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silenthillmutual · 1 year ago

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i keep looking at my own fic ideas from like a couple years ago that i have outlines for and going "wow, i really don't want to write these!" so here's a comprehensive list of fanfics i still have on my desktop which i have started but made litle progress on:

masterpiece theatre - an akira/mob psycho 100 crossover. the premise of this one was that tetsuo managed to create an alternate universe at the end of the film/manga, which was the mp100 universe. he's just kind of there trying to live a normal life while navigating the trauma from his past life. naturally this does not work out well and he winds up both meeting people from the akira 'verse and people from the mp100 'verse. i think i had in mind that it would end roughly around the first season of mp100. anyway this was roughly inspired by my musings about mp100 reminding me of a sort of inverse of akira's storyline that i can no longer articulate because it has been years since i read mp100 all the way through.

cause - this was just going to be a complete rewrite of rebel without a cause where i fixed what i saw as a pacing issue with the film and also gave more context to the characters' lives because i have a love/hate relationship with the original

it's not my party, but i'll still cry if i want to - a really short fic that was taking characters from rebel without a cause and plopping them into a modern 'verse just for the sake of having jim infodump about the 50s while sulking because he thinks judy & plato are doing something together and generally having rsd

where worlds collide and days are dark - all i got is that it's for mgs and i still have a hold of this document despite it just being snippets of fic i wrote like years ago.

statement of daniil dankovsky // statement of artemy burakh - magnus archives crossovers for pathologic, the first one being daniil's statement about the world being alive (based on pathologic classic) and the second one being artemy's statement about seeing daniil die, only to be "replaced" by another actor the following day while everyone else acts like nothing ever happened.

when you finally get involved, face to face - danganronpa ishimondo fic that was a project to see if i could focus long enough to write 100k. instead of getting together as teenagers, the fic would take place over the span of 10 years, where they'd get together as adults. i was really excited about this one when i started it, but people started being transmisogynist in the comments so i stopped working on it and got into pathologic instead.

a document titled 'cool ishimaru has a chill day with boyfriend' which i think was about ishimaru discovering he's trans, that was meant to be a non-despair au and with everyone being generally supportive of him.

flaws - danganronpa fic where taka talks to makoto about feeling possessive and how horrible it feels but i never actually finished or published it. it's pretty much done now... i could go back and edit it down to where i'm satisfied with it but i don't know :/

i wanna ruin our friendship (we should be lovers instead) - some kind of au where either it's non-despair or everyone lives... it was going to have hina and taka bonding over having crushes on their best friends who are oblivious. it was gonna be from hina's pov bc i love her

in the middle - okay this one i swear i will write one day... whenever i replay trigger happy havoc... it was going to be a polyamory fic where mondo is dating chihiro, who used to date taka and desperately wants mondo and taka to be friends. they'd be in college here. chihiro is transfem and taka is transmasc and mondo realizes he's nonbinary i think was a plot point. anyway,

an untitled danganronpa fic wherein hope's peak decides the classes need mentors and taka picks juzo, w ho came out of the closet for the express purposes of getting out of having to mentor anybody. but taka thinks it was very brave of him and wants advice on coming out despite being a public figure.

letters - this was just going to be eight, thirty-one from taka's pov

jojo's despaire adventure - jojo characters put in a danganronpa situation. pretty sure polnareff was going to be the protag of this one. it was going to be a simulation dio was running to try and rewrite the universe, hence why so many characters from so many parts were there and also had no memory of each other. i think kakyoin was going to be the first casualty.

all of my started but unfinished assorted jjba works you can still find on ao3: next chapter of cherry wine was going to have a karaoke section because fox gave me the funniest image of hol horse singing a shitty maroon 5 song. i have no idea where i was headed with heads on a science apart. not sure what the next chapter of heart of glass was going to be and i don't feel like pulling up the outline but i can tell you how it ended if anyone is curious about that. she told me to come but i was already there - there was going to be a battle of the bands kind of thing wherein we were going to get hol horse singing 'ride a horse, save a cowboy'. that was the highlight of the chapter and i don't remember what else i had planned for it. starfish crusaders was going to have a mechanic where some of the joestars were part merpeople and could transform at will. warmth, though, i have no idea where i was going with that.

alexithymia - a patho fic exploring the turmoil of not knowing, understanding, or articulating your own feelings. with daniil, of course.

something just titled 'angst outline' that is for a long form pathologic angst fic i was never going to write because i was convinced nobody was going to read it. it was going to be burda but with even more problems and issues and angst for the sake of angst.

a fic about artemy's insomnia

some unspcified fics about daniil being autistic

bio murky - okay this is really obvious but the reason to read the fic was that it was transmasc artemy. essentially artemy and daniil met and hooked up and maybe started falling in love in the capital and then artemy left for home unexpectedly... because he was pregnant. i think this was going to be an everyone lives kind of au or potentially even a no-sand pest au.

a blurb about andrey and his bipolar disorder

e pluribus unem - if i ever actually write this one i'll have to find a title that won't invoke such a knee-jerk reaction but anyway this was a fic about daniil going about wooing artemy by making amends/friends with those of artemy's bound. it was going to be told in little shorts of daniil meeting with the kids. originally i wrote this from daniil's pov but i think if i write this one i'll do it from the kids' povs.

a blurb about daniil having a breakdown after the end of classic

let's climb the cliff edge and jump again - this was gonna be a fic about daniil and andrey's tentative friendship in university where andrey is a horrible influence, a horrible friend, and a horrible brother. it was loosely inspired by my toxic girl friendships i had in college [a/n: i was a girl in college] and the first time i got high. i wanted it to be My Dandrey Fic but without happy dandrey at the end... hints of griefdrey instead... and again thinking about andrey's bipolar disorder because i'm always thinking about it!

a mark/rubin fic that was gonna be nsfw.

mystical inclinations - a soulmate au with tattoos i think? polyamory and platonic soul mates were going to be a thing in this au but i kind of don't remember what i was doing with it.

another pregame burda au

a fic i started where rubin is mortified to be caught in between artemy and daniil's...whatever

a fic about artemy & daniil's first kiss

talk too much - daniil, who is usually a smoother talker, has a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth whenever artemy is around

another fic entry in my modern au thing, where artemy's kids meet daniil for the first time

vince malum bono - clara talking to each of her bound on the last few days of the plague, patho-2 version

when my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold, dark earth - this was going to be mashing up daniil and artemy's routes (and at the end, clara's as well). with burda. of course.

when the day met the night - burda fic where daniil is about to get taken out by the government because he's a criminal against common sense and good morals, and artemy panics and tells the emmisaries who show up that they can't take daniil because they are to be married, and they can't take the menkhu's husband. and of course the emmissaries aren't stupid so they say they'll be back for the wedding. very romcom.

#icarus.txt #ominous fic talk #idk if anyone here remembers me from some of these fandoms #but like if you wanna know what's up w one of these maybe talking abt it will inspire me. who knows!

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cloverandstuff · 8 months ago

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Episode 21:

Ah, I am so happy Havoc is still alive. And I love his bond with Mustang. I think it's a very underappreciated relationship that should get far more attention. They and Mustangsm's relationship with Hawkeye, both display how Mustang cares for people close to him.

And damn, Winry considering Hughes as a father figure hits so much harder. So many parental figures around her died, and two of her childhood friends are going into the same profession that killed her parents. Winry has every right to cry and be concerned, especially when she's still a kid.

Episode 22:

AHHH FUCK ME, SCAR'S BACKSTORY HURTS ME SO MUCH

God, his anger is justified. I didn't understand as a kid, but it really is justified. He knows where he fucked up, but he watched his entire homeland be destroyed, and saw the tuins and corpses of the people he knew. He had every right to be so mad at the state alchemists who allowed that to happen.

But at the same time, Winry has every reason to want to kill this man. She doesn't have the context, and she shouldn't need to. Her parents saved people, and its hurts so much more that a person they saved was the one who took their lives and not a soldier.

God, but the moment of Ed gently pulling her fingers away from the gun, while talking in a soft and almost pained tone, how her hands were meant to help people live, and not to kill. He truly believes she helped save him, and that she will save many more. Winry needed to be reminded of that.

Episode 23:

May is back and she is just as adorable but powerful ad ever. Love her, and the whole dynamic she has with Scar.

...This is gonna end badly.

BUT DAMM I FORGOT HOW MUCH OF A BADASS FAN AND LING WERE, THEY BOTH ARE SO FREAKING COOL

And the whole thing about the Fuhrer being more human than the rest...god, I feel so bad for this man. He is human, even if he's not supposed to be it.

Episode 24:

Gluttony, the cutie pie he is, is also jusy the most terrifying thing Ive ever seen. Like, dammit, this scene gave me nihhtmares when I was youngeer and it still creeps me out a bunch.

Disclaimer: I love kids. If there is a kid chatacter in an anime, Im usually gonna love them a lot and become very attached to them. Theyre all just so little and naive, trying their best.

That being said... FUCK SALIM, THE LITTLE SHIT

Episode 25:

First off, I love the bit about how gluttony was meant to be an artificial gate of truth and just ended up being the gate to a place between that and reality. Like, that is so fun to think about in terms what that implicates about him.

Ah, but I frogot that despite how much I love how morally grey his character his, Bradley was a bitch about the literal the daughter of a man he caused the death of crying at the guy's funeral. Like god, fuck you, you asshole.

Episode 26:

Envy was a character I remember hoping would end of getting a redemption arc for, but I realise now that the guy was never gonna get that. He caused far too many tragedies to even be allowed that thought. That being said, it is kinda funny how this guy, out of all the sins, is possibly the most friendly to the brothers.

Ling just being the sassy, done-with-this-shit man, is peak character development. This is stilla kid who has had to deal with more oressure than he should have had to bear and he's also probably got a disability that results in his frequent hunger.

Oh, and Envy is terrifying. I am only saying that because i refuse to remember the past.

...god, this terrified me as a 7 year old. Just randomly coming acorss an episode on TV abs seeing this.

I'm rewatching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood cause it's been literally a decade since I've watched it.

So cheers, I have a reaction thread (because I'm a sentimental bitch)

Episode 1:

God, I've forgotten how it immediately just got to the action in the first episode. Like, it set up everything and gave a glimpse of nearly all important character.

Poor Isaac, was probably manipulated, but ultimately led himself to his own demise. Very bold though.

And god, I think I was too depressed at the time of watching it, but the Eldric brother's backstory was so painful with that small glimpse.

Episode 2:

I cannot for the life of me understand why this shit didn't affect me as much as it should've as a kid. It might've depression that numbed my emotions, but I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, my point is, this is is traumatizing, and that's me saying this as an adult. The backstory and the short glimpses of the mom, as well as the clear love and dedication they had for her? The way that Ed didn't even hesitate to try and find more truth? The way he dragged himself, bleeding leg and all, to the armor to shove it down, and connect his brothers soul to it???

And god, the way I just kept whisper-shouting when they came to recruit him, cause I didn't remember shit, going-

But man, as someone is is now so much older than Ed is in the anime, they make him act a kid. A very smart, powerful and purposeful kid, but a kid nonetheless. He's so young and you can just feel it in the little things he does. He does not have his shit together and is still figuring some shit out.

Episode 3:

I love the comedy this anime has. It has the funny little pauses and the interuption of what should be serious moments without ruining the actual serious moments.

It is exactly my cup of tea, with a silly joke that just poked fun at a kid or being, well. A kid. He's small, and that joke may remind He's small but I can also remind you that he is so much younger than his peers.

I am an atheist so I do have the same kinda mindset about God that Edward has. Rose has this sort of annoying mindset of God and his priests being this answer to all suffering and anyone who disagrees will suffer divine Punishment. It is frustrating at the start.

But I can fully understand where she's coming from by the end. She clung onto this hope, this prayer that someone she loved so much will eventually be revived. Rose then meets the brothers who lost someone they loved, and tried to being back as well. She saw the consequences and felt terrified. But she spent so long just clinging onto this hope that she desperately wants it to be true. So she argues, trying to convince herself that Cornella was telling the truth and she didn't waste so long praying for something that didn't exist.

People can find comfort in the idea of God(s). The idea that there is someone looking after everyone and offering guidance is reassuring for some.

That was not Rose's situation.

Rose's situation is more akin to having a loved one suffering from a terminal disease and convincing yourself that prayers and God will be able to do what science could not. You can not pray for the impossible. You can pray for hope, for guidance or for even a fast recovery. But you need to understand that even if you wish for something impossible, you cannot spend your life wasting away on these prayers and refuse to do anything else.

Rose needed to stop clinging in general because she was clinging on to something impossible that compelled her to try and attempt awful things. She needed to learn to stand on her own. Maybe she could one day find hope in God again, but it wouldn't be anytime soon.

Man, I went on a rant there.

Anyway, I just wanted to type all that put because my mind just felt like analysing for a bit.

I forgot what the philosopher stone even did until now. I remembered that it was powerful but I that was about it. Now I remember, it was shit about defying the rule of absolute equivalence.

I am kinda happy I forgot majority of the lore of this anime, it makes it fun to put all the pieces together again as an adult who can process things and analyse better.

Episode 4:

This hurts.

This hurts so much. They were so happy, and acting like actual kids. They played all sorts of games with Nina and Alexander. It was so bright. They were so bright.

But Tucker, the motherfucker, only saw what he was bound to lose instead of what he had. He tried to work his way through it, but eventually just gave up.

My heart sank when I heard him ask Nina to play the next day. It broke even more when heard Nina say, in that voice that doesn't belong to a kid, "onii-chan".

He sacrificed everything just to save his title pf State Alchemist. He gave up his wife and then his daughter and the respect of these kids.

God, I hate him. I understand him and his desperation and I hate him.

Scar is back though. We love scar man. He's weird but core to the story and has every right to hate State Alchemists.

Again, when I was a kid, I didn't feel much. This episode never hit me as hard as it does now. Back then, I though the Eldric brothers were being dramatic about the whole thing.

Now it just strikes me so hard how fucked up it wad to be willing to experiment on your own kid for a stupid title. To mutate her into an existence that was nothing like her human one.

Brotherhood didn't make it blatantly, but it was mentioned time and again, just how painful it was to be a chimera in the original. Nina was in pain and Tucker knew this.

I fully understand why this hurt the Eldric brothers so much now. That was horrid. And to be able to even see a semblance of yourself in that was painful.

#fma brotherhood #reaction time #fmab #reaction thread #maybe spoilers?#fma #idk this is an old anime #this is on you if you haven't watched it yet but plan on it

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leithianxx · 3 years ago

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I've been trying to tease apart why I've gone so terminally feral for this show in particular, and I think a big part of it is because it captures the feeling of falling in love so accurately that I feel like I'M falling in love. Butterflies in my stomach, nauseous when I think about it, can't STOP thinking about it love.

As much as we all love a classic rom-com/love story flick, they have wreaked havoc on our expectations of romance. The purpose of those films or shows are to play out our most grandiose fantasies of love and relationships, a level of drama we could never actually attain, as a form of escapism. There are no manic pixie dream girls whose sole personality is a brand of quirky that fits your interests and saves you from your disillusionment in life. In reality, pursuing someone so intensely without ever giving up or taking no for an answer until they finally win their love interest over has become a trope so pervasive that its bled into the insidious romantic imagination of Nice GuysTM world wide. In the real world, you probably will never have that spinny camera kiss in the pouring rain after you've beaten the odds and live happily ever after, and you might feel like nothing you can experience will ever live up to that feeling. Not to mention they're all heteronormative as fuck.

In OFMD the friends to lovers journey is tentative and slow. There's no moment where one of them takes their glasses off and they suddenly see the other in a whole new light. There's no one sided whining and pining, where there's no real interest in friendship and they only stick around hoping to someday get in the other's pants. They deeply care and fret about not ruining their friendship, about not making the other uncomfortable or pressured. Most of my personal long term relationships started out as friendships, and it was a delicate drawn out testing of the waters before it naturally evolved. And this is particularly common in queer relationships where the lines between platonic and romantic love are often blurred because there are no models of courtship to look to for guidance.

I've seen people talk about how their kiss was too awkward, but that's how real first kisses are. Confessing your feelings is mortifying and nerve wracking, and hearing it makes you blush and stammer. You miss their lips and knock your heads, you don't know where to put your hands. You're nervous. It's not perfect but it's sweet.

And hats off to Taika for absolutely nailing true heartbreak. It feels like your world is ending and your life has come crashing down like they show in the movies but it also makes you feel small and soft and scared. It's the squeak in your voice when someone asks you how you are and you can feel yourself trying not to cry but you can't stop it. It's feeling so emotionally exhausted that you can't even bring your self to be angry, you'd just rather curl up into a ball and die. It's thinking you're moving on until something small reminds you of them and you ugly cry until snot is running down your face and you can't catch your breath. It's hiding under your covers and writing shit poetry in your notes app.

OFMD isn't "I wish I could experience this love story." OFMD is "I have experienced this love story." Falling in love can be the most huge, overwhelming, transcendental part of the human experience. It doesn't need exaggeration. It's the little things, it's like Mary says. It's them understanding your idiosyncrasies and finding them charming. It's exposing each other to new things and new ideas. It's laughing a lot. It's passing the time well.

It's mundane and it's amazing. It's easy, it's like breathing. This show has made me fall in love with the idea of falling in love all over again.

#our flag means death #ofmd #our flag means death meta #ofmd meta #our flag means death analysis #ofmd analysis #david jenkins #edward teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #edward x stede #taika waititi #rhys darby

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adorerdraco · 4 years ago

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Healing Heart ✧ Draco x Reader Mini-Series PART 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Summary: PART 5 ! of Draco accidentally falling in love with reader during his sixth year (HBP) and figuring out how to survive his new life while finding out a way to keep you in it.

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, torture, blood, death eater stuff - the usual !

Words: 7.8K

A/N: FINDING WAYS TO PROLONG THIS SERIES !!!! 😼 AND SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES ITS VERY LATE AND I NEVER CATCH THEM 😔 but omg my little week long hiatus I took was against my will but i’m back and healthy again and can finally think out sentences again lmao !!! also i DO own gif

Draco stared at the vast, dark marble ceiling as he lied awake. His black silk sheets were strewn across his king bed in a lofty heap from when he had woken up. There was a sheen layer of sweat across his skin, but his room held no warmth and the draft that was coming in from his open windows was nothing less than freezing.

There wasn’t a moment where he had enough peace to sleep, but when he ultimately did; he always regretted ever drifting off when he felt the hot, ravenous feeling that ran through his body when he would jolt awake from a nightmare with his heart thundering against him and the inability to differentiate reality from a subconscious image. He would lie back down, breathing unevenly, and fixate on a random crack in the ceiling and let his now very tortured conscience remind him, “it all happened, you can't escape it!”

And that little malicious voice in his head was right. The horrible images in his mind weren’t made up or conjured by his brain - they were very real and he had lived through them.

He remembered the agonizing decision he had to make when he left the love of his life, jinxed and in hysterics in an abandoned classroom. He remembered his Headmaster, who he had cornered and disarmed who still offered him genuine help and guidance despite the wand pointed in his face. He remembered his once-favorite Professor, kill his Headmaster who he thought for maybe a second would be able to help him. He remembered bounding down the steps of the astronomy tower, wanting to topple over and vomit while he followed closely behind a billowing cape and several sniggering and smug Death Eaters into the halls of the unsuspecting school. He remembered his aunt wreaking havoc on the Great Hall with pure joy as he could only watch in horror while she shattered the windows in her celebration. He remembered walking through a maze of trees in a dazed stupor towards Hagrid’s hut, Bellatrix giggling maniacally beside him as she skipped past him. He remembered seeing Harry run towards them, hurling any hexes and curses he could think of towards Snape while he scurried off. He remembered meeting his mother at the momentarily failing barrier, her hand wrapping tightly around his arm before she apparated them home. He remembered the cold wooden floors underneath him and the way the Manor’s structure seemed to be crashing down onto him as he tried to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

When he would finish going over every mistake he had made that night, and every choice he could have made instead, he would turn over in his bed and stare out the large window in his room where he could see the cloudy night sky and the nature swinging around in the wind like it was in a constant state of what seemed like an approaching tornado. He would wonder about you, and what you were doing and what you thought of him. He wondered if you meant what you said - if you would truly never forgive him for leaving you there. He wondered if you thought it was him who killed Dumbledore and how you probably saw him as a killer now. He was in ceaseless disarray of wonder, a painful wonder that he couldn’t escape.

He didn’t dare try to owl you, especially with Bellatrix around the house as a very vigilant guard dog that noticed anything and everything. There were barely any opportunities in which he could leave the Manor, not by foot, by broom, or apparate. He was a prisoner in his own home, just as much as he was in his mind. The increasing amount of Death Eaters that came and went every day made him feel more unsettled than ever, all of them giving him intimidating and sneering looks as if he was a joke while they forcefully turned the Manor into their place of 'work'.

The day Lucius was released from Azkaban, Draco felt a slight hope that things would improve, that his father could somehow find a way to fix things for them as he always had and the young boy could finally step down from the responsibility he felt for his family. But what he saw in the foyer of his home wasn’t Lucius Malfoy; influential, formidable and feared by many - he saw a shell of a man who had lost all sense of who he was and had paid greatly for his failures. He recalled how his father had embraced him in a weak and shuddering hug, clinging onto him as a spew of desperate words incessantly flew from his mouth without making much sense.

He knew immediately then that his father couldn’t swoop in and fix all his problems, and his mother couldn’t be left alone in all this. He was stuck, whether he liked it or not, and he had to follow through on anything and everything the Dark Lord expected from him or wanted out of his family.

He hated the way his home was defiled with death and wickedness. He hated the way there were lifeless bodies littered around the living room sometimes. He hated the echoing cries and pleas of those who were locked up in the dungeon below. He hated seeing Voldermort use his home as his headquarters, pacing the room in a self-given majesty and humiliating his father every chance he could get. The only reason the Malfoys weren’t killed off yet was, in Draco’s opinion, to be used as an example of what happens when you fail the Dark Lord, to be used as malicious entertainment, and to see just how far someone could be tortured from the inside. Draco did mend the cabinet, but he didn’t kill Dumbledore or die trying as his master had desired. He was always visibly apprehensive of everything he had to do and every order he was given. He wasn’t willingly cruel or vile and hated the idea of actually hurting anyone. His father had failed every mission he was given, and his mother wasn’t a Death Eater, to begin with. They were just there, as pawns and as sadistic pleasure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was subsequently, a rare day that the Manor was empty. No one was walking through the halls or running their mucky shoes on the expensive upholstery of the furniture as they relaxed into it. Even his father was out, along with Bellatrix, which left only him and his mother at home.

Narcissa Malfoy was just as arrogant as her husband, valued the pro-pure-blood ideals she grew up with, and always appeared to be very cold and haughty. Yet there was one thing that she valued above most; her family. She was entirely devoted to her son and husband and loved them profoundly. It was for Draco she worried for the most and would do anything for. It was for Draco she would risk everything for and go against the Dark Lord for.

So on the night she brought her son back home, and he was breaking down in her arms with cries about a girl she had never heard of - it piqued her curiosity more than she wanted to admit. She had asked Draco who you were a handful of times since that night, but he always refused to answer. She even went as far as asking Snape, pulling him aside one night behind a dark pillar in her home as everyone was leaving and whispered secretly to him.

“Severus, I know I’ve asked too much of you already but I need to know this,” she rushed to say in a very hushed and imperceptible tone but she knew he had heard her. He raised an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically.

“What might that be?”

“On the night Draco came home, he was calling out for someone,” she began, “do you know if he was involved with anyone by the name of Y/N?”

She could have sworn she saw a twinge of muscles move in his cheek, but he only shook his head shortly from side to side.

“I apologize, Narcissa, but I know no student by that name,” he sighed. “Draco spent most of his time mending the vanishing cabinet, I doubt he had time to be venturing out in his love life.”

She wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t brush off the intuition that was beating against her gut, nearly screaming at her that she was being lied to and there was more to the story. It’s not like she wanted the information to hurt you or to judge, she simply wanted to know who had broken through to her son during the year he was the most closed off. Who had impacted him so greatly, that now that it was seemingly over left him in shambles and withdrawn almost completely. If anything, she wanted to help. And if there was a possibility where she could, she would help Draco take it if it meant it would make his life easier. There was nothing more she wanted for him, free of pain and filled with hope, and if a certain individual would help her get him there - she would be willing to see it through.

With the opportunity of everyone gone, Narcissa trailed up to Draco’s room, letting her knuckles fall softly against the wooden double doors three times.

“Draco, dear, would you like to join me on a walk?”

She heard a shuffling from behind the door and a sharp sniffle, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself to see his poorly hidden tears that she knew she would be met with.

As she predicted, the doors opened and the blond stepped out of his room, lowering his red-rimmed eyes to the ground so he wouldn’t have to meet her worried gaze. He looked well-groomed as always, but she took notice that his skin seemed gray and dull. His eye bags were deep and nearly black from all his crying and lack of sleep. When she linked her arm through his, she felt the slight weight he had unwillingly lost in the past month that he’s been home. Her mind was spinning with concern, promising herself there that she was ready to do whatever she could for him, anything she could.

She led them out of their cold and darkened home, stepping out into the gardens that sat behind the Manor in a large vastness of gorgeous flower arrangements of whites, greens, and reds. There was a large marble fountain placed in the middle of the garden, spewing water smoothly from a small bowl that spilled into a larger one beneath it. It was boxed in with stone and surrounded with red amaryllis flowers, giving anyone enough space to sit around it without being splattered by droplets of water.

It was a gloomy day, but a warm afternoon sun had peaked through the clouds and cast a glowy light around the house that she hadn’t seen in ages. It made her feel hopeful as she walked her and Draco through the garden, thinking of ways on how to approach him. She knew he had shot her down and changed the subject every time she brought up your name, even if it was in privacy, and she pleaded to the stars that this would ultimately be the chance she would get to find out.

When they reached the fountain, she sat them down and watched as Draco slouched, silent and staring distantly at his shoes.

“Dear, I know you hate for me to bring this up,” she started slowly, shaking her head as she spoke, “but I want to know who she is. I want to be able to help you, and maybe even her. I know you’re in love, I see it in your eyes and I see it now that you’re apart. I know everything else certainly applies to how you’re feeling, but there’s a look for heartbreak, and you have it.”

Draco looked up at her, finally peering into her worried eyes as he contemplated what she said and what she offered. The last time he told someone about you, he was reprimanded and denied any sort of help, only suggestions for abandonment were given. He wanted to tell his mother all about you, but he wished it was under happier circumstances, however.

He wished it would be him coming home during the summer, no Voldermort or Death Eaters in his life or his family’s, and arriving with you by his side after sending an owl to his parents about the new love in his life he wanted them to meet. He would boast about you and your smarts, care, ambitions, and beauty. He would make sure his parents understood just how important you were to him and just how amazing you truly were. He imagined their inevitable surrender and allowing him to invite you on one of their luxurious trips to somewhere beautiful and expensive. He pictured a yacht ride in Italy, your skin glowing and your smile bright as you gazed at him in delight under a warm summer sun. Or a grandeur trip to France, walking around the Parisian streets with you as he spoiled you with gifts and delicious gourmet food while ending the night under the Eiffel Tower. He wanted to see you leave on shopping trips with his mother, the two of you coming back with heavy bags and new memories while his mother would walk by him and secretly whisper, “I love her!” to him. He wanted to flaunt you, and boast and gloat all about you - but the circumstances now were dreadful, and to talk about how he had failed you made him want to cry all over again.

His mother waited patiently for his reply, clasping her hands together in her lap as he stayed quiet while he decided. He was so used to sulking and torturing himself on his own in the past month, that seeing a genuine look of concern and desire to help pushed him into making his final resolve.

“I met her around the beginning of last year,” he breathed out finally, “her name is Y/N Y/L/N, we had a Potions class together but I met her in one of the corridors where we accidentally bumped into each other. I sprained a finger trying to catch myself and she healed it without a second thought. She wants to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s after Hogwarts, and she’s very skilled with her wand. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and the kindest. She always listened to me, and helped me, and encouraged me. She always reassured me when I needed it, and if it weren’t for her I don’t think I would have mended the cabinet or even had the energy to wake up every day. She stayed with me even when I told her the truth about everything. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel the way she does, I can’t explain it, she makes me feel-”

“Alive?” His mother softly finished for him. “She makes you feel alive.”

“Yes,” he nods fervently, “I love her and I failed her. I don’t think there’s anything I can do now and neither can you.”

“I beg to differ,” she briskly interjects. “It’s never too late for anything, Draco. There’s always an opportunity to make things right, as long as you try. She at least deserves an explanation and an apology, and it will be up to her to decide what she wants to do. She sounds wonderful, and I’m glad you met someone who brings out your best.”

Draco agreed wordlessly, his tears sitting at the brink of his eyelids begging to be released as he mulled over everything that was said. He knew where you lived, having learned the fact somewhere in your relationship when you were talking about your childhood and where you were from. He knew the place you called home and the address that came with it that you constantly reminded him of in hopeful jokes that he would visit you over the summer.

“There’s no one here, no one would know you’re gone,” Narcissa encourages swiftly as if she knew what he was thinking about. “It’ll be a few hours before anyone returns. Go to her.”

“But if I become involved with her again, he’ll find out, won’t he?” He insinuates in distress. “The reason I left her was to keep her safe from him, I don’t want her anywhere near this.”

“He won’t find out,” she promised, “I’ll make sure of it. Go.”

There was a hopeful and elating sensation that ran through his veins as he stood up, turning back to look at his mother as she nodded at him optimistically. He suddenly lunged towards her, giving her a tight hug and muttering thank you’s to her like a broken record before running out of the garden towards the front gate of the Manor.

As soon as he reached his exit, he used his newfound Death Eater ability to half-apparate himself into a thick black cloud of smoke that allowed him to fly over to where you were - not giving a care in the world if he were seen by muggles as he recklessly took every shortcut he knew towards your hometown.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There was a slight breeze in the cloudy air that brought you comfort. It was cold, but refreshing - a sharp contrast against the burning feeling that never seemed to leave your body. You were back home now, in your small little town in England that held little to no wizards.

You spent a lot of your time wandering around the local stores and cafes nearby, mingling with strangers as you told them fake life stories for fun. There was also the small forest behind your house you regularly enjoyed, and all the small hidden creatures that you encountered along the way. You always brought along your family cat, the chunky orange tabby always finding his way for you outside of the forest when you got too far in, or if he sensed there was nearby danger and would warn you. Sometimes you would talk to him, complain to him about everything that was bothering you and he would respond to you now and then with broken meows and chirps that made you feel like he understood, even though he didn’t. It made you feel less alone.

Of course, you had your family that worried over your changed behaviors. They weren’t oblivious. They noticed the puffy eyes, the sniffles, and the quiet sobs that escaped under the space of your bedroom door when they would pass by in the middle of the night to get a glass of water from the kitchen. They noticed your sudden quietness, and your lack of interest in everything and hardly found you in the house. You were always out and about, trying to find anything and anyone to distract yourself from what was going on in your mind.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to your family, even though they had incessantly offered their support, you just knew they wouldn’t understand. They would want to know about Draco, his family, and their beliefs. They would eventually figure out of his involvement with the Dark Lord and the looming second Wizarding war. They wouldn’t approve, and you didn’t want to hear the scolding you would get for ever giving him the time of day. You were bitter enough as it was, and the last thing you wanted to hear was how bad Draco was and how you were better off without him.

But even if you were supposed to be better off without him, a life where he wasn’t in it didn’t feel good at all. It felt empty and lost. You were used to his presence always being around you and how he was always a few minutes away from you. He was always available to you for anything and willingly; for company, affection, comfort, reassurance, love, everything. You hated the fact that you let yourself get attached, especially when you knew deep down the direction the relationship was going in.

There were days when you would wake up okay. Days where your mind blocked out your feelings entirely, including Draco and all the memories that came with him. There were days when you felt like you had finally forced yourself to move on, but always finding it to wear off when you’d clamber into bed at night and your brain started illustrating everything you didn’t want to remember. The silver band bracelet he had gifted you was in constant movement from your wrist and jewelry box, hidden on the days you wanted to forget him or sitting pretty on your skin on the days you missed him the most. As much as it hurt to think about him and remember him, you couldn’t stop the way your whole being drifted towards him.

You were currently stepping over a big fallen tree trunk covered in thick green moss, your cat following closely by your leg as he pranced and jumped over all his obstacles. You walked mindlessly around the greenery, not taking notice in the shape of the leaves of the fern you were placing your hand upon to move out of your way. It wasn’t until you felt the sharpened ends of the leaves dig deep into your skin that made you recoil your hand back in pain, a slight hiss leaving your mouth as a small gash began to form with blood flowing quickly upwards out of the new cut. Your hand was held in the air as you frantically looked around for anything that would stop the bleeding that was now dripping sleekly down your arm.

“Stupid ministry and underage magic,” you mutter under your breath. Your wand was in your pocket, begging to be used, but the idea of being sent a letter from the ministry that was now under the Voldermort's control quickly dispersed any desire you had to use it. “Come on, kitty. Let’s go back home, please.”

'Home' was a word the cat did understand. He bumped your leg with his head before meowing loudly at you as he began trotting off to your right side towards the exit of the forest. He moved stealthily, dodging in and out of everything that was in his path as you attempted to follow in his cleared steps. Every time you would trip or rest briefly, he would stop ahead of you and wait until you would walk towards him again before he started back on the journey.

When you finally saw your house in the distance, you sighed in relief at the thought of your first aid kit waiting patiently for you in the bathroom cupboard. And belatedly, your feet hit the stone path that led home, skipping slightly with your hand in the air before nearly toppling over your cat as he stopped abruptly in your path. You moved out of the way, last minute, and very clumsily before eyeing him suspiciously.

He was looking up at the sky, his ears pulled back and the fur on his back straightening up as his eyes frantically searched around the clouds above him. He wasn’t hissing like he normally did when he felt something dangerous coming, he looked more confused and alert than anything. You searched the sky with him for a minute before concluding he was being too wary so you bent down and pick him up with your uninjured hand, nearly scooping him into your arms until he carefully swiped at your arm.

“You’re being dramatic, there’s nothing there,” you exclaim at him irritably. You were stumped, on one hand, literally, you were still bleeding though it had significantly slowed down and was now just coagulated blood, and on the other hand, you couldn’t leave the cat outside because of the number of dead critters he left in his past outdoor ventures around the yard and his sometimes week-long disappearances that left everyone in the house worried.

In just a few seconds of your thinking, he had sprung forward and rushed towards the large open field that was a few feet away from your house. Although it was summer, it had been rainy and allowed the grassy field to flourish in tall and wild greenery. This did not help as you watched the fluff of orange disappear into the small jungle that lied ahead and you began to sprint after him, spotting his bushy tail in your vision every time he jumped over something. If you could use magic, this little ordeal would have gone much more different - but you couldn’t.

You chased him until the very near end of the field, spotting him sitting calmly as he looked back at you as if he was expecting you. Rolling your eyes, you reached towards him again to pick him up, if he wanted to go back to the house scratching and biting then so be it. You trained your gaze on him, trying your best to grab him as carefully and as slyly as you could. But as soon as your hand landed on the silky fur of his back, you heard a soft whooshing sound a few feet away in front of you and a very audible shuffle of dead grass crunching underneath someone's shoes as they moved slowly.

You didn’t look up, all of a sudden feeling scared at who could have magically appeared in front of you, and instead, you waited for your cat to hiss and attack, but he sat himself down in a loaf as if he were in the most comfortable place in existence. This is when you looked up, and the sight before you was like an invisible force that knocked you onto your bottom as you jumped back in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

What was supposed to sound like a concerned question, came out a little ruder than you had intended, almost seething at the boy that was fearfully staring down at you.

“I’m sorry,” Draco ran his hands over his pallid face in distress, “I shouldn’t have come.”

There was an awkwardness that hung in the air. The two of you were finally where you had wanted to be, together, but now that you were face-to-face it couldn’t have been more perplexing. He didn’t know how to begin, and you weren’t sure if you should even listen to him. It was like a weird staring competition, he was taking in everything about you as you were doing the same to him. It was obvious you were both a wreck, and the damage was apparent on him the most as he was dealing with his Death Eater status now more than ever.

“Your hand is bleeding,” he stated suddenly. You didn’t have time to answer before he had cautiously walked over to you and sat down beside you in a flattened patch of grass. “Let me see it.”

Like magnets, your hand instantly fell into his cold grasp without you thinking about it. You eyed him carefully and quietly, observing him as he turned your injured hand over in his and inspected your gash like you had done many times in the past for him. You didn’t stop him when he took his wand out of his pocket and waved it over your wound, murmuring a familiar spell that closed the cut with ease, a small pink scar left in its place.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that,” you say lightly. “Thank you.”

“I learned from the best,” he smiles faintly.

Neither of you moved from your sitting spots, and neither of you said anything. He would meet your eyes now and then and search them with such a pained expression that it took everything in you not to just throw yourself into his arms and cry in relief that he was there.

“I know it was Snape who killed Dumbledore and not you,” you break the silence apprehensively. “Harry told me.”

“Potter told you?” He grimaced, but he let out a breath of relief. “I would’ve thought the git would have loved to throw me under the bus. I didn’t even know he was there, then I see him chasing us down-”

“Draco, why are you here?” You asked him again, gingerly this time and cutting him off from his rambling in hopes that he would just cut to the chase on his unannounced appearance. He sighed, looking down at his now muddy, once expensive dress shoes.

“I needed to see you,” he answers honestly. “And I wanted to apologize for how I left things.”

You peered up at him with a raised eyebrow, bringing your knees up to your chest so you could rest your head against them as you faced him. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m serious,” he frowned. “I’m sorry I used my wand against you. I’m sorry I shut you out. I’m sorry I left without giving you much of an explanation. I’m sorry I abandoned you and disappeared off the face of the Earth. I’m sorry I broke my promise that I would never leave you again.”

“Draco-”

“No, wait, I need you to understand that I thought leaving you was the only thing that would keep you safe. I would have never forgiven myself if I let you die for trying to help me, even if you say you’re ready to accept whatever fate is in store for you, I’m not. But I don’t want to run anymore, I don’t want to be away from you, I can’t do it and I always think I can let you go for your safety, but I can’t.”

There was a brief period of stillness as you contemplated his apology. Your head moved to fall in between your knees as your hands began to fiddle with the long strands of grass beneath you. You were stripping it and pulling at it, hoping that there would be a hidden message underneath the earth that would give you an answer on what to say or what to do, but it wasn’t possible. The only thing you found was the loose pitiful tears slipping down your face that seeped into spots of dry soil. Draco stayed wordless beside you, the only sound coming from him was uneven breaths as he stressed over your reaction.

You were caught in between wanting to give in, wanting to forgive him, and hug him and kiss him to make up for all the tortuous time lost, but there was also a part of you that was now afraid to trust. You wanted to, so badly, but everything felt so unpredictable. You weren’t sure whether you could handle him leaving again if he had to. And if he were to die at the end of all of this? There was no way you’d be able to recover from a loss like that. He was on an unforeseeable path that held no clear outcome.

“I’m scared, Dray,” you sniffle, closing your eyes tightly as you began to answer him. “We’re not kids anymore fooling around at school. Everything is getting more real by the day. How am I supposed to be comfortable with the idea that you might-”

You stopped yourself from finishing, a soft sob escaping your throat at the near mention of his possible death. You felt him scoot closer to you, stopping about a few inches away from your shuddering body as he placed a reassuring hand on your lower back.

“You say you can’t accept the decision I made when I said I’m ready for whatever fate lies ahead of me,” you mumble miserably. “Well, I can’t accept yours either.”

“I won’t make any more promises I can’t keep,” he starts warily, “but I can promise you that as long as I’m around, I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever. And as far as my future goes, I promise that I’ll do everything and anything I can to survive this.”

You had unhooked your arms from around your legs, bringing them underneath you as you sat yourself up to face him better. He was staring at you intently, hopeful gray eyes boring into yours with every emotion under the sun flashing through them. He didn’t show it, but he felt like at any moment he was going to faint. He had never seen such uncertainty on your face and it killed him, but he tried to remain stoic as he spoke and kept a brave face at every concern you had. He couldn’t guarantee you anything that lied ahead, but there was also nothing he wouldn’t do for you now.

“Okay,” you agree, finally giving him the consolation he had been woefully praying for. “I believe you, we can get through this together.”

There wasn’t another second spared before you speedily moved out of your sitting position to pounce him with a tight and suffocating hug. It was desperate and smothering, his arms wrapped tightly around your lower back as he pressed you deeply into his body as if you were going to disappear any second.

You didn’t care that you could barely breathe against his chest or that your knee was digging into the mud below you. It was the most relieving feeling in the world, finally being in his arms again with new hopes and possibilities that always found a way to present themselves. It was one of the many reasons that you knew he was the one for you. Everything with him felt easy, even if the world was crashing down around you. He could melt away all your pain and worries with one look, touch, or words. He felt like home and heaven all in one.

It came to you in the middle of your longing hug, that there was always going to be something looming over the two of you in the current state that the wizarding world was in. There’s no point in wasting time when everything could change overnight, just as it had that unforsaken day at Hogwarts before you were dragged home the next day. There was no reason for trying to stay away from him when it was everything you wanted and you knew then that you needed to take advantage of whatever time you had left with him.

“I'm sorry for saying I would never forgive you that night,” you murmur into the crook of his neck. “And for being stubborn.”

“You had all the right to be angry with me,” he laments.

“But it didn’t make it okay,” you nuzzle yourself deeper in his embrace, frowning to yourself as you recalled the night.

He looked down at you, a pang of guilt hitting him when he saw the corners of your lips pulled down in sadness. He leaned down and carefully placed a kiss on your temple, lingering for a bit before moving away and muttering, “nothing about that night was okay.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

There wasn’t an inkling of an idea how long the two of you were sat outside, holding on tightly to each other as you filled each other in on any news that happened in the last month since you’ve seen each other. The only indication that let the two of you know that time had surely passed was that the sun had begun setting behind the valley in the distance. The moon now had a faint appearance in the purplish evening sky that was for the first time in a while, free of the heavy cloud covers.

You listened attentively as he told you about the Manor and how it was being used as a Death Eater meeting place. He told you about his father being released from Azkaban as a treat for the Malfoy’s since he had fixed the cabinet and disarmed Dumbledore for Snape to finish, unknowing to him that he would. He explained to you how ghostly he felt when he was venturing out of the school that night. He even scarcely described the horror that had gone on in the dead of night, when victims had been brought back to the house for ‘interrogations’ and the way their screams would keep him wide awake for days.

You nearly felt sick to your stomach the longer he went on, empathizing with him delicately when he would sometimes stop talking to take a deep painful shaky breath. The guilt that was eating away at him wasn’t hidden or pushed down, he expressed it very obviously and you couldn’t picture how he managed to hold a straight face in the sea of terrors he had encountered.

“You’re nothing like them,” you whispered tenderly to him when you saw the distant broken look that clouded his eyes. “You are good, Draco. Not once have I ever changed my mind about that.”

He was slipping, far and fast into the depths of his despair. His new life away from school was eating away at him now that he was forced to experience it upfront. He wasn’t cut out for it, nor did he want anything to do with it. It physically pained you that there was nothing you could do except offer him what you’ve always been able to provide; a listening ear and to remind him that he’s not the evil monster he deludes himself to be.

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” he mumbled gloomily, taking your hand into his as he turned to look at you. “I want to hear about you and your summer.”

“It wasn’t pleasant or anything, honestly,” you shrug, “I spent most of it in the village nearby and the forest behind my house with my cat, who by the way knew you were coming somehow.”

You both suddenly turned to look for the orange tabby who had seemingly disappeared without either of you noticing sometime throughout the evening.

“Where is the little critter so I can thank him for leading you to me,” he chuckled softly as you rolled your eyes.

“He’s probably back at home now but I’ll pass the message,” you bite back a smirk.

Draco felt the familiar fluttering of pixies in his stomach as he looked at you, a sense of exhilaration and delight shocking his body from its usual anguished state. He was so far gone in you and he never wanted to leave the feelings you left him with and with such little effort. He couldn’t count how many times he had the same thought in his head when he was around you, much like your own, he knew with you was where he was at his calmest and his happiest. It was like a chunk of agony being released from him that made him feel like he could breathe again without feeling like he was going to drown. Even if it was just for a few hours, he was always grateful for moments he shared with you and the comfort you brought him.

“I love you,” he said dazed, eyes locking onto yours intimately. “I hope you know that.”

"I love you,” you repeated, a coy smile making its way onto your features.

“You know,” his thumb began mindlessly running over your knuckles as he spoke, “if it wasn’t for my mother knocking some sense into me earlier, I wouldn’t have had the great idea to show up here.”

He looked over at you when he felt you tense up completely, slightly worried at first before a small amusement quickly replaced his fear when he noticed you were gaping at him with wide wondrous eyes.

“You told her about me?”

“All about you,” he nods, “I accidentally let your name slip a while back and she’s been asking me about you ever since. I didn’t want to say anything in case someone heard, but everyone was gone today and she got it out of me.”

“What did she say about me?” You asked him timidly as if it was the most important thing in the world for you.

He chortled quietly at your nervousness, “she said she thinks you’re wonderful and she’s glad we met. She pushed me to come and make things right with you and she offered to look out for us.”

There was an intense delight that beat against your chest at his answer. The only other person in his life who’s opinion he valued the most above all had made one about you, and it was one that was better than anything you could have ever hoped for. Narcissa Malfoy had vouched for you before she’s even properly met you and it left you feeling astounded and beyond appreciative.

“When you get home, please send her my regards,” you plead heartily, your hands clutching onto the lapels of his suit jacket as he laughed lightly.

“I will, I will,” he smiles, “I have to be home soon, so she’ll hear about it within the next half hour.”

Draco pulled you up with him as he stood up, both of you finally stretching out your limbs with groans and sighs of relief from the tension of sitting for so long.

As you peered up at him, you let your hands slide up into the platinum blond strands that looked brighter than ever under the now bright moonlight. He placed a hand over one of your wrists, a smile growing on his face as he noticed the silver band sitting warmly against your skin. He leaned forward to press his forehead against yours, letting himself stay there for a minute as he tried to revel in the last few moments of peace he was going to try and prolong for the rest of his night.

“I’ll be back soon,” he cupped your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazed delicately over your cheekbone as you leaned into his touch. “Right back with you.”

“I’ll be waiting, Malfoy,” you grin.

For the first time that night, he ducked down and pressed his lips soft against yours. The gentleness quickly dissipated into longing and fervor as he kissed you like it was the last thing he was ever going to do, seeking the closeness and union he missed so desperately. Neither of you made any move to pull apart as you melted into each other, basking completely in the feeling of being so close to one another like this again.

If it wasn’t for you worrying about his timely arrival back home before everyone, you would have allowed him to keep you like that forever. But much to your dismay, you tapped him lightly against his chest that let him know it was really time for him to leave if he wanted to keep his secret trip, secret.

You stood there sadly, watching him as he unwillingly backed away from you and whispered one more goodbye to you before he disappeared into the sky in a ghost of black smoke, the aroma of his cologne still lingering in the air and a swollen feeling against your lips that left you feeling fuzzy.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The Malfoy Manor was staring eerily back at Draco when he finally arrived back in front of the main gate of the home. It was deathly quiet and dark, only a small light could be seen from the living room as he approached further into the property.

He swiftly ran up the steps, hand falling carefully onto the brass doorknob of the front entrance, stopping in his tracks completely when he heard a mixture of hushed angry voices.

“I told you, Bella,” he heard his mother exclaim fiercely. “He only went out to clear his head.”

“Clear his head of what?” his aunt sneered. “He’s falling weak, Cissy. He should be running around in joy that the Dark Lord has him in his inner circle.”

“My son is not weak, don’t you think this can all be a little overwhelming for someone who hasn’t even finished his schooling?” His mother defended him and he could picture the exact sneer on her face as she spoke.

“I want to know where he went,” Bellatrix says hotly, “he’s been gone too long.”

Draco ran through a list of excuses in his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat when he decided on one and put on a straight face as he turned the doorknob, cautiously stepping into the dimly lit living room where both his parents and aunt were waiting for him.

“Ah, there he is,” his father announced as he was the first one to see the boy clambering inside.

“I’m sorry I went off for so long,” Draco spoke up before anyone could ask. “I remember someone mentioning they had spotted Potter around a village nearby so I tried to go look for him.”

“Did you?” Bellatrix chastised. “And nothing?”

“Nothing,” he shrugged with a feigned annoyance.

“And you were alone?” She added with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, all by myself.��

Narcissa gave her sister a pointed look as she walked up to Draco, hand gripping tightly onto his arm before leading him away from the surprise interrogation and towards the foot of the stairs where she stopped him hastily.

“How did it go?” She asked almost inaudibly.

“Y/N sends her regards,” he whispered, “thank you.”

He gave his mother a warm hug good night before he hurriedly bounded up the stairs, looking down towards the living room once more where Bellatrix was eyeing him carefully. He decided on giving her a curt nod before vanishing into his bedroom and letting himself fall against the shut double doors, a large exhale of relief slipping past his lips as he was now safe to freely recall the night with a dazed smile he didn’t want to let go of.

PART 6

TAGLIST:

@viirgobbyy @bluesunflowersz @dreamyvcid @goddessofgames @natt-nih @cheesecakes-randomshitz @supersouthy @rebellionsarebuiltonhopee @peter-parka @thefandomplace @angelofslytherin @karentheugly @thebirdskeeponsinging @rubbyy420 @bimyoux @lovely-valllll @angstywhore @moose-squirrel-asstiel @lordfxxker @dommiefinch @johannalauraaa @aestheticallymarauderss @mrs-isabela-malfoy @dogglefoggle @ba-responds @1tristful1

APOLOGIES IF I FORGOT ANYONEEE 🥺 BUT I REALLY HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER EVEN THO IT WASNT TOOO EVENTFUL ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I GOT ACTION FOR THE NEXT PIECES THO JUST WAITTTT

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javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

Text

As It Should Be | Chapter 2: All Hell Breaks Loose

Summary: Alright y’all the smut is here. After making your escape from the gala, you, Whiskey and Frankie are left with a new dilemma: you’ve all been exposed to whatever amorous agent was released at the gala, and Frankie’s ability to focus on flying is running thin. Fantasies are fulfilled, but new concerns arise.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex Pollen, dub con (a given with sex pollen but it’s all good), bondage, MMF, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), oral (M & F receiving), mild injury due to improper usage of a lasso, mentions of prior drug use, a smattering of spanking (I think a grand total of 2). If I’m missing anything, let me know.

A/N: Here we are at some smut, courtesy of a sex pollen-esque device. I HC that Frankie is a total switch in this verse. There’s a touch of angst towards the end. Also, it’s worth noting that in this verse, while Frankie was engaged, he does not have a kid. Special shout out and thanks to my friend E, now going by Agent Capri Sun and my amazing esposa, @danniburgh for the beta and encouragement! ~5.9k WC

Chapter 1: Reunions & Things Past [AO3]

Whiskey is beyond impressed with Frankie and the fact that they’re still in the air. His gaze flickered down to Frankie’s lap where Whiskey could clearly see his cock straining against the slacks he wore. Your moan pulls Whiskey’s attention away from Frankie. Looking over, he sees you trying to paw your dress off. Hanging his head for a moment, Frankie opens his eyes and exhales.

“Get her off the headset, I can’t-- fuck!”

You moan again and Frankie’s hips buck involuntarily.

“¡Mierda! Get her off the fucking headset. C-can’t concentrate, just wanna…”

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the thought of sinking into you. This prompted Whiskey to move quickly, needing to get you out of Frankie’s ears if they wanted to land safely. You felt Jack’s large, warm hands grip your arms, and you whimpered at the way they seemed to burn through you. He gently pulled the headset from your head and set it down to the side.

“Jack… Please, it’s so hot. Need you to-“

Whiskey shudders at your words and the feel of your skin under his touch.

“No sweetheart, we gotta wait. Hang in there, darlin’.”

By the time they finally touch down, Frankie’s breath is beyond ragged, he looks over his shoulder at you grinding into your hand and playing with your tits, a low growl bubbling up from his chest.

“Go! Take her inside. I gotta cover up the helo!”

Whiskey nodded, picking you up and carrying you into the safehouse while you clutched at him, kissing and nibbling at his neck. You whimper when he turns to leave. Your body is on fire, the overwhelming desire --no, overwhelming need-- to have Jack everywhere, most importantly, inside you, is raging and wreaking havoc.

“Shhh, sweetheart, I know it hurts. I’ll be right back. Gotta go check on your pilot first, baby.”

Images of both Frankie and Jack come to mind. Feeling their mouths hot yet soothing on your skin, sliding through your folds, and their cocks driving inside of you, pushing you to new heights of pleasure. You moaned out Frankie’s name and Jack chuckled. He had an inkling as to what came to your mind, having coaxed you into spilling your fantasies while he was buried deep inside of you.

Outside, Frankie was stumbling, trying to get a camouflaged tarp over the helicopter to hopefully prevent any drones from noticing the aircraft. Whiskey hurried over to Frankie, taking one side of the tarp and running it to the front, cinching it down near the nose of the helicopter. He heard Frankie let out a loud groan, watching as the man sank to his knees, the final remnants of his resolve crumbling at Whiskey’s feet. The Statesmen agent was once again reminded just how tightly Frankie had been clinging to his sanity, pushing his pain and bodily needs aside until his job was done. Whiskey’s own thoughts were pushed aside, however, when Frankie started to frantically paw at his belt and slacks. He whined while he palmed himself, completely uncaring, on his knees, outside, seeking some sort of relief, only a few feet away from Whiskey.

“Hey, Flyboy!”

Jack shouted, trying to break Frankie’s concentration for a moment, only to be met with dark, hazy, lust-blown eyes and another whine.

“Well shit, if that ain’t one of the hottest things I ever did--“

Whiskey cut himself off, grunting as he readjusted himself and hauled Frankie up by one arm.

“C’mon, gotta get you inside, Flyboy.”

“Y’gotta tie -mmmmfuck- me up… Don-don’t wanna ta-take ad-whine- advan--“

Whiskey swore. Frankie’s small whimpers were making him want to shove the pilot to the ground and take him right there. His hold on Frankie’s arm tightened to a bruising grip, and he nodded in agreement. Despite the fact that you had voiced your fantasies, Jack didn’t want you to do anything that you hadn’t explicitly stated you wanted.

The sight that greeted them stopped them cold. Your dress had been tossed to the floor, and your fingers were plunging inside your cunt, desperately seeking your release. Frankie’s body stiffened, standing up straight. He took a step towards you before Whiskey tugged him back, putting him in an open chair. Very aware of the more than dull ache of his erection and your delicious moans, Jack worked quickly, hastily tying Frankie’s wrists to the legs of the chair with his lasso before turning back to you. The hungry look in his eyes prompted you to moan for Whiskey, a predatory smile split his face and Frankie whimpered in response to your moan.

“Lo siento, hermosa. El te va ayudar.” [I’m sorry, beautiful. He’s going to help you.]

Frankie’s words came out strangled, hips bucking and hands struggling at Whiskey’s lasso keeping him bound.

“I’m here, baby, Jack’s here, shhhh.”

A cry leaves your lips when you finally feel Jack’s mouth latch onto one of your nipples, his moustache tickling the turgid skin damp from his tongue, and rough, calloused fingers tweaked your other nipple. Teeth grazed your clavicle, breasts, tummy, hips and thighs, each nip soothed by his sinful tongue.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby girl. You want my tongue in that sweet cunt?”

Frankie’s cry of frustration eclipses your own cry of pleasure. Whiskey’s tongue finally delves between your folds, lapping at your slick. Tied down to the chair, Frankie can do little more than buck helplessly and watch as you tug Whiskey’s hair, your nonsensical pleading only increasing, breaking into keening moans when his thick fingers finally dip inside your soaked cunt. Whiskey’s moans echo your own, loving the small pin pricks of pain as you tugged his hair, egging him on and begging for more.

Your sharp gasp cuts through the wet noises Whiskey encourages from you as teeth graze your clit. Crying out for him, your fingers twist and grip him tighter, holding him to you, his fingers pumping in and out in a way that has your chest heaving, desperate for air. Your voice catches in your throat when he curls his fingers inside of you, his lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves. You swear for a moment you’re blinded when you finally reach the high your body had been aching for since escaping the gala. Jack’s fingers and tongue are the only things keeping you grounded to this plane, gently stroking you through the pleasure cascading through your body, his tongue greedy for your taste. Your orgasm is searing in its intensity, yet for a brief glorious moment, there is relief from the burning stoked deep inside of you by the amorous agent.

Jack’s hum of approval sends a shudder up your spine. You whimper when he slides two fingers back inside, a smirk playing at his lips after he savors your taste. Standing, he gathers more of your cum on his fingers and steps over to Frankie. Frankie’s mouth opens without question, a pained moan sounding around Whiskey’s fingers, tongue twisting and sucking fervently. Curiously, Whiskey pushes his fingers further into Frankie’s mouth, breath catching when the pilot’s eyes roll back a little. Another low moan rumbles from Whiskey’s chest in response.

“Well, shit, Flyboy.”

Frankie looks exquisitely debauched, belt hanging undone, slacks unbuttoned and askew giving you a view of his straining boxer briefs stained darker by a growing wet patch. The way his arms were tied behind his back pulled his shirt tight across his broad chest, exposing a bit of his stomach and a sparse trail of hair that dipped below the waistband of his underwear. His jaw worked greedily around Jack’s fingers. Yes, he looked exquisitely debauched. You could feel the burning need start to build again at the sight. While yes, you had certainly fantasized being with both Jack and Frankie, you also wanted to see them enjoy each other. Breaking from your fantasies, you slide off of the bed and move over to Whiskey. A smirk teases at your lips while you snake your arms around his waist, undoing his slacks and shoving them and his boxers down. Frankie groaned again, watching intently as you stroked Whiskey’s hard, thick length, a hunger in both yours and Frankie’s eyes at the sight of it. Jack pulled his fingers from Frankie’s mouth, smirking at the whine left behind in their wake, then turned his attention to you and your ministrations.

“Remember what we talked about the other night, Jack?” You purred.

A low, hearty chuckle erupted from him. He nodded permission but gripped your wrist and nuzzled your shoulder before you could move.

“I’m gonna fuck your tight little cunt while you do though, Sugar.”

A shudder ran down your spine at his low, gravelly voice. You moaned at the thought before nodding and turning to Frankie, his chest heaving as he watched the two of you.

“Can I have you, Frankie?”

“Fuuuck me, yes hermosa [beautiful], por favor.”

Frankie’s hips sought your touch, your fingers burning him as they connected with his skin. You tugged on his slacks and boxer briefs. Without needing to be asked, Frankie planted his feet to give himself the leverage to lift his hips and provide just enough room for you to drag his bottoms down to his ankles. He hastily kicked them and his shoes off.

Frankie moaned. His cock finally sprung free, the dull thud of it smacking against his belly making you lick your lips. He’d always been modest, usually not one to rise to the dick measuring contests Benny and Pope would instigate, but you’d known there was something more than just his charm that made the ladies at the base giggle about him, and boy, was there. His thick cock twitched and leaked under your gaze.

“Wow, Frankie…”

Frankie’s gaze was dark and needy. He would have preened more at your words had he not been so desperate to feel you. A sharp slap to your rear pulled you from your ogling. With a yelp, you turn to Whiskey, wondering why he could be jealous all of a sudden, only to find glowing mischief and lust in his dark eyes.

“Well, don’t keep the poor man waiting, sweetheart. Have some mercy and show him how good your pretty little mouth feels.”

You push back into Whiskey’s hips, grinding into him as you bend over, bracing yourself on Frankie’s thighs, moaning when he lets out a sob of relief as the heat of your mouth envelops the head of his cock.

“Ohhhh shit, shit, Halcón-“

Frankie keens your callsign, drawn out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Looking up as you bob up and down, you can see him straining against Jack’s lasso, his upper body bending forward as much as he can, desperate to touch you, to be closer to you. You run a hand over his bare thigh, marveling at the way the muscles tremble beneath your touch while your tongue swirls around him. Another sharp slap on your ass makes you pause and look over your shoulder.

“Christ, Sugar, I said have some mercy on him, not tease him to death.”

Whiskey’s hands were at your hips, kneading gently as you took more of Frankie in your mouth, establishing a rhythm that had him bucking up into you. Jack took the opportunity to push into you, thick cock splitting you open and pushing you forward, making Frankie’s cock inch deeper down your throat.

“Damn, baby girl, look at you taking us so well. Does he feel as good down your throat as you thought he would?”

“Fuck!”

Frankie cries out when you moan around him, watching wild-eyed as Whiskey leans forward, pinning you down on Frankie’s cock. Whiskey cups your throat, squeezing slightly to feel the bound and desperate man’s cock moving in and out.

“Oh, fu- I’m- ¡mierda! Baby, I’m gonna-“

Frankie’s body tenses, muscles coiling in anticipation, his arms and wrists tugging, thrashing at his restraints. His hips giving one final thrust as he pitches forward. Whiskey moans, feeling Frankie pulsing down your throat, waiting until you’ve swallowed everything Frankie has to offer before he pulls back to let you gasp for air.

“Fuck, hermosa, that was… amazing.”

Frankie wanted so badly to touch you, the thick emotion in his voice vibrating throughout your body. Not able to restrain himself any longer, Whiskey adjusts his grip on your hips and begins thrusting into you in earnest.

“We ain’t done yet, Sugar.”

Each word is punctuated by a thrust as Jack builds a steady but brutal pace. Your arms were tired from bracing yourself, but Whiskey seemed to understand and held you to him with an arm around your waist. His other hand, however, buried itself in your hair and tugged sharply, forcing your gaze to meet Frankie’s. You clench at the sight, his normally soft brown eyes glittered just as darkly as Jack’s. Frankie ducked his head to kiss you, moaning into your mouth while he claimed you with a hunger born of years of wanting to feel your lips against his.

“You want your pilot in your cunt next, baby girl? Gonna cum in you, sweetheart, then you can ride him. Let him feel how wet and tight this gorgeous goddamn cunt is.”

Frankie let out a low grunt, as if the air had been punched from his chest. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d actually be able to feel you around him. The pained grunt from Frankie and the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around him were all it took to send Whiskey over the edge. Whiskey gritted his teeth as you clenched around him, cumming hard around his cock.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it!“

His hand disentangled from your hair to find purchase on your shoulder, giving him the leverage he craved while he fucked you through his orgasm.

You would have collapsed onto Frankie if it weren’t for Whiskey’s arm keeping you upright. His deep, hard thrusts gave way to shallow, gentle ones as he came down from his high. Gently, Whiskey rubbed your hip with his thumb then pulled you against his chest, nuzzling and kissing your shoulder.

“You ok, Sugar? Hmmm? You got more in you?”

You hum and nod, steadying yourself against Jack. He slipped out of you with a groan, hands still at your waist. Having not been as exposed as you or Frankie, the unbearable fire from the amorous agent had died down and Whiskey’s head was much clearer. The same could not be said, however, for Frankie, his lust-hazed gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

Stepping forward from Whiskey, you straddled Frankie’s thighs, fingers quickly working to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, giving you access to his toned, golden chest. The muscles in his stomach trembled under your inquisitive fingers as you pushed the fabric away from him until it hung, bunched up at his biceps. Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you look up at him and adjust so you can slide down his girthy length. Nothing could have prepared him for the sheer ecstasy he felt as you took him in.

“Mierda, amo- fuck you’re so- mmmm, so wet, feel so good, baby.”

Whiskey walked around behind Frankie while you began to bounce up and down on his cock. The pilot was straining against the lasso in earnest, now that he was finally inside you, he had to touch you. He moaned in surprise, feeling the tension of his restraints disappear as Whiskey released him. A wave of guilt crested over Whiskey when he saw how raw Frankie’s wrists were. The pilot seemed not to notice, though, as he quickly tore his shirt the rest of the way off. Whiskey’s attention was brought from his wrists back to you by the feral growl Frankie let out at finally being able to grip your hips and truly leverage his thrusts into you.

“Frankie!”

His name rips the breath from your lungs and you see stars with each Earth-shattering thrust, clinging to him while he fucks you like his life depends on it.

“Yeah? Estoy- Mmm, I’m right here. ¿Que quieres? Dime.” [What do you want? Tell me.]

You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, breath hitching and cunt clenching at his rough cadence. You had never heard his voice or seen him like this before, uninhibited and wholly surrendered to the give and take of pleasure. A gasp fell from your lips when Frankie’s mouth latched onto one of your breasts.

“Our girl’s wanted this, to have the both of us, for a long time, Frankie.”

Frankie moaned, then shuddered at the way Whiskey’s mustache ticked the sensitive skin underneath his ear. His words ‘our girl’ echoing in his mind.

“Tell me how good our girl feels, Flyboy.”

Whiskey smirked as Frankie moaned, teeth grazing the pilot’s neck while you watched and clung to Frankie’s shoulders, arousal pooling at how responsive he was to Jack’s teasing.

“S-so fuck- so good, Whiskey. A goddamn dream, always wanted to- always wanted to do this.”

Frankie brought a hand from your hip to the juncture between you two, his thick, calloused thumb finding your nearly oversensitive clit and rubbing quick circles in time with his thrusts. An almost overwhelming wave of pleasure starts to build even higher in your abdomen. You were lost to the pleasure surrounding and filling you, lost to the feeling of Frankie’s thick cock thrusting into you, his fingers working in time with his pace and Jack’s husky encouragement in Frankie’s ear.

He’s so close, and knows you are too from your gasp as he holds you down and grinds into you roughly. Then, all at once, your second orgasm bubbles over and crashes down on you with a cry and Frankie’s name on your lips. He does his best to work you through it, but he can barely hold on with the way your walls are fluttering around him, squeezing and coaxing him higher and higher.

“Mmmmm- Así mero, amor [that’s it, love]. Fuck you feel- you feel so good. Mierda, ¿donde? [Shit, where?] Where can I?”

“Inside Frankie, cum inside me, please!”

A growl erupted from Frankie, his large hands holding your hips in a bruising grip and his head thrown back in pleasure. He was the vision of oncoming ecstasy.

“C’mon, fill her up, Flyboy.”

Before Frankie could retort, he felt the other man’s teeth sink into the crook of his neck. A coarse grunt of pain and pleasure rumbled deep within Frankie’s chest, jaw open yet tense as he pumped rope after rope of his cum deep inside you. A small whimper broke Frankie’s silence as Whiskey’s tongue soothed the angry bite mark on his skin. While he enjoyed Jack’s soothing ministrations, Frankie lavished his attention on you.

“You were so good, cariño.”

His lips ghosted over your breasts.

“Que linda.”

A kiss on your clavicle.

“Hermosa.”

His strong hands traveled up your spine and Whiskey watched, entranced by the reverence of Frankie’s actions.

“Querida.”

His hot tongue left a languid, rapidly-cooling trail from your sternum to the base of your throat. Your soft moan filled the air between you and Frankie, gentle fingers intertwining in his hair and tugging. A smirk plays across your lips at his moan. Frankie pauses, regarding you for a moment with a raised eyebrow and smirk of his own.

“¿Quieres más amor? Hmm, ¿estás segura? Whiskey?”

Frankie turns to face Jack, wanting reassurance that this was still ok. Smiling, Whiskey pulls Frankie in for a kiss, one of his hands gripping Frankie’s soft curls while you brace yourself against Frankie’s chest and roll your hips gently. Your and Whiskey’s eyes meet, and you nod, smiling.

“Now, how could we say no to that, Flyboy?”

Yours and Frankie’s moans echoed together, and Frankie began to grind into you again. A dull ache emanates from your thighs. You’re not sure if Frankie sensed it or if you had let out a whimper, but you feel one of Frankie’s hands press in between your shoulder blades, pulling your body into him to relieve some of the pressure. He adjusted the hand on your back slightly to curl over your shoulder for leverage and began thrusting into you with a new intensity and ferocity. You squeak in surprise and bury your face in the crook of his neck, opposite of where Jack had left his mark, each thrust pushing a soft cry from your lips. Whiskey held Frankie’s hair firmly in his grasp, tugging and eliciting gorgeous little moans of pleasure and pain from his mouth.

You were beyond oversensitive, each thrust grinding your clit against Frankie’s coarse curls, leaving you shuddering and so very close. Whiskey could tell both of you were almost there, needing just an extra nudge and knowing just what you needed to get there. You weren’t even aware of Jack moving, all that existed in the world to you was the sweet drag of Frankie’s cock inside you, his strong grip, the rough catch of his beard against your cheek, and the way your breath tickled the nape of his neck. Both of your slick bodies tensed, breath quickening. Whiskey’s hand on your shoulder brought your attention to him.

“Look at you, so damn gorgeous. You wanna cum, don’t you baby?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing gently.

“Don’t you?”

Whiskey hummed, watching intently as your eyes fluttered close, and you gave a desperate little nod.

“That’s it, be our good girl and soak his cock one more time.”

His sinful voice carried those words straight to your core, and you clenched down on Frankie, the coil inside you snapping as you gushed all over Frankie’s cock with a muffled cry.

“F-fuck y-yeah, baby, such a good girl. You feel so good, so tight. Look at you, fucking soaking me.”

A few more thrusts and Frankie follows you, pumping another load inside you with a grunt and broken off curse. Whiskey removes his hand from your throat and gently strokes your hair, while Frankie alternates between planting soft kisses on your shoulder and nuzzling your neck. Both murmur praises in your ear. Once his breath evens out, Frankie nuzzles you again. The fire that had held both you and Frankie captive had finally died down leaving exhaustion in its wake.

“Halcón, put your arms around me.”

You’re just on the cusp of consciousness, your body well worn out from the day’s activities, but you manage to follow instructions and cling to Frankie as he stands up, strong arms holding you to him. He smiles down at you, kissing your forehead as he places you down in the middle of the bed. Whiskey appears silently with a warm washcloth, gently wiping your tender folds clean despite your soft, protesting moans.

“Shhhh, we’ve got you, amor. We’re going to take care of you.” Frankie murmurs.

You’re asleep almost as soon as Whiskey is done, Frankie taking your soft snores as his cue to get dressed again. He slid his boxer briefs and slacks on, hissing slightly as the fabric brushed against his wrists.

“Hey Flyboy, now, don’t think I forgot about you. C’mere.”

A similarly half-clothed Whiskey patted the spot on the bed next to him, a med kit in his other hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Come here and let me see your wrists, Flyboy.”

Frankie glanced down at his wrists and tucked them behind him. He suddenly felt a warmth threatening his cheeks at what Whiskey was offering: an entirely different kind of intimacy that he hadn’t been anticipating.

“Oh, y-you don’t need to, Whiskey, I-I’ve had worse, much worse. I mean I was in Delta Force, I got shot, y’know.”

Whiskey’s gaze burned into Frankie and raised an eyebrow at him.

“It wasn’t a question, Catfish. This wasn’t war, and I know better than to not dress a rope properly to keep from shredding your wrists. Besides, what kind of gentleman would I be to not offer any sort of aftercare?”

There was an edge to Whiskey’s voice that left no room for argument, and Frankie relented despite the latter half of the statement sending a blush to his cheeks. He gingerly took a seat next to him and offered his left hand to Whiskey, who took it in his own, gently applying ointment to the pinched and raw skin. Frankie winced, then shuddered, unable to hide the hitch in his breath. Whiskey smirked.

“Yeah? I thought so, Flyboy.”

Frankie bit his lip and ducked his head, as if he and Whiskey hadn’t just shared you, as if not long ago he hadn’t fallen to his knees in front of the other man, so overwhelmed with the need to relieve himself he had whined while palming his cock. He cleared his throat, fidgeting, then started to get up to grab his phone that lay discarded on the floor.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Whiskey’s hand was lightning fast, catching Frankie’s arm and keeping him from going any farther.

“We’re not done yet. Give me your other hand, Catfish.”

Frankie let out a sigh, reluctantly sitting back down and offering his right hand. The Statesmen agent sucked in a sharp breath. Frankie’s right wrist was considerably worse. A pang of guilt speared Whiskey in his gut.

“I’m gonna have to clean this out and bandage it up.”

Frankie nodded, a tense groan that tapered into a whine forcing its way from his mouth as Whiskey flushed the torn skin.

“Easy, Catfish, I thought you said you’ve had worse?”

Whiskey chuckled lightly, and Frankie just grunted a response while his wrist was wrapped. Once he was done, Frankie smiled and ducked his head, his left hand going to the back of his neck in a self-reassuring gesture. When his eyes were drawn to Frankie’s shoulders, he saw his bite mark remained, and Whiskey fought the primal urge to mark him again.

“Thank you… I-I need to check in with Pope. Let him know we’re good.”

He snatched his phone up from the ground, sighing and rocking back on his heels. He had several missed texts.

Pope: Gas?

Pope: Avoided and clear

Pope: Status report?

Pope: Fish?

Frankie: Took the helo. Safe now with Halcón & co.

Pope: Jesus Cat, took you long enough.

Frankie: Got hit by the gas...all clear now. I’ll call tomorrow.

Pope: Copy

Frankie shoved his phone back in his pocket and let out a sigh. Noticing Whiskey’s yawn, he gestured for him to lay down.

“I told Pope I’d call him tomorrow. I’ll take first watch, you get some sleep. I’ll wake you up in 6 hours.”

“Hey now, just hold on a minute--“

“Don’t worry about it, Whiskey, I’ve got too much adrenaline going through me still.”

Whiskey frowned then nodded, turning off the lights and crawling into bed next to you. It wasn’t long before Frankie could hear even breathing and soft snores from both you and Jack. He let out a long sigh, scrubbing his face with his left hand.

Some fucking day it had been.

The moonlight greeted him as he stared out the window. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d run into you at the gala... or at all, really. It had been four years since he had last seen you, and he had been an absolute mess. Not that anyone would have expected Tom’s funeral to be a joyous affair, but he had just been getting off of (and beginning another) bender. He could barely find it in him to not be absolutely high out of his mind as they lowered Tom’s casket into the ground. He had provided cover fire for Tom back in Colombia and fired into the crowd of villagers too. It could have just as easily been him finding a permanent resting place six feet under.

As you took in his appearance after the funeral, the tears in your eyes speared him to his core. Your sad, knowing smile had shattered him when you squeezed his arm and said goodbye. It was worse than getting home from Colombia to find his fiancée gone. Worse than finding Tom dead and bleeding on the rocks in the Andes.

Some insane part of him almost told you how he felt about you when you were in town for the funeral. He thanked whatever shred of common sense he had that he didn’t tell you. He was an addict, and you were a year into your new job. You didn’t need, didn’t deserve to even have him consider putting you through his shit.

A lot had changed since then, namely, he’d gotten clean and had his pilot’s license reinstated. He hated flying tourists. It bored the hell out of him, but with his record, most people weren’t willing to give him a second look. At least picking up jobs for Pope gave him a taste of the real flying that he missed. Frankie let out another sigh, then swore. He had only taken the one day off, and who knew when he’d actually be able to go home after this fiasco. There was definitely more going on than anyone had anticipated. Groaning, he pulled out his personal phone to text his boss.

Frankie: Hey Kevin, I need a few more days. I ended up coming down with something.

He let out an exhale as he pressed send. It wasn’t too far from the truth, at least. To his surprise, his phone buzzed barely a moment later.

Kevin: Are you fucking serious Morales? First you barely give notice and now the night before you’re calling out?

Frankie: I know, I’m sorry I just want to make sure I’m not contagious.

Kevin: This is your last shot Morales, you piss hot or if I can’t find someone to cover for you then you’re done.

Frankie hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before he responded.

Frankie: Copy

He looked over at where you were on the bed, just barely making out the outline of you cuddled up against Whiskey in the moonlight. A pang of regret tore through him. He should have gotten his shit together sooner. At least you seemed happy now. He knew that what had happened tonight was a one-time thing, at most, your fantasy fulfilled. A fantasy of his had very much been fulfilled as well. Closing his eyes, he could still taste you, feel the ghost of your touch, and hear the echo of the sounds you had made. Groaning, Frankie checked his watch. Another four hours to go. Four hours for him to torture himself with what-ifs and what could have been, four hours of thinking about the way his chest tightened every time you breathed his name.

Fuck.

Jack woke with a start, a foreign hand on his shoulder. His hand automatically reached for and whipped out the revolver under his pillow. The muzzle connected with soft flesh, and the other person grunted in surprise.

“Whoa, tranquilo [calm/easy]… It’s me, Frankie.”

Jack let out a breath and sat up, lowering his gun and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Apologies, Flyboy.”

Frankie grunted again and yawned.

“ ‘S 04:00, she’s been through the ringer… Didn’t want t’wake her up.”

Whiskey nodded and looked Frankie over in the early morning light, noting how exhaustion slurred his words. He looked like shit. Standing, Whiskey tugged on his white undershirt from the night before.

“I jus’ need…”

Frankie flopped down in the spot Whiskey had been occupying seconds earlier.

“Cinco…horas…”

The man was asleep practically the second his head hit the pillow, maybe even before. Whiskey smiled at the way Frankie instinctively wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. Whiskey carded his fingers through his hair then moved to the window, dialing Ginger as he went.

“Whiskey?! Are you and Bourbon… ok? We lost track of you both, but we determined an amorous agent was used at the gala. Has it worn off?”

“Yeah, Flyboy got us out and he took first watch afterwards… Anyways, we’re at a Statesmen safehouse. Bourbon is still sleeping. We got here by helicopter, can you clear us to land at the New York office later today?”

There was a pause and Jack could hear Ginger typing.

“Wait, who’s ‘Flyboy’?”

Whiskey glanced over at the bed, not wanting to disturb you or Frankie.

“Frankie Morales. He was part of the private security detail at the gala last night. He served with Bourbon and is a pilot, probably the most self-disciplined pilot I’ve seen, that’s for damn sure. Somehow he flew us out of there after a canister landed at his feet.”

Ginger blinked in surprise. Preliminary intel from the gala had shown attendees and the rest of the private security detail completely incapacitated in a matter of minutes.

“Their unit was no joke, Whiskey, but it’s amazing he flew and landed in the state he was in. What does he know about Statesmen, given that you’re holed up in one of our safehouses?”

Whiskey let out a sigh. He had wondered as well, thinking back to how Frankie had asked them for coordinates to their safehouse.

“I don’t know, I don’t think he knew before the gala. He definitely didn’t buy Bourbon’s cover that she was my executive assistant. I reckon it’s like you said, their unit was no joke. He’s smart and he knows Bourbon. Frankie’s on the up and up though, Ginger.”

Ginger let out a reluctant sigh, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment before she continued.

“Ok, you should talk to him about it before you come back, but we trust your judgement, Whiskey. I’d rather have been able to put you all under medical observation after what you went through, but all I can say is you three need rest, and a lot of it.”

“Don’t I know it, Ginger. Flyboy had a canister go off just about on top of him, and Bourbon wasn’t far from him. I lucked out and didn’t get it that bad. He said he only needed five hours, but the poor boy could barely stand when he woke me up this morning.”

“I’ll let Champ know you’ll debrief this afternoon.”

“14:00 should be fine. Could you also get a hold of Santiago, callsign “Pope”? He’s another friend of Bourbon and Flyboy, co-owns the private security company that was attached to the gala last night. He should be there for the debrief.”

“Consider it done, Whiskey.”

“Thanks, Ginger.”

He ended the call, turning and taking a moment to watch you and Frankie. It was obvious there were feelings between you two, and he wondered why you had never acted on them. You certainly hadn’t been shy with him once you both finally decided to jump headfirst into a relationship together. The times that you had mentioned Frankie, Jack noticed your eyes had been tinged with sadness. Whatever it was, they would get to the bottom of it together. While this was far from how they had discussed reaching out to Frankie, it had happened, and he could only hope that morning wouldn’t be too awkward or snuff things out before they had a chance to get started.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! If you’d like to be added to the taglist just shoot me a message!

Taglist: @danniburgh, @pascalslittlebrat, @yespolkadotkitty, @mothandpidgeon, @mouthymandalorian, @phoenixhalliwell, @itsme-aj467, @kesskirata , @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads, @driedgreentomatoes , @pintsizemama, @neganwifey25-blog

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #agent whiskey x reader x frankie morales #agent whiskey x you #frankie morales x you #agent whiskey x you x frankie morales #agent whiskey x f!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #afab reader #my fic #As It Should Be

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firefly-in-darkness · 4 years ago

Text

Always

Pairing → Dean Winchester x Reader

Characters → Supernatural

Summary → Y/N is feeling insecure and Dean doesn’t help, especially when he forgets a special date.

Word Count → 1.9k

Prompt → “It’s always gonna be you.” (bolded) for the writing event hosted by @tvdspngirl314 - happy early birthday!

Warnings → Insecurities, angst to fluff.

Betas → @writethelifeyouwant // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → I needed some hurt/comfort Dean and here he is. Hope you enjoy it! Oh and Happy Valentine’s Day!

A cough caught in your throat at the words falling from Dean’s mouth. He was flirting with the witness, and even though you tried to reason that it was simply to get more information, the thoughts in your head were screaming that he wanted her. That you meant nothing to him, that you were just someone to pass the time until he found someone else.

You tried to focus on the important parts of the conversation, making notes on the little pad of the details needed to work out what monster was wreaking havoc in a small town a few hours away from the bunker.

But you couldn’t. Any other day, you could take Dean flirting with someone to get information but lately, you’d been feeling a little insecure and you’re not sure when it started. Now, watching him flirt with the beautiful creature sat opposite you was enough to darken your thoughts.

And not only was it hard to listen to your boyfriend, but he was also doing it on your anniversary and the international day to celebrate love, Valentine’s Day. You suspected he’d forgotten when you awoke this morning to empty bed and clothes being chucked in your face, some garbled speech about a case down the road. But now, it made your heart ache.

“Thank you, sweetheart, for all of your help,” Dean placed his hand on the woman’s arm, stroking her bicep and giving her his best smile.

“No, thank you, Agent Bonham,” she responded, placing her hand over his.

Dean produced a card from his FBI suit jacket, “It’s Dean. If you need anything, and I mean anything, call me.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach while saying goodbyes to the completely infatuated woman. How could your boyfriend blatantly flirt and give his number to a witness in front of you? The ache in your heart travelled through your veins, your body turning numb as you kept the tears at bay.

A dark cloud fogged your thoughts as the town disappeared behind them and Dean drove them back to the bunker. The leather of the Impala was cold, even though the sun beamed down on them in all its glory.

Dean reached over and laced his fingers between yours. You hadn’t expected it, especially after the advances he had made earlier and you recoiled, unravelling them and pulling your hand into your lap. You chose to stare out of the window at the scenery disappearing as the Impala whipped down the highway, wishing you were back at the Bunker already, wanting to get out of the FBI costume and crawl into bed to hide under the covers.

“Wanna go to the bar for a drink when we get back?” asked Dean, eyes trained on the road.

“I’ve got a headache,” Y/N quietly responded, “you can still go if you want to.”

Dean acknowledged you by cupping the back of your head, stroking it softly as you settled back into the seat. You closed your eyes and let his delicate touch help you drift to sleep.

You pulled the hoodie over your head and padded down the corridor to the library, knowing Dean had already left and deciding to seek distraction in the form of research. Burying your head in books was not your usual choice but it was the only thing you could do to keep your mind from spiralling.

Sam was sat at one of the chairs, of course, and he offered you a soft smile, “Thought you’d be going out with Dean?”

“Not feeling it tonight.” You had sunk into a chair opposite, “Plus, we need to find out what’s going on over there. I don’t think it’s a witch.”

“Dean told me about the witness, and he thinks she’s innocent.” Sam’s eyes flicked between the laptop and you when you didn’t respond. “Y/N.”

“I don’t think she’s as innocent as she makes out. But it’s not related to the case.” You sighed, hurt ricocheted through your chest.

Sam hummed in agreement, his focus back on the laptop and the book open to his side. You pulled one of the unopened books across and pulled your knees up to your chest, an attempt to cocoon yourself into the words written across the pages.

After the fifth attempt to read the same sentence, you pushed the book away and stretched your arms up before hauling yourself out of the chair. Sam caught your eye, a raised eyebrow as he shut the laptop and folded his arms.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bugging you?” Sam asked.

“What are you talking about?” You pretended to continue stretching your body before settling back into the chair.

“You never do research, especially when Dean suggests going to the bar. You have been staring at the same page for half an hour and you won’t stop fidgeting” Sam looked irritated but then he shook his head and gave you a soft smile, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You groaned, Sam wasn’t one to let things go and you knew you’d end up confessing to how you felt, “it’s nothing Sam, I’m just wrapped up in my head.”

Sam gestured for you to carry on and you did just that, explaining what happened at the witness’ house. As you finished, you folded your arms onto the table, resting your chin on them and looking up at him with a small pout.

“I know it’s silly. I just don’t feel good enough for him.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to your face, chewing on the sleeve.

��Of course, you are. I’ve never seen the pair of you happier than when you’re together. Dean adores you.” Sam replied.

“He forgot today. It’s our anniversary.” You mumbled through the material.

A flicker of realisation appeared on his features then disappeared with a soft smile.

“What if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?” You asked, eyes glistening with tears.

Sam looked shocked as if you had grown a second head, “Y/N, that’s ridiculous. It’s always gonna be you for Dean.”

“I don’t know about that Sam,” you replied.

“Well, you should,” Dean spoke from the other side of the room.

You spun in the chair, heart hammering in your chest as he approached with the look of hurt and pain flickering across his features. Words were stuck in your throat and you could feel the tears glistening in your eyes at the sight of your boyfriend.

Dean turned your chair to the side and sat on the one beside you, the legs scraping along the floor as he shifted towards you. The guilt stopped you from looking at him. You realised too late that you shouldn’t have said anything to Sam, and now, you weren’t sure how much of the conversation had been overheard by Dean.

Another chair shuffle across the room caught your attention; Sam leaving the room. Your body sank deeper into the chair, your knees up at your chest once more, chin resting atop to keep yourself safe. From what, you weren’t sure. That’s when you finally looked at Dean.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hello.” You replied, voice breaking.

Dean leant forward and cupped your cheek, “Going to tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

His soft voice and the warmth of his calloused hand was enough to make you break. In the blur of your tears, Dean knelt in front of you and pulled your legs down in between his thighs, massaging your calves while hiccups punctured the quiet sobs.

It was embarrassing but you couldn’t handle seeing the pity that would be in Dean’s eyes, but you knew that, sooner or later, he’d want an answer. Calming the heaving in your chest, you looked up at him. But what you saw was far from pity.

Your heart clenched at the red rim of Dean’s eyes and the tear-streaked cheeks. His green gaze was glued to yours and his lower lip trembled slightly as he gave a small smile.

“Dean, why are you crying?” You sniffed.

“You can’t answer a question with another question.” He sniffed too, pulling your hands into his large ones, thumbs softly brushing the back yours.

“I thought you might not be interested in me anymore after earlier.” You shrugged, trying to be nonchalant in preparation for Dean’s rejection.

Dean frowned and frustration seeped into his tone with a crack, “what? How could you think that? I lo-”

He stopped before finishing the sentence you so wanted to hear, your mind whirled with the possibility that he was only going to say it to keep you around and that stopped him.

“Earlier, you were flirting with that woman. You gave her your number and told her that she could call for anything.” You felt meek and vulnerable in telling Dean that this woman made you feel insecure, “she was beautiful, I wouldn’t blame you for that.”

Dean stood up and pulled you up too, “You’re beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

“Dean.” You whined, but his index finger pressed to your lips.

“You are Y/N. That woman has nothing, nothing, on you. I didn’t mean anything by it, I hoped she’d remember more than she did, and she’d call.” Dean held your face in his palms, searching your eyes for understanding, “For as long as I live, it’s always gonna be you.”

Dean pulled you into a tight hold, chest to chest, his arms clasped behind your back. The warmth soothed the tension in your muscles and your heart. You propped your chin on his chest, looking up to him as he swayed slightly. His lips pressed to the tip of your nose, you wrinkled it in reaction and failed at holding back the giggle.

“I promise to remind you every single day,” Dean whispered, a chaste kiss pressed to your lips before he pulled away again, you followed him and whined at his retreat,

You reached up onto your tiptoes and kissed him then reality came crashing down. He had still forgotten your anniversary and that it was Valentine’s Day. You pulled back and glared at him, untangling yourself from his hold but failed.

“What’s wrong?” Dean frowned at your struggle.

“You forgot.” You hissed, jaw ticking in frustration.

“Forgot what? That it’s our anniversary? And Valentine’s Day?” He smirked.

The tension and your resolve softened as he spoke, but that still didn’t explain why he hadn’t said or done anything. And why the hell was he smirking at you like that?

“I was trying to get you to come to the bar, I was going to make a detour to that diner just out of town. You know, the one with your favourite milkshake.” Dean laughed and laced his fingers between yours, this time you squeezed his hand in anticipation while he led the way to your bedroom. “And because you said you weren’t feeling well, I went and picked it up instead.”

Dean pushed open the door and upon the desk were various food containers, a stack of DVDs and a small box with a red bow on top. You looked through the items, overwhelmed with love and adoration for the man behind you.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, his chest pressed tightly to your back, “I love you, Y/N.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at Dean’s words. You turned in his hold, certain that he could feel your erratic heart as it slammed against your ribcage, “I love you too Dean.”

Everything Tag List: @kitkatd7 / @fandomfic-galore / @writerwrites / @thefridgeismybestie / @wedonttalkaboutitenough / @courtneychicken / @persephonesinfernos

Supernatural Tag List: @deanwanddamons / @akshi8278

SPN Fanfic Pond Tag List: @aprofoundbondwithdean / @manawhaat / @thing-you-do-with-that-thing / @nichelle-my-belle-spn-con-blog / @notnaturalanahi / @deanscarlett / @whispersandwhiskerburn / @roxy-davenport / @deathtonormalcy56 / @samsgoddess / @frenchybell / @for-the-love-of-dean / @mysupernaturalfics / @spn-fan-girl-173 / @deandoesthingstome / @jelly-beans-and-gstrings / @fiveleaf / @deansleather / @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname / @waywardjoy / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious / @kayteonline / @supernatural-jackles / @wevegotworktodo / @quiddy-writes / @babypieandwhiskey / @wi-deangirl77 / @deantbh / @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki / @deanwinchesterforpromqueen / @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog / @memariana91 / @plaidstiel-wormstache / @chelsea-winchester / @becs-bunker / @writingbeautifulmen / @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell / @castieltrash1 / @supernaturalyobessed / @ohwritever / @ruined-by-destiel / @inmysparetime0 / @winchester-writes / @zombitch-cas / @maraisabellegrey-blog / @faith-in-dean / @winchestersmolder / @bennyyh / @clueless-gold / @deanwinchesterxreader / @melbelle45 / @winchester-family-business / @4401lnc @there-must-be-a-lock / @just-another-winchester / @canadianjelly / @emoryhemsworth / @cas-backwards-tie / @canadianspnhunter / @mostly-shawn / @sierra-grace1227 / @flamencodiva / @kalesrebellion / @emilyshurley / @deanwanddamons / @ellewritesfix05 / @idreamofplaid / @emptycanvasposts / @itstimetogo / @kickingitwithkirk

#Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester Fic #Supernatural #SPN #SPN Fanfic Pond

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awanderingtortoise · 3 years ago

Text

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

-----------------------

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame. Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol. “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot. Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

#zoyalai #i am an idiot #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #horrible puns terrible puns #nikolai duology #grishaverse #tortoise tries to write #me

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sodone-withlife · 3 years ago

Text

i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

#i’m so sorry if the mandarin is shitty #the format is better on ao3 #but i’m so excited to be able to at least try it #shang chi spoilers #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings spoilers #shang chi fanfiction #shang chi #shang chi and the legend of the ten rings #marvel fanfiction #mcu #shang chi imagines

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pars-ley · 4 years ago

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Umbra (part one)

Pairing: Demon Jimin x Angel Reader

Summary: An encounter with a mysterious demon leaves you reeling from an unexpected discovery.

Rating: 18+ (sfw) future chapters may be (nsfw)

Genre: Fantasy au / Demon Jimin au / Soulmate au / Strangers to lovers au / Angst / Fluff / Series

Word count: 1585

Warnings: fight scene / bloody injury / mentions of loss of blood / Talk of Demons / Description of non human demon

Tag list: @jungkooksbroski If you would like to be added to the tag list for this series let me know.

A/N: This is for the @btswritersclub monthly mini project and the prompt was "magic". Also used my @btsholidaybingo sqaure "dark alleys". Keep reading line before 500 words as description of Demon.

Beta reader: @unoriginal-username15432 thank you! You're a goddess as usual.

Mood board: @wheresmymoniat Thank you Elle for making this "just for fun" and somehow having delved into my mind to make it exactly how I would have imagined, your big brain continues to astound me.

The blinding white flash lit up the night sky as you wrap your long coat around you tighter, to shield yourself from the fierce wind this evening.

You know this isn't normal lightning and there's no storm on its way to wreak havoc, it was the work of a demon creating chaos, as they usually do.

You quicken your pace, aiming for where the burst of brilliant light slices through the inky blanket covering the city.

Another bright flash - closer this time - as you watch the veiny patterns it momentarily leaves behind in its path, your face being pelted with heavy rain drops as you force your eyes away from the sky. You're so close, you run, letting your coat open and flap wildly either side of you with each step you take, one foot bounding in front of the other.

An explicitly dark alleyway has you halted in your tracks. Not just any dark. Thick, inescapable dark. You've been into this kind of darkness before and it almost cost you, but that was different, you were young and naïve.

You'd made a mistake.

You'd tried to face a notorious demon on your own and almost lost, you got lucky. Now you were prepared, you could do this.

You take a confident step forward into the black before you and leave your fears on the pavement.

Wandering blindly for what feels like an eternity, something's presence lurking all around you, encasing you in a sickly, choking embrace, you have to remind yourself to concentrate and look for the way out, the edge of the emptiness. The end of the cloak.

Breathe. Focus.

You see the tiny slither of light and force your body in its direction, urgent and wild, pushing past the rim of the ebony cover. You're out and it's over, you can breathe again.

A menacing growl beside you has you spinning sharply on your heels, reeling to find two demons fighting in the alley.

One a human form and one far from it. Recognition of this monster clicks in your mind, one of the most dangerous and wanted demons of our time, here, right in front of you, quarrelling with another similar of its kind but not the same.

Could you face two of them and survive?

It's too late to back out now.

The giant monster springs, long, sharp claws out and aiming for his victim, only, at the last moment he spots you. You brace yourself as he lunges straight at you, his body slamming into yours.

Sharp pain gouges in your side, pulling a loud cry from your lips as anger bubbles hot in your chest. Your hands clasp around his hairy arms, keeping them firmly away from you. As he fights against your vice grip, large fangs snapping his snout viciously mere centimetres away from your face.

In one swift moment his heaviness is gone and your lungs fill frantically with air, you shoot up on your feet, wincing at the resistance from your side. You don't want to look, if you ignore it then it's not there.

The human figure crouches protectively in front of you, you're perplexed but far too distracted by the grotesque creature preparing to attack once again.

"Stay behind me!" The human demon orders you.

How strange.

You are not his ally and yet he's treating you as one.

"I can handle him." You retort, bringing your power to the surface ready.

He laughs, the sound infuriating. "Yea sure, looks like it from the blood you're losing."

Fury blinds you for a moment, before snapping you back into the present, you have to focus your attack on one demon at a time and this man can wait.

The creature dives forward towards the two of you, using your ability to hoist him off his feet and into the air, your pale smoky vines of power suspending him and snaking around his ankles above you.

You notice the man glance sideways at you, surprise evident in his features.

He uses his dark, wispy tendrils of magic to wrap around the monster's limbs, binding him in mid air before you both slam him into the ground, the hairy beast disappearing into nothing, banished back into another realm.

The cloak of darkness lifts as does the rain.

"What are you?" You demand. Curious as to why a demon would be banishing others of his kind. That's your job.

He slowly turns to you, eyes wary and narrowed. "You know what I am."

What kind of demon could he be? You’ve never come across one like him before. Even as he stands a distance away, you feel yourself drawn to him, drawn to his movements, to the way he stares at you, watching you behind heavy lids.

He moves closer. "Look, if you're going to banish me, I'd rather we just get this over with." He says nonchalantly, dusting off his hands, looking at ease and quite frankly bored with the conversation already.

You frown. You should do exactly that. No talking, no hesitating, just get rid of him. However, something stops you, holds you back from doing what you know is right but something inside you is screaming that it is wrong.

"Why did you banish him?" You fire back, needing some answers for this unexplainable feeling deep in your gut.

"You already know the answer to that too." His eyes are fixed on yours as he begins to close the distance that stretches out between you.

You retreat until your back is met with cold hard brick.

"He was a demon, he doesn't belong on this plane. There. Is that the answer you're really looking for?" His perfectly arched eyebrow lifts as he throws the question at you.

You watch his pillowy lips pull up into an arrogant smirk. "Come now," he leans in closer, only a breath away, his sweet scent intoxicating your senses and whispers, "what is it you really want to know?"

You're frozen, unable to move and run like your head is telling you to, unable to cast him away or banish him. All you can do is ball your hands into fists at your sides to stop yourself from reaching out to him, from running a finger along his flawless, smooth skin.

Angels are not affected by demon powers, they can't be charmed or willed or seduced, it's one of your perks and yet here you stand, immobile like a frightened little dormouse. But not because of this demon or his powers, this is entirely your own doing, your own cage you've built yourself.

He studies you over curiously, you wonder if your eyes mirror the very look in his. "Why are you not banishing me?" He asks, utterly perplexed.

"Why are you not trying to kill me?" You finally find your voice, stronger and braver than you hoped for.

His dark, smoky tendrils snake their way up your legs and body, until they're forcing your arms in the air above your head.

Your own pale vines of smoke meet his and entwine around them, halting them in their tracks.

He frowns at you, wide eyed. "What is this? What magic are you enticing me with?"

You scoff, hardly believing those words came out of his mouth and not yours. "I was going to ask you the same question."

Something clicks inside you, something deep down within your soul. Suddenly, you feel at ease, comfortable, at home. Your chest swells with a feeling you can't quite place, like being in love, only more than that. You feel complete.

His powers release their grip and your arms are freed, but your powers are still joined, still embracing.

"What's happening?" You ask bewildered.

He takes the one last step towards you, your bodies now touching, pressed firmly against each other. His thumb slides softly across your cheek, a caress that has you feeling dizzy and your knees weak.

"Tell me angel, do you have a mark?" He whispers, searching your eyes as if they held the answers to life's questions.

All you can do is nod, frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

"Could it be, I've finally found you?" He says quietly, more to himself you think.

You question him with your eyes, pleading with him to elaborate, wondering if this is all a trick before he slaughters you right here.

He lifts the sleeve of his dark shirt and reveals his mark, an intricate, pink little pattern, almost like a scar. We are all born with these marks, none are alike, except for your life mate, which matches yours like a puzzle piece.

He looks at you with wildly desperate eyes.

You lift your sleeve, hands trembling.

You don't even have to look to know it matches. The overwhelming adoration in his eyes fills your heart to the brim, fit to burst.

"It's you. I've actually found you, and an angel at that." He lets out a small laugh. His smile is more beautiful than any scene or sunset.

Your soulmate, the one who will be bound to you in this life and the next and follow you for eternity. You've found him.

But it's not that simple, for a moment later he has disappeared, your magic clutches to thin air, nothing but emptiness fills the space around you and consumes your insides as you frantically look around. He's gone without a trace and you have no idea where to begin looking to find him again.

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years ago

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Of All the Places

Chapter 12

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: Washing up in a small town in Oklahoma was definitely not part of Loki’s plan when he came to conquer Midgard. There is one good thing about it, though: No one recognizes him as the one who just wreaked havoc in New York. So, Loki plans to recover from the battle and move on with his life. The only problem? He’s not sure he can leave you. Chapter Summary: Loki is in SHIELD’s custody, but refuses to speak. That is, until Thor manages to get through to him. Chapter Warnings: kinda angsty and some bad language A/N: Updates every Friday. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @marvelousdaydreams @parkastoria @lokistan @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs @sourpatchspinster @gaitwae

✥ Start at Beginning ✥ | ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

The wall across from him was a dull, depressing shade of gray. It had light cracks running through it, undoubtedly from previous super-powered villains who had resisted against their captors. This deep in the belly of the beast, Loki doubted they had much success with anything besides maybe giving out a few bruises. He, however, would not give the agents the satisfaction of seeing him lash out, no matter how badly he wanted to act like a madman, tearing everything apart until they let him go. Until he could see you. But, no, he swore he’d stay away from you for your own good.

Loki looked at the one-way mirror out of his peripheral vision. Another thing he refused to do was look directly at them, to look like he cared at all. His whole plan on getting out of here hinged on the fact that he seemed completely uninterested. It had worked the first time, after all. Though, that would probably mean they were more likely to be wary of him now. It didn’t really matter, anyway. His plan was half-baked at best, and he didn’t have much hope for getting out. Or much of a reason for trying, either. Not when he couldn’t go to you. A pain shot through his whole body, starting in his heart and spreading out. It was the all-consuming thought of you that made him show a crack in his armor, even though it was for the briefest of seconds. He tried to go back to the completely calm facade he’d been doing such a good job of keeping up, but he was sure he looked quite a bit more deranged now. It was much more of a strain on him to look fine when he was remembering that you were out there, possibly still crying into Denzel’s shoulder.

The door to his left swung open, and Loki examined his nails as best he could being cuffed to the table. He hoped the action looked as nonchalant as it did in his mind. Fury and Natasha walked up to the chair opposite him, but neither sat down for a second, obviously trying to give a subtle reminder of the power they exerted over him. Finally, Fury took the seat, but Natasha remained standing off to the side. It was probably a reminder of how she got him to crack last time. As if he would let that happen again.

“So,” Fury began, “you mind telling me what was going on in that crazy head of yours, attacking civilians without a cause.”

He was met with silence.

“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. Now, don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Still, stony-faced silence.

“You can take all the time you need. The sooner you answer, the sooner we can ship you back to that alien planet you dared to come from. It makes no difference to me whether you’re rotting here or there. I’m in no rush.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Loki taunted. The man’s intimidation tactics were more annoying than anything else, and Loki couldn’t resist the chance to be snide. “After all, it only took you two months to find me. And even then it was only because of a civilian, is that not right?”

“Fine, have it your way,” Fury shrugged, leaving the room with Natasha, seemingly carefree, though Loki knew he was grating on his nerves.

Really, all Loki wanted to do was break down, scream. Cry. But he knew he was being watched, so he didn’t say or do anything else. He should have left when he had the chance. Had he not stayed on your farm, he wouldn’t be in custody right now. Not to mention you and your family wouldn’t have had to be interrogated. Because, he was sure, there had been countless questions asked of you in the past twenty-four hours. Most of you would be safe, he knew, but what about John? He had kept Loki’s secret. If he was smart, he would claim it was under duress. Alas, Loki knew his friend cared too much to say anything that might condemn him. He could only hope John didn’t incriminate himself instead.

And Matt! Oh, that poor boy would be so confused, so upset. Right from the beginning Loki knew he would be no good for the child, but did he listen to sense? No, he gave into his own selfish desires. If only he hadn’t spent so much time with him, this might be easier. Maybe Matt was still young enough that after all this was said and done, he wouldn’t even remember it. Of course, that means he wouldn’t remember how Loki saved him either. The thought made him sadder than he ever would have imagined it could.

What of Papa and Ana, Loki wondered. They knew nothing of his true identity, so they must be safe. Ever the pacifist, he was sure your father would keep everyone as calm as possible during the whole ordeal. But Ana might not be doing too well. Plus, she was pregnant, and Loki felt guilty he’d inflicted so much stress on her during such a time. It dawned on him just then that, in his mind, he’d always just assumed he’d be around to meet the new baby. Needless to say, that was not the case. How he already missed your whole family already. Except for Mama. Screw it, even her! As annoying as she was and whatever she may have done in the end, Loki enjoyed the banter with her, deep down.

Then there was you. You’d cared for him since the moment he first arrived. From the very second you saw him passed out in the field to the time you found out the truth, you watched over him. All the bruises and cuts and scratches on him, you had healed with your touch. And that wasn’t just the physical ones, but the ones on his heart, too. Words could not describe all that you had done for him. His blood boiled at the thought that SHIELD agents were prying into the details of your relationship at that very moment.

He remembered he’d said he’d sing for you one day. He’d never get to do that now. He supposed it could just be added to a growing list of broken promises.

The last image he had of you as the van pulled away was still burning in the back of his mind. The way Denzel had been holding you, comforting you, it broke Loki. After everything you went through together, that should have been him. That could have been him. Instead, Mama had to go and ruin everything. He couldn’t really hold that against her, though. After all, he had been branded as a criminal. When you got down to the nitty-gritty of it, he actually was a criminal. But was he a villain? There was a difference there, he realized, but he didn’t know exactly where in the spectrum he fell. You’d called him a hero once. He shuddered to think what you’d call him now.

He’d vowed to leave you alone, but his resolve was already weakening. What if, by some miracle, he was able to get out of here? Could he go see you for even a second? If for nothing else, then to apologize for all the wrong he did you. He shook his head ever so slightly. That was not a thought he should be entertaining. How could he be so stupid! Here he was thinking about making the same mistake again. Would he ever learn? He needed to keep you out of this. You never should have even been involved in the first place. A monster; that’s all he ever was, and all he’d ever be. A single imperceptible tear rolled down his cheek.

Again, the door opened, but this time Thor walked in. He was seething in anger, but if Loki looked deep enough—and for whatever reason, he did—there was also a deep remorse in his eyes. A sadness Loki could only assume was due to all that had happened. It made him feel a little bit better to know he wasn’t the only one who wished things could have been different.

“Brother, I know not why you have taken this path,” Thor said. “But the sooner you confess, the sooner I can go back to fixing the mess you made in the rest of the Nine Realms.”

“What?” Loki scoffed. “So eager to leave your precious Midgard.”

He tried to spit it out with only venom in his voice, but it just sounded sad at the end. It was, after all, his precious Midgard now too.

“What happened, brother?” Thor asked, a bit more softly than he had before. “Why did you attack?”

Loki looked at the table, unable to face Thor. “You would not believe me even if I told you.”

“What have I ever done that you think I do not trust you, care for you, brother?”

“Stop calling me that,” Loki snapped, his eyes shooting up to Loki’s face. He would have stood if his restrains allowed it. “I am sure father dearest has already told you my true heritage.”

Ah, there was the venom in his voice. His demeanor quickly changed, though, when he noticed Thor was looking at him with a puzzled expression. Loki had assumed that Odin would have gone singing through the streets, telling everyone that Loki was a Frost Giant once he declared him a villain. Could it be that he hadn’t even told his prized son?

“Did he...” Loki gulped. “Did he not tell you?”

“Father did not mention anything. Loki, what are you talking about?”

“I am Jötnar, Thor,” Loki whispered. “The very thing you were taught to abhor.”

Thor finally sat down. He seemed to still be confused by something, though the trickster god could not quite figure out what. Perhaps he was just deciding the best way to slay the beast, to strike him down.

“But you are still my brother.”

Loki’s voice caught in his throat, and he choked on his words. He was nearly as shocked as Thor seemed, if not more. Though, it was for entirely different reasons. He sputtered, trying to find the right thing to say. So much for his cool demeanor.

“Just tell me what is wrong,” Thor said, “my brother.”

“I will tell you. On one condition.”

“That depends,” Thor hesitated, “on what that condition is.”

“That family I was staying with, you must make sure they are all safe. All of them.”

“You have my word. Now, please, tell me why you attacked Midgard. We will discuss your previous actions another time.”

“Very well,” Loki conceded with a small nod. Here goes nothing. “It was the mad Titan, Thanos. After I fell—well, let go on the Bifröst, I was adrift in a void for a while. It was not my intention, but it is what happened. After, well, to be quite honest, I do not know quite how long, Thanos pulled me out. He... He twisted my mind, bent me to his will. He used me as his puppet and made me attack. It was his bidding that I lower Midgard’s defenses, take note of what kind of fight the planet could put up. And one more thing. He wanted the Tesseract. I cannot at this moment, however, give it to you.”

Thor paused for a moment, the gears in his head turning. “And why is that?” he questioned.

“Because of these,” Loki said, lifting his magic-restraining chains. “If you take them off, I will be able to provide you with it.”

For once, he was telling the truth. He had no plans to keep the artifact for himself. Not right now, anyway, with so much else on the line. Once he had handed it over, though, he would have teleported away. It would have been nice to make amends with Thor, yes, but it was not something he would stake his freedom on.

“Point Break,” Tony said, popping in. “Can we talk to you out here for a second?”

Thor excused himself and left Loki by his lonesome again. Well, he wasn’t really alone with so many agents watching from the other side of the glass. His heart was beating wildly. If it had been up to Thor, if he had acted quick enough, Loki would already be on his way off this planet. There was no way anyone else would ever allow it now.

“Ok, Rock of Ages,” Tony said, waltzing back in with Thor and Fury close behind. “You know what I think? Your story sounds like a load of bullshit. But, Point Break here says he believes you.”

“Which is the most idiotic thing I’ve heard,” Fury added.

“And he’s got some evidence to back it up,” Tony finished.

Loki looked at his brother with wide eyes, much like he had when they were kids and he was about to get in trouble. A part of him couldn’t believe Thor would have stood up for him, even after their little heart to heart. He dared let a spark of hope ignite in his heart. If Thor was sticking up for him, and SHIELD was accepting his story as the truth that it was, then was he free to go? After all, if they agreed that it was not him, what reason did they have to keep him in custody?

“May I ask, then,” Loki started, “am I free of the charges? May I go?”

“I am afraid, brother,” Thor solemnly replied. “That I cannot allow that.”

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