, he was easy to read. It wasn't hard to notice how his eyes kept flickering to your bandages the entire time he sat there, followed by the flashes of concern on his face every time you had coughed from laughing too hard or accidentally hurt yourself by shifting your body too quickly.

"I'll be alright, Simon." Giving him a reassuring smile, you hoped he'd take your words to heart, "Don't worry about it, I'll be on the field right as rain again in two days tops and you can kick my ass around all you want then. Promise."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and you began to worry that maybe your words were too cheap for him to believe, or maybe that he was more upset than you'd originally thought.

"You better be sure." He finally responded, "I take my promises pretty seriously, remember that, sergeant."

You stared at him all googly-eyed until your lips broke into a wide grin, beaming brightly at him and shouting as he left.

"Message received, L.T!"

a/n: AAAA I haven't written this much in so longgg. I had the first half already down from the last part because it went on for too long, but this one is nearly DOUBLE the word count. It's bound to have some grammar mistakes, but I hope that doesn't ruin the immersion too much. Let me know what you guys think!

[starkenobi]

Can you write drunken confession with tony stark please?? 😻😁

masterlist

Hope you like this one! 💜

pairing: tony stark x avenger!reader.

warnings: same universe of menace, draw me like one of your french girls.

Usually, the person with the history of getting drunk at parties was none other than the host of the party himself, Tony. But it's been years since his terrible behavior, no more party animal with no control. Being Iron Man gave him purpose - and the troubles that came attached to his status required some changes.

Of course, he didn't really stop drinking. Oh no, sometimes he drank like he thought he could keep up with Thor. Some days were harder than the others, but they were becoming rare.

And all thanks to one person.

Frosty, another excellent addition to the Avengers — the nickname he gave her on their first meeting and that she proudly decided to use as her hero name.

It was overwhelmingly cute.

It made him nauseous how sweet that move was.

She had game.

She was better than him.

So, of course, the outcome couldn't be any different.

The two became attached to the hip. It was worse than his friendship with Bruce. She was curious, had a wild imagination and a dangerous creativity, compensating her lack of knowledge on science. He loved how she could keep up with him, with her oohs and aahs, and feeding him dumb ideas that became good in his capable hands.

He fell hard.

So damn hard it was actually stupid.

He tried to play it cool.

Then, Tony noticed he stopped going out and having one night stands after six months of Frosty joining the team.

It's been two years.

The. Fuck.

How he never noticed before?

Oh, yeah.

His time when he wasn't working, avenging, or being with the team... he was with her.

And when he was alone and felt horny...

Dammit.

He was a genius but so fucking dumb sometimes.

No one needed to know, of course.

So he played cool.

Super cool.

He made her a new uniform with a new nano tech.

He upgraded her room.

And her motorcycle.

He gave her super access to his personal lab.

He asked friday to keep an eye on her favorites and buy before she could miss something.

He smiled more.

He started calling her sweetheart.

Ugh, fuck.

He wasn't playing cool.

At all.

And now the party.

His worst nightmare.

He wanted to order everybody out and be a party popper.

But she was having fun.

With Sam, Pietro and Bucky.

Tony forgotten at the side, forced to talk business and watch her from afar.

He hated it.

She was drinking tequila like water, doing shots with everyone of the team.

And then he lost her and the rest of them in the crowd.

Tony found her two hours later.

Or, rather, Bucky and Natasha brought her to him.

"All yours, Tony." Natasha said simply, an amused smile on her lips.

Bucky patted her head in goodbye after Tony held her waist. "That one's trouble, but your trouble now, Stark."

"Huh, thank you?" Tony frowned, confused. Should he be offended? Hell no.

She giggled, hugging him without care and not even paying attention to the couple of spies. "You smell like mine."

Oh, he understood now.

Trouble. So much trouble.

But he loved.

"I bet you say this to every chick you wanna bang." Tony retorted playfully because he loved to banter with her, even more so her drunk version.

"No!" She answered quickly, worried wild eyes staring at him. "You're it for me, Tony! Can't you see?"

What.

"What?"

There's no way.

"Ugh, why are you so mean and dumb?" She lamented, body collapsing dramatically and making him take her in his arms.

"Alright, sweetheart, time to go." Tony declared, starting to walk with her to one of the doors that led to the avengers' private area.

His heart beating so hard, he was scared of dying right there.

"Wanna snuggles and burgers, Tony." She said after a bit of silence, oblivious to his internal crisis.

She loved him too.

Oh, Tony was going to have a blast tomorrow.

Yeah, he was already making plans.

He needed to buy her favorite flower, breakfast in bed, take her to one of his places for privacy and ask her to make him hers as long as she wished.

Ugh, he was so going to marry her.

But, for now, he needed to take care of his drunk princess.

Booping her on the nose, he answered. "You're lucky that I love you."

She never heard him, already asleep in his arms before even getting into the bed.

[separatist-apologist]

How Did It End

Summary: When Morrigan was eighteen years old, she found a rare, enduring love with a human princess during the human rebellion. That love died gasping in her arms, and Mor swore she would never love another again.

Five hundred years later, standing in a training ring, Mor recognizes a pair a hazel eyes.

For @sjmromanceweek

Note: I stole this idea from @ablogofsapphicpanic who thought it would be a good idea for feysand. I'm not sorry.

Read on AO3

-

War was hell.

Morrigan wasn’t built for it, though she excelled all the same. She’d been born to privilege, to be the pampered, pretty daughter of a lord. The dutiful daughter that secured her family’s position without complaint. And maybe in another life, Mor was that daughter—sometimes she wished she could have been. She’d tried to be, in every way she could.

She dressed the way they wanted her to, held her cutlery exactly right and spun around a dance floor with such grace strangers had once wept at the sight. Mor walked with her spine straight, her chin held high, her hair a perfectly curled cascade of gold. Men stopped to look. 

She rarely noticed them.

Seventeen years, and one night with Cassian had told Mor all she’d ever needed to know about herself. It had been a moment of defiance—her first ever, truthfully—to avoid a brutal, cruel marriage to a brutal, cruel male. 

Cassian was handsome. He was kind. He’d been patient and attentive and she’d felt good when he touched her. But that was all she felt, and when her eyes had fluttered shut as he’d lowered his mouth, she’d imagined another, softer face of a female she’d once known when she’d lived beneath the mountain.

Just friends. She would have sworn it even then. But deep, in her heart of hearts, Mor had known there had always been a little more on her end. She loved Cassian, but it wasn’t romantic—it was friendly. He’d tried coming around for a while after that, but took the hint when she refused to meet with him alone.

He wanted to discuss what happened. What it meant. Rhys must have explained the whole thing at some point. Her cousin knew, jaw clenched when she announced it to her uncle and her father, prepared for whatever consequences came next. 

She didn’t want to think about that. Not as she stood on the edge of the faerie realm, staring down the dull, human world she’d been cosigned to. The humans had queens, now, and she was sent as one of the ambassadors to help negotiate the end of the war. Victory wasn’t a certainty—Hybern’s forces had swept into Autumn the day before, scattering the royal family. If Mor was lucky, they’d at least take out Beron.

And Eris. Perhaps both, in one fell swoop, leaving the grieving widow and her brood of younglings to rebuild. If only. Likely, some other, more terrible lord would ascend to power given the transfer of magic in Prythian. Why did it always pick a male?

Rhys had once snapped at her that it didn’t always.

“The Mother picks who is worthiest. It’s not about gender, Mor.”

Then why was it always a male? 

She pushed the thought from her mind. The humans had queens. Queens. Six of them, if Rhys was to be believed—and she did. How barbaric and backward could they possibly be? Even with their budding, fragile society, the humans had managed to find six females of noble birth and elevated them into queens of their specific, new societies. 

The war still raged, and yet here, in these places, there was hope. Mor had never seen any of the human societies that existed beyond Prythian, had been told they were wastelands where humans lived no better than cattle, and sometimes worse. She’d heard a story at a party of humans who’d eliminate their waste where they stood and continue on as if it were the most normal thing in the world. They consumed their children, according to other stories. 

They needed the strong, steady hand of a more superior, smarter master—or, that was how her father told it. He didn’t want to be that master, but it was more practical than moral no matter how Rhys tried to dress it up.

Humans bred far easier, and more often than their fae counterparts. It was too hard to control so many of them. Rhys’ father had spent centuries in the attempt before he finally stopped bothering and freed his slaves. Rhys counted that as a win, and maybe it was. Maybe it was unfair to hold his bad reasons against the High Lord. At least he’d freed them—Spring hadn’t. 

But…Day Court had freed their slaves a full decade before, and allowed them sanctuary within their borders, making an enemy of many other courts. It had been a noble decision—Phobus argued passionately that humans were a shared ancestor and had inherent worth and dignity, despite their lack of immortality.

“There is nothing just or moral in long lives,” she’d heard him once say. She’d been no older than fifteen, but it had stuck with her and Rhys. He’d wanted to join the fighting, arguing with his father until he was sent to the front lines to die.

And Mor was sent as an emissary, presumably to get her away from Cassian and Azriel. Her father still held some sway with his brother, and Keir would be damned if his daughter interbred with Illyrians. Hate her as he might—the insult with Cassian had been nearly too much, but a marriage would send Keir over the edge.

She hadn’t seen Cassian in months. Azriel never left her uncle’s side, but Cassian was just gone, and sometimes, in the deepest, darkest held places in her soul, she was convinced she’d condemned the young warrior to death. 

Mor pushed the thought from her mind as another figure winnowed beside her, smelling faintly of vanilla and lime. It had been a compromise between the allied forces—no one trusted the Night Court, and Mor by association, so the Day Court had offered to send one of their famed scholars along. 

Mor had never met Arina in person, though they’d exchanged a few letters in preparation for the journey. While Mor was there to broker a treaty, Arina was there to chronicle the lives, culture, and society of the humans in an attempt to both better understand them and reshape the narrative around their existence.

Propaganda, Rhys had cynically called it.

Maybe a little propaganda was a good thing, if used by the right person. Arina certainly seemed unassuming, though if Phobus had sent her, it would be a mistake to totally underestimate her. It was tempting—the scholar was absurdly beautiful in a way anyone might appreciate, though Mor was certain males never would. Buttery blonde hair cascaded down her back, pulled into a rather polite knot at the nape of her graceful neck. Smooth, brown skin made the vivid green of her eyes seem starker by comparison, and though she wore a rather loose dress, it seemed to cling to the curves of her body the way water droplets did to blades of grass. 

And serious, given the slant of her pink mouth.

“It’s safe,” Mor rushed to assure her, wanting to, if nothing else, make a friend. She was surrounded by males all the time—one female friend wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m not worried about that,” she replied without any malice to her words. Still, like Mor, she hesitated to take that step across the border. No matter how open-minded they claimed to be, all those old stories still lingered. No matter how many blades Mor wore, she, too, couldn’t bring herself to step across first.

The Day Court scholar offered up her palm, bag slung over her shoulder. “Together?” she suggested, that same frown etched over her features. 

Mor clapped her hand with Arina’s, grateful to not be alone even if they were strangers. “Together,” she agreed. 

Mor wondered if Arina, too, counted down from five in her head or if she simply waited for Mor. There was no tugging, no pulling her over that invisible boundary. One moment, their feet were planted in the lush, lovely grass of the faerie realm and the next the whole world seemed to blink out of color, turning a drab, miserable shade of gray. 

Looking over her shoulder, Mor couldn’t see a difference anywhere but in her mind's eye. There was merely a sea of swaying grass beneath a cloud covered sky. They’d been instructed not to winnow to the human palace, which meant the two females would need to walk to it.

It seemed the humans didn't trust them, either. Mor tried not to bristle over that—she’d been writing these nobles for months, now, while the High Lord of Night hovered over her shoulder demanding she phrase it just so.

They didn’t trust the males of Mor’s species. They’d wanted females, a shame given the Helion of the Day Court would have been far more astute company than the little slip of a woman keeping pace beside her. She came with a heavy recommendation from Helion, who was almost certainly doing something with her, given the way those golden eyes winked when he’d taken in Mor. 

Ugh.

Mor had heard stories of the humans, of course, and their brutish, backward ways. She held on to her belief they couldn’t be that brutish if they’d elevated their females, something the fae would never do willingly. Not collectively, anyway. Rhys might consider her his equal, but no one else around him did. Even Cassian and Azriel shifted from one leg to the other when Rhys asked Mor her opinion first, their annoyance swallowed and yet still felt. 

That didn’t mean these women had any real power, of course. Perhaps they were merely figure heads, controlled by men. That seemed unlikely to Morrigan, who had been around enough males and men to know they never missed an opportunity to claim power and credit, even if none of the accomplishments technically belonged to them. 

She and Arina remained silent for the walk, barely glancing at the other as they made their way forward. Grassland gave way to farmland, and then sporadic, small hamlets that became villages, that became towns, that eventually became a bustling city filled with the rounded ears that marked them human.

Many of them stopped in their tracks as she and Arina walked up the roads, their own eyes wide with a mixture of fear and distrust. There was no awe in their gaze—children hid behind their mothers skirts while men gripped whatever they held in their hands, prepared to use it like a weapon. 

Mor half wished Cassian had been allowed to escort them. She’d been instructed not to harm a human, even in self-defense. She supposed it benefited her father and uncle to have her here—either she succeeded, and they made valuable allies and absolved themselves of the atrocities they had willingly participated in, or she was torn to pieces and they were freed of her once and for all.

Beside her, Arina didn’t seem concerned at all. She offered tentative, shy smiles to those she passed, tucking her hair behind her ear so people could better see the long arch and the pointed tip. Children whispered among themselves, braver than their parents, especially as they neared the towering stone walls that guarded the city. 

Sentries stood post along the wall, their bow strings pulled tight, arrows notched. Mor swallowed, following Arina’s lead as she tried to banish any outward signs of fear. Could humans smell it? She didn’t think so, but also didn’t know. Didn’t want to test it and find herself buried in some shallow, unmarked grave. Mor’s eyes kept darting upward, though, her palms sweaty from nerves. 

She had no weapon save for her own training and inherent strength. It might be enough to push a few back, but if it came down to a numbers fight, Mor knew she couldn’t win. She’d need to rely on her own social graces and hope humans had similar customs. 

They were stopped at the gate, a crowd milling behind them. “Weapons?” a rough voiced guard asked, his brown eyes weathered at the corners. He, too, was looking at them other with that mix of curiosity and distrust, his sword gleaming in the gloomy light. 

“No weapons,” Arina said, offering him a toothless smile. Mor thought that was wise—no use letting them see those pointed canines and remind them of what the fae were capable of. 

“I need to check,” he told her, his voice wavering ever so slightly. Arina glanced over at Mor, swallowing as she nodded her head.

“Of course,” she agreed, though there was no mistaking how uneasy she was. Arina stood utterly still, which seemed to make the humans nervous, though Mor couldn’t understand why. They were careful with where they put their hands, respectful as they patted her down, feeling for daggers that might be concealed by her clothing.

Mor loathed when it was her turn. They didn’t make eye contact, and it was brief enough though not so brief she didn’t feel uncomfortable and a little nauseated. She didn’t want a strange man touching her.

Didn’t want any man touching her, if she was being honest with herself. She kept it to herself, grateful when the human guard nodded his head, indicating they could step into the walled off city. Unlike the outside, which seemed to be made up mainly of the farmers that helped sustain the overall population, inside was a bustling city that could have rivaled Velaris for scale, and Rhodes in terms of organization. 

Mor had expected a hovel or less. Filth and mud while humans lived in squalor and erected tents, their leaders planning while the rest were little better than servants. That's how it was being done back in Prythian during times of war or stress. There were clear hierarchies among them, just like back home but something felt different. 

More relaxed, she thought as she took in the lined rows of houses, painted in bright colors with matching shutters and steepled rooftops. The roads were laid with even cobblestones and though there were horses pulling carts through the throngs of city-goers, Mor didn’t smell the tell-tale scent of animal feces that she did so often in Prythian. How did they clean it, if not with magic, she wondered with no small amount of awe.

There were so many things she’d never seen before—vendors selling bolts of cloth in colors no fae wore, fabric she couldn’t name. Vegetables and fruits brightly colored, some spined or swollen, that she’d never tasted. Beads that glittered even in the gloom and flowers and meats and cheeses and a million other things she wanted to lose herself in. 

Mor’s steps started to slow, and might have stopped entirely had Arina not pressed two fingers into her elbow to keep her moving. How did the Day Court scholar resist temptation? The people in the city were just as curious, their chatter slowing and quietening as she and Arina passed with their guards—two at the front, and more at the back. Mor could sense their presence, though she didn’t dare turn around and look. 

Looming before them was more of a large estate than a castle or palace. It sprawled, much in a similar manner to the Forest House, those far newer and likely with less underground caverns—not that Mor had ever seen of them. She’d heard the Forest House stretched deep into the ground, though, and somehow didn’t think this palace did. Not to the same extent, anyway.

It seemed to be made of some kind of gleaming marble, with large, supporting columns and stairs that led from the city up to the main drive. 

There were no gates to keep people out, and only a handful of mostly ceremonial guards, armed with rapiers rather than heavy swords and bows. Their uniforms were crisp hues of blue and gold, with a fleur de lis emblazoned on the front. How did they manage to keep people out? Or did they just allow anyone to come strolling in, for any reason at all?

Mor made her way up the stairs, stomach tumbling nervously. Before that moment, coming to the human lands and meeting any of their royalty had been more conceptual in nature. It was real, now. They were here. Whatever happened, whatever came next, Mor was completely at the mercy of a species her kind had spent centuries enslaving. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all—why should they listen to her? 

If it were the other way around, she knew her uncle wouldn’t. Still, this was diplomacy and Mor wanted to treat it with a delicate, gentle hand. It was better than being sent back to her fathers home and the punishment he’d devise just the moment no one was watching him again. If she could prove herself useful to her uncle, there would be a life for her outside of the Court of Nightmares, and more than anything, Mor wanted that. 

She felt like a child beside the far calmer Arina, who didn’t betray anything on that pretty face of hers. Mor kept glancing over as they stepped inside, waiting for her to react the way Mor felt. Her eyes didn’t even widen, fixed straight ahead as though this were normal. 

Focus on yourself, some inner voice ordered. 

The inside of the palace was busy, as one might expect, with servants that were allowed to be seen, alongside people bustling down this corridor or that. Mor could only guess their jobs given they all seemed to be dressed in similar fashion. There were more layers to the clothing here, more panels of fabric and boning that was visible, both for men and women.

Pants, too, which was frowned upon for females back home. Her father would have beaten her within an inch of her life. Her own dress conformed to her body like liquid, shifting and moving so you never lost sight of what Mor looked like. There were no layers to it, just the fabric it had been constructed with, with no need for the heavy structure or boning the humans employed thanks to whatever magic was woven into the threads. 

She felt exposed, though, with her sheer sleeves and dipping neckline. As they walked, she noted it wasn’t the men who looked at her with surprise and, perhaps, condemnation, but the human women. Their eyes would fall on her face before traveling toward her neck and then to her feet before snapping back to her face. Sometimes, Mor thought she saw pity there, though why they might pity her, she couldn’t begin to guess. 

Mor rather liked the openness of the palace. There were windows everywhere, thrown open to allow a gentle breeze to flow through. Without magic to regulate the temperature, the materials were chosen carefully to keep the chill or stifling heat from overwhelming the people who lived within the walls. 

She could marvel over engineering later. She, along with Arina and their guards, climbed a winding set of stairs to where the newly minted queen sat. It was the only time Arina gave any reaction at all, though it wasn’t to the queen itself but the embroidered tapestries that hung over the grand halls walls, depicting scenes of humans slaughtering their faerie slavers in rather excruciating detail. Arina betrayed no fear—only awe, though if it was the craftsmanship or the battles portrayed, Mor couldn’t say.

Sitting atop the throne was a rather young women—lovely, Mor thought, in that human way of theirs. Mortality made any beauty humans had seemed aching—fleeting. All the more beautiful for the shortness of their lives, the brevity of their youth. 

Mor guessed her age around thirty—maybe a little younger, but not much older. Her dark hair was half braided from her face, the rest falling in tight curls around her shoulders. The woman’s skin was a dark brown, unmarred by disease, offset by eyes so dark they seemed almost black. Gold jewelry adorned her throat and wrists while a matching diadem, inlaid with sparkling lapis lazuli gleamed atop her head. 

Arina dropped into an easy curtsey, reminding Mor that she, too, ought to show her respect. She’d been staring at the teardrop earrings, the rings that adorned long fingers, and the rich cobalt dress the woman wore. She oozed royalty, and yet the lines etched just around the corners of her kohl rimmed eyes told Mor she had endured suffering that was unimaginable. 

She didn’t rise from her throne, set at the far end of the room. Stained glass windows just behind her threw a rainbow of color across the raised platform, making this woman seem almost divine. How had they chosen her, and where had they found her? Mor didn’t think any human remembered their old lineages, their nobility that the fae had so thoroughly erased.

No, these were new families, made royal by measures Mor didn’t think she’d be privy to. 

“I’m surprised you arrived,” the queen said once Mor and Arina straightened themselves back up. “Your…High Lords, is it?”

“High Lords, yes,” Arina murmured, eyes glittering with suspicious amusement.

The queen nodded. “How quickly one forgets. They balked when I said we would only accept women into our court.”

Mor wanted to ask why—the queen seemed to expect her to, given the way her head cocked to the side, lips parting with an answer to an obvious question. Mor chose not to—why reveal how naive she was so early into their meeting.

“We’re grateful to be here,” she said instead, hoping she sounded sincere. She was glad to be there, to be useful in some small way, and to be far away from the family who just barely tolerated her. 

“You’re not, but you will be,” she replied, finally rising from her chair just as the doors behind them opened. A younger woman—a few years older than Mor, perhaps, but not by much, strode into the room. Mor’s breath caught when she saw her, adorned in a gold beaded, lilac dress. Her own dark hair hung in loose curls around her face, and rather than the onyx eyes of the queen, this woman had hazel eyes, more gold and brown than green. 

She halted when she realized what she’d stepped into, eyes bouncing from Mor to Arina. “Sister, I…”

“Emerie,” the queen murmured with a softened voice. “Our emissaries from the west have arrived.”

Emerie’s gaze hardened, those eyes landing on the tell-tale arched ears sticking from Mor and Arina’s head.

“How long are they here for, Andromeda?” Emerie demanded, crossing her arms across her chest. Mor was too enamored to be offended—Emerie was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her entire life. Want bloomed through her, stronger than anything she’d ever felt in her life—a pull to touch her, instinct long dominant, now alive and writhing in her veins. Mor caught the scent of her, cool like the air blowing snow across the mountains in Illyria. 

Emerie looked like home. 

“Until freedom is secured, I hope,” Andromeda replied, gracefully crossing the floor to greet her younger sister. 

Emerie turned to look at them, eyes narrowed with that same distrust. “Hostages?”

“Emissaries,” Andromeda corrected, brushing a strand of hair from her sister's forehead with affection. 

“We’ve come in the name of peace,” Arina added, offering a pretty smile. Emerie didn’t react.

“Your kind doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” she retorted as her sister shushed her without anger. 

Mor’s eyes locked with Emeries—what horrors had Emerie witnessed? The same as Mor? Worse? She opened her mouth to disagree, but found she couldn’t. She still bore the scars, after all, of her father’s nails. Right then, Mor could feel the hands on her body as they’d held her writhing, screaming body down so he could nail that note into her body.

She could still see Eris’s sneering, horrible face as he left her where she was. 

Mor offered Emerie a slight nod of agreement, which seemed to pacify the woman, if only a little. Some flash of understanding seemed to cross Emerie’s expression, even if her gaze didn’t soften. That was enough for Mor, who wanted to talk to her, though for the life of Mor, she had no clue what she’d even say.

It didn’t matter. Emerie was shooed away, chased off by a few giggling ladies in waiting in equally pretty, rustling gowns that seemed to eat away at the silence. Mor tried—and failed—not to watch her leave. She was there to prove herself and do a job—nothing more.

And yet.

And yet.

[thewulf]

Who Did This To You? Pt 2 || Rafe Cameron

Summary: Request - Rafe fic based on song wait in the truck by Hardy. Basically he sees her one night that he’s going for a drive to calm down picks her up and drives to the house of maybe her dad or boyfriend and shoots them... Read Rest Here

A/N: Had to write a part two. Thanks for the inspo @loving-and-dreaming !!

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k+

“You did what?” You tried, but failed at, stopping your jaw from literally hitting the ground as you looked between your brother and Rafe. Neither looked too terribly thrilled to be in the presence of the other. You would’ve felt the same a night prior. But now? Now all you wanted to do was hide into Rafe’s arms. He made you feel safe, protected, secure. A different kind of feeling than when you were with your friends.

Rafe looked away from you quickly. Almost ashamed? Your head snapped back to your brother who looked terribly uncomfortable.

“JJ?” You asked him.

JJ shrugged only muttering, “Piece of shit got what he had coming for him.” Earning a small huff and grin from the other man in the room. JJ looked back up to your eyes only softening seeing your distressed state. As awful as a human as he was he was still your father. Was your father.

“Rafe?” You asked turning your attention back towards the man you never thought you’d have any good will towards. Yet here you were. Pining over the man. A man that even JJ would have to accept. How could he not? He’d quite literally saved your life last night. There was no way you were going to make it all the way to John B’s place.

Rafe sighed looking back up at you with that same softness that JJ was just exuding, “He almost killed you. I just, I don’t…” He paused, sighing once more before forcing a hand through his tangled hair, “He would’ve killed you if I didn’t get to him first Y/N.” He stated matter of factly as if to justify his own actions.

You sat down on the chair surrounding Rafe’s kitchen table, “Wow.” Your brain couldn’t think of any words to speak as it reeled over the events of the last few hours, “What about you?” The panic kicked in forcing you to jump up from the seat and back over to the much taller boy, “Are you going to get in trouble?” You asked looking at him with pleading eyes. You’d never dream of putting him in this spot. Putting anybody in such a spot.

He shook his head before gently brushing your own tangled hair out of your face, “It’s taken care of, don’t worry about it.” He refrained from going ‘too far’ in front of your older brother. Rafe knew JJ was a hothead, much like himself. Much different than the gentle soul that you were. A natural balance to his chaos.

“Are you sure?” You asked once more, afraid you could lose him just as quickly as you had gotten him.

He nodded, “Positive. Don’t worry about it.”

You turned back towards your brother, “What about us? Where are we going to go?”

“I’ll drop out. Get a job. Be your caretaker.” He shrugged as if it was as simple as that. Oh, how you wish it were that simple.

But you simply shook your head walking back over to him, “You can’t do that JJ.”

He smiled over to you trying his best to stay as calm as possible for you. It was natural that neither of you had felt much for the man. He was simply a body that took care of the bills at this point. But that was now gone. The two of you had to fend for yourself just like John B was currently doing. How in the hell had both your dads died within the span of a few months?

“You and I both know I’m never leaving this island. What’s it matter if I graduate school? I’ll get my GED and call it a day.” He pulled you in for a rare hug. One that he knew you needed by the way you were tensed up. He knew how off kilter your life had just been swung into.

“But JJ…” You started before he shook his head interrupting you mid-sentence. Rafe walked behind you giving you some distance, letting you have this conversation with your brother.

“It’s been figured out.” He finally let his bear hug grip on you go before looking down at his phone before sighing, “Look, gotta go pick JB and Sarah up. Going to fill them in. Don’t worry about it Y/N. Let us handle it, okay?”

You nodded, “I’m sixteen JJ, not five. I can help.” Letting out a frustrated sigh JJ just shook his head again before wrapping you up in another loving hug. He knew you needed it. He reserved these hugs just for moments like these. When your world was threatening to topple down right in front of you. He couldn’t bear it. You were one of the few consistent things in his life that always, no matter what, believed and cheered him on. His own personal ball of sun. He couldn’t let that diminish. No, he’d rather die than let that happen.

“You’re still my little sister. No matter what, yeah?” He grinned while punching you on the arm lightly. He didn’t know where you were hurting but he knew you certainly were. You were bruised and scratched from head to toe. JJ tried not to let his eyes linger on the particularly nasty bruises or scrapes. It should’ve been him. He should’ve been there for you. His worst fear come right to life in front of him. The sunshine that you were had been hit over and over again. JJ couldn’t help to feel like he had failed you.

Bobbing your head up and down you couldn’t help but to smile at him, “Yeah, okay.”

“Atta girl.” He walked towards the front door, “I’ll pick you up later?” He looked back and forth between you and Rafe who finally decided to step in.

“No need. I’ll drop her off at John B’s?” He asked as he walked towards your brother not letting you step in. It was odd having a male figure be so caring towards you. Not that JJ wasn’t. He was just your older brother who made you tough. He wasn’t always the one you wanted to cry to. He wasn’t your shoulder to lean on when everything was tumbling down. He was the one that was always there to build you back up. He was your brother. Your JJ. Your world and your starts. Your best friend. The person you needed most. JJ.

Your brother gave him a quick nod, “Sure.” He turned back towards you as his hand tugged at the doorknob, “Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Sounds good JJ. I’ll see you later.” You waved as he opened and shut the door quickly leaving you alone again with Rafe. He was quick. In and out in thirty minutes. Changing your life in thirty minutes. He might’ve just changed it for the better though. It might be naïve of you to think JJ could pull this off but why couldn’t he? He was always resourceful when he needed to be.

Feeling a gentle hand on your shoulder you were tugged out of your thoughts immediately, “Are you alright?” Rafe asked quietly seeing you stuck in your head.

You turned to look up to him with wide eyes, “I’m… Yeah I’m fine.” You sucked in a breath suddenly feeling incredibly awkward under his gaze. His very intense Kook stare you were terribly used to.

He frowned as he studied your nervous expression. Were you scared of him because he killed your father? JJ left you here so he couldn’t be worried. But were you?

Rafe decided to test the waters and reach out a hand to you. Without a second thought you brought your hand to his bringing his confidence up just a little. He tugged at your arm gently knowing you were in pretty serious pain. You complied following his to the couch. He pulled you into his side. He ran his hand along your back trying to calm your racing heart.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay.” Rafe whispered in your ear as he laid his head atop of yours.

You nodded into his chest feeling him wrap his arms around your waist pulling you ever so much closer, “I’m confused and a little sad. But I’m okay.”

He gave your hip a squeeze, “I’ll be here for you. Every step of the way.”

You let his words process in your head before finally speaking once again, “Why?” You just had to ask. It was eating at you, “Why do you care now?”

He didn’t let you go, only held you tighter, “I’ve always cared. I just didn’t know how to express it. Being uh… mean to you made it easier. My friends stayed away. They’re trouble. I’m trouble. You really shouldn’t want much to do with me Y/N.”

You sighed only letting your head fall completely onto his chest, “Yeah sure, whatever. My life’s already kind of fucked up isn’t it Rafe? Why not got all in?”

He smiled down you cuddled into him, “Because I care for you. Always have. Always will Maybank.” He began brushing your hair wish his fingers trying to tame it from the restless sleep you had the night prior.

You groaned, “I suppose I care for you to Rafe, please don’t go running away from me now.”

He shook his head, “Not unless you ask me. But don’t say I didn’t warn you sweet girl.”

You couldn’t help the creeping blush at that nickname he’d given you overnight, “Well, we’re in luck. Because that won’t happen.” You grinned up at him feeling that warmth you felt earlier spread around again, “Thank you Rafe.” You mumbled feeling sleepiness begin to take over you once more.

He kept brushing your hair hoping you’d fall asleep on him once again. Knowing full well your body needed the sleep to help recover after such an assault, “Anytime pretty. You know that.” He hoped in fact you did know that. Even though you’d been strangers moments prior he hoped you knew how much you really meant to him. He’d admired you from a distance hoping the cold shoulder would lead you away from him. And that worked until he saw you broken on the side of the rode. Rafe could never leave you to fend for yourself like that.

You mumbled something incoherent to his ears as you dozed off once again. He wasn’t sure how long you’d be asleep, but he was sure he wouldn’t move an inch hoping you’d get the best sleep you possibly could. He was a goner and he couldn’t really give less of a damn in that moment as you were curled up on him

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

Fic Taglist: @starkeysheart @f4ll-for-you @thesnailus

[bubblergoespop]

My Top Avior Quotes

this was so hard to cut down; this isn’t even half of the original list. also some angsty ones snuck in bc it’s AVIOR. @mokozroach ta daaa~

“I’m just a little testy after being trapped here for who knows how long thanks to the religious fanaticism of an uninformed peon.”

“The human who never stops asking questions, and the demon who thinks he knows everything. We make quite the pair, huh?”

“Do you trust me? Good, you shouldn’t.”

“If you ask me — which, no one ever does, but hey, when has that stopped me — …”

“I’m sure it feeds that knowledge hungry gremlin that’s apparently forever tap dancing across your neurons.”

“Don’t look right now, okay? Look at me. Look at my eyes. Yeah, like that. Just keep looking at me. Shhh… Hi.”

“This place won’t be the end of either of our voices, Starlight. I won’t let it.”

“Kissing you makes me think of lots of things. Some of them are even nice.”

“I wish I could show you Aria. It’s almost as beautiful as you.”

“What are you doing? I know what a hug is, Starlight, don’t be obtuse.”

“All I can tell you is that I fell in love with you two years ago when we got trapped in this place together. And I loved you two years later when I pulled you back in. And I still love you now.”

“I love the way you do that. How you hold my arms like that when I hug you like that. [..] It’s cute. And so are you.”

“But have you considered that means that everything visible here is a kind of illusion? Including… my clothes?”

“You look so heavenly like this, Starlight. Bathed in ethereal light. Gold dripping from gorgeous skin. Lips that taste like cinnamon and hope.”

“I feel things with you, that I’ve only tasted in the hearts of others before.”

“You’re an awakening from a dreamless sleep I didn’t know I’d settled into.”

“You make my heart bound. And you make my cock throb.”

“I’m left threadbare and shuddering in the wake of you.”

“In truth, the limits of my magic are the limit. But I would expend every last ounce of it for you.”

“Only you could leave me speechless. A rare gift.”

“We will be free of this place. But in the meantime, I’ve found a different kind of freedom in knowing you.”

“Deft implements like these deserve praise. I could just say you have nice hands.”

“I’m happy. Even in the midst of literal hell, surrounded by imagined medieval torment of damned souls… with you, I’m happy.”

“Tell me about it. Yes, the boring coffee shop, tell me about it. I want to hear it.”

“Simple pleasures. The things that shouldn’t feel special. But when I imagine them with you, I cherish them.”

“Starlight. Look at me. Please.”

“I do love you. But love is too easily used as an excuse for terrible harm.”

“You have one life. One fragile, beautiful life. Please don’t throw it away.”

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. Just let me help.”

“The things I feel for you fly in the face of every justifiable fear and suspicion this situation has burned into me. And yet, somehow, because it’s you… I don’t mind that.”

“I’ll grapple with the existence of my people’s ancient gods and them giving us a mission to save the world in a second. Right now I’m just trying to wrap my head around the idea that you don’t fucking hate me.”

“I’ll always find you. I feel you. Like a lighthouse in my senses.”

“In every hell we find ourselves, you’re heaven to me.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part seventy-nine: "The Hell Day"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You stay home from work because you're having a terrible day on your period.

Or

Matt stops by for a surprise visit and offers you comfort in more ways than one.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 2.9k

a/n: This is a little hurt/comfort fic while Reader is on her worst day of her period. And there's some Sweet Matty comforting Reader and some moving in discussions! Our next installment is titled "The Revisitation of Moving In" that I'll hopefully be sharing later this week! You can find the entire list of installments for this series on tumblr here.

Tag List: @stilldreaming666 @mattkinsella @ninacoette @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky (I apologize if I missed someone or if any of these tags didn't work! Some of you might have search settings turned off on your account so I can't actually tag you!)

Curled up on your couch absently watching the food channel, your arms were wrapped around your abdomen as you groaned in misery. Your whole body ached, especially your lower back, and you'd been feeling nauseous since early this morning when you'd woken up. You'd had a headache for the past five hours that just wouldn't go away no matter how much water you drank or ibuprofen you took. 

You were on day two of your period–also known as Hell Day. Since it was Friday and you'd felt like death, having woken up long before your alarm had gone off and been unable to fall back asleep because your cramps were just that painful, you'd called off work. Last night had been one of those rare nights that Matt hadn't stopped by as Daredevil because he'd stayed home working on a case, so you'd thankfully not had to wake up to him witnessing how miserable you were. 

While you'd avoided Matt over that first period week you'd gotten months ago, right after the two of you had gotten together, you hadn't continued that trend for most of the periods that followed after. Though admittedly you had often managed to find a way to avoid him one way or another on Period Hell Day for months now, so he'd yet to encounter you on the absolute worst day of your period. Which you'd been grateful for, because generally you were more of an emotional mess than usual, and that's exactly how you'd felt today, as if you were one random, small thing away from crying. Again .

A knock at your apartment door drew your eye towards it, a deep frown settling onto your face. There could only be one person who would be here knocking on your door at almost seven on a Friday night. You closed your eyes, rolling over and burying your face in the pillow you'd been lying on. Another groan left you yet again. 

"I don’t feel good tonight, Matt," you grumbled into the pillow. “Leave me to my misery.”

"You and I both know that I'm not going to do that," Matt's distinctive voice came from the other side of the door. “Let me in, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you protested, face still buried in the pillow.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m blind,” he quipped back, amusement clear in his tone.

“ Matt ,” you whined.

You heard the clear rumble of his chuckle outside of your door, the sound of it drawing your face from its hiding place. It had been yesterday afternoon since you last saw him for lunch and you certainly had missed him–despite how pathetic it was to admit because it had barely been over twenty-four hours.

"I brought mint ice cream?" Matt called hopefully through the door. “And it’s uh, probably going to melt on me if you leave me out here.”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” you called back.

You pushed yourself upright on the couch with a grimace, your cramps somehow feeling worse now that you weren’t curled in the fetal position. 

“Because I sort of thought my girlfriend would be happy for some company and comfort tonight?” he responded. "Didn't expect that I'd need to bribe her to answer the door."

Eyes narrowing, you rose to your feet, shuffling your way to your apartment door. Your right hand was pressed to your bloated abdomen like it was going to keep your insides from somehow falling out of you while you walked. Quickly unlocking your door with your left hand, you swung it open to reveal Matt’s handsome and smiling face. He held up the container of mint ice cream he had in fact brought over in one of his hands. 

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed as you ignored the ice cream. “Why would you think I want company and comfort tonight?”

Matt’s smile immediately fell, his dark brows drawing together, a crease forming between them. His head slowly shifted to the side as he pursed his lips. There was a long moment that he stood in your doorway looking confused as he remained silent.

“Because you’re…on your period?” he eventually answered carefully. “And I know you usually don’t feel well?”

“How do you know I’m on my period?” you questioned him.

Matt’s head tilted further to the side, his dark brows almost entirely disappearing behind the red lenses of his glasses now. “This…this feels like a trick question,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to answer that.”

You shook your head quickly, hugging both arms over your stomach as if that would somehow block Matt’s heightened senses from picking up on anything from your body. “No, ew, definitely don’t answer that ,” you agreed. “I meant I haven’t seen you today, how would you know?”

“I saw you yesterday, sweetheart,” he pointed out. 

“But I hadn’t told you I was on it because I just had–” you stopped, eyes going wide when Matt’s expression turned sheepish. “Oh my God , you could still tell ?” When he opened his mouth you immediately shook your head again, throwing a hand up from your stomach to stop him. “No, please do not actually answer that.”

“It’s not a big deal, sweetheart,” he said gently.

“Says you !” you shot back.

“So you’re just going to leave me to let this mint ice cream melt all over my hands in your hall then?” he asked.

“Obviously not,” you said, stepping aside.

Matt took a slow, careful step into your apartment, almost as if he was wary that you really didn’t want him here. Your shoulders sagged at the sight, shutting the door after him.

“Sorry, I’m a hormonal mess,” you apologized. “I feel horrible and I wasn’t expecting you to stop by tonight and now I’m just overthinking your senses. Again .”

You accepted the ice cream from Matt, turning and bringing it to the kitchen to keep in your freezer for now. Behind you, you heard Matt slipping out of his shoes.

“You know you really don’t need to do that,” he told you. “Overthinking my senses about things.”

“Sort of hard not to do,” you mumbled. “Overthinking is sort of my thing.”

You made your way back towards the living room where Matt was pulling his dark glasses from his face. His eyes were tracking your movement as he leaned over to set the glasses onto your coffee table, the smile growing on his lips as you made your way towards him.

“If you’re ever actually going to move in with me,” he said, “you’re kind of going to have your period around me, sweetheart. And you know it doesn’t bother me. I’ve told you that a hundred times now.”

Sighing dramatically, you once again hugged your arms across your bloated stomach as you came to a stop in front of him. “Try getting my overthinking mind to believe you,” you replied.

He chuckled lightly, his hands reaching out and landing on your shoulders. He gave them an affectionate squeeze that drew a small smile onto your face.

“I have been trying that for awhile now,” he pointed out. “Clearly it’s not an easy feat to accomplish.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “because all I can think about are the gross things you’re picking up on when I’m like this. And I’m…” you trailed off, lips clamping together before you could admit what was on your mind.

Matt’s face shifted to something serious instantly, clearly sensing your hesitation. His eyes were scanning around your face curiously. “You’re what?” he prompted.

Chewing your lip, you gazed down at your coffee table. Could you really verbalize something so gross and ridiculous to Matt? The last thing you felt like doing right now was discussing your period with the man you wanted to still find you attractive when you weren’t bleeding in a few more days.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer as he gripped your shoulders a little tighter, “you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you?”

“It’s just…if I move in with you, you’re right,” you admitted quietly. “I’ll be having my period around you. Like all the time.”

“Yes,” Matt agreed. “I am aware that it's a monthly occurrence. And I don’t have a problem with that.”

“But like…” you continued, your eyes locked on your coffee table because you could not look at him, “that means I’ll, you know, be…disposing of period-related things. At your place. All the time."

Matt let out an amused snort that quickly drew your eyes to his face. He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head quickly.

“Sorry, sorry, I really don’t mean to laugh,” he said immediately. “I’m not–not trying to make light of your feelings, but sweetheart, it’s just blood. I bring enough blood home on a near nightly basis. I don’t care. It doesn't bother me. And for the record, it would be our place."

“But you have the nose of a bloodhound–”

“Better, actually,” he cut in.

“Matt!” you shrieked, to which he only chuckled again. “That’s not helping!”

"You're right, I'm sorry," he said, the grin still on his face. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

You shifted awkwardly on your feet before him, other anxious thoughts about living with Matt crossing your mind. As if sensing that, his hands slid down your shoulders, making their way down your arms until they wrapped around your own hands. 

"Hey, let's sit," he suggested gently. 

Matt led you back towards your couch, the pair of you settling down onto the cushions beside each other. He kept his hold on your hands, that serious expression back on his face as he gazed at you. 

"What's on your mind, sweetheart?" he asked. "Tell me."

"I just–just worry about all the things you're going to pick up on if I move in with you," you confessed. "Things I'm not aware of because of your heightened senses."

Matt murmured your name, the sound drawing your eyes up to his face. Nervously you chewed your lip, Matt's thumbs rubbing lightly over the backs of your hands. 

"You've spent so much time with me already, sweetheart," he pointed out. "Staying the night at my place or me staying here. And I'm still here not grossed out by you." One corner of his lips curled upwards as he added, "And I lived with Fog during college for years . Share an office with him almost every day of the week now. You're not going to gross me out or whatever you're afraid of."

"Well Foggy isn't hoping you're still attracted to him at the end of the day," you blurted. 

Matt's mouth twisted into a bigger grin in response. "Well that would mean I'd have to be attracted to Fog at the beginning of the day," he teased.

You sighed deeply, not wanting his jokes right now. Quickly picking up on that, Matt sent you an apologetic smile. 

"I'm serious, Matt," you admitted awkwardly. "If we live together, you'll be around me all the time. Every bad day I have and every morning of my gross morning breath. And every period where I'm super gross, like right now. And every time–"

"Hey," Matt cut you off firmly, squeezing your hands. "I want every moment with you, sweetheart. All of it. The good and the bad. I want you with me. And you are not super gross right now," he stated sharply. "You never are. Nothing is going to make me love you or want you any less."

You couldn't help the sting of tears that pricked at your eyes or the way your lips had begun to tremble as Matt's words hit you hard. His brows drew together on his forehead as he noticed your body’s reaction. 

"Sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes softening as they focused near your own. "Why're you crying?"

Tears had already quickly begun falling down your cheeks in hot, wet steaks. You sniffled loudly, fighting to keep your voice as even as you could when you spoke. 

"Because I'm hormonal as fuck, Matt," you sobbed. "And you're so fucking charming and sweet. And I love you." You slipped a hand out of his hold as you gestured behind you towards your kitchen. "And you brought me my favorite ice cream on my worst damn day of the month!"

His brows knitted further together, the crease between them deepening on his face. The corner of his mouth twitched downwards. "Those are all–all good things though," he pointed out carefully. 

"I know!" you agreed, your voice cracking. 

His head tilted to the side as he studied you for a moment. "So you're…happy?" he clarified.

"Yes!" you exclaimed. "I'm incredibly hormonal and you're being really great and it's making me cry! But I also cried watching House Hunters earlier, too." 

He laughed lightly, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. One of his large hands began soothingly running up and down your back as you buried your face into his dress shirt. You quickly soaked the material with your tears as your arms wrapped around him in return, balling the material in your fists. That familiar scent of him surrounded you and you buried your nose further into his shirt. A moment later you felt him pressing a kiss into your hair.

"I love you, Matty," you said into his chest. 

"I love you, too, sweetheart,” he murmured. “How about I get changed and I come cuddle you on the couch?" he offered. "I can give you a back massage if you lay on me. I can hear how sore your back is."

"You've had a long week yourself," you replied, sniffling again. "Both in and out of the office. I'm not going to ask you to do that."

"Well you're not," he pointed out. "I'm offering. Here, let me up."

Reluctantly you released your hold of him, Matt rising up from the couch. He shot you a smile, murmuring he'd be right back back before you watched him disappear down your hall to your bedroom. 

With a sigh you settled back onto your couch, your eyes focusing back on the food channel. It was a few minutes before Matt returned no longer in his work attire. Instead he padded down your hallway barefoot in a pair of gray sweatpants with a tee-shirt in one hand. 

"Shirt or no shirt?" he asked, stopping before you on the other side of the coffee table. 

Your lips parted in surprise as your eyes raked over his bare torso, every defined inch of him on clear display in your living room. Matt grinned devilishly at you, tossing his shirt onto the coffee table before he made his way back to you. 

"That answered my question," he said, amused.

He sat down on the couch, drawing his feet up as he maneuvered behind you. And then he opened his arms to you, waving you over with a smile. 

"Come here, sweetie," he whispered. "Let me help you feel better."

You gradually climbed up on top of him, nestling your head just below his chin as your legs rested between his on your couch. While your right hand slid up to grasp his shoulder, your left hand landed along his chest beside your face, fingers absently running along his bare, warm skin that felt amazing against your bloated abdomen. Matt’s own hands settled onto your lower back, his palms beginning to press in the exact right spot against your aching muscles. It was only a matter of seconds before your eyes were closing and you were sighing in relief and contentment. 

“You’re really, really good at that,” you whispered, relaxing into him beneath you.

“Sort of easy when I can hear your body that well,” he replied gently.

“And that made it weird,” you pointed out.

Beneath you, Matt let out a rumbling laugh that had you bouncing along him with the movement, which in turn had you giggling. Burying your face into his chest as you laughed, you felt his hands pause their movement to hold you tight to him, his nose nuzzling into your hair as his warm chuckle filled your ears. When both your laughter subsided, Matt placed a kiss into your hair before his hands resumed their movement on your back. You gradually eased back into him beneath you, your eyelids dropping. 

“You know,” Matt began, his tone catching your attention instantly, “I hear orgasms help relieve cramps.”

Your eyes instantly grew wide, your jaw dropping in response to what he’d just suggested. There was a rumble of laughter beneath you again as you raised your head from his chest, staring down at him in shock.

“Matthew!” you shrieked.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile growing wider. “Oh that one warranted my full name, did it?” he teased.

Heat crept its way up your cheeks as you buried your face back into his chest. “Oh my God ,” you groaned, voice muffled.

“I’m just letting you know that I am more than happy to help,” he told you, amusement in his voice. “Just so you know for the future.”

“I am officially embarrassed and uncomfortable,” you mumbled, still hiding your heated face against him.

“I strongly believe that one day you’ll take me up on that,” he mused, his hands still working the muscles of your aching lower back. 

“Doubt it,” you disagreed.

He chuckled yet again, his hands managing to relax you back down from the topic of conversation. Slowly you shifted until your cheek was once again resting along his chest.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out. “Guess we’ll see who’s right eventually.”

[lay-z]

🎅🏼 Day 3 ‒ Altruism

Synopsis: Being part of the military means making sacrifices and a lot of times – those are personal. Sometimes, though, they do pay off.

Pairing: Kyle Gaz Garrick x fem!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Kyle’s POV; military!Reader; fluff; pining; friends/teammates to lovers

Word count: 1.5k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

When Kyle enters the rec room, packed duffel bag slung over his shoulder and ready to leave for the holidays, he stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees you lounging about in one of the armchairs, mug of tea in one hand and some magazine splayed open in your lap.

The room smells of chamomile tea, some tangy Yankee candle and fresh gingerbread and biscuits, and it almost seems too homely for this particular room while you look terribly casual in your civilian clothes, shoulders slumped in a relaxed posture.

A sight he rarely gets to see and it’s doing something funny to his stomach.

He almost sounds accusatory when he addresses you, “What are you still doing here? It’s Christmas Eve.”

You look up from the page you’re reading and the way your face lights up with a soft smile has Kyle’s heart thudding rapidly in his chest.

“Hi, Kyle,” you greet him casually, “Gonna hold the fort here. I’m on standby over the holidays. I swapped my vacation days with some of the lads, so that they can celebrate with their families.”

Kyle. Not Gaz or Garrick. Kyle.

His name spilling from your lips so smoothly is like a commando that has him stand at attention like the soldier he is.

His duffel bag hits the floor with a heavy thud as his shoulders tense and spine straightens, “Wait – What? Why the bloody hell would you do that? Is Price in on this?!”

Kyle can’t wrap his head around the fact why you’d do such a thing. You’ve worked your arse off all year and the team has only come back from a four month deployment less than two weeks ago; if there is someone who deserves a break – it’s you!

However, you merely shrug and nod nonchalantly before blowing on your steaming mug and taking a small sip.

“They have wives and kids and I don’t, and of course, the Captain knows.”

Bastard, Kyle thinks and scoffs; face setting in a frown, though he can’t quite argue with your reasoning. Still, it feels wrong, and Price could’ve told him. The Captain knows that–

“But you have a loving family waiting for you, too.”

And here Kyle was hoping to see you, perhaps invite you over to his place during your leave, but he’s not going to tell you that now. Then again, it never seems to be the right timing between you, and it’s starting to frustrate him more than anything.

The way you tut, quirk an eyebrow and then ponder, pursing your lips cutely about his statement, almost makes him smile triumphantly. There’s a reaction and he can work with it. He grabs his heavy duffel bag from the floor and carries it over to the vacant sofa across from the armchair you’re sitting in, dropping it onto the cushions before flopping down next to it.

“I’m no one’s wife and I’m not a mother, and can I be completely honest with you?” You don’t even wait for Kyle’s answer as you continue, “My siblings all have partners and, hell, even kids now, and I kind of feel–“

You hesitate, fiddling with the pages of the magazine in your lap, clearly either struggling again to open up or simply searching for the right words, but either way, Kyle waits dutifully like he always does, not daring to interrupt you in a moment of rare vulnerability. He knows how to make people talk, is trained to do so, yet you’re like a Rubik’s Cube he can’t quite solve.

Whenever Kyle thinks he’s getting closer, you show him a new side, give him a new piece of intel on you, and it’s like he has to start all over again. Or perhaps, his feelings for you are in the bloody way, always self-sabotaging him.

You let out a deep sigh, “I feel out of place at home, like I don’t even know how to handle being there anymore and– it’s only getting worse.”

Oh, shit. There it is.

He shakes his head, having made up his mind already, “I’m gonna stay here with you, then.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you shuffle in your seat, sitting up straight and meaning business. Kyle can barely suppress a snort at how cutely you prepare yourself to argue with him; he will hear you out, though. Perhaps you’ll say something and spill some beans he hasn’t heard from you before.

“No, Kyle, you’ll get in trouble with your ma and I ain’t having that.”

“Please,” he flicks his wrist dismissively, “She’s aware that I can get called in for an emergency mission anytime. She knows what comes with our job.”

“This isn’t an emergency, though.”

“Nah,” he hesitates before adding with determination, “This is far more important and who the bloody hell says that I don’t feel exactly the same, hm?”

The look he gives you is non-negotiable and your lips close while you huff through your nose.

The whole evening could very well be the plot of some corny Christmas romance movie.

After informing his family of his absence with a well-meant white lie and making other arrangements – and promises – to be home for Boxing Day, you and Kyle end up making dinner from scratch, both of you refusing to resolve eating some shitty MRE’s on Christmas Eve.

It’s all terribly domestic between you then, and Kyle has to actively remind himself throughout the evening that this isn’t going to be a permanent state of affairs between you two.

Not until he addresses the elephant in the room, at least, because it’s suddenly too easy to let his hand linger on the small of your back when you brush past him in the kitchen and soak up all the soft glances and smiles you shoot in his direction.

Once dinner is finished and the dishes are washed, dried and put away – Kyle scrubs while you wait with a dry kitchen towel, working alongside each other like a well-oiled machine just like you do in the field – you retreat back to the rec room together.

“I haven’t watched Home Alone yet,” you chime, walking towards the sofa where Kyle has already laid down on his back, head resting on the armrest while he lounges with his long legs stretched out, clutching the remote of the large flat TV in one hand as he scrolls through Netflix lazily.

He raises an eyebrow in mild surprise, “Like, ever?”

You snicker quietly, shaking your head, as you set the warm bowl of buttered popcorn on the low coffee table.

“No, this year,” you answer, and Kyle can see the way your eyes flicker briefly between the armchair and the sofa he’s already spread out on. You’re pondering your next move, he can tell very well, can see the gears turning in his head, and his stomach starts fluttering with nerves, quarrelling internally to make the first move instead.

God above, he’s never felt this lost and anxious because of a woman before.

But it’s you.

Kyle clears his throat before untucking his arm from behind his head,

“C’mere,” he says and his voice is way too breathless, sounds way too unconfident for his own liking, “Lay down with me.”

He pats his chest with his flat palm invitingly, holding his breath in anticipation of your reaction while his stomach twists with knots. A rejection from you would certainly hurt more than a bullet wound and take longer to heal, too, he’s sure.

The moment seems to stretch endlessly and while you hold eye contact with him, Kyle is starting to feel incredibly awkward with each passing second. His pulse starts to throb in his neck, cheeks heating up with the sudden blood rush, and in a brief panic, he wonders if he should back-pedal before it can get even more cringy.

However, when the crease between your brows softens eventually and you close the short distance between yourself and the edge of the sofa, Kyle nearly breathes a sigh of relief.

“You sure about this? I might be too heavy,” you mutter, bracing one hand on the backrest while Kyle parts his legs instinctively to make space for you.

He scoffs in mock offense, making a vague gesture at the length of his muscular body, “Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes and when you get settled on the sofa with him, Kyle notices how flustered you look, and it makes his chest swell with an odd mixture of pride and affection.

He acts on autopilot then, makes adjustments as soon as you lower yourself on his chest oh so tentatively; tugs you closer and wraps his arm around your waist, deciding then and there to never let you go again.

Sure he’s hugged you before, been in close quarters, and shared a corner to catch some shut eye in some rancid safe house, but it has never been like this. He’s hooked.

“This okay for you, sweetheart?” He asks, tucking your head below his chin while his hand roams along the length of your spine with a feather light touch, not wanting to overdo it and cross a line you don’t want to cross yet – if ever.

“Mhmm,” you hum and your cheek rubs over his sternum as you nod slowly, making his breath hitch at the friction.

And, oh God, but Kyle realizes he might’ve been too overzealous with his invite to cuddle up with him; might’ve bitten off more than he can chew, now that he’s so hyperaware of your warm body moulding flush atop his own.

Two perfect pieces of the same puzzle. He knew it.

He focuses on keeping his breath steady then, lips slightly parted; eyes flickering between the TV screen with the Home Alone cover on display and the crown of your head, so close that he could purse his lips and place a kiss on your hair, while he’s frozen in place, blood rushing and heart pumping so fast, he’s sure you can feel it.

“Hey, Kyle?”

Kyle swallows thickly, trying to get some moisture down his throat, “Uh, yeah?”

“Just start the bloody movie.” You utter with a soft sigh, nuzzling into his chest.

[filthypen]

Part 2/3 of this ask! All images made by the amazing @cowedeakamatsu! (Artist inspirations for the ai gen : fei, carmessi, rebis)

Day 4:

Morning: This morning was… Strange. After seeing i got no new clothes available, i got out the room and going to meet Shuichi in the dining hall… But he wasn't these. I called his name out loudly but no answer, so i got to look around the place

Then i saw him… He was just walking down a hallway while happily humming, i decided to stay sneaky to see what he was doing… Something was diferent on him, his body seemed… Wider, much wider, specially his… his bottom… He was walking like a model and the thing that weirded me the most… I swear i saw a pair of cat ears in his head, i am not completely sure… hell, i don't even know where he would get those! He did had new clothes, those tight pants… That undersized shirt… and some weird underwear… After a minute of watching… damn… He moved so good that body, is… really cute~ Anyway, i finnaly called him, and oh boy, he almost had a heart attack! Went from happily humming to screaming like a cat who got its tail stepped on! He quickly got his cap on and qcted like nothing happened, saying he was just taking an stroll… I just scoffed it off, maybe he is just nervous! I can blame him… god… he's making me feel… so… fuzzy, i should just eat, probably is just the shock

Evening: I… I don't know what is wrong with me… We decided to do the sane as yesterday, he went to read more "lovey dovey bookeys" as he said, and me to the piano… but i just cannot concentrate anymore, anytime i try to play a song… my mind gets filled with him, Shuichi… Is this really because of being stuck together? I don't know… I just know i WANT to be with him more, he seems to be acting weird, maybe he needs my help! Yes, that will do!

Night: We cannot have a break uh? When we were having dinner (Shuichi only ordered sweets, that's… rare for him) we heard a loud crash coming from our rooms! And lord… our rooms had just… merged! So we were forced to sleep on the same bed… is so embarrassing… but he doesn't seem to care… hell, he seems to like it! When he saw iy he smiled widely like i've never seen him before… so we just decided to stick with it… it can't be that b-bad right? I mean, he looks so cute sleeping… just look at him, grabbing my arm as he is dozzed off… so cute~

Day 5:

Morning: Aaaaaah, another reason of why Shuichi is amazing, today, when i woke up, i was alone, but i was left with a glass next to me, it was a… clear fluid, so salty… and smelled so much! But it was tasty! After i toke it i saw that i had new clothes on the, a pink booty shorts and a white shirt with a heart window! Look how cute is that! After i exited, i saw Shuichi wearing… thighs? He was Also wearing some tight shortpants for sports and a crop top, damn, poor boy, he is having to wear all the girl clothes… he looks good anyway so~ So, he told me he prepared that yummy fluid, but said recipe was secret, i wonder… after breakfast, he told me we should met on the pool dome, he remembers seeing a tennis court, so maybe we can finally have a fun day together, that will be lovely~

Evening: I think… this was what i needed! We went the whole evening playing tennis, i don't know why, but Shuichi was TERRIBLY distracted! Most of the times he just stared at me when i threw the ball, and when he had to throw, he just moved his hips endlesly and… purred to the racket and licked the tennis balls! It was weird grabbing the balls after he did that, but i don't mind it… Anyway, i won most games! The place was so nice too, so calm and silent, only our breath being heard… ahhhh so nice! Tho we ended up soooo sweaty, but Shuichi seemed to not realized cuz he… he hugged me! He said i was ''super duper goody'' with balls, he sure is… liking this place heh. After, we decided to just go get dinner, he told it was a sweet friday, i have never seem him loving sweets so much… but fine by me!

Night: I was not planning to write nothing today, but i will let this out my chest while he is on the restroom… I LOVE SHUICHI! I just can't handle it anymore, he's being so perfect! He is smart, he is kind and he's SUPER MEGA CUTE! After dinner, he just came to me, got on his knees and put his head on my lap and cuddled it! He just puuredd and meowed, i was confused, but i just… i just couldn't say no~ Anyway… he is taking a long time there, i can just head… slaps and… a hose shooting water? Maybe he is just washing his hands throghtly… just 2 more days to go…

Day 6:

Morning: The second to last day! It started… curious, but in a good way! While i kept my yerterday clothes… poor Shuichi, he was forced to wear a frilly, bright pink high school uniform , a black thong and cat ears!! It was fun, but he looked so damn good… and he seemed to love it too, cuz he just went on twirling and swaying his body all time! Thoght i could swear that his looking diferent, i mean, his hips were definetely too wide for that skirt! Maybe that's just how he looks when he is not wearing such tight pants… And lord, his sweet tooth too! In the breakfast he just ate cake and cake and cake! Meowing even… god, i love him EVEN MORE!

Evening: After breakfast, he got me to the library, and weirdly enough, he told me to read for him, he told me that words were too boring for him, but how i can say no to those puppy eyes! So we were reading all day, he sitted on my laps and just heard me reading… it was a pretty romantic novel… i… i would love to live something like that, and Shuichi… felt the same, cuz he just couldn't stop staring at me all the time… could it be… no, no way he is also hooked on me… so, when he decided to stop reading, he told me he had something important to tell me, i wonder what it could be…

Night: Tonight… was the best night ever. After we finished dinner, we went to the bedroom… then hew got in his knees and… AND SAID HE WANTS ME TO BE HIS GIRLFRIEND! I obviously said yes! YES AND YES! When i said it, je just started jumping everywhere, he was so excited that jumped on me on bed! Then… god i cannot believe we are actually gonna have to do it… a strange letter came to us, it was from monokuma… it basically said that if we wanted to escape in the last day… we had to… film a sex tape… god, no way my first time is gonna be with him… i am SO EXCITED! But also so embarrassed… Shuichi told me it would be fine, it would just be a few hours and then we could get out! He promised me a date after… we just smiled like dumb lovers to each other until the closet banged… it was our clothes for tomorrow… mine was just a slingshot bikini with a cow-print, and Shuichi… a single pink thong… we just wore it, and hold our hands. Take that Monokuma, love will beat you!

[lavendertales]

Fire breather**

pairing: young!Din Djarin x f!reader

summary: he knows that even being around you is dangerous, forbidden even. But he can't fight against it for the life of him, not when you lure him with the most innocent of moves that throw you both into an intoxicatingly erotic game.

word count: 6k

WARNINGS: mini crisis of faith; virgin!Din, mutual pining, blowjob, piv, praise kink, cum play, first time shenanigans.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @manny-jacinto

read on AO3

It started out tentatively. Teasing to an almost ridiculous degree.

As a new bounty hunter, Din sought work. And for a beginner, Nevarro isn’t the worst place to be: plenty of questionable thieves, seemingly charitable folk on the street with dark pasts—a truly varied pool of work for someone like him. He almost-too-eagerly joined Greef Karga’s parsec of bounty hunters, and quickly learned the hazards of the job.

But he also learned there was beauty to it.

Whenever he had spare time, he liked to sit in the local cantina. Not necessarily for the food, but for the people. Simply watching them as they walked by, enjoying a warm meal, a good drink and a polite conversation. For the most part, it was a radiating canvas for young Din Djarin—most of the time unsoiled by the dark desires and past times that possessed so many creatures.

Then he saw you.

He watched your cat-like movements from behind the bar, serving those who stopped by, always with a smile. The more he dared to gaze in your direction, never forgetting to look away just as you sensed his visor upon you, the more he felt a certain fascination for you. Something about you exuded warmth, a rather mysterious sensuality, that of a foreigner, which Din knew had the ravishing possibility of getting him in trouble if he got too close.

So he didn’t. He observed you from afar, never uttering more than a grumbled “thank you” when you serviced him.

He meets with Karga to discuss business. It’s always business; nothing more, nothing less. He sneaks a glance at you, so quick it nearly makes his head spin. He finds himself lost in your smile, your politeness with even the rudest customers, your agility. His helmet suddenly feels constricting.

“Mando? Are you okay under there?”

Even Karga seems to notice. Din gulps, nodding his head ever so stoic, and resumes the conversation about the puck he’s taking today. But today is different. Today, you catch his visor, eyes big and radiant, and you smile at him.

You fucking smile at him.

“Be sure to finish this mission before the heatwave hits Nevarro,” Karga warns. “Seems it’ll be quite a hot season this year.”

Din finishes the mission a few days after said heatwave hit Nevarro. And it sure as hell was hot.

It was one of the rare circumstances when he wishes to done his tunic and beskar and jump into a body of water. It seldom happens, and yet now, he finds himself craving some release from that asphyxiating sensation.

“You’re back.”

The voice, soft and sweet like honey slowly drizzling on skin, startles him. He turns to meet your radiant face welcoming him back on the planet and into the cantina, and he gulps. His throat is so dry it’s itchy.

“You’ve been gone some time,” you say politely.

“Tricky mission.”

“Bounty hunter, right?”

“Yes. You keep tabs on all your clients?”

You chuckle, and the sound is playful, crystal clear, almost causing him to gasp.

“Only the most interesting ones,” you smile. “Can I get you anything?”

His mind feels scrambled, emptied of all other wishes. All except for one, clear and concise, and yet so terribly frightening to even think, let alone voice.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he replies.

“Some water at least. This heat is no joke.”

Eventually he nods, his eyes glued to your figure from the second you depart until you return with a tall cup of ice water.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” you tell him.

Din feels astounded at your understanding. Unlike others, you don’t question his armor or his habits, you simply… understand. You have enough respect for him already to know when to walk away.

And that awakens something else in him.

In the twisted and explosive world Din had voluntarily stepped in, his infatuation for you unfolds agonizingly slow, and yet far too fast for him to catch up and attempt to understand it.

The manifestation of Eros happens in increments, over long weeks of heat and simple words exchanged: from the lingering, curious gaze you began to return, to the mouth-watering way he longed to touch you. Just once, just a light touch over your arm, nothing more.

A lot more, actually. But Din forbids himself from thinking that far.

It is an erotic and mystical experience, unknown to him. He hasn’t felt the touch of another being, ever, but this he can learn to recognize that he ardently wants. There are moments of insecurity that go beyond his Creed and everything he had sworn himself to. Moments of jealousy of the infatuated man beneath the Mandalorian armor, failing to understand how someone can just touch another’s arm so innocently, so tenderly, and awaken such animalistic instincts in another.

He sees the guy at the bar, shamelessly smiling at you, at one point even laughing. Din’s heart stills, his breaths barely there. He watches the guy touch your hand, hold it for a few seconds longer than he has to, and Din finds his fist curled into a fit of rage. He does and says nothing. What could he say or do? Besides, he has no right to intervene. You aren't his to be had, and he isn't anything more but another client.

“Is everything okay?”

Din is taken aback by the fact that you take a seat right in front of him. You seem to be able to read him easily, and that thought alone is as surprising as it is scary.

“Yes,” Din almost groans.

“Are you sure? Because it looks like you’re about to rip your own gloves.”

He glances down at his hands, both curled into fists so tight he fails to acknowledge that they feel bothersome. He instantly relaxes them, taking a deep breath as you smile reassuringly at him.

“Long day,” he retorts, trying to appear as careless as possible.

Then, the unthinkable happens. You reach and touch his hand, stroking the glove gently, with the same kind and understanding smile on your face.

You touched his hand. It burned his skin through the fabric, his cheeks turning crimson under the weight of flattery and desire.

What is happening to me? Din can't help but ask himself.

“If you need some company, a conversation or… anything, really… you know where to find me.”

As you say so, you stroke his hand one last time and return behind the bar, glancing at him on occasion. Din gulps, struggling to manage for the rest of the day. Had his jealousy been that obvious that you had to come over to soothe him?

No, it couldn’t have been that.

He likes to think of himself as a smart man. Not possessing a superior intellect, but definitely smart, quick to come up with solutions when needed, even impulsively so.

And so he knows that the basis of this attraction he carries for you is nothing but physical. No other explanation for it. It’s pure biology; he can’t really help the way his body sweats and aches for you, let alone the way he just stiffened when his eyes met yours and when you touched him. He felt confined in his own armor, in his own pants, like he couldn’t breathe.

And you only just touched his hand.

It’s simple biology. Action and reaction; excessive nervousness, a celibacy record of twenty four years and counting, internal restlessness and a horrid fear of what the future might look like should he succumb to—whatever this is. He grows more and more fearful of the day he’ll finally snap and his body will take the reins of his feelings and needs, but the precarious situation actually thrills him, and he can’t explain himself. Not anymore.

Din knows he’s a moral man—or so he tries to be—but the demon inside, acting on biological, needy grounds, tempted and proved him the opposite with each moment he spent in your presence. You’ve barely lived, much like him, and yet there lives a refined sensuality and confidence about you, as well as a perplexing innocence inside of you.

He’s used to a different type of feminine behavior, and everything about you thoroughly confuses and excites him.

As the heat thrives in Nevarro, Din feels like he’s falling apart with each day.

No other woman has ever troubled him this much. He’s never been disrupted from his job by anyone, much less a woman. The sensual suffering you unknowingly put him through is beginning to feel like a curse, and this weather isn’t helping either.

He thinks about you when he’s chasing down his targets. He thinks about you when he carbon-freezes them. He thinks about you when he can’t sleep, then he gets so hard it actually feels like he’s being strangled. He thinks about you when he washes the day’s exhaustion off, and his hand seems to act of its own accord and curls itself around his erection, mindlessly stroking in hopes of some release. He seldom feels his own flesh in times like these; if he would’ve cut himself right now, he wouldn’t feel a fucking thing. And yet, what he does feel are his own nerves like a fishnet of beskar, weighing heavily upon him. He’s practically trembling as he rushes to finish himself in the shower, his ragged breath like molten lava. Even after he spills his seed, ashamed of such specific thoughts, you do not leave his mind.

Is it the mystery of your body, the curiosity that comes attached whenever you’re nearby?

He doesn’t know, and he certainly doesn’t care.

After his parents’ demise, Din was raised in a tough environment, one meant for a warrior. And that’s what he became: a hunter of beskar, cold and calculated, sharp. Yet there you are in that cantina, drawing him into a complicated, decisively erotic and unpredictable game. A lingering gaze from either of you is a code that must be deciphered; a touch of the hands is an act of bravery and a betrayal of one’s ways of thinking.

What of the Creed? What of everything I sworn myself too? I can’t fall in this trap, I can’t abandon my family.

But if it’s wrong, why does he ache for you with his whole being?

When you intentionally touched his leg one time as he sat at a table with Karga, it meant a big promise to him, an invitation. The promise was later fortified by a tea that you made especially for him to help with his restlessness.

And it fucking worked.

Din slept the best he had in months, thinking of you as he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

The next day, he brought you flowers as a thank you, but most importantly, as a little gesture to mean “I accept your invitation”. You smiled and thanked him.

Plenty of the customers around noticed you received flattery from the Mandalorian and plenty teased you about it, but you didn’t care. You felt like he could trust you, and being offered the trust of such a skilled warrior was more flattering than anything else.

Of course, there was the issue of attraction. There was no denying that over the months you had developed a rather carnal desire for the covered man. His modulated voice was softer when he spoke to you, almost shy; his movements, usually harsh and brutal, were tender and careful, hesitant as if he were afraid to not break you—or perhaps he was afraid of breaking himself. You began to fear that the physical attraction was too powerful to be contained and that one day you’ll snap, revealing or doing something that’ll put him off.

That was the last thing that you wanted. And, unbeknownst to you, it was the last thing Din wanted, too.

The situation is twisted, to put it mildly; Din, more simplistic in his all-too-new desires, lets himself be tempted by the potential of an affair that could end in tragedy. He’s become obsessed by myths, tearing them down, and new sensations. The observations he makes about body language in particular and the suggestion of foreign sensuality, with its heavy moments of infatuation, are stronger.

The erotic myth that Din finds himself drawn to is unfolding in the most unusual situations: when you smile at him during a busy day in the cantina, when you welcome him after a mission, when he accidentally touches your arm or your leg and his whole body trembles with fear and excitement alike. The now love he carries for you awakens raw, animalistic feelings inside of him, and the inevitable sin happens one evening when he seeks you.

The cantina is empty by this hour, except for one drunken Mythrol in a chair somewhere in the back. Although Din’s pulse is through the roof and he hears his own thrumming in his ears, burning auburn at this point, he inches closer to you.

“Mando, hi,” you smile, pleasantly surprised to see him. “What can I get ya?”

He hesitates, gulping. The heat wave hasn’t retreated from Nevarro, and it does not help with the way his body sweats right now.

“Spotchka. Please,” he clears his throat, insecure.

He’s never had the beverage before, but it’s the one thing that crossed his mind. Because the question that unveils itself at the back of his mind as he approaches the bar is… what is he doing here tonight? Just for the drink? He can’t drink with anyone around. So what the hell is his plan, why is he here with limp legs, barely able to breathe—

“Here we are,” you say, pouring the blue liquid in a glass and putting it in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you here tonight?”

Gloved hand curled around the glass, Din falls prey to a deep silence. What can he tell you? He doesn’t know himself.

“Uh—“

“Are you okay?”

“How can you tell if there’s something—“

“Well, for one thing, I know Mandalorians don’t eat or drink in front of others, even if I can turn around and that guy in the back is drunk under the table. And you do seem a bit nervous.”

Kriffing hell, how are you so damn good at reading him? How can you even be so understanding and kind?

Would you be so understanding if he’d told you he can’t stop thinking about you? That he thinks about you even when he shouldn’t?

“Tell you what,” you lean over the counter and get so close to his visor he could pass out. “I have to close up soon anyway. How about I take this”, you smile and take the whole bottle of spotchka, “and we go somewhere more private?”

“Are you—is that okay? Closing early, I mean.”

You sneak a look back to notice the Mythrol still under the table and refrain yourself from giggling. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I might need some help cleaning around here.”

Din carries the Mythrol out the cantina all the way till he passes out somewhere on the street, near the garbage cans. Neither you nor Din care enough to keep tabs on him, and honestly, Din is far too lost in your scent to pick up on anything else around him.

“Where we going?” he asks eventually.

“My place.”

Din stops, gulping and staring at you in awe. He knows what this means, the implications and everything else, and suddenly he’s fearful.

Fearful for not being enough for you and not living up to whatever expectations you may have.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you immediately apologize, noticing his stiff stance. “I didn’t mean—I just thought you’d like it better if you were in a more intimate setting. I mean not intimate, but—not a public space, you know?”

“Yes.”

“You just seem like the type of guy who likes to be mostly by himself, so if that’s okay with you—“

“It’s—fine.”

Suddenly his mind is plagued by the possibilities: are you nervous too because of him? Could that even be possible? No, how could it? He’s a Mandalorian, sworn to the Creed and a lifetime of solitude. He never lost his head like this—or at all, really.

How could you foster any sort of interest in him when you barely know him? When you haven’t even seen him?

But he finds himself following you blindly, his heart’s desire and curiosity exceeding his brain’s rationality. Although he knows that you won’t hurt him in any way—he supposed infatuation does that to someone’s logic—he cannot help the nervousness that seeps through its every pore. The surrounding environment slowly fades with each step he takes in proximity to your place, and suddenly, all Din is capable of focusing on is you.

You’re all he sees, all he’s curious about, and all he wants. Though not versed in the ways of relationships and feelings and such, he does know what he feels. He knows that he aches for you, deeply, and—perhaps delusion is part of the deal because he’s foolish enough to think that maybe you might be interested in him as well.

For why else would you invite him to your private quarters?

“Here we are,” you announce with a sweet smile.

Din suddenly realizes that he is finally in your private quarters. He glances around at the neat space, very much in tone with you. He’s nervous still, but much more content to be in such a space.

“If you feel like having a drink, I can give you some privacy.”

Din feels struck by your politeness; more so by you respecting boundaries he hasn’t even set.

“I know Mandalorians don’t show their faces in front of—strangers,” you smile.

“You do?”

“Yeah. My father was a Mandalorian.”

Underneath the helmet, Din raises his brows, almost shook at the realization.

“He was?”

“Yes. He fought in the war, defending Mandalore. And… he passed away.”

“This is the Way.”

Din nods somberly, hoping you understand. And you do. Of course you do.

But this explains why you’ve been so understanding and respectful. And it explains why you’ve been gravitating around him. Perhaps Din’s presence was a faint reminder of that former Mandalorian in your life.

“Anyway, I uh—I’ll leave you to your drink if—“

“Stay. Please.”

His please sounds throated and shaky, and it blindsides you. You figured he was nervous, maybe because he’s unaccustomed to being alone with someone, and you didn’t want to scare him off.

You pour spotchka for the two of you, polite enough to look away whenever Din lifts his helmet in the slightest to take a sip. The liquid is intense, going down to his stomach like a fire rapidly spreading throughout his whole body.

Once he takes the first few sips—and albeit their small quantity, they still relax him and make him feel more at ease and slightly sweaty—Din asks about your father and your past. You share gladly, openly, as if you are talking to an old friend. And so he finds out about your childhood and about you, soaking up the knowledge like a sponge.

In return, he tells you about him and his past, how he came to be the warrior standing now before you, and to say you are mesmerized is an understatement.

You are beyond touched by his life story, his perseverance and his bravery to carry on and find himself a new purpose even after suffering the loss of his parents. You could relate to that as well; losing your father in the Great Purge when you were very young could’ve easily let you to become a train wreck, but instead you were determined to provide for yourself and your mother. She took it the hardest, and while she always made sure you had everything you needed and was enough mother and father for you, you knew that she missed him terribly all the time.

As the stories come to an end, Din finds himself craving again. Now that he’s getting to know you, his craving only surges, and, like never before, he feels that his armor is constricting him.

“Are you okay?” you ask after a while.

He swallows harshly, his throat dry whereas his mouth was watering with each second he spends looking at you. What an odd phenomenon, he thinks.

“Why?” he foolishly asks.

“You just seem to be very nervous.”

“I—am. You make me nervous.”

You raise your brows, visibly surprised at the confession. Though if you have to admit to yourself, you’re quite nervous too; your heart’s thrumming in your ears, beating so fast inside your chest you can feel it.

“I do?” you ask just as foolishly.

Din nods. “Why? I’m just—me.”

He can’t even begin to tell you just how wonderful you seem to him. Frankly, he doubts he has the words for it anyway.

You think the same about him. There’s an aura of mystery surrounding him, a lot of things you still don’t know about him, and yet you feel as if you’ve known him for months, if not years. And, though it may seem crazy, the more you stare at him, the more you can imagine the face of the man behind the armor. You can imagine his eyes, kind and warm, plush lips, perhaps some facial hair making him distinguishable.

And suddenly heat spreads throughout your whole body, settling dangerously low in your belly and between your legs.

You want to ask what happens now; you drank, you shared stories, and now all you’re left with is a yearning that doesn’t seem to subside. Din doesn’t know how to continue the conversation, either. He’s too struck by you, too smitten to verbalize his feelings, which are those of desire, he’s concluded.

But how to say this aloud? “I want you”? That just sounds crass. Instead, he coos your name, gulping afterwards, and you hold your breath, waiting.

“What is it?” you ask.

“You make me nervous.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You make me nervous because… I want you.”

Oh, dank farrik. He should not have said that. He should not have said it like that—or at all, really.

“I meant—I want… to be with you. No, I—“

Then he hears you giggle, and his heart flutters in his chest. Laughter is a good sign, right? That he didn’t yet make a complete fool of himself? He can only hope.

“That’s okay,” you smile at him. “I have to admit, I… I want to be with you too.”

If he was unsure whether he was sweating before, Din is now convinced he’s sweating buckets underneath the armor and the tunic.

“You—you do?” he asks, completely dumbfounded.

“Yes. Is that bad?”

Maybe it should be, he thinks. Maybe it should because he’s a Mandalorian and he has taken the Creed and he is loyal to his family and his beliefs, but… why does it feel so good to stand here before you, so vulnerable?

“No,” he replies.

You stand up, extending your hand to him, and Din gulps again as his gloved hand takes yours into his. He struggles to regulate his breaths while you guide him to what he can assume is your bedroom, but fails to do so. Anticipation is nearly asphyxiating him, and he’s so hard by this point it’s a miracle you didn’t somehow notice it.

Or you did and were too polite to mention it.

Either way, once he’s in your bedroom, Din stills, and so do you.

“Have you done this before?” you ask, and boy is he grateful for your consideration. Since you’ve had a Mandalorian father, he can only assume you know some things about the culture that make you more attentive to details. “Have you ever been with someone?”

“I have not.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

All the blood flow is basically in his pants so he can’t think of a decent thing to say.

“I do want to,” he replies.

“Okay, then we take things slow, and… if there’s anything you feel uncomfortable with, we stop. Does that sound good?”

“Yes.”

You turn off the main light, allowing only some lights from the street to shine in, thus granting the minimum visualization, for which Din is beyond thankful.

“Is it okay if I—take this off?”

He assumes you mean the armor, and he agrees with a shaky yes. You move closer to him, removing his armor bit by bit, all while his heart’s about to burst out of his chest and his pants on the verge of explosion. You don’t reach for the helmet; you leave that up to him. Once the armor is removed, Din is standing in his tunic, and he takes it upon himself to remove the clothing, mostly because he’d be embarrassed if you were to discover how hard he is right now.

Though he supposes you will find out soon enough.

Since it’s dark enough to not actually see anything but forms, Din feels comfortable enough to remove the helmet. You hear the faint click and you gasp.

“You took off the helmet?” you ask.

“Yes.”

Gods, his voice sounds so rich and smooth even without the modulator.

“I thought you’re not supposed to.”

He doesn’t reply; yes, he’s not supposed to, but technically, you can’t see him, so there is no danger. Then it hits him that you’re probably naked by now, too, and his nervousness returns.

“Alright then,” you say, though your voice is shaky with emotion too. “Is it okay if I kiss you? To… you know, get us started?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t have answered that fast enough. You can easily deduce that this is his first time kissing someone too, so you make a mental note to be extra tender.

“Can I touch your face?”

“Y-Yes.”

He feels your warm breath on his lips and he shudders. Then you cup his cheeks, grazing them gently and pulling him in. You can tell he’s new at this, as well as rigid, so you kiss him sweetly, slowly, patient and eager for his reaction.

Reaction which does not fail to arise.

Din grows needier within seconds; he’s roaming his hands over the small of your back, then to your shoulders and hair, opening his mouth in order to explore more of yours. You gladly reciprocate, but do so just as tenderly, as if showing him the way around your mouth. The thing you didn’t realize about Din, he’s a fast learner. He rapidly learns how you like to be kissed, thus learning how he likes it, too, and he lets himself go. He lets himself get lost in the moment, in your sweet scent and taste, and by Gods, it is heavenly.

When you break the kiss, he’s almost sad. But then you say something that makes his heart jump right into his throat.

“Lay on the bed, and let me take care of you.”

The saccharine request has him weak—and questioning things he doesn’t dare question aloud. Take care of him how?

Soon he finds out; the moment you see his rather broad shape lounging on the bed, you move atop of him, kissing a hot trail from his cheeks to his jaw, neck, chest, belly…

Then Din gasps.

You reach his neediest part and he twitches just as you wrap your arm around his cock, the strokes slow and steady.

“Is this okay?” you check with him. “Does it feel good?”

“Mhm—yes—“

Unbeknownst to him, you smile, continuing to stroke him. You listen in to his grunts, and you can only think of the sounds he’d make once you’d take him in your mouth. Or the sounds he’d make being inside you.

Dank fucking farrik, you’re growing wetter as your imagination is running wilder. With your hand at the base of his cock, you take the rest of him in your mouth.

“F-Fuck—“Din moans brokenly, his breaths shallow and rapid. “Fuck, you’re s-so—so good—“

You hum in appreciation, and the vibration sends tingles down his spine. He’s not sure he’s going to keep going like this. His whole body burns and aches and he doesn’t want to come like this, not when you have him in your mouth. It feels… inappropriate. Like you deserve better than something purely filthy.

“Wait, stop,” he wails.

Instantly your eyes go to where his face would be, taking him out of your mouth and ceasing your strokes. Though still hard, Din no longer feels the need to come—at least the need isn’t that urgent.

“Did I hurt you somehow?” you ask. “I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s—I didn’t want to come yet.”

“Why not?”

Maybe it’s more than just lust. How can he explain how enamored he is with your whole image, how drunk he is on your presence, and that he thinks you deserve only the kindest and best things in this life and him coming down your throat feels cheap?

“I want to feel you,” he mutters. “Can I?”

Breathless, you whisper a desperate yes and make your way to his face, kissing him again. His lips are soft and plush, like you’ve imagined, but if you move too much you fear he’d hear how shamefully wet you are.

The kiss, though innocent in the beginning, turns rather sloppy, betraying both your eagerness. Din moves so that he’s on top of you, one of his hands boldly parting your thighs to make room for him. He brushes against your folds, almost grunting upon feeling the slick heat. The mere idea that you want him this much and that your body is so responsive to his hesitant, clumsy touches is mind-boggling to him.

“Can I go inside you?” he asks.

You feels his shallow breaths on your face and you can’t believe how overstimulated you are just from light touching and undressing.

But you know that for a Mandalorian, the undressing part at least was erotic in and of itself. What follows is merely an enhancement of that longing, one that Din feels more than lucky to get to share it with someone like you.

“Yes,” you respond.

Din grunts as he wraps his hand around his cock, painful to the touch. He fails to see you sneak a hand in between your legs and rub your clit while you wait. The anticipation is overwhelming you too, and it’s so surprising to want someone you barely know so damn much.

But here you are, wet as you could possibly be, legs spread for him, waiting.

“Remember, if you want to stop—“

“I don’t want to stop.”

Almost out of breath, everything around Din fades once he pushes the head of his cock past your lips. You gasp and moan as he keeps pushing in, making you feel every inch of him. The sting is a bit painful, on account of his size and girth, but you welcome it gladly. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, Din exhales. You’re warm and tight around him, and it’s making him dizzy.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Gods, how can you be so considerate even when you’re just as deprived of proper touch as he is?

“You just feel… so tight and warm,” he replies. His voice sounds like it doesn’t even belong to him. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone’s nervous and clumsy during their first time. I’m thankful you wanted to share this with me.”

“I can’t imagine this with anyone else.”

It’s then that you find the strength to cup his cheeks and kiss him again, which prompts Din in return to move at last. You groan into his mouth when you feel his languid thrusts inside, both of you starved. Little by little, Din builds a pace, one that works for both you and him. He’s in awe at the sounds you make, the way your body feels around him and even enamored by the squelching sounds emerging in between your legs where your bodies are joined together. Everything about you is inebriating.

In this moment, when everything feels so much more heightened, he knows he’d do anything for you. Anything you want, he’ll give you.

Despite his prior nervousness and lack of experience, just like with the kiss, Din learns fast. He quickly learns which angle feels good for you and which motion drives the sultriest moan from your side, and sticks to that. His thrusts are tender, much like him, and frankly, it surprises you to notice the imbalance between the fierce Mandalorian you’ve seen in the cantina and the man behind the armor, naked above and stealing moans and sloppy kisses from you. He stretches you wide with each thrust, growing a bit too eager and thus speeding up—which you do not mind one bit. It’s the ideal combination of tender and rough, getting you just where you need to be.

He kisses you as he buries himself inside you to the hilt, making you feel every inch of him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, closely listening to the sounds you make for and because of him. One hand sneaks at the back of his head, caressing his hair as sweat begins to prickle your skin—and his too, it seems.

“You’re so good,” you whisper to him. “You’re doing—so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm—so good for me—that’s it.”

You wish you’d know his name so you can call it out when you come, but you don’t think to ask of that right now. Not when you’re so full of him you could scream throughout the galaxy.

So instead, you keep muttering sweet nothings to him, encouragements to get him going and build his pleasure further. You simply have the feeling that this is a man who needs the praise, someone who thrives on validation though he may not admit to it. so you keep doing that, for both your pleasure, and then you start to feel it: the familiar burn in your lower belly that’s threatening to explode.

And Din feels it, too.

“I’m gonna come,” he warns, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shit, I’m—where?”

“What?”

“Tell me—where to come.”

You peck his lips. “Anywhere you want.”

You don’t have the patience or the time to tell him that you’re safe and clean, and it doesn’t really matter right now. This moment is far too precious and important to not enjoy it to its fullest.

Din pulls out, stroking himself to completion over your folds and lower belly in thick, hot spurts. You follow suit and you rub your clit fast, reaching your own orgasm. You close your eyes, relishing into the blissful sensation. You can still hear Din catching his breath, so again you pull him down to your face to kiss him. Oddly enough, that seems to steady him.

“Was that good?” he asks shyly afterwards, and Gods, you’re just so enamored with him you could cry.

Instead, you chuckle lightly as he falls to your side. “It was wonderful.”

You feel him shifting towards you, his breath over your face. “If you’ll have me… I’m yours.”

Though he can’t see you, you smile so wide you fear you might overstretch your whole face.

“There’s no ‘if’,” you whisper him reassuringly. “I do want you. But I do hope you know this means I’m yours, too.”

Din smiles, nodding in the darkness. He smiles for the first time in a long time. There’s a calm happiness about him, yet a violent one at the same time. A tumultuous happiness which his heart cannot possibly resist. He’s in this euphoric state, having discovered the pleasures of the flesh, as well as those of the heart; he grazes your arm as you retreat at his chest, and in this moment, there is no fear.

tags: @groguspawbeans

[tsumusangxl]

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chapter five ʚ [the denial]

pairing ʚ Hinata Shoyou x f!Reader x Iwaizumi Hajime

warnings ʚ Iwa's pov, not checked for mistakes, slight swearing, denial of feelings

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈꒱꒱

The hum of the city filled Iwa’s ears as he stepped off the train, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. The crisp bite of autumn lingered in the air, sending leaves skittering across the pavement with every gust of wind. He wasn’t one for nostalgia, but there was something comforting about being back in Japan—like slipping on a well-worn hoodie you’d forgotten you owned.

Tonight wasn’t about nostalgia, though. It was about catching up with Mattsun and Makki. Their group chats were always lively, but seeing them in person had become a rare treat over the past few years. Life had pulled them in different directions—work, cities, even countries in Iwa’s case—but somehow, they always found their way back to moments like this.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted the bar, its faint golden glow spilling onto the street. It wasn’t the kind of place they’d have picked in high school—too grown-up, too polished—but it worked. They weren’t kids anymore, after all.

Iwa pushed the door open, the warmth of the room hitting him first, followed by the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. He scanned the booths, searching for familiar faces, until he spotted Mattsun already seated, nursing a beer and scrolling through his phone.

“Early, huh?” Iwa raised an eyebrow as he slid into the booth. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Mattsun?”

Mattsun looked up, his usual lazy grin spreading across his face. “Funny. I could say the same about you. Didn’t expect you to show up on time, Mr. California Dreaming.”

“Guess LA didn’t mess with my sense of punctuality,” Iwa shot back, shrugging off his jacket.

“Makki’s going to have a field day with that one.”

“Speaking of,” Iwa said, glancing toward the door, “where is he?”

As if on cue, the door swung open, and Makki strode in, his usual mischievous energy practically radiating off him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Makki said, plopping down next to Mattsun. “Traffic was terrible. And by traffic, I mean I didn’t feel like leaving my couch until five minutes ago.”

Iwa rolled his eyes. “Some things never change.”

“And thank God for that,” Makki said with a grin, flagging down a server. “Alright, let’s hear it. Who’s got the most interesting life these days?”

Makki leaned back, stretching his arms out. “Mattsun, let’s start with you. How’s the coffee shop going?”

“Coffee shop?” Iwa raised an eyebrow. “I thought you worked at the funeral home. Did I miss something?”

Mattsun shook his head. “Not anymore.” He took a leisurely sip of his beer. “Miyu and I started talking about opening our own business after college, but we couldn’t make it happen right away.”

“So you worked at the funeral home to save up some money?” Iwa asked, taking a sip of his drink. “Damn, Mattsun. Never saw that coming. Mr. Entrepreneur.”

“Imagine him yelling at the baristas about latte art,” Makki chimed in. “This life already sounds pathetic.”

“Nah,” Mattsun said, waving Makki off. “I’ll leave that to Miyu. I just make sure the money flows and the customers don’t riot when someone screws up their macchiato.”

“Macchiato,” Makki repeated, like the word was foreign to him. “Who even orders that stuff? What happened to plain old coffee?”

“It’s called taste, Makki. Maybe try developing some.”

Iwa laughed, shaking his head. “You two are exactly the same. Anyway, what about you, Makki? Still looking for a job?”

“Hell nah, man,” Makki replied proudly. “I’ve started freelancing. Got some gigs editing videos for mid-tier influencers. It’s not glamorous, but better than being unemployed. Plus, I can work in my pajamas.”

“So… no change from high school, basically,” Mattsun deadpanned.

Makki shrugged. “Hey, I’m happy. Besides, I don’t need to third-wheel you and Miyu anymore.”

Iwa chuckled, leaning forward. “You guys are hopeless. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to make it as a trainer.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Gym Rat,” Makki teased. “How’s that going? Adjusting to Tokyo life?”

“It’s good. Different, but good,” Iwa said. “I started as a trainer assistant for the Tokyo Great Bears. It’s nothing major, but it’s a foot in the door.”

“Dude, that’s not ‘nothing,’” Mattsun said, looking genuinely impressed. “You’re working for a pro team. That’s huge.”

“Yeah, but it’s a grind,” Iwa admitted. “I’ve got a lot to learn, but I’m hoping to work my way up in the next few years.”

“You will,” Makki said confidently. “You’ve always been the most determined out of all of us. No doubt you’ll be running the team before long.”

Iwa smirked. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. We’ll see.”

Makki raised his glass. “Alright, here’s to Mattsun’s coffee empire, my pajama freedom, and Iwa climbing the ranks of pro volleyball.”

They clinked their glasses, a comfortable silence settling over them before Makki’s grin turned mischievous.

“So,” he began, leaning forward, “speaking of volleyball… anyone heard from the old gang?”

Mattsun groaned. “Here we go.”

“What? It’s been ages!” Makki said defensively. “I mean, Kyoutani’s still semi-pro, right? Anyone know if he’s still terrifying his teammates?”

“More like terrifying his opponents,” Iwa said with a smirk. “Last I heard, he’s doing well. Finally found a coach who knows how to handle him.”

“Small miracle,” Mattsun muttered. “What about Kindaichi? Is he still playing?”

“He’s with the Tamaden Elephants,” Iwa said. “Pretty steady career path for him.”

Makki snickered. “Can’t say the same for Watari, though. Did you know he’s working at the Kanagawa Aquarium now?”

“For real?” Mattsun asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s he doing there? Dolphin wrangling?”

“Something like that,” Makki said, laughing. “And Yahaba? Last I heard, he’s a sports instructor now.”

“Figures,” Mattsun said with a shrug. “Always had that bossy streak.”

Makki’s grin widened as he leaned forward again. “Alright, last one. Shittykawa. What’s our favorite drama king up to?”

“Still in Argentina, still Oikawa,” Iwa said, shaking his head. “Signed another contract and is as smug as ever.”

“Of course he is,” Mattsun said, laughing. “Bet he sends you highlights of every match he wins.”

“Every. Single. One,” Iwa said with mock exasperation. “And don’t even get me started on the selfies.”

Makki burst out laughing. “Some things never change.”

“Nope,” Iwa said, raising his glass again. “And honestly? I’m okay with that.”

Makki leaned back, swirling his drink with a sly grin. “Alright, enough volleyball talk. Iwa, what’s the deal with you and Y/N?”

Iwa nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Mattsun chimed in, smirking. “Makki’s right. You’ve been glued to your phone every time we talk. And don’t think we didn’t notice the notifications lighting up during that chat about Oikawa.”

“Yeah,” Makki added, leaning in dramatically. “Spill. Who is she to you?”

“She’s just a friend,” Iwa said quickly, his tone firm but his ears betraying him with a faint pink hue.

“Oh, it’s definitely not just that,” Mattsun said with a chuckle.

Makki tilted his head, mockingly serious. “A friend, huh? Like the kind of friend you’d drive all the way to Osaka to meet?”

His stomach twisted uncomfortably. It had been days since she’d told him about her run-in with Hinata. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more: the fact that she’d been hurt again, or how badly he wanted to protect her from it all.

“She’s… different, okay? We met through a mutual friend. That’s it,” Iwa said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Different,” Mattsun echoed, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Wow, Makki, did you hear that? She’s different.”

“Totally different,” Makki agreed, nodding solemnly. “Definitely not the kind of girl you’d cross cities for, huh?”

Iwa groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Would you two shut up?”

It wasn’t a lie. She was different. From the first time they talked online, there’d been an ease between them, like they’d known each other for years. When she opened up about her past, about the wreckage Hinata had left behind, something in him had shifted. He wanted to be there for her—not because of romance. Or at least, he told himself it wasn’t about that. It was about trust. Respect.

Mattsun leaned back, crossing his arms. “Alright, fine. We’ll back off. But seriously, man, you’re dodging the question. Is there anything there, or are we imagining things?”

Iwa hesitated, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “She’s been through a lot. I’m just trying to be there for her, that’s all.”

Makki’s teasing grin softened, though the playful edge remained. “That’s sweet, Iwa. But you didn’t actually answer the question.”

“There’s nothing to answer,” Iwa said, too quickly. “She’s my friend. End of story.”

Because that’s all she could be, right? Anything more would be too messy. Too selfish. She didn’t need complications, not after everything she’d been through. And maybe he didn’t either.

“Right, right,” Mattsun said, exchanging a knowing look with Makki. “Whatever you say.”

Makki grinned, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go—for now. “Alright, but when you need tips on how to confess your undying love, you know where to find us.”

“Or better yet,” Mattsun added, “just let us know when the wedding is so we can book our flights.”

Iwa shook his head, chuckling despite himself. “You two are impossible.”

“And you’re terrible at denying things,” Makki said, laughing. “But hey, that’s why we love you.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Iwa found himself distracted. His thoughts circled back to her. Maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. But whatever feelings he had, they were his to carry alone.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈꒱꒱

notes ʚ

ʚ miyu is mattsun's girlfriend since high school

ʚ makki finally found a job but I think it will definitely change in the future

ʚ the career change for mattsun was a random thought

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈꒱꒱

next ʚ chapter six

previous ʚ chapter four

ʚ masterlist

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈꒱꒱

taglist ʚ @jojo23allegra @mjustag1rl @dazqa @gigiiiiislife

[erebird]

I’M ON THE RUN AND YOU’RE HOME ALONE | 𝔪. 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔬

pairing/s: Manjiro Sano x gn!reader

genre: hurt/no comfort, established relationship, angst

warning/s: none

wc: 530+

Note: I didn't have a specific timeskip in mind but mikey is aged up in this fic! I felt like my characterization wouldn't fit if he was 14-15 here so it’s up to you to imagine what arc this takes place in besides the toman arc :)

It was late and quiet in your shared apartment. The entrance door opening could barely be heard. Your lover, Manjiro, came back from an awful day. He was rarely ever filled with joy anymore, but this day was worse than the previous days he had experienced. 

“I’m home.” is what Manjiro usually yelled after entering the house to let you know that he was back, but he stopped since he’s been coming home at ungodly hours recently. Hours when you were already fast asleep after forcing yourself to stay up and wait until he came back to you.

Setting foot in the bedroom you both slept in, Manjiro stared at your deep sleeping figure. The hued lamp was lit up on his side of the room, a habit you did when he hadn’t come home yet. He wonders how you got so unlucky to love and stay with him. Even he knows it himself, he treated you better when you two were still children.

He softly sat on his side of the bed, still staring at you, adoration and guilt in his eyes. Manjiro loves you. Hell, he loves you more than anything. He isn’t as affectionate as most would be, but he really does cherish you as the light of his life. Your kindness and compassion never faltered even after all these years of hell putting up with all the pain he’s felt. It makes him sick knowing such a sweetheart like you witnessed every terrible deed he’s done even after doing everything he can to keep you away from the dangerous side of his life. You just never went away, you stuck to him like an annoying pest that needed his attention all the time. However, Manjiro knew that in reality, it was the other way around. He was the annoying pest that desperately clung to you and unnoticeably begged for your affection. 

Though he never verbally said it, he needed you. He believes that he needs you more than you need him. Maybe that's why after all these years, he’s too selfish to let you go for your own good. When everyone is slowly leaving him, you’re all he has left.

“Mikey…” You mumbled. He gently swiped your hair away from your face to tuck behind your ear. Now your face was clear on full display for him to see. It’s not the first time he’s heard you say his name in your sleep. It’s always “Mikey” or “‘Jiro” that leaves past your pretty lips. 

Now that he thinks about it, it’s been a long time since the two of you shared a kiss. 

Manjiro looks at your lips once more before hesitantly moving down to give you a soft peck that lasts not more than a few seconds. 

Sitting back up, he sighs out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. He reached for your hand to intertwine your fingers with his. 

Not once did he stop looking at you. Not even while he’s shedding light tears, an action with his intent to apologize for being so absent. 

A whisper that could barely be heard leaves Manjiro’s trembling mouth.

“I’m too consumed with my own life.”