#safe to say he’s always been a grime ball

[dogwittaablog]

I just wanna wine and dine Nolie and then snuggle after running my hands through his greasy ass hair while he snuggles into my chest. Is that too much to ask for.

The grease residue left on my hands would be too much for me not to force his head under the sink and do a full on rinse and repeat.

(I genuinely think this dude goes a solid week without washing…)

[sleepyangelkami]

THUNDERSTORM d.dixon

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 2K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - your boyfriend travels through alexandria on foot even though the amiss of a thunder storm is unfolding, just to make his way to you, his precious girl, terrified of thunder and lightning.

 ☆ WARNINGS - crybaby reader, anxiety/worry, crying, rain, thunder/lightning, stormy weather, use of good girl (non-sexual) petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

the storm was getting bad, really bad.

you watched from the window of your home, sitting cross legged on the window seat and anxiously tapping your fingers against the window sill. your teeth had clamped down on your wobbly bottom lip as you watched the clouds dissipate and reappear, covering the town of alexandria in a new sleek coat of rain.

you wondered where everyone else was, hoping and praying that everyone was inside their houses, safe.

nothing bad really happened in alexandria before rick grimes and his group came. then again, nothing happened at all in alexandria before they came. they gave life to the people, hope, something to look forward to, a future.

you weren't an exception of that hope.

some would say that you're soft, possibly the softest girl in all of alexandria. you kept to yourself, pretty sun dresses and bows, always smiling at the people you passed.

but there was only one person who you felt truly knew you. that was your perfect boyfriend, the man who'd do just about anything for you, worshipping the mere ground that your dainty feet stepped on.

that man was daryl dixon.

he was feared. he was known. everyone had heard the stories of the walkers he'd taken down, the people he'd shoved out of the way. he was one of the ones the people of alexandria feared the most at the beginning, however they soon learned that he wasn't as rough as his accent made him out to be.

the sound of your door swinging open was enough to have your head whipping around in a flash, enough to give you a pain in your neck. your fists had balled over the little pink throw that had gathered around your legs.

however, the fear soon dissipated like the clouds as your eyes caught the glimpse of daryl dixon standing at your door, drowned wet and soaking. though, he soon began to rid himself of his jacket.

"got here as soon as i could." his gruff voice came out. "what are you doin' over there? c'mere." though he was already helping you up, tenderly grasping your arm and leading you away from the window seat.

you followed his instructions, seating yourself on the bed as he peered out the window himself. "is the patrol back yet?" worry evident in your honey-voice.

the man could merely grimace. in the apocalypse, everyone sort of became a liar, it was a force of habit to protect themselves and something about daryl dixon is that he was a well good liar when he wanted to be. however, in all the time he's known you, he's never been able to lie to you. perhaps it was because of those doey eyes that looked up to him or that naive head and heart he knew you had. he couldn't lie to you because he knew just how easily you'd believe him. "nah, they should be back before morning, though." his eyes softened as they glanced over your face, your own eyes looking down and appearing distant. always worrying about everyone aside from yourself. he sighed before kneeling down in front of you. "'m sure they're fine, sweet girl, probably jus' holed up somewhere, didn't wanna come back through the storm. okay?"

you knew those eyes.

daryl was quiet, mysterious. but with you, he could talk for days on end. and that meant he liked to listen too, especially to the sound of your sweet voice. he needed you to answer him. "okay." you mumbled, your voice a little shaky.

his lips turned up as he stood and reached his head down to press a chaste kiss against your own forehead. "good girl." he mumbled before turning back 'round to the curtains that were still slightly open. "why don' we throw on a movie, get nice 'n cozy in bed, yeah?"

he could tell by the look on your face that you weren't exactly pleased.

you hated the rain, the wind, everything that came with bad weather. you hated when your socks got wet when you passed puddles, you hated the way the mud smeared around after the rain, you hated the sounds of the stormy weather from outside. you loved the way daryl knew all this.

"c'mon, angel, a little rain ain' never hurt nobody." shutting your baby pink curtains closed. you gave him a look, knowing that on countless events, people had in fact, been killed due to the rain. he merely sighed. "you know what i mean."

he knelt in front of the dvd player. “now wh’s it gonna be? disney or the muppets?” 

you did adore the muppets, you loved the way daryl found himself chuckling at little pieces of it, finding joy in his own way in the little movies and shows that they played out. but right now? you so desperately needed the comfort of the movies you grew up with. “disney.” you answered, your voice small. “definitely.” 

he could only smirk. “as you wish.” 

daryl never made fun of you for your fascination for cartoons and picture movies like them. you liked them because they reminded you of what was before, how you grew up and the things you enjoyed doing before all this. there was a sense of nostalgia that hit deep in your gut and weirdly enough, you liked it. you liked watching the pictures move and allowing your mind to drift to when you were young. and daryl adored that pretty smile on your face or the way you laughed at the same cheesy romance joke you’d heard a thousand times over. he’d only roll his eye with a small chuckle but deep down he could feel his heart begin to race. something reminding him that there was still a form of innocence in a world full of chaos. 

“daryl?” you called from the bed. now that the movie was beginning, the rain didn’t seem as loud. and daryl had awful hearing as it was so he always played the movies loud for you both to hear it. you swore it would drive your hearing down the same road as his. 

“mhm?” a rough hum as he used the controller to skip past the pre-recorded ads on the dvd you owned. the swan princess, a movie you adored ever since you were a child, and daryl knew this.

he knew everything there was to know about you. 

you’d seated yourself beneath the blankets, your jammie covered legs finding even more heat in the white and pink sheets. everything about your room was girly. “how’d you get here?” your head tilting at the man. 

he merely stood, sniffling quietly and tossing the remote elsewhere so he could kick off his boots. “i walked.” he answered so casually, as if it hadn’t been a big deal at all. and to him, it truly wasn’t, he’d faced worse things than walking in a little rain. besides, he wasn’t scared like you were, he didn’t worry like you did. the rain didn’t effect him.

but you on the other hand, had never seen the dangers that daryl faced or the monsters he’d looked right in the eyes. a little rain scared you alone let alone with daryl walking in it. “you walked?!” your voice all accusing and full of both shock and concern. 

daryl began stripping himself of his button up shirt, finding one of those black tee’s he owned lying around your room somewhere. “yeah.” he chuckled, voice all gruff. 

“daryl.” you scolded, though how could you really scold when you sounded like a fresh pot of homemade jam. you sat up on your knees on the bed, brows pinching together. “‘s so dangerous, anything could have happened.” 

any other situation and you would have been staring at the way he dragged his jeans down his knees. “gotta keep the wife happy.” he joked despite the fact that you were not his wife (yet, that is.) 

but you were just staring up at him with those doe-like eyes. they were full of concern, full of worry. anything could have happened to him. “daryl.” is all that came out from your mouth though your voice showed your evident distaste to his recklessness.

he merely waved you off, though. daryl never could see his own faults. “wasn’t gonna let my girl sleep through a storm alone, no way.” he found his way to the bed, now clad in a shirt and dark sweatpants. “so be happy you have me.” he smiled up at you with that infamous grin, the one that made your heart flutter.

biting down on your bottom lip, you shook your head. “of course i’m happy to have you―” you’d never pass up an opportunity to see daryl dixon, your beloved boyfriend. 

“then leave it at that.” but his words weren’t condescending or in any way angry with you. they were soft, gentle, as he always treated you. like a porcelain doll ready to smash at any moment. “c’mon, you missed like, half the movie.” finding his own ways beneath the covers.

a smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down at him. “it barely started.” 

and before he knew it, it ended.

he didn’t know when or at which point in the movie you’d fallen asleep but by the time the end credits rolled around, your eyes were shut closed, lips pressed together as you practically dug yourself into his thick arm. his second arm was wrapped around you, keeping your icy skin somewhat warm. 

the only warmth either of you had was the body heat that you shared with one another.

the storm wasn’t going to get any better, daryl was well aware of this. and he hoped for everyone else’s sake that the patrol team were, in fact, holed up in a shelter, waiting for the rain to stop before coming home. 

when the soft breaths hit his arm gently, he knew you were passed out asleep. and despite the loud rain and wind from outside, he still found himself shutting off the tv, incase it woke you from your slumber. 

and then, the first clap of thunder hit. 

you woke with a strangled whimper, instinctively pushing yourself closer to the man. a coo and a shushing sound fell from his lips unconsciously, his hand settling on the back of your head, pulling you in. there was something so comforting about his shushing and his touch but when the first lightning strike hit, you could only whimper out again. “daryl.” his name once again falling from your lips because when you didn’t know what to say, that was all you could think. 

“i know, baby, i know.” fingers toying with your hair and his separate hand gently running up and down the tenderness of your upper arm. 

your legs wrapped around him, hands practically clinging to him. he was your safety net when things began to go south. when your brain turned to scrambles, he was the one holding you together until you were ready to pick yourself back up again, if you could even call it that, he was always doing all the work for you.

and in the dead of night, the darkness of the room completely and utterly consuming you both. you whispered what you thought you’d never have the courage to. “I’m scared.” voice cracking as hot tears filled your eyes. 

what a terrible thing to admit?

the fear of the dead getting inside with broken walls due to the storm, the fear of god help us the lightning strike hitting your house. you could never be sure, never and perhaps that was why the fat tears began to roll down your cheeks. 

but, as always, daryl was ready to pick you back up again. “‘s okay.” his usually gruff voice so tender and soft. “ain’ nothin’ gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.” and he meant that, truly and wholeheartedly as his thick fingers began to wipe away the stray tears from your cheeks. “too pretty to be cryin’, angel.” 

“‘s jus…” 

“scary.” he finished. “i know.” he knew but he didn’t know. he hardly felt fear as it was let alone like you. he was met with another whimper and a clap of thunder. “i got you.” his arms holding you so close. “‘s okay, i’m right here. i got you.”

and somewhere, between the heavy rainfall, the thunder and lightning and all the rest, the peaceful arms of your lover was enough to soothe your tear filled eyes back to sleep. 

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

[enkvyu]

"you can head back now."

you could feel childe's cold gaze follow you as you attempt to walk away, ball gown dragging behind your trail, gathering dust and grime from the floor of the dungeon where he had rushed you into when the first explosion went off in the grand hall. it was safe to say you could have only escaped due to his quick instincts but in the current moment, you couldn't force the thanks out from the back of your throat.

"it is still unsafe, your highness." he says and you hear the crunch of gravel as he takes a step forward. "let me take you back to your room, at least."

"there is no need."

"your highness, it is too soon to be alone. the situation has barely been contained." another step forward and you wonder how he was so able to close the distance when you realise your feet had stopped moving. curse this body, so desperate to cling to memories.

"childe, you will obey my orders as the princess. when i tell you i will be fine, i mean it."

"i don't have it in me to believe you."

"i don't need you to. i just need to you leave me the fuck alone!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can filter them and the silence it brings you coaxes the air out of your lungs. "go back and access the situation, childe."

the steady click of heels against cement tells you your body has finally begun to work again and you swallow a sigh of relief. sure, you may have slipped up a little too much for your liking, but nothing a bottle of strong wine and a good night's rest couldn't fix.

it would simply be better if you could just forget him. if it was ever that easy.

and as if the world wanted to remind you just how unfixable the situation was, you hear your name. called with such delicacy, as if a breath could blow it away, trembling because the syllables have grown foreign on his tongue, because the memories the word unleashes are burdensome and heavy, throwing you both back in the distant past. it only took one word, uttered from one mouth, for the world to give out beneath your feet.

hesitantly, your body betraying your screaming mind once again, you find yourself turning.

you choke on a gasp.

the entire night you had desperately tried anything to refuse his eye, taking up every dance request with greasy men who only had eyes for the way your dress hugged your figure. every time he had even dared to approach you, you had already crossed the floors of the ball, in the arms of another man.

but as fate would have it he'd always find his way back to you, his arms wrapped around you, pushing you into his chest, you could only stare at the ground because the familiarity of his body pressed into yours was too overwhelming to acknowledge.

childe stood perhaps two metres away, eyes holding onto yours. the scars of his past ran jagged lines across his face, though its brutality dimmed at the pleading expression dusted on his face.

another step taken, slowly as if coaxing a wild beast.

he says your name again, testing the waters. you watch him approach, the same emotion in his eyes reflected in yours. how you wanted to cup his face and memorise all the features that made him, him.

"please." childe says. "let me take you back."

you open and close your mouth. he now stood before you, his breath warm against the still air of the dungeons.

with his face so close to yours, you realise he was everything you had given up. you didn't recognise the emptiness in his gaze, oh what had the abyss done to him, you didn't recognise the dangling earring on his right, you didn't recognise the dip of his collarbone, the arch of his brow, the tilt of his lips. it was clear he had grown. perhaps the two of you needed to as well.

"you've done enough."

silence ensues, ridden with guilt and thick with ticking tension.

"you would let our past get in the way of your safety?" childe asks. his hand slides up your arm.

the sensation is enough break you out of your trance. you slap the hand away, taking a step back to further the distance. the moment breaks just like that, perhaps it had always been fragile.

"i will call another guard." you watch as his eyes harden, the delicacy dissipating until you weren't even sure if it had ever been there to begin with. "thank you for your service. your skills would be better appreciated apprehending the situation above."

when he doesn't say anything, simply staring at you, you take another step back. "please go back."

"this is it, then?"

"i don't know what you mean."

"i miss you, you know."

"go back, childe."

"all these years, i've been holding onto you to survive."

"go back."

"where did i lose you, tell me!"

"childe."

"this isn't fair." the man runs a hand through his hair, breathing in heavily. "i just found you again."

"remember your place, solider."

he freezes and exhales, shaking his head as if it'll empty his racing mind. "i won't give up on you."

you smile sadly at that. "i'm sorry. i've already given up on you."

and it's heartbreak all over again, the broken look in his eyes like glass shattering, the memories you held together breaking with it. you see it then, you really do, when his eyes fall and sweep back up, as if taking you in, the you he once knew, for the last time. and he sees it then, the hopelessness in the moment, everything he had been fighting for, for naught.

"you have, haven't you?"

"i'm sorry i couldn't wait."

he shakes his head. "i wasn't fast enough. i lost you."

"childe." you say, cherishing the word on your tongue one last time. "call another guard for me."

this time, he nods, resigned. "of course, your highness."

he turns first, footsteps echoing the empty room until they fade to silence. you watch him leave, and the reality hits not like a dam, but a simple, sudden epiphany. perhaps, in your most vulnerable of moments, you had truly wished he could take you back to what once was, perhaps a small inkling in your stomach told you things could return, perhaps you still had hope. now, you truly had severed any remaining fraying strings for good.

he was gone for good.

perhaps the cruellest thing is that if you had told your younger selves this was how you were to part, neither as friends nor enemies but strangers with memories, they would have never believed it.

[forever-rogue]

I'm the anon who asked about the Javier requests. I understand that it may not be written. Female reader is partners with Javi and Steve, and dating Javi. Since she didn't disobey Messina's orders as much, Messina lets her go with Carillo to arrest Escobar (when Carillo is killed). When shit hits the fan over the radio Javi is losing his mind about her safety. He thinks shes dead like Carillo is but somehow she survived and they reunite. Thank you for considering this!

Pairing | Javier x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 1.3k

Warnings | language, mentions of death and violence

Masterlist | Javier

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Nothing was on your mind but getting back to him. You were hysterical, and felt half mad as you stumbled through the streets. You’d left and hidden yourself away, trying to stay out of trouble and out of sight so you wouldn’t be Pablo Escobar’s next victim. Not after Carillo. As you thought about his death again, bile rose up in your throat and you ducked in an alleyway to heave up the contents of your already empty stomach. Nothing came up besides some clear fluid as you tried to slow your racing mind.

As you leaned against the cool brick, you wiped the sweat from your brow as your chest rose and up and down rapidly. Everything was all wrong and now a man was dead, and you were probably presumed dead. It was going so well and then it was just...over. A few tears rolled down your eyes as you thought of your escape; you felt so cowardly in just leaving and running away it was all you could do in the moment amongst the chaos and shock.

Ever since then you’d been wandering the streets, attempting to make your way back to Javier. It was the middle of the night, dark and dismal, but the street lights served as a beacon home. Your clothes were dirty and covered in blood and sweat and grime. You felt so worn down and disgusting. All you wanted was a hot shower to strip away the memories from the day that kept flashing through your mind. You felt like you could sleep for years and years, but it was all you wanted. That and -

Javier.

You had to get back to him. He was the only thing that mattered right now. You hoped he wasn’t too worried or scared, or worse yet - that he’d given up on you. But you knew he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just give up on you that easily.

“Javi,” his name spilled from your lips as you straightened back up and wiped away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. There was a stitch in your side but you knew you had to keep going. You had to get back home to him. Spilling back out into the street, you slowly walked down the street. All you had on your mind was Javi, Javi, Javi.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Javier took a long drag of his cigarette as he paced back and forth in his small apartment. He was trying not to let his mind go too far, to get too crazy, just yet as he tried to come up with a plan to find you. All he knew is that so far you were considered missing, and although most people's minds immediately wandered to death, he wasn't quick to jump on that bandwagon. He couldn't let himself.

He also knew, he could just feel that you were alive, that you were still with him. He stopped in front of the window and looked out at the night sky in search of...something. Peace? Solace? Answers?

"Fuck," he sighed to himself under his breath as he stubbed his cigarette out and went to look for a bottle of beer.

It was then that he heard the faint knocking coming from his door. He was immediately on high alert as he slowly walked over, attempting to discern who it was from the peephole. He couldn't see anything and decided to slowly open the door. Much to his surprise, he found on the floor, slumped against the wall next to his door. When you heard the aging door creak open, you’d turned to look at him with a small little smile; at least you knew he was alive and safe.

“Javi,” your voice was small, barely above a whimper as his face dissolved into a mask of panic. He bent down and picked you up, tenderly scooping you up in his arms. He was saying something, but you were so tired and out of that you didn’t even notice. Instead you rested your head on his shoulder as he carried you inside.

“Oh Dulzura - fuck,” his immediate response was to drag you into the bathroom and get you cleaned up. You were a right mess and his heart was hammering in his chest. But at least you were okay, physically anyway. He immediately turned on the taps in the bath, letting it fill with warm water and the bubbles and oils you liked so much. You were silent as you watched him, your gaze staring off into space.

A heavy sigh left his lips as he turned back to you, tenderly swiping away some of the dirt and grime from your cheeks. You remained silent but he could feel you leaning into his touch as he moved to undress you. It was a slow, intimate thing that he’d done numerous times before, but today it was all different. Deft fingers undid each button, one by one before he peeled the shirt off of you. Your bra followed suit before he gently pulled you to stand up and strip off your ripped pants. Your eyes met his soft brown ones and he could spy a few tears glistening in yours.

Once he was done, he took your hand and slowly helped you into the tub, watching closely for any signs of discomfort as you let the warm water envelope you. A small groan escaped your lips as you felt the first bits of comfort in what seemed like hours. Javi sat on the floor next to you, leaning on the edge of the tub, waiting for you to say or do something.

After a bit of silence, you shifted and reached up, tenderly putting your hand on his cheek. Your eyes prickled with unshed tears as your lips trembled. He wished he could do something, anything, to help you. But he knew, right now at least, there was nothing he could do.

“Oh Javi,” you said after a few moments, trying your best to keep from completely balling your eyes out, “i-it was awful. I just....I’ve never been so scared. Poor Horacio...I…”

You couldn’t even get more of the words out. Your throat closed up and you just stared at him softly. Everything felt so wrong and horrible, but at least there was one thing in your life that wasn’t - Javier.

“Shhh,” he took your hand in his gently pressed a kiss to your palm, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, Dulzura, but it will be okay. I love you, yeah?”

“I love you too,” you managed to croak out as you just looked at him with sad eyes. He slowly stood up and started to undress himself, letting his clothes join yours before he stepped into the tub on the opposite side of you.

“C’mere,” he whispered, motioning for you to come to him. You did so, lying down so your back was against his chest. His arms wrapped around you as he pressed soft, delicate kisses to the bare skin of your shoulder, “I’ve got you, okay? I’m not going anywhere - I’ll always be here with you. You don’t have to talk about it right now. Let me just take care of you.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly as he tightened his grip around you, “I love you so much.”

He kissed the side of your head, silently signaling his agreement before softly humming in your ear and helping you to relax. Maybe it wasn’t much, but right now it was everything you needed.

[catsukibakagou]

Hugs with Izuku and Katsuki

Izuku Midoriya

I’m such a simp for him it’s not okay anywayssss

He’s so soft

He’s warm and comforting

It’s like hugging a stuffed animal as a child he’s just soft and warm and he feels like home

Honestly tho poor baby probably gets flustered

It depends, if he likes you but you two aren’t like together for whatever reason he gets so red so so red

But if you’ve been together for a while and you ask for a hug he gives it to you no hesitation because I think it’s one of his favorite forms of affection I think he likes the comfort that your hugs would also bring him

Still gets flustered after a bit tho

I think he always smells good except after training he probably gets really sweaty but I’d still hug him

He either smells like green apple or strawberry soap

Who am I kidding he probably has All might 3 in one soap (gets rid of grime with a smash)💀💀

Maybe there’s an all might cologne out there too if it’s limited edition he only uses it on special occasions I’m so sorry for this 😭

All might: “SPRAY THIS” okay I’m done I swear

Either way I definitely want a hug from him it’s a 10/10 experience

—

Today just wasn’t your day. You felt like absolute crap. You were late to class, you slept through your alarm because you were studying all night for a test. You neglected to check the weather forecast when you were rushing to get to school. It was raining outside, it was absolutely pouring buckets and you didn’t have an umbrella. You were completely soaked, your socks were wet and everything was so uncomfortable. As for the test you stayed up studying for, you feel like you failed and that added to your foul mood.

Now you walk back to the dorms with Uraraka and a bagful of candy in your hand. You and the sweet girl feel as though you did terrible on the test so you decided to cheer yourselves up by buying sugar loaded snacks. The rain patters against the red umbrella Momo made you earlier, you think it’s getting louder before you realize it’s the sound of footsteps hitting the wet pavement behind you.

You turn and you see Izuku Midoriya running towards you. The smile on his face seems to make all of your irritation that accumulated throughout the day evaporate. You don’t even realize you stopped walking until Uraraka says your name. She realizes why you’re so dazed and keeps walking as she shoots you a thumbs up with a smile.

When Izuku stops in front of you before he can even get a word out you realize that he doesn’t have an umbrella. You quickly step closer to him to shield him from the rain. He smells good, his damp hair sticks to his forehead slightly as he catches his breath from running to you. His freckles are like stars that dot the sky at night, you feel as though you can count every single one because of your proximity.

The tips of your shoes touch, the umbrella doesn’t leave you much room. As if realizing how close you two are for the first time Izuku finally stammers out,“Hi, how are you?”

You let out a laugh at the greeting. Izuku smiles along with you, his smile makes the moment sweeter than the candy in the bag. You wrap your arms around him as a form of returning the greeting. In reality you were being selfish, you wanted to feel the comfort that you can only get from being in his embrace. He’s warm, he’s soft but firm in your arms. You feel as if you’re hugging happiness itself. Hugging him is like squeezing a stress ball or counting to ten mentally after Mineta says something stupid, it’s calming.

Hugging him is so reassuring, you feel completely safe in his arms,“Better, I’m doing much better than I was this morning. Thank you.”

“I’m glad,” he says still wearing that soft smile that makes your heart feel warm in your chest but this time it’s accompanied by a soft blush that brightens your mood more. You walk the rest of the way home with his arm linked in yours as the rain patters against your umbrella.

Katsuki Bakugo

Hmm he’s sweaty

I’m kidding but he is warm

I think hugging him is like holding a cup of hot chocolate after being outside in the freezing winter all the warmth is suddenly returning to you and it’s wonderful

I would simply adore being in this mans arms even if it’s in a chokehold

I think that at first he wasn’t really into hugging it’s such a vulnerable action, letting someone that close to you and allowing them to comfort you or vice versa

If you ask for a hug depending on your mood he will complain and say you’re needy and annoying but still give you one or he will simply keep that pretty mouth shut and open his arms

If he wants a hug he won’t say it

if he wants to be hugged simply because he feels like it he’ll kinda just grab you 💀 but if he wants to be comforted that’s all you you’re gonna have to notice he’s upset and you’re gonna have to shimmy your way into his arms

Despite being a sweaty person he doesn’t smell because he uses that all might deodorant that leaves smells saying “I AM NOT HERE”

He smells good I think he was gifted a cologne one day and he got compliments that he smelled nice so he just kept buying it

I would absolutely hug him no hesitation

—

It was quiet at the dorms. It was strangely quiet, silence has been absent from your life ever since you decided to date a certain hotheaded blonde. You excuse yourself from the kitchen where you were talking with Mina and Aoyama. You go down the hall toward Katsuki’s room where you spot Kirishima outside of his door.

He spots you and he looks like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders,“Hey, just the person I wanted to see. He came in not too long ago and he went straight to his room. He hasn’t said a single word to me or anyone.”

You nod in understanding,“I’ll talk to him right now, thank you for trying to talk to him. You should go to the kitchen Sato made cookies earlier.”

The redhead nods and leaves you outside of Katsuki’s door. You knock on the door, your knuckles hitting it three times. There’s no response.

“Katsuki, it’s me. Are you okay?” You call out to him.

You hear a faint grunt but not much else. You hope his door isn’t locked as you say,“I’m going to come in.”

You open the door and close it behind you. Your eyes take a second to adjust, it’s dark in his room he has his curtains drawn and the lights off. You head towards the curtains and push them open. The sun is setting and fading rays of light allow you see his room much better.

Everything is neat and you don’t have to worry about tripping on anything on his clean floor. He’s on the middle of his bed on his side facing away from you. His hair shines a golden like color from the light that the sunset provides. You sit in the empty spot next to him and press your hand on his back and rub soothing circles. He stiffens for a second but then relaxes against your touch.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says knowing you have questions that want to spill from your lips.

You nod even though he can’t see it,“Who said anything about talking?”

You move to lie down next to him, you settle into the bed and snake one of your arms beneath his own to wrap it around his side. One of your legs swings around his and you press your cheek against his back. He’s warm, you can hear his heartbeat. You know you’re supposed to be the one comforting him but you can’t help but feel comforted yourself from the steady beat that his heart gives you. It’s a soothing song meant for your ears to enjoy, a sweet melody that lets you know he’s really there in your arms with you.

Your words come out slightly muffled but they reach his ears all the same,“Just let me be here for you.”

Katsuki pushes your arm and leg off of him and your heart hurts, he’s pushing you away from him. Before you can do or say anything he turns so he’s facing you and pulls you to him. He presses the side of his face against your chest, in a similar manner to what you were doing a second ago, as he wraps his arms around you.

“Don’t leave.”

—

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter One)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating... and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slowburn)

Warnings: Character death, many naughty words, and soooo much angst

A/N: It would seem that my newfound Pedro Pascal obsession isn’t going to let up any time soon, so I decided to just dive headfirst into some Frankie-heavy Triple Frontier fic. It doesn’t help that @tweedlydumbtweedlydoo​ planted a seed (quite a while ago) by asking for a story where reader breaks down on that fateful mission only to be comforted by our favorite Fish. I um... may have taken that a little far and now there’s this whole multi-chapter thing happening...

Here’s the thing… you’ve been in shit before. You’ve been shot at, even took a bullet yourself not too long ago. You’ve seen people die – some bad, some good, some deserving, some not. You held your own partner in your arms, desperately trying to stanch the flow of blood from his shorn neck before finally letting him go after he expelled one final, wet breath. You’ve killed people – a sicario outside of Bogota, two – possibly three – gang members in a shootout in Albuquerque, some dumb kid who’d been given a little bit of cash to stand guard outside a lab in Juarez.

You’ve seen tragedy, felt it, lived it, dreamed about it on an endless loop, even in your waking hours. You’ve caused it – or so you’d been told by the weeping mother of the boy in Mexico. You’ve denied it, denied that what had happened was actually tragic at all. Denied it to survive.

But you can’t deny what you’re in right now, the tragedy of having a plan go to shit in too many ways to count. The tragedy of nearly succumbing to your absolute worst fear in the world and going down in a sputtering damn helicopter. The tragedy of more lives being taken, even those of fucking Lorea and his men causing a reluctant burn at the back of your throat. Because you can’t stop seeing his children arriving home to find their worst nightmare laid out in blood and smoke, flames licking round all they’ve ever known and loved.

Children. Tom has children too. Had. Tom, who’s now being carried down the side of a mountain in a makeshift body bag, haphazardly descending with his men by his side… just ahead of you, just in your line of sight. Still leading the way, even in death.

Maybe that’s why this feels so different. This particular tragedy. Because you’re still in it. You can’t walk away and deny, shower the telling grime from your skin, bury the reality of death and failure and fear beneath a six pack of beer and a shitty TV dinner alone in your dark apartment.

And, oh, your apartment… or any apartment really, as you’re not exactly likely to return to your post in Colombia after all this. To go anywhere right now with heat and running water… and a bed. Your mind reels just thinking about it.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s just because you haven’t slept in days… many days. Haven’t eaten much either, each and every MRE and stale protein bar sitting heavy in your throat, choking, suffocating, blocking your breaths and words alike.

“You gotta eat,” Frankie had said to you just this morning, whispered in your ear as you carefully picked your way over and around the sharp, loose rocks in your path. “We gotta keep moving,” he muttered, the deep hum of his voice sounding less like the balm you’d come to know and more like just another resonance caught up in the icy, bitter wind. He had pressed a bar to your palm, his hand warm despite the surrounding cold, and a forced lightness filled his tone as he declared, “Need your strength or we won’t make it to the coast.”

You hadn’t even looked up to meet his gaze, instead continuing forward, glare directed down at the treacherous ground beneath your feet. “I don't really see that happening anyway,” you said as you shoved the bar deep into your pocket.

His stride halted then, leaving him standing tall and motionless as you swept idly past. But his pause was enough to make you falter, to make you turn and glance back up at him. You hadn’t even realized what you said – not really, not fully – until you took in the look on his face. That was enough – the sadness, the grief, the guilt that clouded his eyes and pinched his lips – to make you retrieve the bar from your pocket and choke down the whole damn thing in two monstrous bites.

Maybe it’s that. That look Frankie had given you just as the sun began to rise. The same look that sits on the faces of the other men even now, hangs heavily on them as they soldier on, carrying not only the load of money, but the body of their friend.

Maybe it’s being here with them as they move with purpose and the kind of fluidity that comes from too many years of practice. Practice at navigating dangerous situations. Practice at steering away from the fear and pain, sorrow and guilt that stare them right in the face, all to ensure they might survive the day.

Maybe it’s watching them move through that horrid fog that – you know – anyone else would so easily get lost in. All while reluctantly admitting, if only to yourself, that it’s the same fog you’ve been unable to effectively cut through for days.

Maybe that’s what has you feeling like you’re walking a tightrope balanced precariously between an understandable sort of disappointment and dread… and a overwhelming, blinding despair. Maybe this feels different because it isn’t just yourself you’d need escape to gain distance from this tragedy. It’s all of them as well. And you can’t very well escape the very men you need to help you through.

They climb the mountainside, traversing rocks and heaps of remaining snow that never fail to send you slipping and careening. They catch you as you slide, helping you along as they hoist bag after bag – your own contribution of carrying just your pack and one duffel seeming paltry in comparison – up and then down the stony inclines. They hand you off with care, always keeping you close, making sure that if one of them moves ahead, another is still left by your side. They carry you almost as much as they carry the money. As much as they carry Tom.

Tom. You’d only known him a handful of days… weeks? How long ago was it that you followed Santiago back to the States to meet his reinforcements? At this point, you no longer have a clue when this whole fucking mess began. A lifetime ago at least. It seems as though you’ve known these men for an entire lifetime on top of that.

Tom. Well, he’s arguably the one you got to know least. And not just because he’s been dead for… however long it’s been now. No. He was just… quiet. Reserved. Distrustful, truth be told. But, hell, you could hardly blame him for that. After all, he was considered the leader of these men. The one tasked – above all others – with getting them in and out safely. The one who would wear the most blood on his hands should any of them fall.

And from the loyalty the others showed – and the stories they shared in both forced low tones and laughter-pocked croons – you could tell that he was a good leader. A trusted leader. A loved leader. And nothing he did on this mission was ever going to change that in the eyes of anyone here.

No, you hadn’t gotten to know him well. But damn if it didn’t still hurt to see him go. To peer over Ben’s shoulder – bent and broken and wracked with sobs – and into Tom’s empty, lifeless eyes all those days ago. So damn many days ago. To watch the brothers fight over the top of his body, sidestepping his corpse to throttle each other and throw blame to lessen the grief. To sit with Benny for the hour or so after – after helping him wrap up his friend with care – as his uncharacteristic silence slinked about you both in a smothering cloud of despair.

Ben, who had been the most jovial and talkative and… bright of all. He had quite literally welcomed you into the fold with open arms, a bit drunk and a bit concussed from a fight he insisted he won just hours before meeting you. He refused your handshake when Garcia introduced you, leaning in to envelope you in a tight hug instead, and then demanding to buy you a drink, despite the fact that you’d been nursing one while waiting for them to arrive. “Pretty lady like you shouldn’t ever have to shell out her own money for a drink,” he’d said with a grin and a wink.

You might’ve rolled your eyes, might’ve told him, pass amid a chiding glare. But before you could say a word, his brother smacked him upside the head, giving a disappointed eyeroll that would’ve outdone yours tenfold, and held out a hand to shake, a deep-tenor, “Don’t mind him, and nice to meet you,” putting you immediately at ease and making it utterly clear who the Miller brothers were. Will was the politic adult, professional and well-mannered. And Benny was simply a ball full of harmless fun.

Until now, that is. Now – you can see even as his slumped body fades away into the tree line below – Ben has become little more than sorrow and sinew.

A crunching tumble of pebbles sounds suddenly in your periphery, tearing you from your spiraling thoughts. You look up to see Santiago looming to your right, effectively blocking the sliver of sunlight that remains peeking through the dusk-hued sky. “You okay, bonita?” he asks, the tone of his voice and wrinkle to his brow as he looks down at you serving to snap you back to the here and now. Here. Now. Shivering in the cold as the four of you settle in on the side of some damn mountain, having just bid farewell to yet another member of your party.

Your gaze falls from his face almost as quickly as it had jerked up to meet it just a breath of a moment ago. You shake your head and let out a sigh. “I should’ve gone with him,” you utter simply. “I thought you’d been joking about how bad his Spanish was, but…”

He snorts out a laugh, and the corner of your mouth raises in a slight, crooked smile. “Yeah, well,” he starts, dropping down to take a seat on the hard earth beside you. “With how well you’ve been hiking through these hills, he’d probably have ended up carrying you like a backpack.” He gives you a shit-eating grin, teasing brow raised high. “We’re hoping to get out of here sometime this decade. Don’t need your ass slowing us down any more.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, the taunting cadence just barely cutting through the deep rumble of his laugh.

His hand falls to your knee, palm sliding side to side in a comforting stroke before he tightens his fingers over your patella and gives you a bit of a shake. “I’m only kidding,” he states, as though you didn’t already know. “You’ve been doing great. Really.”

You issue out a quick snort, a thick, incredulous breath kicking a puff of steam up into the frigid air.

“I mean it,” he tells you, turning a serious glance your way. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

“It’s not what any of us signed up for,” you interrupt pointedly.

“Yeah. But… DEA doesn’t exactly train people the same as us,” he intones, giving a nod towards the other men. “I know you’ve never been… exposed to this kind of shit.”

You wrinkle your nose and squint as you turn to look up at the mountain you’d just somehow managed to traverse. “Yeah. This has been some shit.”

He lets out another small laugh – short and fleeting – before pulling his hand from your knee and settling into the silence surrounding you. Ahead, Frankie and Will build up a rock barrier around Tom’s body, a protective cocoon for the night lest any animals come by. You’d all noticed – especially today as the sun came out in the afternoon and beat heavily down on your backs – that he’d begun to rot. To smell. And as much as everyone wanted to still hold him close, no one really wanted his steadily decaying body stinking at their sides as they attempted to sleep tonight.

Once they’re done with their makeshift mausoleum, the two men move across the way and begin digging through their packs for food. “Frankie mentioned that you hadn’t been eating,” Santi mutters from your right as both of your eyes remain trained on the men working before you.

You shrug. “I’ve eaten as much as anyone else.”

A tiny chuckle ripples through him, drawing a confused glare from you. And his smile only widens when he sees the uncertainty painted across your face. “He likes you, bonita,” he singsongs, giving your shoulder a little shove. Then, grin swiftly fading away to nothing, he rather distractedly declares, “He’s worried about you.”

Your brow furrows a bit, stare honing in on the broad-shouldered man now falling into shadow. The man you’d only just begun to know and yet somehow felt eerily connected to. Another sigh escapes your lips, shoulders slumping as you avert your eyes, looking instead to the dark tree line far below. “I’m worried about all of us.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out with a solemn nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

It hits you then… as you feel Santi slouch heavily beside you, a heady silence permeating the miniscule space between you. And as you turn back in time to see Will grimace and clutch his side, giving into the pain of a days-old gunshot wound for just a breath of a moment, all that he’ll allow himself to take. And as you watch Frankie remove his hat and wipe the sweat from his brow – despite the temperature already plummeting around you thanks to the nearly set sun – all while he stares solemnly over at the rotting, rock-covered corpse of one of his oldest friends.

You know why this feels different from any other tragedy you’d suffered in the past, any other bad op or mission gone wrong you’d ever endured. It feels different because this… this is all your fault.

[pyroclaststan]

“Am I ever gonna get your name?” Ricardo asks, sunset lit like amber against his bronzed brown skin, reminiscent of a painting you’ve seen somewhere by someone who will never catch the colours vividly enough by comparison to what’s before you.

A hard swallow follows that thought—the movement most likely caught with your mask raised as it is. The perspiring rim of your beer sends beads of water that cut paths against the grime that has settled onto your lips and chin.

You are, as always, thinking too much.

Hearing and feeling and seeing too much. Like the burgundy blush across the cheeks of a man who’s only heat and fevers have come from a hard day’s heroics, port infections, and the lipsticks of tabloid flings.

You’re still doing it.

“I know: I ask too much, too often,” he continues in a softer tone, “but I’d really, really like to know. You’ve gotta be someone other than ‘Sidestep.’ Who’s under the mask?”

It’s almost an aside with the way his voice goes far too soft, as if the question were more of a prayer to some distant deity listening far too closely to the business of mortal men. He stumbles on, uncharacteristically hesitant enough for you to know he’s sincere: he’s trying his best to patient when he’s only ever been about being on the move. Charge changing pace?

He’s speaking like you do. Less stutter though.

You tilt the bottle upwards and let the bitter hops wash down panic that threatens to lodge itself in your throat and choke you. It seems that beneath the bile and nerves, it’s actually words holding themselves hostage in your mouth. A taste far more bitter than anything Ortega has ever brought you to drink.

But isn’t he right? You have to be someone at the end of it all. You have to be someone right now: no more mimicking and miming and piecemealing from the minds you pick like carrion to get through the day. You have to be you, whoever that’s going to be.

You swish once, then twice, letting the mouthful swirl around your brain as you fish for answers with your tongue. A swallow of decision.

It’s an unintentionally hard sigh that slips through your lips. You will regret this: not because of him, but because you will not live up to the humanity a name will give you. Or so you think.

You do think too much.

“Kingsley.” The word—the name—comes too easily and unbidden to your mouth and sits too heavily in the air.

That’s probably a foolish name, a suspicious name... definitely a name meaning little-to-nothing for someone self-made. Now that you’re actually thinking, it probably sounds as fake as your presence in his life, and your dread is palpable as he mouths it, tasting the authenticity of it. Perhaps setting it against the memories he has of you that he has yet to admit to having, or against some cover name he’d heard you called back when you were another rough soul on the streets.

“Kingsley,” he repeats with an air of breathlessness, of reverence, of relevance you’ve never thought yourself owed nor deserving of.

It’s a single word, your word—your name—yet it knocks the breath from you. Feels right, despite it all. And more so, it feels safe on his tongue, locked away behind his lips or the brilliant grin he shines your way, somehow eclipsing the blinding glow of the Los Diablos sun.

You stop thinking so much, probably still too much, but the thoughts aren’t threatening in the way they were earlier. The hum from Ortega’s mind, mods, and mouth is grounding in a way you hadn’t expected of the electric hero. Everything is duller yet more crisp in the same moment, buzzing almost. Not as tense as before.

Now is your focus on the cool glass in your hands, moistening your glove’s fabric and resting in your palm like relief.

Now is the almost musical tune to the way he whispers your name over and over under his breath as if trying to find the perfect tone to it, accompanied by the rhythm your dangling leg taps away at against the side of the roof.

You’ve never sat this still since your life started.

But now is filled with the static that builds in the air, his feelings reflecting in his mods that make his hands almost crackle with electricity—he didn’t protect his exposed palm ports from his wet bottle.

You’re not sure if the charge in the air is that alone, but you’ve no intention to even mention that.

A soft chuckle reverberates in his throat and despite any kind of telepathic connection due to the storm cloud of his mind, you could swear you almost feel it in your own, too. A curious thing from a mind you’ll never know; thoughts and jokes and ideas that pass by you whether you know it or not. Privacy, secrecy. Exciting, terrifying.

He glances your way as you take another sip, then turns a little more, striking a sort of pose as he bends his knee and leans his arm against it, resting his head against his hand. Nothing good will come from his buzz. The grin on his face has replaced his previous expression from wonder to down-right mischief.

“So,” he drawls along, sing-songy, “Will I ever get a last name too?”

“Good night, Ricardo Ortega,” you say with finality, but not without a tone of amusement. Also rubbing it in a little, you can’t resist being an ass in the face of his charms sometimes.

Charms? No no no, his attempts to be charming.

On that note, you finish the rest of your drink quicker than necessary, setting the bottle between the two of you just a little too hard. You stand, keeping a careful balance on at the roof’s ledge, unfurling your limbs to your full height with a stretch and shaking out the numbness and tingles from the way you ball yourself up.

“See you, uh… see you in the next fight.”

Ricardo looks up at you, almost gilded—certainly golden; you’ll never visit another museum again. After his presence, you know they’ll never do beauty any justice. None of those paintings or artefacts would alight the same flame in you as they used to: they don’t carry the same impact as an evening on a Los Diablo rooftop. You suppose that means something, but you’ve yet to figure it out. Or maybe you’re just ignoring it, equally likely.

Something’s changed you think.

Ortega is still there, still watching you with some expression you’ve avoided too much to know.

“Looking forward to it… Kingsley,” he tries out, smiling, satisfied. You could swear his face grew a little brighter.

And with that, you’re off, running and vaulting across the gaps of the buildings, moving freely up and down the heights of roofs and fire escapes and whatever else you can find purchase on. Free running in an attempt to outpace whatever it is that nips on your heels and churns in your stomach.

Kingsley. You let out a breathless chuckle, not entirely devoid of mirth but a little exasperated with how you gave in to him. Again. You’re stuck with that one now.

Ricardo sits there, staying behind, watching you go, wondering what kind of place you rest in when he’s not attached to your hip or settled against your back. He wonders what kind of people take care of you or watch your back in his absence. He hopes you don’t have to do it all alone.

He also knows you’d prefer it if you did, but it just sounds lonely. You feel lonely. Like you could use someone who won’t just let you push them away.

He won’t let go that easily, not when he sees how soft and how warm you can be underneath it all.

He thinks he’d like to meet the real you, underneath it all.

“Kingsley.”

The taste of your name sits so sweet against his lips that it clashes against the beer on his tongue: he couldn’t remember having purchased something so bitter. Something with so much bite.

Right. It had reminded him of you. He’d pick a different one next time.

With your absence the night feels like it’s getting colder, faster—like the drinks are going flat and the air tasting stale. Probably just the tiredness catching up to him: he sees a lot more action-packed days when his partner is cracking skulls alongside him. Partner. He’s got to admit, it’s nice to have someone outside the team watching his back—even a vigilante—when you’re Marshal. It’s not a paycheck, or a duty, it’s choice you made.

Just like you giving him your name. You could’ve said no: you’re never shy about doing so. It wasn’t a nickname, a shortened version, a riddle. Just you.

His cheeks and stomach are both a little warmer at that, and he stands up to shake it all off and get moving. The last hour had been more eventful than any fight they’d picked today. Sure, it wasn’t a whole lot of conversation, with Sidestep—Kingsley—it never was, but it had felt like more was said than ever before.

It feels like something has shifted.

Probably just the balance between the two of you, now that he’s finally receiving knowledge about you in return. Not that he’s minded giving more than you have: the best things take the most work, offer the most challenge. Except you’re not work.

He’s thinking too much—he does that, he’s told.

So he lets his mind wander. Tracing back to past moments, little confessions, brief gestures, and all the small things that mean more with Kingsley than anyone else on Earth.

“Too much,” he chuckles internally, but unwilling to stop.

Something’s shifting.

[chonkychornes]

Stay Part Eight-The End

Sometimes, everything does wrap up in a pretty bow. And those who deserve it, finally get what’s coming to them. 

Dark Steve (really just a fuck boi, dickhead)

Bucky Barnes x reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

*Thanks everyone. This was a lot of fun.*

It’s been three years since Captain America first propositioned you, but it seems like a lifetime away. Things have calmed down around the compound, but word did get out and people took sides. Mostly yours, but the ones who didn’t came around really quick when Nat told them the truth.

You and Bucky were married in a very small, very private ceremony last year. The fact that you’re returning from a mission today, on your anniversary should really upset you, but you have big news. The fact that you had to run the mission with Steve annoys you. 

He’s been making snide comments the entire time trying to get under your skin and pull you back under that cloudy haze of self-doubt that you managed to pull yourself out of. Bucky helped. Nat helped. Therapy really helped. 

Mostly he’s pissed at you because you “accidentally” kicked him in the nuts, hard, when you were fighting off a Hydra agent. It was a mistake you had said as he writhed on the floor. He always underestimated you. 

Safe and secure back on the quinjet, Steve tried to talk to you. He started by congratulating you on your anniversary. You said nothing. He tried to apologize again for everything that had happened between the two of you. You kept your mouth shut. But when he tried to come on to you, for “old times sake”, you flipped on the coms with base and let them hear everything.

“We could set this baby on autopilot and have some fun like we used to,” he says as he flips on the autopilot and turns to look at you.

“You’re disgusting and I’m a happily married woman,” you sneer at him. “I don’t need to go anywhere else, I am more than satisfied.”

“You’re a whore.”

You turn slowly to look at him and when a crackling voice comes over the speaker, “Knock him on his ass, sweetheart,” Steve’s eyes go wide.

Unbuckling your own seat belt, you punch him once, twice, three times before his nose begins to bleed. “You can’t take me, you never could.” He’s taunting you and you smile.

“I was holding back.”

He lunges at you, but you deftly dodge away and he looks surprised. You always let him beat you in the gym, always let him be the stronger Avenger, always let him be the man to save you; not anymore.

With your fists balled up, you bring them up and punch him directly in his stupid, fake patriotic face. It was bleeding red. The force of the impact had made his face go white. And you hoped with everything in you that it would bruise blue as he lay on the cold hard steel of the quinjet floor.

“Stay down,” you command and even though he doesn’t, he doesn’t resume his seat in the pilot’s chair next to you. He stays in the back and remains quiet.

When you land at the compound, only Nat has come out to greet the two of you but she only offers you a smile.

“We’re done,” she tells Steve flatly and walks away without another word. To his credit, he looks as if his world has collapsed around him and you wonder if he truly cared for her.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you walk into the compound and find your love, your life, in your quarters with a book in his hands and laying on the couch.

“So, how was the first mission back?” Bucky asks with a rueful smile as he cranes his neck to turn and look at you.

“Uneventful,” you laugh as you drop your bag and walk into the bedroom to strip out of your uniform.

“Did you knock him down a peg? Or two?”

“I don’t know about that, but Nat-”

He nods, “I helped her move all her stuff today.”

“Did you know before we left?” You ask as you step into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

“No, she decided this morning,” he tells you. “She was determined.”

You’re silent for a bit as your husband begins to shed his own clothes and gently pushes you into the shower.  

“And you? Are you still determined?”

Bucky side-eyes you for a moment and sighs, “I am. I’m done fighting other people’s battles. I know we’re doing well here, but I’m ready to do it on a smaller level.”

“But the NYPD? Babe, it seems like it’s more dangerous than what we already do.”

“Maybe, but we know that I’m more than slightly indestructible,” he reminds you with a smile.

You begin to wash off the dirt and grime from you time away and Bucky eases into you from behind, taking you on here in the shower, marking your skin with his lips and teeth. It doesn’t take long before your combined moans fill the room, mingling with the steam as you both fall apart together.

Cleaning each other up and making plans for the evening you, Bucky suddenly smiles wide. “You said you had news for me.”

“I do. Do you want me to tell you now or over dinner?”

He drags you of the shower and presses a kiss to your neck as he wraps a towel around your shoulders. “Tell me now, please, doll?”

Sighing, you take his face in your hands and then slide them down his arms, grasping his hands, you bring them to the invisible swell of your abdomen. His eyes are trained on yours and they go wide for the merest of seconds. “Really?” You nod, with your bottom lip pulled taut between your teeth.

His gaze travels down your body and he drops to his knees. Pressing a little kiss just below your belly button you can hear him murmuring, “Ours, ours, ours.”

You pull him to stand and wrap your arms around his neck, “Let’s stay in tonight.”

@tinytotschafer

@iheartsebandchris

@vicmc624

@useless-creature-213

@thoughtstofaredhead

@supraveng

@iheartsebandchris

@quant-um-fizzx​

[joel-millerr]

It All Makes Sense Now

Chapter Five of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.8K

Summary: The three of you land on Corvus to find a Jedi, but what starts out as a simple job is quickly turned into a truth you definitely weren’t prepared to face

A/N: okay sorry peeps but no smut in this one...I did say slow burn, right? hahahahaha. there's a bit of fluff towards the end, but this chapter focuses more on the reader's relationship with the force and their conflicting feelings, but it's not all bad, we have a special guest in the next two chapters! besides that... this basically a shit ton of angst. also, I split this chapter in two so the next update should be within the next week? 

Warnings: ummmm there’s a small mention of torture? (like in the ep the Jedi with the prisoners strung up outside the magistrate’s gate but other than that... I don't think there’s anything but pls tell me if there’s something I missed!)

-----

Your body jolts awake to the sudden drop out of hyperspace. Panic quickly sets into your blood as you try to get your bearings, but once you see Mando sitting quietly in his chair along with the Child sitting on the control panel just to his right, your heartbeat steadies, and a wave of relief washes over you. Using the heels of your palms to rub at your eyes and clear your vision, you catch sight of the planet Mando had mentioned just before takeoff on Tatooine through the transparisteel.

“Ah, good. You’re awake.” He addresses as he hears you stir, still keeping the visor glued to the view in front of him.

“Mmm,” You groan back, still somewhat asleep and unable to use your words to answer him properly.

“Corvus, this is the place,” Mando’s voice cuts through the gentle hum of the ship. “I’ve detected a beacon.” You’re about to answer him when you realize that he wasn’t even talking to you to begin with. He was talking to the kid.

The Child looks up at him, and coos as if they’re having a conversation with each other even though they clearly don’t speak the same language, and don’t understand what the other is saying.

“I’m gonna start the landing cycle. You better get back in your seat.”

He looks up again at Mando, but doesn’t budge from where he’s currently seated. Turning his gaze to one of the levers on the control panel, he stares at the durasteel ball just atop of the handle. You’re not sure why the kid loves that ball so much, but it clearly means a lot to him because you’ve seen the way he gets upset or fussy whenever Mando tries to take it away from him.

“Hey,” He warns—not in an aggressive way, but a stern way like a child being scolded by their parent. “What did I tell you? Back in your seat.”

This time the kid listens, letting out a chuff of air before crawling down the little ledge he was seated on previously and gently scuttling back to the seat to your left.  

Maker, your body aches. Sleeping in the chair every night has seriously done a number on your bones and muscles. Twisting your upper body and using the back of the chair to hold yourself in place, a series of smalls cracks echo through the cockpit, and it somewhat releases a bit of the tautness in your back and along your spine. Suddenly becoming aware that you haven’t taken a sanisteam in…well you’re not sure exactly how long it’s been since you left Tatooine, but it’s definitely been long enough; you could seriously benefit from one right now.

Using your palms to push yourself up to your feet by your knees, you inform Mando you’ll be heading down to clean yourself up. “I’ll be ready to go once we land.”

“All right.” He says matter-of-factly.

You wait a couple of seconds before moving, elongating your arms above your head before bringing one of them behind you and stretching out your bicep, holding your elbow with your other arm. You repeat the process with the opposite arm and feel your body slowly coming back to life. A sanisteam is starting to sound better and better with every second. Your feet guide you to the ladder and take two rungs at a time, feet hitting the ground in record time. Not even bothering to wait until you reach the fresher, you strip out of your clothes and gather them together in a small pile atop one of the crates lingering around in the hull.

Once in the fresher, you turn on the water to almost the hottest setting possible. It stings your skin at first, but your body quickly acclimates to the heat, muscles slowly relaxing in response to the gentle massage the showerhead exudes as it hits you, releasing the stiffness from your body. Truthfully, you could stay in this tiny space for hours and just let the water continue to cascade down your skin until your fingertips were wrinkled like a Dressellian prune, but you don’t want to use up all of the hot water since you’re not the only one on this ship who needs to sanisteam. The longer the water pressure falls onto your upper body, you begin to feel a sharp pain on your left shoulder, and you’re forced to recoil from the water in an effort to stop the throbbing ache. Inspecting your naked form to find the source of the discomfort, you notice a large, plump purple bruise nestled between the crook of your neck and the top of your shoulder. It’s a dark shade of purple, with swirls of yellow and forest green surrounding it. When the Kriff—

Oh.

It suddenly comes back to you.

The firm grip on your shoulder.

The feeling of Mando’s cock on your tongue.

His moans.

Fuck, it’s enough to make your own groan echo through the walls of the refresher.

Maker, pull yourself together!

Giving yourself a gentle slap on the cheek in an effort to knock those filthy thoughts out of your mind and knowing the Crest will be landing in the next couple of minutes, you quickly wash the grime off your body while trying to be mindful of your bruise, and rinse yourself off before grabbing your only remaining clean pair of clothes left, dressing hurriedly just as you hear his footsteps reach the top of the ladder. Your clothes stick to your wet skin, and it’s slightly uncomfortable, but you try not to pay too much attention to it; you’ll dry up eventually.

The Mandalorian descends the ladder, the Child burrowed in one arm, then hands him off to you as he heads to the armory to grab his pulse rifle.

“Hey,” He says before calling your name to get your attention. Turning his body towards you, his arm extends out in your direction, a blaster in his hand. Your eyes shift down to the gun, taking notice of it before your brows pull together tightly, shifting your gaze back up to him in confusion.

“You should probably take this back. Just in case,” He gestures the gun at you, holding the barrel of it so you can grab the handle. It’s a small act, giving you back your blaster, but there’s an unspoken message as he hands you your gun. He now trusts you enough not to shoot him and run off, and at the same time, this gives you the reassurance you needed that he no longer views you as just a quarry, but as his partner.

Putting the kid down for a moment to grab your bag and ruffle through it to retrieve your thigh holster, you strap it around your leg and plop the blaster into the pouch. Once you turn around to pick the Kid back up, you notice he’s already by the back ramp with Mando, both waiting for you to catch up with them.

You head down the ramp first, walking a few feet away from the Crest and taking an immediate scan of the area, as you always do whenever you’re in new territory. It comes at almost as a shock to you that Mando doesn’t instantly head down after you. Instead, he stays at the top of the ramp with the kid, waiting for you to give them the ‘okay’. The sun can barely penetrate the dense amount of cloud here, the area is covered in fog as far as the eye can see, making you shift anxiously. The faint cry of the native beasts’ boom in the distance, making your skin crawl.

Mando’s landed the Crest in a small clearing. The trees appear to be snags—lifeless due to its climate and the lack of sunlight, making the whole planet even more eerie. The quicker you meet the Jedi, the quicker you can get off this planet.

“Not much to see here,” You announce, slightly disappointed by the scenery. When you don’t immediately see a threat, you gesture with your hand that it’s safe to come down, and so he does. The fact that Mando now acknowledges the routine you’ve created isn’t lost on you. In truth, it makes your heart swoon because you both know that he doesn’t needto wait for you. Mando’s more than capable of checking for threats himself, and defending you both if someone tries to ambush you, but he knows it puts you at ease to check for yourself, and the fact that he’s indulging you in this small service shows you he’s more of a softy than he lets on.

As Mando walks towards you, he hears the kid huffing behind him and turns his body to face the little baby waddling down the ramp before falling back on his bum. You make out a small sphere in his hands and realize it’s the knob from the lever in the cockpit. When did he snatch that and how did Mando not see him take it?

“What did I say about that?” He disciplines, taking the ball from his hands and holding it out in front of him. “This needs to stay in the ship.” The Child looks up at him fondly, chattering incoherently as he watches Mando place the ball in his utility belt.

“Never had dealings with a Jedi before,” He admits before leaning down to pick up the Child and placing him in the makeshift pouch he designed for the baby that’s strapped across his cuirass. “Let’s head into town. See if we can pick up a lead.”

He walks ahead of you just by a couple feet. Your hand hovers over your blaster the entire time, body on edge as you both make your way through the forest. The air is hot and humid, almost suffocating—you can only imagine how hot Mando must feel under all that armor. Your clothes stick to you like glue, a mix of water from the sanisteam as well as from the damp air. Every now and then, the Child babbles nonsense and Mando answers him like he knows exactly what the kid is saying. “Don’t worry, Kid. We’re okay.”

It’s quite endearing, seeing such a gentle side to the Mandalorian. You know not many people have had the opportunity to see these little moments, making this that much more special. Watching two beings, appearing to have nothing in common, and clearly coming from two very different upbringings, but having such a deep connection you’re not sure you’ll ever fully understand is quite a beautiful sight. It makes you appreciate these moments so much more. Mando’s letting you in on these precious exchanges, and you’ll cherish them for as long as you live.

After walking for what feels like hours, off in the distance you catch sight of a giant wall made of duracrete, and can faintly make out little blobs at the top of the wall; soldiers by the looks of it.

“A fortified city?” You ask him.

“Seems like it.” He answers as you draw closer to the gates. “Let me do the talking, all right?” He says, more of an order than an actual statement, but you choose not to argue. Mando usually knows better than you, and you’ve shown that you have a tendency to lose your temper, therefore he’s definitely the better mediator between you two.

As you both appear from the edge of the forest, the guards atop the parapet flock to the front gate, their rifles pointed at you. Mando stops just a few metres shy of the gate, waiting. A man suddenly appears, studying you both.

“State your business.” He shouts, standoffish.

“Been tracking for a few days,” The Mandalorian begins to say. You continue studying the gunslinger as well as the other soldiers whose rifles are still pointed at you. Hand continuing to hover merely inches above your blaster, your body fighting the urge to turn this into a fight. “Looking for a layover.”

The man shifts his gaze between you and Mando, clearly debating whether or not to shoot you both where you stand.

“Nice armor.” He jests.

Kriff, you don’t like the look of this. You’re both severely outgunned, and despite the beskar amour Mando wears, that doesn’t guarantee that you’ll live through this if a fight ensues.

The man to your left doesn’t answer, opting to gauge the gunslinger’s demeanor, waiting for him to press you again. “You a hunter, then?”

“That’s right.”

“Both of you?” His stare turns to you, so you glare back at him, refusing to back down and cower under his own piercing scowl.

“Yes.” You hiss through gritted teeth.

The helmet turns slightly in your direction as if warning you to watch your tone. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you straighten out your shoulders and let your arm drop to your side, no longer hovering over your blaster.

“Guild?”

“Last I checked.” Mando answers, a glint of annoyance is hidden under the deepness of his baritone.

The man studies you two for a couple more seconds, then orders the guards to open the gate. Letting out a deep breath through your lips, you start to feel like this will be the beginning of a very tense day. Better to keep quiet and let Mando handle this, since you tend to shoot first then ask questions later. Your partner is much more of the level-headed one—who would have thought that?

The city itself is small, and very quiet—way too quiet for any normal city. Every city and village you’ve visited have been vibrant and loud, with native villagers and visitors mingling together, but here? The residents walk silently, keeping their heads down, and only peeking at you both through the corners of their eyes. The guards walk around, hands planted firmly on their rifles, as if to be looking for trouble. Immediately, your bones tense and that anger you have trouble controlling begins to bubble up inside you. These villagers seem trapped—Maker, even the kids aren’t running around. They’re stuck to their parents like glue, never taking a single step away from them. This is a city under a gruesome Magistrate.

As you make your way down the main road, Mando catches sight of a vendor and heads for their stand. “Pardon me, vendor, have you heard of anyone…” But as he draws closer to the elderly woman behind the table, they quickly turn their back to you and disappear down a quiet alley.

Eyebrows pulling tightly, your jaw clenches, completely astounded at how these people are too afraid to even talk to you. What kind of monster forces its citizens to live in constant fear to the point of being too afraid to speak to travelers?

Before you know it, you’re following the vendor down the alley when you see another elderly man bending down and whispering to some younglings. Your neck cranes to the side, and you walk over to him cautiously, hoping you won’t startle him.

“Excuse me,”

Once he catches you in his peripherals, he ushers the kids away before rising to his feet and turning his body to you.

“We need some information.” You announce, trying to keep your voice as gentle as you can despite the white-hot rage cooking up in your veins. “We’re looking for someone. Could you help—”

“Please,” he pleads as he holds a palm out in front of him to stop you from elaborating, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to himself. “Do not speak to any of us.”

“Look,” Mando interjects, his attitude becoming less patient as time ebbs on. “I just need to know—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’re approached by two armed guards. Your hand flies to your holster, and Mando quickly shoots his hand out to stop you.

“The Magistrate wants to see you.” Their voices come out heavily distorted by their voice-box. It’s deep and frightening—no wonder these villagers are terrified. Even you are somewhat taken aback by their aggressive inflection, you can only imagine how these people must feel. Completely helpless and cut off from the anyone else, they don’t have a fighting chance even if they wanted to overthrow their government.

The old man leans over and takes a step back as one of the guards takes a step towards him. Your body cuts the droid off, putting yourself between the both of you. They’re wearing what appears to be a gas mask, but you stare at him, imagining where his eyes would be and continue to burn your own eyes into him, full of poison and anger. Inside, you’re begging him to make a move; to give you an excuse to shoot him right where he stands, but Mando’s visor snaps towards you, shooting you a warning as to not do something stupid. “Let’s go.” He says to you.

You follow Mando and the first guard down the main street, keeping an eye out on that other guard that treads behind you. The soldier leads you to another gate and kriff, you’re completely dumbfounded by what’s in front of you.

Along the cobblestoned street just ahead of the second gate are…prisoners. Prisoners strung up on various poles with a tiny podium to stand on, surrounded by what looks to be some kind of electrical barrier around them. The hostages are disturbingly frail, with many of them scarred with markings of fresh and old burn wounds you assume are from the bars circling around them. One man nearly doubles over and is electrocuted, its power so strong you can see the outline of their bones when the voltage hits their skin. You shudder at the sight of them, feeling your heart drop to your stomach.

They whisper desperately, begging for help but Mando continues walking, only offering one of the prisoners a quick glance. You stop in front of one of the hostages, eyes looking up at him as he cries, pleading over and over again for your help. Your jaw slacks, wanting to say something, but knowing nothing you say will matter. You can’t help them, at least not right now. Making a mental note to tell Mando once you head back to the Crest that you will free these prisoners, your eyes meet with the man’s own droopy, hooded lids, and hope they somehow can understand.

“Hey, girl,” A guard yells out. Looking down at the ground, you hear his heavy footsteps walk towards you, each step getting louder and louder as he nears you. “Keep moving.” He warns.

Biting your tongue and white knuckling your fists at your sides, you catch up with Mando, choosing no longer to wait till you are alone to whisper, “We’re freeing these prisoners before we leave,” through gritted teeth.

Mando’s helmet dips forward just enough for you to see it. The faster you find this Jedi, the sooner these prisoners can be freed. Once the first gate closes behind you, the second one opens and your jaw downright drops.

Firstly, there’s a fucking moat in front of you. When you and Mando were walking through the woodland in search of the village, you hadn’t even come across any body of water, and here the Magistrate is living with a full-on fucking moat. If that wasn’t enough, Maker there are trees here—not just stumps or snag trees, but actual trees flourishing in her small haven. They appear to be some sort of pine tree, but you can’t be sure since you’re too far away from them. Somehow even the air feels different here. Logically, you know that makes no sense, but it must be due to the contrast between how the Magistrate lives compared to how her own people live. There are hostages strung up, and being tortured, citizens who are too scared to even talk to you, living in tiny homes with little to no resources, and this one person is living with such excess and wealth, all the while quite literally separating themselves from the city’s population. It’s disgusting, it’s totalitarian, and the thought of people living in such horrible conditions is making your head spin.

It’s not that you were naïve enough to think there weren’t people living in such awful conditions, it was just that you had never actually seen this firsthand, so it was easy to forget that not everyone was as fortunate as you. Sure, water was a luxury back when you were just a child, but you had never been oppressed or discouraged from being a child. You had the luxury of walking around the city, and not having the stress or fear that any minute now a guard could kill you for doing something as normal as talking to another person. Not knowing how many more planets are under such control, it makes you want to search this entire galaxy and save every single citizen from this kind of barbarity.

The Magistrate is standing by the edge of her moat, appearing to throw something in the water. Maker, if she has fish in this moat, you’ll be… literally fucking speechless.

She addresses Mando to come forward, so he does. You opt to stay by the gate—deciding that it’s would be too difficult to hide the anger on your face and choose to wait for him to return.

--

“So she wants you to kill the Jedi?”

“Yes.” He says before putting the Child down gingerly on a smooth boulder.

According to the Magistrate, the Jedi is hiding somewhere in the forest, so now you and Mando have been searching aimlessly through the vast amount of woodland for any sign of a Jedi—whatever what means, but after what felt like hours of searching, your feet were throbbing. After ten minutes of begging him to take a small break, he finally gave in.

Plopping yourself down next to the Child, you continue to pester Mando with more questions. “And she’ll give you that beskar staff if you kill them?”

A drawn-out sign emits from the helmet. “Yes.”

“But we’re not doing that, right?” The question coming out rhetorically.

“No.” He answers curtly.

“Okay, good.” The conversation goes silent for a few seconds, and then your lips are moving again. “I really want to head back in there and shoot that woman right between the eyes.”

A noise comes from him that you’ve never heard before. Was…was that a fucking laugh? Is he fucking laughing at you? “You wouldn’t even get that close before one of her droids would shoot you down.”

“Believe it or not, Mando, but I’m a pretty decent fi—”

All of a sudden, Mando turns his body to yours and throws a gloved hand over your mouth. A small yelp escapes you but is muffled by leather. Your own hand flies to his, struggling to remove his kriffing hand from your face, tugging and trying to pull away from him.

“Stop!” He whispers, before raising a finger to his helmet where his mouth would be, ordering you to be quiet. Giving him a nod, he lets go of you, and presses a button on the side of his helmet then pivots around, scanning the area for lifeforms. Off in the distance, a large beast trots along the forest edge and Mando’s body relaxes.

“False alarm,”

“What the hell, Mando?” You force out through jagged breaths.

“Why are you here?”

Both your bodies whip around and catch the sight of a female Togruta standing just a few metres away from you. Her blue stripped lekku are enlarged around her round face and extend all the way to her midthighs, giving an indication that she’s of a mature age, although her face is clean of wrinkles, her features still smooth, suggesting she’s still well within her prime. Thick montrals pointing towards the sky like mountain tops, her orange skin reminds you of Tatooine sunsets—warm, and deep. White pigments outlining her cheeks, forehead, and eyebrows, Maker, she is stunning, and intimidating.

In her hands, she’s holding what appears to be two beaming swords. Not unlike the electrical barrier that the Magistrate had her prisoners surrounded by, although this type of energy looks much more elegant and impressive. Its luminescent white light purrs, you can hear the humming even though you’re a couple metres away from her. You’ve never seen a weapon quite like it. It’s much more of sophisticated weapon than you’ve been privy to seeing, but it’s exceptionally beautiful.

“Ahsoka Tano?” Mando asks, holding his hands out in front of him, taking a very cautious step towards her. She tenses, one of the laser swords comes up and she holds it across her chest, keeping the other steadily by her side. Your hand placed firmly on your blaster strapped to your thigh, heart thumping in your chest, you wait for her to attack.

“Who are you?” She says cautiously, keeping that glowing spear between Mando and herself.

“Bo-Katan sent me.” He says warily.

The Togruta stares at Mando, then to you before straightening out her back, her weapons’ beaming white blades retracting into their handles.

“We need to talk.” Mando clarifies, standing up straight.

“Well, I hope it’s about them,” She answers kindly, shooting you a quick wink before taking a step towards you.

Crossing your arms and lips forming a tight line, your head jerks back when she responds.

“What do you mean, “them?”

Mando retreats to get the Child, and holds him with one arm, choosing to stand almost directly between you and Ahsoka. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Her posture changes from weary to inviting, hooking her weapons back on her hips, her back untensing and taking a step back. “Come.”

You and Mando follow her through the thick, dense woods, nearly tripping and twisting your ankle trying to avoid the roots that are nestled above the dirt, or stumps that have fallen over and are lying on the ground.

She finds a spot not too covered in trees, with a couple of boulders lying around in a circle. In the middle are embers from an old fire that you assume she made for herself. She sits down on one of the rocks, then you and Mando follow suit. He places the Child gently between himself and Ahsoka, and presses a button on his vambrace, causing a flame to shoot out from his wrist, reigniting the ashes. Instead of waiting for either of them to speak, you begin questioning Ahsoka.  

“So,” You say, head craning in her direction. “You’re a Jedi?”

Ahsoka lets out a small chuckle, eyes shifting towards the ground. You can vaguely make out the blaze in the reflection of her eyes. “No, I’m not a Jedi, not anymore.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about this little one?” Mando questions her, jerking his neck to the left where the green baby is perched between them. She turns her head towards the Child, and almost instantaneously, his giant ears perk up, big eyes peering up at her, uttering unintelligibly.

“Can I have a moment alone with him?” She asks you and Mando. He doesn’t say anything in response, but stands up straight and walks away, not once looking back. You’re a few seconds late, but finally rise to your own feet before taking one last look at Ahsoka. She smiles at you and nods. You hear her voice and at first believe she’s actually spoken to you, but quickly realize her lips haven’t moved.

It’s okay.

Surely, you’re imagining things. It’s not possible to hear someone’s voice so clearly in your mind unless they actually said something to you…right?

Pushing the thought out of your mind, you turn on your heel, and you walk over to where Mando is pacing back and forth. He’s quiet as usual, but his body language is screaming. He’s tense, boots retracing the same steps over and over, shoulders square and hands fidgeting by his thighs. The apprehension, his nervousness—it’s practically seeping from him. It’s not something you ever thought you’d see—Mando anxious about a situation, given that he’s usually a lot better at keeping his cool under pretty much every single stressful situation.

At first, you think about asking him if he’s okay, or showing him that you notice his tentativeness, but it’s quickly shoved out of your mind when you remember how little he likes to talk about himself or how he’s feeling. You know firsthand that he prefers to stay silent rather than admit what��s going on inside his head.

Choosing to sit on a tree stump that’s fallen over on the ground, you continue to study Ahsoka and the Child. They stare at each other for a couple minutes not saying anything, just offering each other a series of smiles, gazes, and tilts of the head. As you continue to watch them, it’s almost as if you can hear them, which you know logically makes no sense. It’s very faint and muffled, taking all the concentration you can muster but you swear to the Maker you can hear them speaking to each other. The harder you squint, the clearer their voices get. However, it’s when you close your eyes and pull your brows together tightly, giving them your full attention that their voices become almost as clear as day.

His name is Grogu.

He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.

Order 66.

What’s order 66?

Before you can make out anything else, Ahsoka’s voice pulls you out of your concentration, calling you both over. Jumping to your feet in record time, you reach out and grab hold of Mando’s vambrace. He stills at your touch.

“Come,” You say gently, motioning your head over to the two by the fire.

The deep breath he lets out pulls rough from his vocoder, you can feel the trepidation in his body spilling into his lungs. He trails behind you and when you both reach them; you sit back down on the rock you were seated on before, but Mando chooses to stand instead.

“Has he…said anything? Do you…understand him?” He asks Ahsoka curiously, but with a hint of worry in his baritone.

“In a way. Grogu and I can read each other’s thoughts.”

“Grogu?” Mando’s voice is gentle but still low, and almost immediately, the Child’s ears perk up once again, and his little head jerks to face him, a gentle noise of glee escapes him.

“Yes,” Ahsoka says, smiling. “That’s his name, but you already knew that.”

“I—” He begins to say but Ahsoka cuts him off.

“No, not you. Her.”

Both Ahsoka and Mando’s head turn to you. Leg bouncing anxiously off the ground, your jaw slacks to answer, but not entirely sure how to answer. “Uh—Yeah, I mean he didn’t exactly tell me but he…kind of did?”

“What do you mean?” Mando presses you.

One of your hands rub the back of your neck and your eyes trail away from the two people staring you down to look at your feet. Clearing your throat, you answer uncertainly. “I…don’t know how he did it or how I was able to understand it.”

“Are you both still able to wield the Force?” Ahsoka asks curiously.

“The Force?” You repeat in confusion.

“You mean, his powers?” The Mandalorian chimes in.

“The Force is what gives him his powers. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It also allows us to communicate with each other.” She clarifies, somewhat answering your question but simultaneously confusing you even more. What the hell is ‘The Force’?

“You’re saying he used ‘The Force’ to communicate with me?”

“In a way, yes. We can communicate with others who are Force-sensitive, although it takes a great deal of training and discipline to wield it properly.”

Does this mean…?

Is she saying you’re…?

Force-sensitive?

Ahsoka sighs before addressing you again. “I sense a lot of conflict in you,”

“I’m just finding all of this very hard to believe,” You admit.

Ahsoka acknowledges your stunned expression with a gentle nod, before shifting the conversation towards the real issue—Grogu. Turning her eyes away from you, she now speaks to Mando. “Grogu was raised and trained by many Masters at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. At the end of the Clone Wars, when the Jedi were deemed traitors of the Republic, they were hunted down and killed. Grogu was smuggled out of the Temple beforehand, and has been forced to hide his abilities in order to survive over the years.”

Peeking over to observe Grogu, your heart aches. How could anyone want to harm him? He’s just a child, an innocent creature. “Do you know of anyone else like him?”

“I’ve only ever known one other being like this.” Her eyes trail off to gaze into the fire once again. “A wise Jedi Master named Yoda. I didn’t know others like him existed.”

“My task was to bring him to a Jedi. Can you train him?”

Ahsoka lets out a deep breath before answering. “The Jedi Order fell a long time ago.”

“So did the Empire, yet it still hunts us.” Your voice comes out more aggressive than you intended, but you’re desperate for answers.

Ahsoka looks down to the Child once again. His eyes flutter shut, exhaustion overcoming his little body until he all but bows his head to fall asleep. “Let him rest for now, I’ll test him in the morning.”

Mando’s helmet dips forward in agreement. He moves around the fire and makes his way over to Grogu and picks him up gingerly, holding him close to his cuirass and motioning his head in the direction of the Crest. Humming in response and rising to your own feet, you make to follow behind Mando back to ship when Ahsoka places a hand on your forearm.

“A moment?”

“Uh, sure,” You answer hesitantly. “I’ll meet you back at the ship.” You call over to Mando.

He huffs in response before walking away, Grogu fast asleep in his arms. Sitting back down, you wait for Ahsoka to speak.

“You’re troubled. I can sense it.”

Jaw dropping, you look for the words to accurately describe just how confused and in disbelief you are. Gesticulating around you, your voice is soft and low. “How—how is this possible?” A laugh escapes your lips. “I’m just a mecha—smuggler.” You catch yourself, the word barely leaving your lips. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

Her own lips form a tight line, as if she’s seen others react the same way. “It’s unclear how the Force works, and there’s no definitive way of explaining who has the gift and who hasn’t. We’re just…burdened with it.” Her eyes look down at the ground. It’s evident there’s some unresolved regret and sadness she’s been carrying for years, and you can’t help but wonder what could have possibly happened to her for her to feel this way.

“You said ‘I’m not a Jedi, not anymore’. What did you mean by that?”

She takes a deep breath, exhaling through her nose before speaking. “I left the order when I was young. It… wasn’t what I thought it was anymore.” Her voice trails off.

“What was it supposed to be? Who were the Jedi?” You don’t mean to ask so many questions, but there are so many pieces to this puzzle that you don’t understand yet. You’re supposedly predestined to be a Jedi, but you know nothing about them. Stories of the Jedi weren’t told to you when you were a child. It was treated more like a moment in history that no one wanted to speak of—like it was a stain on the galaxy that the majority of folks wanted to forget.

“We were trained to be keepers of the peace, but that all changed when the Clone Wars began. Jedi were suddenly soldiers and thrown into battle, required to fight for the Republic and keep the Separatists from expanding.”

“You fought?”

Ahsoka’s voice is low, like your question that thrown her back into the war, reliving all the pain from her youth. “I was just a Padawan when I joined the war effort. At first it was easy to say we were fighting to maintain the peace, but after a while, it almost felt like we became the ones raging the war. All of a sudden, the Order just didn’t feel like it once was…” She goes quiet for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe her conflicting feelings. “It changed.”

Your hand reaches out to hold hers. Once your skin touches her, immense pain overwhelms you. It’s haunting, a sudden hole fills your body with anger, regret, sadness. There’s a male voice, low and threatening, taunting her as he hisses.

Why did you leave?

You abandoned me!

Do you know what I’ve become?

Hand recoiling away, your left with the same empty feeling as her. It’s unnerving, experiencing something that hasn’t even happened to you yet somehow able to feel it so deeply, as if you know who this man is, but it gives you an insight as to just how tortured she must be feeling, and why she’s alone on this planet.

“Who…who was that?” Your voice is strained, shuddering out little breaths.

“Someone who meant a great deal to me.” Ahsoka’s face softens immediately, a somber smile develops on her lips, losing that hard, stoic demeanor she’s kept up in front of you and Mando. “An incredibly skilled Jedi Knight. He was my Master.”

“What happened to him?”

Ahsoka’s lungs fill with air, and she takes her time exhaling before answering you. “He fell to the Dark Side…” Her voice breaks up at the end, and clears her throat, giving the impression that she feels guilty about it, while also trying to regain control of her emotions.

Despite hearing the term ‘Dark Side’ for the first time, you almost instantaneously know what it is. The voice that creeps into your mind, the one that feeds off your anger and emotions, the one that scratches the inside of your brain, hissing to cause harm and feed the deepest parts of yourself that you despise. It all makes sense now.

“I sense it within you.” Her voice barely above a whisper, but clear enough to make your skin crawl. It’s a truth you didn’t know you had been dreading to hear. A truth you yourself had tried to ignore. The part of you that you hated most, finally being noticed by a complete stranger, it triggers something deep inside you, almost confirming your worst fears. You’re a danger, not only to yourself but to anyone around you. It’s suddenly as clear as day why you’ve tried to keep your distance from those you loved ever since your parents’ death. Why you never allowed yourself the luxury of attachments or love. Somehow, you knew that in order to keep yourself and others safe, you needed to put a barrier up, a wall to stop yourself from hurting others.

“I…don’t know how to control it.” Desperation in your voice, it becomes obvious that you’re both struggling to find solace.

“You should get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?” Attempting to put you somewhat at ease, she offers you a smile, although her eyes show you anything but contentment. There’s a sadness in them, like she already knows your fate but is unsure of the proper way of confessing it to you.

Nodding your head slowly, you push yourself to your feet and make a beeline for the Crest. Ahsoka stands, watching you drag your feet back to the ship, then disappears through the fog, and back into the forest.

When you reach the back ramp of the ship, the lights are dimmed to the lowest setting, your legs almost collapsing once you reach the hull from all the trekking throughout the day. Leaning over to the side of the ramp, you press a button on the board by the door and the ramp creaks shut.

The Crest is deafeningly quiet. As you make your way deeper into the ship, you observe Grogu sleeping soundly in his little hammock inside Mando’s bunk. Making sure not to make too much noise on the ladder, you gently head up to the cockpit and find Mando sitting in the pilot’s chair, unsure if he’s sleeping or simply sitting there like a statue which you’ve noticed he’s does from time to time. Upon entering the cockpit, you sigh a little loudly, testing to see if he’s awake.

Practically falling into your seat, you know you should get some sleep, but the mental exhaustion is almost too intense, you can’t seem to get your mind off everything that’s happened. Continuously mulling over what Ahsoka’s said, noting how it makes perfect sense, but not wanting to accept it.

“Are you…all right?” Mando asks you timidly, the deepness of his tone cutting through the low hum of the dimmed lights.

The question bounces around in your mind.

Are you all right?

Just under a couple of hours ago, you had never even heard of ‘The Force’, let alone supposedly have a connection to this intangible entity. Of course, there are things that you’ve done that you couldn’t logically explain, but does that necessarily mean you suddenly have some greater purpose? That you’re this…peacekeeper with an obligation to protect others?

Did your parents know?

Did they keep this a secret from you in order to protect you or were they just as in the dark as you were about this?

Everything you thought you knew about yourself is once again being challenged.

Mechanic.

Smuggler.

Quarry.

Jedi?

How are you supposed to navigate through this? Ahsoka said herself the Jedi were basically wiped out right as the Empire rose to power. What does that mean for you? Is the Empire hunting you down because you’re ‘force-sensitive’?

Certainly, it would be easier to simply put this all behind you. Help Mando with Grogu and then go your separate ways, ignoring what Ahsoka’s told you about being connected to The Force.

Do what you must in order to stay alive.

Keep to yourself just as you’ve always done, and survive.  

But…is that the right thing to do? How does one know if the path they’re on is the correct one? It’s not like there’s someone all knowing that you can ask, or seek help from. The only thing you can do is trust your own instincts, go over each possibility and examine them meticulously, and pray to the Maker that you’ll be drawn to one option more than another.

Remembering that Mando’s just asked you a question but not remembering exactly what it was, you hum in your throat. “Hmm?”

Mando swivels his chair around to face you. “Are you all right?”

“It’s funny how we can here for the kid, and now I’m the one having some kind of existential crisis.” Your tone is wry, the ability to mock yourself never waving.

“Yeah.” He answers coolly, probably just because he doesn’t know what else to say. Mando’s not really one to comfort or coddle, unless it’s Grogu but that doesn’t bother you so much. Mando is the way he is, and you wouldn’t change a thing about him.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re rising to your feet, word vomit expelling from your lips.

“I’ve lived my whole life not knowing where I belong. Navigating through various routes, trying to find my purpose and what I’m supposed to be doing, and I was fine with smuggling. I know it wasn’t honorable or strictly legal, but it made me feel better about my place in the galaxy. It felt better than being a mechanic on some rotten planet because at least I was seeing what the galaxy had to offer me, right? But it still couldn’t fill this empty pit I felt in my stomach.” Your breathing is erratic, chest pumping in and out as your heartbeat races.

“And I dealt with that. I did things I regretted but I never allowed myself to dwell on those things because I knew what I had to do in order to survive. Then out of nowhere I’m being hunted by what I thought was the New Republic but oh no surprise!” Your voice becoming almost hysterical, empty laughs punching out of you through jagged breaths. “It’s actually the Empire! Because I now apparently have some connection to an entity that exists in a form that I don’t even understand and have never heard of.

“All the while, I have this voice inside my head that fucking eats away at me. ‘Do this’ and ‘Make them feel pain’, ‘Hurt them like they hurt you’. It’s fucking gnawing at my brain, and I have no fucking idea how to control it or get it to stop. I feel like a monster, like some evil being that will one day just explode and hurt anyone in my path, and it fucking terrifies me because I can’t control it. I can’t fucking control it, Mando.” Your voice is hoarse, speaking so fast your lungs can’t keep up with you, only allowing yourself quick breaths as you begin to feel yourself hyperventilate.

Mando rises to his feet ever so slowly, visor glued to you as you continue to explode.

“What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to follow down the path of being a Jedi despite not knowing a single fucking thing about them? You heard what Ahsoka said about them. They were almost all wiped out.”

Your hands fly to your face, squeezing your eyes shut so hard, you’re seeing stars, and rubbing the heels of your palms into your skin. Completely overwhelmed by everything, you just want to disappear.

Then, you feel rough, sturdy gloves wrap around your wrists, and gently pulling at them, freeing your hands away from your face. When you finally open your eyes, all you see is Mando’s helmet, the ‘T’ of his visor looking down at you. He doesn’t let go of your wrists, just continues to hold them gingerly, even pulling them towards his chest. You take a step towards him, standing merely inches away from each other. He says nothing, but truthfully, he doesn’t need to. Holding you steady is all he needs to do in order to calm you down. Your breathing is slowly starting to regulate itself, even though your mind is still shouting at you.

Hearing a soft exhale emit through the helmet, Mando speaks quietly and softly. “You’re not a monster.”

“But—”

“We’ve all done things we regret.” He tells you softly. “What matters is that you regret it, which means you’re not a monster, because they don’t regret anything they’ve done.”

Your head dips downward, letting out a deep breath through slightly parted lips, as you begin shaking your head. “What if I hurt you or the kid one day?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know—”

“I do,” He says firmly, leaving you no more room to argue.

When you finally look up into the black eye slit of his helmet, you wish you were looking into his eyes. To see him looking back at you would be a blessing right now, but you know better than to ask him to take it off. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, but from the one you do know, he never takes his helmet off, and you wouldn’t dare ask him to break his creed just for you. So, this will have to do.

“Get some sleep.” He says then releases your wrists, letting them fall to your sides.

“I’m not tired,” You mumble.

“Yes, you are.” He argues. “Use the cot downstairs.”

“But that’s where you sleep.”

He turns away from you, sitting back in the pilot’s chair and swiveling it around so you’re facing the back of the seat. “I’ll sleep here. Now, go.”

He leaves no room for argument, and honestly? Finally being able to sleep lying down and not sitting upright in a chair does sound amazing. You head down the ladder without another word, feeling the sudden exhaustion hit you hard. Grogu’s still sound asleep in his hammock, and you wiggle into the tiny sleeping space, being mindful not to touch the hammock or make too much noise that might wake him up, gently pressing on the button on the panel near the door and hearing it woosh shut. Your nostrils fill up instantly with Mando’s smell. Notes of beskar, musk, and his soap fill your sinuses and you take a deep, burning breath, trying to inhale as much Mando as you can in one breath. The voices in your head are still chattering away, but being bundled up in Mando’s blanket and his smell is enough for you to push those noises away and fall asleep to the sound of the Child’s gentle snores.

--

Grogu’s training begins in the early morning. You’re all gathered around the same place you were last night, but there’s definitely more tension than there was the night before. For starters, you basically had a mental breakdown in front of Mando last night, and you’re feeling pretty guilty and embarrassed about it. You should have been able to keep your emotions in check and under control, but instead you blew up in front of the one person you didn’t want to blow up in front of.

Secondly, today you’ll all be seeing Grogu’s abilities firsthand, and find out just how much training he’s had and what he’s fully capable of doing, and it’s pretty easy to tell that Mando is nervous. The way he carries himself; back tense and his hands balled into fists at his sides, shifting uncomfortably as he watches Grogu stand on a rock just a few feet away from Ahsoka. You’re standing to his right, nerves and curiosity radiating off your skin.

“Let’s see what knowledge is lurking in that little mind of yours, shall we?” She says to Grogu before turning her head to you both. Clearing your throat, you nod in acknowledgement while Mando stays stiff as a board.

She reaches down and picks up a small stone off the ground and holds it out in front of her chest. Looking down at the rock and watching her eyes squint, it suddenly lifts out of her palm and stays in limbo for a moment before she uses her hand to push it towards Grogu. It flows over so slowly in his direction, his little arms reaching out and grabbing it with both hands. You stand there, completely stunned, eyes wide-shot and jaw practically hanging. It’s something you’ve been able to do as well, but only during bouts of anger or in the middle of a fight.  

“Now, return the stone to me, Grogu,” She instructs, her voice gentle but commanding all the same.

His head tilts to the side, continuing to hold it firmly with his claws.

“He doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” Mando blurts out.

“He does.” She reassures him, holding her hand out and gently coaxing Grogu once again to hand her the rock. “The stone, Grogu.”

The Child gurgles, then drops the stone in a chuff of defeat. A drawn-out sigh releases from Mando’s helmet, somewhat irritable, but not fully angry.

Ahsoka approaches Grogu, leaning down to pick up the stone he’s dropped and taking his tiny hand in hers. Her head dips forward and whispers, “I sense much fear in you, little one.”

Grogu coos in response, his big eyes blinking slowly. She flashes him a kind smile and takes a couple steps back, cocking her head to one side as she ponders her next move. Ahsoka’s eyes meet yours for a second and just when they meet, it’s almost like you both come up with the same idea. Grogu needs a different kind of enticement, a more personal incentive.

“Let’s try something else,” She says. “Come here.”

Mando looks over to the Child and motions with his head for him walk over to meet Ahsoka. When he looks over to the Mandalorian with a puzzled look, Mando sighs again. “He’s stubborn.”

Unable to hide the smile on your face, you shake your head just as Ahsoka lips curl upwards. “Not him, you.” She says, looking at him.

Mando hesitates at first, so you grab hold of his forearm and almost usher him in Ahsoka’s direction. “I want to see if he’ll listen to you,” She says curiously.

Mando scoffs, and the sound comes out scratchy and low through the vocoder. “That would be a first.”

Handing Mando the stone, she instructs him to hold it in his palm, open faced and tell Grogu to lift and take the rock. He stands there awkwardly, shifting a bit, clearly a little uncomfortable but in an endearing way. You smile from ear to ear, watching Mando be so confused but approaching this in a gentle way that you know almost no one has been privy to witnessing. It tugs at your heartstrings, observing father and son.

He lets out a deep breath before following Ahsoka’s direction. “Okay, kid. Lift the stone.”

“Grogu,” You clarify, still smiling.

He whips his head to face you then back to the Child.

“Grogu,”

The Child’s ears perk up instantly hearing Mando’s voice call him, cooing excitedly. “Take the stone.”

Looking at the rock, Grogu babbles and then looks at the ground defeatedly.

“See?” Throwing the stone on the ground in annoyance, Mando looks over to where you and Ahsoka are standing. “I told you, he’s stubborn.”

You and Ahsoka turn heads to look at each other, knowing damn well it’s not because the kid is stubborn, but because Mando is stubborn. Keeping an emotional type of distance between him and every person in the galaxy, never allowing himself to make a meaningful connection.

“Try to connect with him,” Ahsoka chimes.

Mando studies Grogu, possibly trying to gauge a reaction or an insight as to what he wants. His gloved hands come up to grasp onto his utility belt and then you notice him fiddle with his belt and flesh out the metal knob from the lever of the Crest. Both you and Mando know just how much that durasteel ball means to Grogu, and if there’s one thing in this galaxy that the kid absolutely loves and wants at all times, it’s that ball.

Sure enough, as soon as he sees Mando with the ball in his hand, his ears perk up immediately and giggles of joy rush out of him. Mando bends his knees, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with him, holding the ball between his fingers, enticing the downright giddy baby just a few feet away from him.

“Grogu,” His tone is playful, and it shocks you. He’s never spoken that way around you. Mando has a monotone way of speaking, maintaining a level tone, or an annoyed tone. Never speaking in a playful or humorous manner. To see him show this kind of vulnerability must be hard for him, especially in front of Ahsoka who he’s known for half a day, but Mando knows this isn’t about him, this is for Grogu, and he’ll do whatever it takes for the kid.

“Do you want this?”

The Child fixates on the ball, arms reaching out in front of him, almost begging for it, but Mando continues to tempt him, speaking low but tender, as he urges Grogu to take it. “Well, go ahead. Go on, take it. You can do it.”

Maker, it takes everything in you not to scream. The way Mando continues to coax him, the way Grogu coos and looks at him so lovingly, it’s enough to break hearts. A relationship borne of hunter and quarry turned father and son. Something so rare, so genuine. To think that these two beings don’t even speak the same language yet have an attachment so fierce and pure.

Eyes squinting in concentration, Grogu’s hand reaches out just a little further and then the ball flies from Mando’s hand right into the Child’s little grip.

“Good job!” Mando exclaims, pure joy and full of proudness. Your mouth falls into a toothy grin as you watch him approach the Child and continue to affirm how proud he is. Looking over at Ahsoka and expecting to see her smiling, your face quickly changes when you take notice of her expression. She’s looking down at the ground, not a speck of joy on her face. In fact, she looks defeated, like she’s just witnessed something awful. Eyebrows pulling together, you give her a nudge with your elbow, asking what’s wrong without actually asking what’s wrong.

“I knew you could do it. Very good,” Mando continues to praise.

“He’s formed a strong attachment to you,” She says before her lips press into a thin line.

“Is that a bad thing?” You question. Taking a step towards Mando and away from Ahsoka, and crossing your arms against your chest, your head cocks to one side waiting for her to explain.

“I cannot train him.”

“What?” Mando straightens out immediately and turns his body to face her. “You’ve seen what he can do, right?” He asks curtly, a hint of underlying anger in his vibrato.

“His attachment to you makes him vulnerable to his fears—his anger.”

“All the more reason to train him.”

“No,” She grits out through her teeth. “I’ve seen what such feelings can do to a person. What it can do to even the best of the Jedi Knights. I will not start this child on that path. Better to let his abilities fade.”

You take a step back; a sneer escapes your lips as you try to understand what the hell she’s saying. “Let his abilities fade? Look at him. You can’t just give up on him.”

She looks down at Grogu who’s too busy examining the ball in his hands to notice the three of you arguing. Giving you both a quick glance, Ahsoka shakes her head. “I’ve delayed too long. I must head back to the village.” She turns on her heel and begins walking away from you two when Mando gets her attention.

“The Magistrate’s asked me to kill you.”

Ahsoka freezes, turning her body slowly towards you, hands making their way to the weapons strapped around her waist.

“I didn’t agree to anything.” Mando clarifies.

Uncrossing your arms, you take a tentative step towards her. “We’ll help you free the village, but at the very least, Grogu,” You point a finger in Grogu’s general direction, “needs training.”

She clamps down on her jaw, eyebrows knitting together as she mulls over the proposition.

“Fine, but we hit the city tonight.”

-------

I hope y'all liked the way I wrote ahsoka...I completely ignored how she looked in the mandalorian and based her appearance off the “Overlords” ep of tcw and changed the way her character was because I wasn't really a fan of how she was written. 

[skiller0dani]

Only Me | Carl Grimes

Summary: Ron gets a little handsy with you, but in order to prevent Carl from losing faith in his new home you don’t tell him. When Carl finds out, he decides to punish you. 

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Dixon!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Language, Fighting, Yelling, Smut, Unprotected Sex, Dirty Talking, Fingering, Kinky Sex, 

A/N: I know Carl is underaged at this point in the series, so if that makes you uncomfortable you can pretend he and the reader are 18. :)  also I made Carl kinky af in this bc there is a serious lack of Carl smut and I just want him to dominate me so badly hnnnngggg 🤤🤤  

Masterlist

Truth be told, Alexandria made you uncomfortable. 

Everyone within the steel walls was totally okay pretending that the rest of the world wasn’t completely fucked. They had jobs, school, picnics in the park, it all felt a little too ‘normal’ for you. You had a nook you liked to hide away in, it was a small abandoned treehouse in one of the backyards. You could see over the wall, watch the walkers roam around and see the city in the distance. You know it’s odd that you feel more comfortable out there rather than in a perfectly safe camp. The people here were nice and welcoming, and they greeted your group as if you were neighbors who just moved into the neighborhood. They acted as though you weren’t from out there, and that you weren’t covered in walker guts when you first strode through the gates. Few knew where to find you when you decided to hide away, and one of those few people was your boyfriend- Carl. 

“Thought I’d find you up here.” You hear a voice say below your treehouse, but when you look out you see Ron. A smile stretches across from your face, Ron is nice. He’s been a good friend to you ever since you got here, he’s been trying to help you adjust from living out there to living here in Alexandria. He’s introduced you to people, shown you around, and brought you to all the cool spots that the adults don’t go around. One of them being your treehouse, he’s one of the only other people who knows you’re probably here if you disappear. “Hey Ronny,” you smile as he climbs up the rope and into the treehouse. He has a comic book in his hands as he sits on the mattress next to you. You open the book you snatched from Carol’s stash and you continue to read but you can feel his eyes on you. Ron is cute, you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t a good looking guy but nobody can compare to Carl. You love Carl, and not just because he was the only one around- but for so many other reasons. 

“I figured Carl would be with you.” Ron says, his voice tight. You don’t know why there is so much tension between them, they were friendly at first. But the closer you got to Ron, the more the tension between them grew. “He’s on a run with Rick and Aaron.” You say, not really paying attention to him as you continue to read. It’s a history book on some battles from the 1940s, it didn’t really strike you as interesting but it was better than sitting and doing nothing. “Oh cool, now I get to actually spend time with you.” Ron says and you look up from your book, your eyebrows pinching together. “What do you mean?” You ask Ron, who hasn’t even opened his comic book yet. Ron leans back against the wall of the treehouse, his legs stretched behind you as he looks up at you. “Well you always seem to hang around Carl.” Ron says, and he attempts to say it playfully but you can feel the tension behind it. You laugh uncomfortably, turning to focus your attention on your book. “He is my boyfriend after all, I love being around him.” You defend weakly, you’ve never been the verbal confrontation kind of person. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Ron rolling his eyes. 

“That doesn’t mean Carl is the only guy in your life, I miss you y'know?” Ron says, his comic book still laying at his side- unopened. You shift uncomfortably, feeling a different kind of tension rising in the air as he slides closer to you. Your heart begins to race in your chest as you cling to your book tightly. “W-Well Carl is the only guy in my life… in um that way…” You respond, your voice quieter than it was before as you nervously stumble over your words. “He doesn’t have to be.” Ron whispers as he reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheek. You don’t answer as you glue your eyes to the page even though you’re not reading it. “What does Carl have that I don’t? What makes him worthy of getting to hear your pretty moans?” Ron whispers as he leans closer, his lips a few inches from your ear. Ron reaches forward and pulls your book from your trembling hands before resting his hand on your bare thighs. Why did you choose to wear shorts today? “I can hear you two at night, I can hear you moaning for him. Begging for him- but I know you’re only doing that to make him happy. You’re too kind Y/N because I know you want me, I know how your body reacts when I’m around. I’ll bet you’re dripping through those little shorts right now aren’t you?” Ron whispers huskily, his hand sliding up your thigh. 

You feel panic pulsing in your chest as you freeze in fear, the only person you have ever wanted and will ever want is Carl. “That’s not t-true!” You protest with a squeak as his hand finds the spot between your thighs reserved only for Carl. Ron chuckles as he continues to inch closer, his lips trying to find yours but you keep turning your head. “R-Ron please stop-” You gasp as you begin to squirm away from him. You expect Ron hasn’t been near many girls his age and Enid would likely cut his balls off if he tried this- but you’re too afraid to do anything to stop him. He’s bigger than you, stronger than you and walkers you can easily take down with confidence. They’re stupid, and they’re dead but people? You’ve always had a hard time dealing with people. That’s probably why he’s so sure you want him- you haven’t voiced otherwise. “Hey baby you up there?” You hear Carl call from the ground and Ron yanks away from you. Your chest is heaving as you scramble to exit the treehouse. You know you should tell Carl about what happened but you can’t, mostly because you’re afraid Carl will kill Ron. But it’s not just that, Carl is so happy here, he feels like this place could be a home. You don’t want to ruin that for him, you’ll just avoid Ron. When you drop to the ground in front of Carl you immediately press yourself into his chest, and he slowly wraps his arms around you. “You okay?” He asks, his eyes flicking up and noticing Ron sitting in the treehouse. You nod quickly, not turning to look at Ron as you grab Carl’s hand and begin pulling him away from the treehouse. “You sure everything is okay?” Carl asks, his anxiety rising as you frantically yank him away from the treehouse. You weren’t doing anything with Ron… were you? 

“Y-Yeah everything is fine! How was your run?” You ask, trying to change the subject before you break and tell him what happened. You turn to give him a quick kiss as you start towards the house and you keep looking over your shoulder to make sure Ron isn’t following you. Carl’s eyebrows are pinched together, he knows something is wrong but he won’t force you to tell him. “Went fine, got some good stuff. Nothing eventful happened.” He said, his hand locked with yours as you continue to walk at a brisk pace. You finally release a breath once the door is closed behind you and when you open your eyes you see Carl looking at you with a confused expression. “What aren’t you telling me?” He asks, crossing his arms and you begin to panic. You can’t ruin this place for him, people are important to Carl and if he doesn’t trust the people here… then the security and confidence he has in this place will disappear. You want him to believe this place can be home, you don’t want to destroy that for him. “I just… I had a nightmare last night. That you got bit. I’m happy you’re home safe that’s all.” You say, your eyes glued to the ground. You feel his arms around you, pulling you into him and you hold him so tightly. You want to scrub the feeling of Ron’s hands and his dirty words off your skin, you need to feel Carl’s hands on you. 

“Don’t worry, I’m okay. No bites.” He says, smiling into your hair as he presses a kiss to your head. You nod and release a breath before pressing your lips to Carl’s again- taking him by surprise at your eagerness. Your hands grip the collar of his shirt as you deepen the kiss and Carl’s hands land on your hips. You press your chest into his and you feel his breath hitch when you reach down to grab him through his jeans. Carl’s hands press against your shoulders and force you back, “woah just- hold on. You never jump me like this.” He says, concern etched into his face as he looks down at you. Your chest is heaving as you hold him tightly, “I need you. I’ve been so wet all day… please…” You beg, not wanting to tell him the real reason behind your want for his cock. Carl groans when you say that and he reaches down to hoist your legs around his waist. “What if we get caught?” He mumbles between kisses as he heads to the stairs to go up to his bedroom. You begin pressing kisses to his neck as you bite and suck the spot you know makes his knees weak, “then whoever catches us is gonna get one hell of a show.” You smirk as you can feel his growing bulge. Carl carries you into his room and kicks the door shut behind him before he drops you onto the bed. 

“Let's hope it’s not my dad.” Carl smiles as he leans over you, his lips finding yours. His hands find yours and trap your hands above your head as he grinds his cock into your clothes pussy, causing a moan to escape your lips. “No let’s hope it’s not my brother or you’ll get an arrow in the ass.” You laugh and Carl winces at the thought of Daryl catching the two of you. You try to free your wrists but Carl holds them tightly, “be a good girl and keep your hands above your head before I have to tie them to the bed.” Carl warns as he releases you and you can feel a rush of arousal head straight to your core. You love it when Carl gets dominant and rough in bed. You bite your lip as you keep your hands where he left them even though you itch to disobey him, just to see what he’d do. Carl reaches down and slowly unbuttons your shorts before pulling the zipper down at an agonizingly slow pace. “Faster baby, I need you in me like now.” You whine as you wiggle your hips, hoping to hurry him up. Carl’s eyes are dark as he looks up at you, “don’t rush me, good girls wait.” He says as he slowly pulls your shorts down. You groan and throw your head back impatiently. Carl tosses your shorts aside and presses a kiss to each of your hip bones before reaching for your panties. You curl your fists into the sheets, trying not to move or rush him because you know if you do he’ll only go slower. 

Carl’s pupils blow wide open once he sees your glistening folds, “you really are needy for me huh baby? Look how wet you are.” He hums as he runs a finger through your folds and you whine as your hips buck up. With his other hand Carl presses your hips back to the mattress before giving you a look, “stay still.” He orders, his voice stern and you bite your lip and nod. He returns his attention to your pussy as he slowly pushes two fingers inside you and your eyes roll back. He begins a steady pace of slowly and gently thrusting his fingers into you and you feel the heat rising in your body. When he curls his fingers inside you, you keen into his touch as you bite your lip to quiet yourself. “I want to hear those pretty lips moan for me baby.” Carl says, his voice low and husky as he watches you unravel at his touch. You back arches as his pace quickens, “oh fuck Carl- faster baby.” You beg and he obliges, his fingers beginning to thrust inside you quicker. You begin to pant when his thumb comes to roll small circles over your clit, sending jolts of pleasure to shoot through you. “Baby please don’t stop!” You cry out, your hands nearly ripping the sheets as you curl your fists tighter. You feel yourself getting closer and closer  and when Carl harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your coming around his fingers. 

He pulls off you and wipes his fingers on his jeans before he tosses you your clothes. “Baby I need your cock now.” You beg shamelessly as he turns to reach for his hat. Carl smiles as he leans over to press a kiss to your lips, “we can’t fuck in the middle of the day Y/N. We will get caught, I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.” He smiles and you groan as you pull your clothes on, he’s right and you know it. Carl laughs at the pout on your face, giving your ass a slap as you walk out of his bedroom. “You coming?” You ask him as he lingers in his bedroom, you see his eyes scanning the room for something. “Yeah, I just need to find my knife. Be down in a bit.” Carl smiles before kissing you quickly. You skip down the stairs and feel arms around your waist, you try to scream for Carl but a hand slaps over your mouth. “Be quiet.” You hear Ron whisper as he pulls you to the kitchen, away from the stairs. You feel the fear creep into your chest as he pushes you against the wall, his hand still over your mouth. “I heard those sounds you made for him, they were forced weren’t they? You want me, I can feel the heat between your legs Y/N. Don’t deny yourself the pleasure, I know my cock is bigger than Carl’s…” He whispers lustfully into your ear, before pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. You struggle slightly against him, your eyes wide as he looks into them. When you hear steps down the stairs, Ron pulls away from you and casually moves to sit on the counter as Carl comes around the corner. 

“Woah, Ron uh hey?” He says, jumping slightly as he wasn’t expecting Ron to be here. You’re still leaning against the wall, your chest heaving as you gape over at Carl. “Just wanted to say hey, heard you went on a run today.” Ron says, looking at Carl and completely ignoring you. Your heart continues to race in your chest as you feel panic just being in the same room as Ron, he’s dangerous. Carl’s eyes glance between you and Ron, “yeah I did…” He trails off as you brush past him and to the front door. You need air, and you need to get away from Ron. Carl looks back at Ron, “everything okay?” He asks, crossing his arms and Ron smiles. This is exactly what he wanted, he wants Carl to doubt you. “Dunno, when she came down the stairs her shorts were unbuttoned. She asked if I wanted to see her new thong.” Ron said with a shrug and Carl felt nauseous. So something is going on between you and Ron. Carl nods numbly as he turns to lean against the couch. You’re cheating on him aren’t you… with Ron. Carl feels anger boil in his chest as he looks up at Ron, “are you fucking my girlfriend?” He snaps and Ron’s eyes widen. He bites back a smile as he looks at Carl in shock, “she’s your girlfriend? She never told me you were together.” He says, not answering Carl’s question. Carl feels his heart drop as he turns and heads back up the stairs, he can’t be around either of you right now. 

When the door opens you turn and your anxiety spikes when you see Ron. He winks at you as he skips down the stairs and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You know you have to tell Carl, Ron is starting to scare you. You don’t know how far he will go, you don’t feel safe. You enter the house and when you don’t see Carl you head up the stairs, and see his door closed. “Baby?” You say loudly before you open the door, and you see him sitting on his bed, not bothering to look over at you. “Carl there’s something I need to tell you-” You start but he stands and when he looks at you, the anger and pain on his face is unmistakable. “So you are sleeping with Ron.” He snaps, crossing his arms and your eyebrows shoot up. You shake your head as you try to take a step towards him, but Carl steps away from you. “What? Carl no I swear I’m not! I don’t know what Ron said but it’s not true.” You try to explain but he laughs bitterly as he turns away from you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Oh really? Because he didn’t even know you were my girlfriend.” Carl snapped and you felt your heart break, were. “Am I not your girlfriend now?” You ask weakly and Carl doesn’t answer as he continues to face the window. You feel lightheaded as you stand numbly in the doorway, is Carl breaking up with you? “Carl he… he touched me.” You whisper but Carl’s head snaps over to look at you. “Touched you how?” He asked, and you can see the anger building in his eyes. You look down at the floor as your cheeks flush and tears build in your eyes, “b-between my legs and he kissed my neck. I didn’t want him to, whatever he said it was a lie.” You say softly, the tears beginning to trickle down your cheeks. You look up and see Carl’s fists curled and his chest is heaving and there is a dangerously angry look on his face, “he touched you… without your permission?” He asks, his voice tight and you nod slowly. As soon as you nod he’s out the door and heading down the stairs with you not far behind him. 

“Carl, don’t hurt him it’s not worth it.” You beg as he storms down the street, heading right to Ron’s house. The dark look in his eyes tells you that he’s not really listening to anything you’re saying. You have to jog to keep up with him as he storms up the porch and straight into the house without knocking. “Carl please,” You plead again as Carl nearly runs up the stairs and down the hall to Ron’s room. Carl throws open Ron’s door, and Ron jumps up from his bed- a shocked look on his face. “Hey man you good?” He asks but Carl is already swinging his fist into Ron’s left cheek. Ron stumbles back, holding his face as it begins to swell. Carl storms towards him and takes his knife out, pressing it to Ron’s throat. “You ever touch her again and I will kill you, you even look at her the wrong way and this knife is going into the base of your skull.” Carl growls before he shoves Ron backwards. When Carl turns you see a panicked look on Ron’s face, and Carl grabs your hand and pulls you out of the house. Carl pulls you down the street, his pace hasn’t slowed since he left Ron’s house. “You should have told me.” Carl snapped and you can tell he’s angry. “I-I’m sorry!” You stammer but he doesn’t calm at all. Carl yanks you into the house and up the stairs. 

“You kept it from me, made me worry.” Carl snaps as he slams his bedroom door closed behind you. You stay quiet as he releases your wrist, “you made me think you were fucking him.” He says, his voice low. When he turns to look at you, you can’t help the wave of arousal that rushes through you. Carl takes 2 long strides and is standing in front of you, pushing you by your shoulders, “on your knees.” He instructs and you immediately drop to your knees in front of him. Your hands reach up to unbuckle his belt, the trembling making it hard as you pull the belt through the loops of his jeans. Carl doesn’t say a word as you unbutton his jeans, “baby I’m sorry. I should have told you.” You whisper as you look up at him. You know he’s angry but his eyes soften as he reaches down to stroke your cheek, “baby you seem to have forgotten the rules. You never keep anything from me, and you belong to me. I think you need to be reminded who fucks you the way you like it every night.” Carl says, his voice sweet but his eyes dark with lust. Your breath hitches in your throat as your body gets hot with lust, you squirm a bit as you free his cock. It slaps up against his stomach, the head red and leaking as it pulses. You open your mouth, waiting for him. You know what kind of mood he’s in. Carl grips the back of your head as he slowly thrusts his cock into your mouth, a groan falling past his lips. “You’re mine.” Carl grunts as he begins to thrust into your mouth. You let your jaw go slack and you relax your throat, to allow him to go as deep as he wants to. 

“Only I get to touch you.” Carl says, his voice low and you know he’s talking more to himself then you. Your hands rest on your thighs as Carl’s hands gently wind into your hair, his thrusts getting rougher. Tears spring in your eyes due to him constantly hitting your gag reflex, and drool begins to dribble down your chin. “Fuck baby, you take my cock so well.” He groans as his hips begin to stutter and you know he’s close to coming. His hands grip your hair tightly and soon you feel him coming in your mouth. Once you’ve swallowed every last drop Carl pulls you up and yanks your shorts and panties down your legs. “Bend over.” He says harshly and you immediately bend over his bed, your ass up for him. Carl runs a hand over your ass as he runs his tip up and down your folds. After a moment of him not doing anything you turn your head to complain when his hand comes down on your ass, leaving a stinging sensation that has you dripping down your thighs. “You wear these sexy shorts for Ron baby?” Carl asks, his hand coming down on your ass again. You gasp as you smile, you shake your head as your forehead presses into the bed. “No baby, I wear them for you. Only you, I promise.” You whine and his hand comes down on your other cheek, and you moan. “Who makes you feel like this?” Carl asks and you admit, jealousy looks really good on him. 

“You baby, you do!” You cry out as he spanks you again. Your cheeks are bright red and stinging when Carl soothingly rubs a hand over them, and you’re panting. You feel Carl press the head of his cock into your folds and then he stops, “beg for it.” He demands, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Please fuck me, please I’ll never talk to Ron again I promise. Baby I need your cock, I’ve needed your cock all day please fuck me, only you make me feel this good only you.” You plead and Carl hums in satisfaction as he swiftly enters you in one thrust. You gasp as your fingers curl around the blankets. Carl begins to thrust into you hard and fast, leaving you a panting, moaning mess underneath him. “Who do you belong to?” Carl grunts as he continues his brutal pace and you whine, “y-you baby.” You moan, your body jerking with every sharp thrust. “Yeah baby that’s right, you’re mine. Only I get to fuck this pussy got it?” He snaps and your mouth hangs open when he reaches under to thumb your clit. “Y-yeah baby only you…” You gasp as you feel yourself nearing your end. “Baby please can I come?” You beg, knowing you need his permission before he’ll let you. Carl continues to thrust into you, sweat trickling down the side of his face, “yeah baby come around my cock. I want to feel you,” Carl groans, his voice softer than before. As soon as the words leave his mouth you’re squeezing around him and crying out into the mattress as you gush around him. “Fuck I’m gonna come…” Carl moans and you whine feeling him sliding in and out of you, “come inside me baby.” You beg, you need to feel his come inside you. With a few more sharp thrusts Carl is coming inside you, his hips stuttering before they stop. The both of you are panting and covered in a sheen layer of sweat as he slowly pulls out of you, and you whine feeling so empty. 

You roll over to lay on your back and Carl collapses next to you. “He didn’t touch you under your clothes did he?” Carl asks, his hand finding yours and you shake your head. “No, he more… brushed me on the outside of my shorts.” You tell him and he nods before turning his head to press a kiss to your sweaty forehead. You snuggle into his chest, “you should have told me. I would have done something sooner.” Carl whispered, and you know he feels guilty… like this is his fault somehow. You press a kiss to his collarbone as you look up at him, “I know. I just didn’t want you to feel like we weren’t safe here.” You explain and Carl squeezes you to him tighter. “All I care about is keeping you safe, I love you. If he ever tries anything again, promise you’ll tell me.” He says, looking into your eyes. You lean up and press a long, slow kiss to his lips. “I love you, and I promise. I’ll tell you. But maybe I shouldn’t if it means you’ll fuck me like that in the middle of the day.” You smirk and Carl groans, his hand pinching his nose. “They definitely heard us.” He whines and you laugh. 

“Daryl is gonna kill me.” 

[yeeharley]

oooh may's relationship with harley? idk i just love may okay, i want more may in my life. i want someone to love me like may loves peter

“I hAve EMptY BrAiN DIseaSE” (comes up with brilliant idea i never ever even considered)

• peter brings harley back to his apartment to meet his aunt three months after they’ve started dating, which- yeah, okay, maybe they waited a while (longer than most couples, anyways).

• he just wanted to make sure. wanted to make sure harley was right for him, wanted to make sure harley felt like peter was right for him, wanted to make sure this wasn’t going to be a two-week relationship that fizzles out like a firework in the rain.

• (it isn’t, of course. somewhere in the back of his mind, peter knows that he’d known that harley was special the day he’d met him. they’re happy, gentle with each other, squabbling like an old married couple. sue them for being careful, really)

• (in peter’s opinion, the alternative- introducing may to harley too early on and letting them both down- is much worse)

• they walk home from stark tower on a stormy tuesday in october, all bundled up in their coats and each other. there’s rain dripping from the rooftops and the air conditioning units onto their defenseless heads, seeping into their curls and creating the perfect conditions for an absolutely miserable first meeting.

• the boys aren’t miserable, though.

• of course they’re not.

• harley keeps shaking his head like an overgrown golden retriever, shooting cool droplets into the air and splashing them all over peter’s face and neck. he’s grinning that all-teeth grin that peter loves so much, red lips and perfectly white pearls, and even though the sky is practically purple at this point, peter doesn’t want to rush.

• that changes when the first boom of thunder sounds out through the near-empty streets.

• harley sobers up the minute peter twitches, glancing around like he’s about to be attacked. his fingers are clenched into fists, and the drawn line of his jaw is so hard that he looks like he might break his teeth.

• they walk much faster after that first boom, harley with his head tilted over peter’s to protect him from the rain, both of their long legs keeping perfect stride with each other.

• (peter doesn’t like feeling small, and harley knows that, in most circumstances, having someone his size looming over him like this would be an absolute recipe for disaster- especially with how tense he is. with harley, though, peter feels safe.)

• (he’s told him. he knows.)

• they climb up the fire escape, side-by-side, shivering like wet cats. the door on the landing is covered in green paint the color of peter’s flannel, and harley’s the one to knock, shaking a few flakes of paint to the metal floor. he holds onto peter, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach, and winces as a cold raindrop lands right on the ball of his nose.

• macy keener had loved harley and abby.

• macy keener had also loved johnathan.

• macy keener had been a very distant figure in harley’s life for the entirety of his childhood. his memories of her are full of yellow bottles full of rattling pills (mommy has to take these so she’s not sad, harley had told baby when she’d asked why macy always had bottles in her purse).

• that’s why he doesn’t really know what to expect of peter’s aunt.

• he knows his uncle had died a few years ago, when peter was fourteen. he knows that peter was there. he knows that peter held him while he bled out on unforgiving pavement.

• he knows that his parents had died a very long time ago, when peter was a toddler. he knows that they died on an airplane, and that their names were mary and richard. he knows that peter doesn’t remember them very well.

• but he doesn’t know anything about may parker.

• so that’s why, when the door of the apartment opens to show a very short, very pretty woman with a dishtowel in her soapy hands, a wedding ring on her finger, and frizzy hair in a cloud surrounding her head, he finally realizes what tony meant when he told harley that peter was just like may.

• they look. so similar.

• wow.

• may invites them in, biting her lip when she sees the way peter’s shivering beneath the thick layer of his hoodie (harley’s hoodie). harley waits for her to towel off her hands before holding one of his out, shaking hers, and asking if he can help with dinner while may situates a trembling, chatter-teeth peter at the kitchen table.

• linoleum creaks under flimsy wooden chair legs. may pulls a steaming lasagna out of the oven and nearly burns her hands. peter lays shaking fingers out on the table and gesture for harley to take his hand, and he does, and they hold onto each other while they eat and may cracks jokes and the lasagna is fucking disgusting but it’s the best thing harley thinks he’s ever tasted.

• if the keeners had been shattered glass, the parkers are warmth and light. if the keeners had been night, the parkers are day.

• harley feels like the sun, though, in that cramped little queens kitchen.

• he’s radiating warmth like icarus.

• but, of course, peter’s the one who flies too close to the sun.

• may and harley don’t speak again for a month- not because the first meeting had gone badly, of course, but because there’s just not much need for a line of communication between them when peter’s there.

• peter’s the reason they meet again.

• peter’s the reason harley gets a phone call at three o’clock in the morning on a wednesday.

• peter’s the reason harley picks up his phone to hear a sobbing, entirely incoherent may on the other end of the line. the only thing he can make out is that he needs to come to the parker apartment before may abruptly hangs up.

• harley wants to lie down and die right there.

• but he can’t.

• he makes it to their apartment in record time, jogging through dark streets, and fucking kicks the door in when nobody opens it. whatever. he’ll get tony to buy them a new one, and it needed a new paint job anyways.

• he sees them right away.

• the little bathroom adjacent to the kitchen- not the main one, but the one sans shower- is paved with the same yellow linoleum as the kitchen itself.

• harley can’t see any of that yellow linoleum.

• harley can’t see any of that yellow linoleum beneath the thick coat of red liquid that spreads out from the base of the toilet.

• harley can’t see any of that yellow linoleum beneath the thick coat of red liquid that spreads out from the base of the toilet, where peter, pale and choking on his own breath, is lying spread-eagled on the floor with may crouched above him.

• he’s kneeling beside them before he can blink. groping for the injury- a neat hole beneath the left side of Peter’s ribs- he strips his flannel off and presses it into peter’s skin, flinching at the tortured yell he gives out.

• he’s crying. peter’s crying, shimmery trails cutting through the grime and blood on his face. he can’t seem to speak, instead whimpering his way through the pain and gripping harley’s hands like they’re the last thing he’ll ever feel.

• may’s crying, too.

• harley knows his eyes are watering.

• while he presses down on the wound, trying his best to hold peter down where he can’t aggravate what looks like a bullet hole, may reaches across her nephew’s body and takes harley’s wrist in her unoccupied hand.

• her fingers barely connect next to his wristbone.

• “he’s going to be okay,” she whispers, voice hoarse from crying for help.

• peter lets out another sob and tightens his grip on harley’s hand. his curls are choked with blood, so much that they’re more red than brown, and there’s a little speck of dirt at the corner of his right eye.

• “i know,” harley says, reaching down to brush the dirt away.

• (he’s lying)

• (he doesn’t believe it until he’s sitting in a plastic emergency room chair, holding may’s hand in his own, peter’s blood smeared over his skin, and a surgeon with those same streaks of red all over his scrubs approaches them and tells them that peter’s stable)

• (he doesn't believe it until his and may’s hands are joined over peter’s motionless body in his hospital room, where he’s been moved from the ICU)

• may is still crying.

• harley feels like he’s about to float away.

• peter’s chest is rising up and down, one, two, steady, steady, steady steadysteady

• may smiles through her tears as the beeping of peter’s many machines fill the room.

• harley smiles back.

[passivenovember]

Cloudbusting.

Harringrove April, Day Nineteen : Vines.

(This ones angsty!!)

--

The stuff didn’t mean anything to Billy.

Any of it. 

The four car garage, the fact that Steve had his own bathroom with a little table to do his hair at in the morning. Even the plasma screen tv in the den where nachos were served with real cheese that had to be melted down in the microwave--meant nothing. 

The stuff was nice. 

It was useful, and it was cool, but. There were other things that made it feel like a castle. Immortalized, etched in shades of brown and green, right off the pages of a storybook.

Steve’s house seemed to spring out of the Earth like a freshly unearthed gem. Perfect, with greenery that swirled from every direction; flower beds and pine trees. Shrubs cut in the shape of tennis balls, ropes of Earth catching and holding on to the foundation as if it were in love with Steve’s family. 

Vines, clinging as if afraid to let go.

Billy thought it might be heaven. Steve never seemed to appreciate any of it.

Despite living in Eden, the curtains in his bedroom were always drawn. Blocking out rich yellow sunlight, and the flowers, and the trees that had always been good to them. 

Steve let Billy rub his back kiss his neck when he asked about one day. Several days after his parents left for Italy. Mundane and particular, when the Earth was preparing itself for spring.

Steve rolled into the touch, eyes fluttering open when Billy said, “I’d take you to Italy if I could.” 

As if that could take the edg off of being left behind. 

Again. 

Steve closed his eyes, inching the comforter up under his chin, body shaking as if cold. The last truly frigid thing before April. 

Billy sighed.

He always got like that, when the Harrington’s left town without him.

Skipped town, without him.

Steve shook his head, eyes still closed. “I don’t want to go to Italy.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“Because I don’t want to be here, either.” Steve snapped, rolling onto his side, frowning when Billy yanked the edge of the comforter away from his face.

“You live in a fairytale book.” Billy whispered. “Your life is--”

“Don’t say perfect.”

“Well it is, Steve.” Billy clenched and unclenched his jaw. As if that was proof enough to question why Steve hadn’t left his room in four days. “You have a latte machine in your kitchen and someone who does your laundry and cleans your sinks and vacuums your--”

“I’m tired.” Steve said.

But. 

Billy still didn’t get it. 

“You haven’t done anything but sleep,” He sniffed, nose wrinkling as stale sweat hit him again like a slap across the face. 

It was disgusting.

If his room ever got this bad, if Billy wasn’t up at the ass crack of dawn, everyday, scrubbing the tile in the bathroom on his hands and knees--

The sneer materialized.

Painted on in vibrant, saturated colors when he realized that Steve wouldn’t take care of himself if Marsha didn’t come by two times a week to do it for him, because. 

This was his life. 

Privileged and safe in his castle on the hill, locked away in his private suite with a vanity in the bathroom. Steve could afford to lie around and miss someone who would always, always come home.  

It was pathetic.

This whole fucking thing was pathetic.

Billy stood suddenly, yanking the hamper from its pace against the wall and making his way around the room. Tripping over piles of dirty clothes and shoving them in the basket with entirely too much force. 

Steve peered at him, eyes wide and owlish. “What are you doing.”

“Cleaning up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Billy--”

“Then you do it.” Billy snapped. Tossing the basket onto the floor, most of the clothes tumbling out again. “Get out of bed. Right now. And start a load of laundry, and take a shower, and eat something that isn’t granola bars and slim Jim's, Steve. Think you can do that?”

Steve opened his mouth and closed it again.

Billy nodded. “Yeah.” He said, picking the clothes off the floor. “Didn’t think so.”

He slammed the door on all conversation. 

Moving around the space, tidying and stacking dirty dishes as he went, itching to lay into the princess tucked up nice and sweet in his king sized bed. 

Billy couldn’t see straight. 

Couldn’t stop imagining the way Neil had pushed him onto the floor the morning after, smoke billowing from his lips as his insisted, bitch isn’t coming home. Get ready for school.

Billy wanted to die.

He wanted to crawl under a rock and ball his fists up in his hair an scream until--

“You’re such an asshole.”

Billy didn’t get to do any of that. “Yeah, well. Life goes on.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“What, taking care of you?” Billy yanked the curtains open, shaking loose the dust and grime that had gathered there. “Giving you the royal fuckin’ treatment, baby, isn’t that what you’re used to?”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Steve was sitting now, eyes bright for the first time in days. Watering without ever spilling over. He gestured around the room. “I never asked for this house or any of the shit in it. The cars and the tv’s and the fucking heated pool in the--”

“Boo-fucking-hoo.”

Steve’s eyes turned to stone. “No one asked you to come here and treat me like a--”

Billy threw the basket into the hallway, slamming Steve’s door as it toppled against the carpet. 

“Then get up.” Billy rolled up his sleeves, like. Maybe he wanted to go a couple rounds. Like he’d ever fucking.

Do that again. 

He sniffed. Holding up his hands. White flag.

Billy closed his eyes and tried again. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“It hurts to see you like this, sugar. Laying around, not eating, it fucking--” Billy sat on the edge of the bed. Not touching his baby, but.

Wanting to.

So badly. 

“You do this every time.” Billy whispered. “Every time they choose something else over you.”

If Steve ever let himself cry, he would be right now. Billy’s sure of it, but he kept talking anyway. Scooting closer on the bed as Steve avoided his eyes. 

Steve looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I. Know a thing or two about being left behind.” 

“Bills, I’m sorry. So fucking sorry, I don’t have any room to do this, not while.” He clamped up. 

Billy nodded. Finally understanding. “’S okay.” Because. Maybe. “Even though you know they’re coming back it doesn’t. Hurt any less when they leave, right?”

Billy reached out.

Touched him.

Right as Steve began to shake apart.

[earliebirb]

I'm feeling very exhausted and sleepy and I thought what if someone wrote a small something about Steve being very exhausted after a mission and he basically face plants himself onto Tony who is at movie night with the team with full gear on and filthy from the fights, thank you already ❤

Hi there! I know you sent me this prompt forever ago and you must’ve thought that I forgot about it. I’m so sorry for only finishing the fic now, a century later. I hope you enjoy the fic anyway!

bring back my bonnie to me

steve/tony, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 1611 words 

It is halfway through Alien—Clint’s choice—when a heavy weight falls onto Tony’s back and the bowl of popcorn in his lap nearly goes flying. He freezes for a few seconds before registering the soft tufts of blond hair tickling his cheek. Tony didn’t even hear him approach. Perhaps he had been more immersed in the movie than he previously thought. 

“Hey there, sweetheart. I thought you weren’t going to be home until next week.”

Steve gives a noncommittal hum that does absolutely nothing to explain his unexpected arrival, pressing his face into the side of Tony’s neck. His arms loop around Tony’s shoulders from where he is standing behind the couch, body hunched forward with his chest resting against Tony’s back as if he couldn’t be bothered to stand upright. 

Fresh off his latest mission, Steve is still clad in his uniform, sans cowl. The two-week-turned-one-week-mission is the reason they have pushed back Toy Story to the following week—the man has made it clear that he has been dying to watch the animated movie ever since Tony first showed him a snippet of it on his phone. Technically, this week is Steve’s turn to pick a movie, but he isn’t supposed to be home for a few more days. 

Not that Tony is complaining, of course. Tony is definitely not complaining. The shorter Steve’s missions are, the sooner he comes back home to Tony, allowing him to ascertain with his own two eyes that his boyfriend is safe and sound. 

The team lets out soft murmurs of greetings upon seeing Steve, but for the most part their eyes remain glued to the movie playing on the TV screen. 

Tony has seen this particular movie more times than what is probably healthy, so he focuses on Steve instead, reaching up to ruffle Steve’s hair and smiling at the pleased groan he lets out. Besides, if he is being completely honest, no movie is going to be interesting enough to fully pull his attention off of his boyfriend.

A flake of popcorn hits Tony’s cheek.

“Keep it PG-13 or get a room, lovebirds,” Clint says. Tony turns towards him to express his indignation, but Clint’s eyes are still focused on the screen. Tony doesn’t think he will ever stop being creeped out by the eerie accuracy of his aim.

“You want to join us?” Tony asks, fingers still scratching Steve’s scalp lightly.

Steve shakes his head.

“You want to go to bed?”

“I’ll just sleep here,” Steve mumbles tiredly.

“You can’t sleep here, sweetheart.” Tony chuckles, patting one of the arms Steve has around his shoulders. The material of the uniform feels rough against the skin of his palm. With his current position, the edge of the couch must be digging into Steve’s stomach in an unpleasant way. “Let’s get you cleaned up and head straight to bed.”

“Here’s fine. Don’t need a bed.” Steve’s words are muffled against Tony’s shirt, speech becoming increasingly incoherent. “Just need you.”

Tony huffs, a fond smile on his lips. Another flake of popcorn hits him, bouncing off his stomach and landing on his thigh. This time, Tony doesn’t even bother gracing Clint with a glance.

“No can do, Sir.” Tony squeezes Steve’s wrist decisively. “Come on, up you go. Up, soldier.”

Steve lets out a displeased sigh, but eventually he straightens up groggily. Tony stands up and rounds the couch to actually get a good look at him. 

Steve’s face is grimed with dirt. There is a cut on his right cheek that Tony knows is going to heal completely come morning. 

He reaches up anyway, cupping Steve’s cheek and tracing the line of the wound with the side of his thumb. Steve blinks down at him, slow and languid. He is already struggling to keep his eyes open, eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

“Just a cut,” Steve whispers, leaning into Tony’s touch. When Tony’s worried frown stays in place, Steve turns and plants a soft kiss in the center of his palm.

Taking Steve’s hand, Tony turns to address the rest of the room. “Sorry folks, looks like you’re going to have to finish the movie without us.”

After exchanging their good night’s with the team, Tony leads Steve up to the penthouse. 

Steve tries to make for the bed the second they enter the bedroom, but Tony redirects his path swiftly to the en-suite bathroom, much to his disappointment. Steve proceeds to make his disapproval clear in the form of a frown and a pair of grumpy eyebrows creasing together.

“You’re filthy, baby.” Chuckling in amusement, Tony squishes Steve’s cheeks together with one hand. Steve whines petulantly. “You have germs, mister. Germs. Do you want me to die of germs?”

Steve glowers at Tony. Tony grins up at him. With the hand still squishing Steve’s cheeks, he moves Steve’s head from side to side. 

“No, Tony. I don’t want you to die of germs, because I love you,” Tony says, his voice an octave lower than usual. It’s a hilariously poor attempt at mimicking Steve’s voice, but it’s worth it for the way Steve’s eyes wane into happy crescents, for the way his lips twitch with the effort of holding back a smile.

“Come on, darling. All you need to do is just stand there. I’ll do all the work, okay?”

Eventually, Steve succumbs to his wiles. Tony strips Steve out of his many layers of combat uniform before undressing himself. Together, they step into the wide space of Tony’s glass shower stall, which houses a multi-jet shower system with a total of eight body sprays in addition to the rainfall showerhead that is mounted on the ceiling. Tony makes sure the water is at a sufficiently warm temperature—warm enough to become hot after a while, because Steve likes it that way—and sets the body sprays’ water pressure to a pulsating massage.

When the water hits his skin, Steve groans audibly. Tony runs his hands soothingly up and down Steve’s sides.

Doing exactly what he promised, he lets Steve stand still while he lathers soap all over Steve’s body, mentally cataloguing all the bruises and cuts he manages to find. He also works shampoo into Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp with the gentle press of his fingers. 

He turns the water back on afterwards, letting the soap suds disintegrate. Even after their bodies are rinsed clean of soap and grime, they continue to stand there in the middle of the shower stall, indulging in the pleasant pressure of warm water against sore muscles. Tony rests his forehead on Steve’s sternum, arms holding him close. 

After a while, when their fingers have become wrinkled prunes, Tony reaches over and shuts the water off. The bathroom is thrown into abrupt silence. It is broken only by the sound of water circling down the drain and the sound of their breathing, which echoes in the enclosed space.

He plants his chin on Steve’s chest and looks up at him. Steve’s eyes are still closed. He looks unfairly breathtaking even when soaking wet, water droplets hanging precariously from the tips of his eyelashes. 

Tony lets the hands he has on Steve’s waist slide up to his shoulders, thumbs caressing the jut of Steve’s collarbones. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Slowly, Steve’s eyelids flutter open. His eyes hold Tony’s gaze for a long moment before dropping down to his lips. Tony’s eyes track the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“What?” Tony whispers, meeting his eyes again. Steve’s arms are warm around him, pulling him closer as if they weren’t already pressed skin to skin.

One of the corners of Steve’s mouth hitches up in a lopsided smile that Tony has grown incredibly fond of. Amazement swims in his baby blues.

“Just wondering where I’d be without you.”

Tony hums with his eyes turned to the ceiling, pretending to ponder the answer. 

“Slumped over the back of a couch, probably. Asleep. Sweaty, bloody, and filthy.”

Steve laughs softly, not bothering to disagree. He leans down to capture Tony’s mouth in a kiss, ardent and saccharine sweet, his lips caressing Tony’s in a way that makes it abundantly clear just how much Steve has missed him. 

Eventually, Tony pulls back for air. He cradles Steve’s face in his hands, staring straight into his eyes. 

“Thank you for coming home safely,” he whispers, solemn with sincere gratitude.

At that, Steve’s eyes soften. “I missed you. So much.” 

Steve reaches for the ball chain hanging from Tony’s neck, twisting it around his fingers. He has an endearing habit of touching the chain of the dog tags Tony never takes off—the feel of it against his fingers a reassuring reminder of where Tony’s affections lie. He has always taken pleasure in the sight of Tony wearing something that belongs to him, whether it’s his dog tags or one of his shirts.

Tony seems to have also cultivated the same habit. On nights where he misses Steve like a lost limb and the man is somewhere out of reach, touching the dog tags brings him a ridiculous amount of comfort. 

It makes him wonder if that is what it would feel like to wear a ring from Steve—if Tony would be able to fool him enough to actually make him do something as insane as marrying Tony. 

“Right back at you, mister.” If Steve notices the way Tony’s voice has gone thick with emotion, he doesn’t comment on it. Tony pats his cheeks lightly. “Come on, let’s dry up and go to bed.”

When Steve releases the chain, the dog tags clang against the edge of the arc reactor.

“After you, sweetheart.”

[angryschnauzer]

Superior Specimen - Chapter 8

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Angst, Argument, Jealousy, Talk of car crashes, heroics, rough sex, use of safe words, Anal play,

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 8

 On the tube an old woman had offered you a tissue and had whispered quietly;

 “He’s not worth crying over my dear”

 You swallowed and smiled weakly at her;

 “Unfortunately he was… he was just an idiot too”

 “They all are my dear, they all are”

 She got off at the next stop, giving you a pat on the arm before leaving the carriage, leaving you ride the rest of the way to Fulham Broadway on your own.

 You were on autopilot when you arrived, walking through the small shopping mall that had grown around the tube station, grabbing a pair of overpriced knock-off designer sunglasses from the concession stand to hide your puffy and red eyes, swollen from crying. As you stood in the crowd at the lights to cross the road, a stream of Ambulances and Police cars screamed past, lights and sirens blasting, but it was London, every day there was a crisis or accident and you were used to them. 

 The walk to your flat was quick, just a few roads from the tube, and you were thankful you’d brought your small clutch bag from the hotel room that had your phone, wallet, and keys in. Once inside you pulled off your clothing, everything Henry had bought for you, tossing it into a heap on the floor before you climbed into bed and curled into a ball, sobbing into the pillow.

 -

 You woke to the sound of a metal on plastic crunch from the street outside, familiar with the sound and you knew it was vehicle vs wheelie bin, an all too familiar occurrence when collection day was on a Friday and people went out that night, so the street would still be littered with bins the following day. Staring up at the ceiling you heard the doorbell ring, glaring at the ceiling but refusing to move. You didn’t care if your bin that had ended up a casualty of a car not looking where it was going, so when the bell finally timed out you closed your eyes… only to be rudely disturbed by a loud knocking on the door a minute later, a muffled voice from the other side;

 “Princess… it’s me; Henry… please, just tell me you’re ok… I’ve got to know you’re ok…”

 You could feel your emotions rising within you; a heat, an anger, and as the knocking continued you grabbed the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and was still tying it as you pulled the door open, but surprised to see state of Henry, his clothes a mess and his face blotchy;

 “What the hell happe…”

 Your words were cut short as he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight;

 “You’re alright… my god, you’re ok…”

 “Henry, what is going on?”

 He let you go and started pacing;

 “I was an ass, I didn’t follow you, I was stupid… I tried calling you but you never picked up…”

 “I had it on silent… I didn’t want anyone to disturb our date”

 “And then the accident, I’d gone back to the hotel, I knew it was the closest tube to where we were...”

 “Accident?”

 “There was an accident, on the road outside the London Bridge Tube, a bus and council truck collided and ran into the queue… I stayed and helped the emergency services; I was trying to find you… but you weren’t there…”

 Your hand was over your mouth, tears pooling on your lashes as you looked at him, and realised he cared so much for you that he had literally pulled people out of the wreckage of an major accident because he thought he had lost you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you cradled the back of his head as he slumped to the floor, sobbing into your shoulder and the softness of your dressing gown. 

 Finally he pulled his head back, a weak smile on his face as he looked into your eyes, and you saw a different Henry, one that was fragile, one that needed you as much as you needed him.

 “C’mon, let me put the kettle on”

 -

 Sipping on sweet tea as you both sat at the kitchen table, dunking Digestive biscuits in the deep brown steaming mugs, you looked him up and down;

 “You are a mess”

 He glanced down and realised his shirt and jeans were covered in dirt, grime, and in some places blood;

 “You’re right” he paused before looking back to you; “Look, I’ve got a suggestion… pack a bag. Comfy clothing, overnight things. We’ll head back to the hotel and collect our things, then head back to my place. I’ll cook dinner and we can talk… ask all those things we’ve both wanted to ask since we met, yeah?”

 He looked at you like a hopeful puppy, his deep blue eyes watery where he feared you would say no, but as you nodded he let out the breath he had been holding, and a genuine smile spread over his face.

 -

 Henry opened the door to his place and stepped aside, letting you enter and look around as he shut the door, resting all the bags from the hotel room on the shiny white tiles that covered the floor. 

 “This is your place?”

 “It’s home for the next few months” he shut the door and wrapped his arm around you; “I gave up on having a permanent place about five years ago. I would always come back to a dust filled nightmare and a fridge that was a biohazard. I keep a PO box for any mail and a storage unit for my things that I don’t need when I’m away”

 You looked at him;

 “It sounds very… lonely…”

 He paused, considering your words;

 “I’ve never thought about it that way… but, you’re right” he wrapped his arms around you, his gaze intense; “I’m sorry I over-reacted earlier… about your flatmate. I was just… I don’t know, so focused I guess on this amazing thing we have now, and what we were talking about last night… how those I fall for push me away when I have to leave… I could only think ‘this guy will be around when I’m not’...”

 You reached up and cupped his cheek with your hand, realising in that moment that for all the bravado and confidence, beneath that Henry was just like you, like anyone else, and feared losing those he cared for;

 “I would wait… I will wait…”

 You pressed a kiss to his lips, and the pair of you just held each other for the longest time, before he pulled away;

 “What kind of host am I? I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea!”

 Laughing you followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the sparse worktops, all the cupboards pristine white. Even the appliances were just plain brushed aluminium. As the kettle bubbled away you pushed yourself up onto the central island, sitting on the marble countertop as you watched Henry move around the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of milk, sniffing it and cringing;

 “Okay, tea may be off the menu… the milk’s off”

 Pausing he opened the cupboard, shoulders slumping when he saw the empty tea caddy;

 “No tea either…”

 Leaning back you pulled your phone from your pocket and opened google maps;

 “This is Warwick Square, right?”

 “Yes”

 You pinched the screen and zoomed out, jumping off the counter;

 “C’mon, there’s a Tesco Express just around the corner”

 -

 Walking hand in hand around Pimlico with Henry, it dawned on you that you had never visited this part of London, the sights and sounds much like most of the city, but where each little borough had its own character. Once you reached the supermarket he grabbed a basket and picked up the few things he needed, before his hand hovered over the selection of biscuits;

 “Ok, make or break time to find out if we are truly compatible” his voice had an element of mischief in it as he spoke; “Milk or Dark Chocolate Digestives?”

 You looked at the selection before you set your hand down on the bright blue packet;

 “Trick question, we both know the true answer is Milk Chocolate Hobnobs”

 He laughed as you dropped the packet into the basket, wrapping his massive arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest;

 “I knew there was a reason I loved you” he turned to the row of refrigerators on the other side of the isle, unaware of what he’d said, and how your eyes were a little wider as you took in his admission; “Shall I make some burnt offerings for you tonight? I have somewhat limited culinary skills, but I can rustle up something with meat or fish…”

 Nodding you were still a little stunned, finally finding your voice;

 “Yeah, I’ll eat anything”

 He cocked an eyebrow and you playfully batted at his arm;

 “Oh shut up” you laughed

-

 Dinner had been nice. An easy dish of roasted pork, Henry had thrown in some potatoes and had let them roast with alongside, and a simple salad. The one thing he did have readily stocked in his place was alcohol, and between the two of you an entire bottle of vintage Pinot Noir had been sunk over the course of dinner, and as you watched him stack the dishwasher you spread out on the massive white sofa that dominated the open plan space. You couldn’t help yourself but you popped the button of your jeans, letting out a sigh of relief. 

 Checking your phone you reopened your roommates’ email and read it again, before hitting reply. You knew deep down you wouldn’t be able to get a mortgage, but asked that you be kept in the loop and would start looking for another place come Monday. Having hit send you saw another email, this time from your Manager, requesting that you attend a review on Monday morning;

 “Huh, so much for giving me a week off” you muttered to yourself, before looking up and seeing Henry approaching you, two full glasses of red wind in hand.

 “Everything ok?”

 Taking the glass you smiled;

 “Yeah, work want me to go in for a review on Monday morning”

 “Did they say what it was about?”

 “No, but I’m guessing ‘playing heroics and injuring yourself on the job isn’t in your job description, please don’t sue us’ is probably on the agenda”

 Settling next to you he rested a hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze;

 “I’m sure you’re right” he sipped at the wine before setting it on the small table at the side; “Hey I meant to ask, does your roommate have an Instagram account or Facebook page?”

 “Yeah, I’ll pull it up. Its where he’s trying to do more serious photography”

 He nodded and tapped at his phone for a few seconds before setting it aside, raising his glass again and clinking it against yours;

 “Cheers”

 -

 By the time the last dregs of the 2nd bottle of wine were drained from your glasses you were drunk as skunks and just an amorous. You were draped over Henry’s lap, his hand was attempting to sneak under your t-shirt as you curled one hand in his hair, wrapping a deep brown strand around your finger as you kissed him lazily. When his hand finally found your breast you moaned at his touch, his lips brushing against your neck;

 “I think we should take this to the bedroom”

 You giggled;

 “With the amount of wine we’ve had? Can you still get it up?”

 He pushed his crotch up against you;

 “Princess I’m already ‘up’, now I need to be in, and I don’t care which hole, I just want to feel you around my dick as we have some nasty drunk sex”

 You attempted to slide off his lap and land on your feet, but what really happened was you tumbled into a heap on the soft white rug, one leg still on the sofa as the other hit the coffee table and your ass in the air;

 “Help!” you cried out, giggling as Henry stood and swayed, before wrapping his arm around your waist and carrying you under his arm to the bedroom like a misbehaving poodle in Harrods.

 He dropped you onto the bed and in the light from the lounge you watched as he yanked his t-shirt over his head, and started to unfasten his jeans, letting out a sigh of relief when the massive bulge in his boxers was allowed more room to grow. With a growl be bent over you and pulled your jeans down your legs, your panties following suit, before flipping you over so you were on your front. He went to reach for your ass but had forgotten his jeans were still around his thighs, and he proceeded to trip-tumble onto the bed beside you. You couldn’t help but to giggle into the soft duvet, and it earned you a single spank on your ass that make you squeal.

 Rolling onto your back you looked at Henry as he huffed and puffed to take his jeans and boxers off, and you spread your legs as your hands strayed to your pussy;

 “Are you doing to fuck me, or shall I just get myself started?” you said with more sass than needed, but it earned you a low groan and you could have sworn you heard seams ripping as he finally rid himself of his clothes.

 “Cheeky wench!” Henry pounced on you, pulling your top over your head before fumbling with your bra, finally getting you out of it as he flung it across the room and you heard it hit something in the darkness; “I’ll show you, gonna fuck you so good you’ll have to sit on a cushion when you go into work on Monday”

 He flipped you over and pulled your ass up, and you instinctively arched your back and bared yourself to him, prone and ready, begging for attention. You felt his hands smooth over your ass before dipping between your legs;

 “Already so wet for me, you need me to fuck this cunt Princess? Fill you up with my cum? Or should I cum over your beautiful tits, so you can watch me as I spray my load on you, huh?”

 He slid two fingers into your soaked hole, stretching you as his thumb found your clit and he rubbed harshly at it, the wine making him lose his finesse but up his pressure. When he pulled his fingers out you let out a needy whine, only to feel him press his dick against you, rutting into your crease and smearing your juices over himself. 

 The friction was delicious, and you found yourself pressing back and eager for more, earning a low chuckle to rumble up from Henry’s chest;

 “You like that Princess? Like me rubbing my dick against your asshole?”

 “Oh fuck… fuck… more…”

 You felt him spit on your ass as he lowered his dick and slowly but firmly filled your pussy. As you were getting used to be filled so deep you felt his thumb press against your asshole;

 “NERD!”

 Suddenly Henry stopped;

 “Princess?”

 You turned, looking over your shoulder;

 “Look Hen, I may be up for some anal play, but lube… you gotta use lube…”

 You saw him look back and forth between your ass and his bedside drawers, as if trying to work out whether to forget the ass play and just fuck your pussy, or to give up your pussy for just a few seconds and get the lube. In the end the lube won, and he quickly slid out of you, leaning across the bed and yanking the drawer open, before pulling out a small bottle of Durex Lube. You saw it and grinned;

 “Ooh nice one. Make sure there’s enough for a tit-wank in the morning”

 Henry paused and looked at you, and you could almost see his brain short circuiting at what you’d said as it fought through the wine haze;

 “Fuck, if I didn’t want to fuck you doggy style quite so much I’d say let’s do that now…”

 He settled behind you and rammed his dick straight back into you, making you squeal as he filled you. You heard the quiet squeeze of the pump on the bottle before the cool gel fell on the crease of your ass and his fingers started to massage against your back door. He ran his finger around and around your brown rose, and you could feel yourself relaxing and trying to push back to get him to go further, making you whine;

 “Please Hen… do something…”

 He ran his thumb over your asshole and rested it on it before finally pushing in, holding the digit inside just up to the first knuckle, and that’s when he started to move in your pussy.

 “So. Fucking. Good. My dirty little Princess…”

 You whined for more, for him to go harder, deeper, and he did so with glee;

 “You want more? Fuck yes, take my dick, can feel your insides parting for me, you like my thumb in your ass? Like being double stuffed?”

 “Fuck…” your head was swimming, your chest resting against the bed as you snuck your hand between your legs and started to strum at your clit, urging your orgasm on as Henry turned into a feral beast behind you, fucking you raw and dirty, you pushing back for each thrust to feel him deeper and split you wider.

 Your orgasm happened without warning, screaming out his name as you came so hard he was sure if he hadn’t pulled his thumb out your muscles would have broken the bones in it. Your knees gave way and you slumped down onto the bed, Henry still deep inside you, fucking you as you lay spent on the bed;

 “So close… almost there…

 “Cum on my ass Hen…” you muttered as he railed into you, and you heard a groan as he pulled out of you, seconds later the splash of his hot seed landing on your naked ass, back and thighs.

 For a moment everything went quiet before you felt him wiping his cum from you, and he moved you in the bed until you were curled up in his arms, the little spoon to his big;

 “You’re fucking amazing Princess, I fucking love you so much” he slurred, before the two of you feel asleep in drunken stupors.

Chapter 9 >>>

[jungshookz]

CHAPTER THREE; The investigation.

chapter one; chapter two

                               Player has chosen: [B] Stay together! 

“okay, if you’re not scared, then you’re okay with us splitting up to find the rest of the gang, right?” taehyung tilts his head before raising a brow

you swallow thickly and take a couple of seconds to think it through

if you split up, there would be four people exploring four different parts of the house, which would be pretty efficient

but sticking together would be a much safer option and this house does give you the heebie-jeebies after all...

“i’m…” you trail off before shaking your head gently, “i’m not scared, but i don’t think it’s a good idea to split up. this house is huge and we could lose each other again, which means we’d waste even more time.”

taehyung immediately lets out a quiet groan and tilts his head back, “ugh. you guys are so lame.”

wha-

you’re not lame!!

you’re just,.,. you’re being safe!!

and safety isn’t lame!!

“okay, what about if we split off in groups of two?” you suggest, raising a brow, “that way we’re not entirely alone, and we have two teams searching the house instead of just one big one…”

“okay… i guess i can get on board with that…”

“and this can be our meeting spot!” you perk up, “how about… twenty minutes? in twenty minutes, no matter what, you have to come back here for a team update.”

“this is exciting!” jimin grins, clasping his hands together in anticipation, “it kinda feels like we’re ghost-hunting.”

taehyung snorts, “well, yoongi is as pale as a ghost, so i guess there’s some truth in that-”

“alright! so, jungkook and i will take floors one to three, and you guys can take floors four to six-“

“woah, woah, woah-“ taehyung interrupts you, waving both his hands to stop you, “hold on just a second- why do you get to take jungkook?”

you frown lightly, “what do you mean?”

“if you take jungkook, you get the flashlight and the baseball bat. that’s so not fair!”

“i thought you morons weren’t scared of this dusty old house.” you mock, using the bat to gesture around the large room

“we’re not scared-!” taehyung argues, “but anyone would feel a little better having at least one helpful tool.”

you suppose he’s right

it’s only fair that their team gets a tool

you roll your eyes before nudging jungkook with your elbow, “jungkook, give him your flashlight-”

jungkook immediately gawks and holds his precious flashlight to his chest, “what? no way! i’m not giving up the flashlight! you give him your bat!”

and now it’s youR turn to gawk

“what?? i’m not giving him my bat! i’m the weakest one here, i actually need the weapon if we get into any kind of trouble-”

“you know…” taehyung whistles lowly, “for two people who claim they aren’t a pair of scaredy-cats, you sure are acting like it now-”

“okay, what about this?” you use your bat to point towards jimin, “i’ll take jimin, and you can take jungkook-”

“i don’t wanna pair up with taehyung!” jungkook speaks up, shaking his head furiously, “no friggin’ way!”

oh jesus

at this rate you’re going to be here all night just arguing about who’s going to go with whO

the others would be better off finding you guys instead of you guys finding them

“and why not?”

“because he’s an asshole- and what if he tries scaring me again? this place already gives me the creeps, and i don’t need taehyung whispering about how this place could’ve been, like, a mental hospital or something and the deranged patients are still somewhere in here-”

“oh my god, jungkook-!” you cut him off, partly to get him to shut up and partly to get him to stOp talking about deranged mental patients because the idea of that is just plain terrifying, “okay, i will take taehyung, and you can take jimin. is everyone happy??”

a good five seconds of silence ticks by and you take that as a yes

finally

thank GOD

“ooh, you know what we should do?” taehyung gasps as he makes his way over to you, “why don’t we turn this into a game? whichever team comes back with more people in twenty minutes is the winner!”

“what kind of prize are we talking about?” jungkook perks up, his competitive streak suddenly kicking in, “i like games if there are prizes to win.”

hm

you like playing games too

and you like winning prizes

plus, it’ll motivate you to find everyone faster!

“i have a starbucks coupon in my wallet?” you offer, “there’s like, six bucks left on it, but it’s better than nothing-“

“i have a strawberry flavoured condom in mine!” jimin chirps

everyone looks over at him

“what?” he shrugs, “strawberry is tastier than plain ol’ latex.”

“okay, well-” taehyung claps his hands together to effectively bring this flavoured condom conversation to an end, “the winning team gets a six dollar starbucks coupon, a strawberry flavoured condom, and the title of best team ever- so we’re all in, then? are we doing this?”

“mhm.”

“yep!”

“uh-huh.”

“remember, twenty minutes!” you call out as jimin and jungkook head back towards the staircase to go up to the third floor, “twenty minutes and we meet back here- aaand no one’s listening to me. wonderful.”

the sound of their footsteps fade into the distance and soon enough, it’s just you and taehyung

you turn around to look at him, “alright, superstar. there’s no way in hell i’m giving up my starbucks coupon, so we’d better get a move-on.”

“i say we tackle the kitchen first,” taehyung nods enthusiastically, “i could use a snack.”

“you- you think you’re going to get a snack here?” you snort, the two of you heading towards what seems to be the swinging double-doors to a kitchen, “unless you’re in the mood for, like, dead cockroaches and dust bunnies, i doubt you’re going to find anything yummy here.”

“hm.” tae frowns, “good point. you don’t think they have any canned goods here? like, canned peaches or… i don’t know, i’ll even take tuna-“

“tae- give up all hope of finding something edible here. after we find everyone, we’ll get out of here and go to mcdonalds! i’d kill for a big mac right now-”

“okay, you need to stop talking about food because i’m actually starving right now-“ taehyung looks down and places a hand over his tummy before patting it, “let’s talk about something else. who are we finding first?”

the two of you step into the kitchen, the door gently swinging back and forth behind you 

for a house that’s seemingly been abandoned, this kitchen is pretty neat

you expected it to be overrun by rats and covered in weeds and all that 

it’s still pretty dusty in here, though 

“well, i don’t think we can plan to find someone first, tae.” you raise a brow as you swipe a finger over the gritty kitchen island, “we find whoever we find.”

you rub the grime in between your fingers before wiping your hand off on the back of your jeans

“touché.” taehyung mutters as he walks alongside you, “say you were mr. kim namjoon himself, where do you think you would be?”

“hm. do i think i’m in trouble or am i just passed out?” you ask absentmindedly as you open up the drawers in search for anything useful

unfortunately, all you’re able to find are boring old utensils   

you’re not sure how useful forks and spoons are as self-defence weapons

unless you scooped someone’s eyes out with the spoons

that could work! 

that sounds like it requires technique, though… so maybe you’ll have to go with a different approach

“um… just passed out.” taehyung coughs before waving his hand in front of his face, “jesus, it’s dusty in here-” 

you let out a gasp when you end up finding a box of matches - there are only three matchsticks left, but that’s definitely better than no matchsticks at all!

light!! 

“well, see, that’s not fair, because then it’s free game-” you spin around and hold the box of matches up before shaking it gently, “if i was a passed out namjoon, i could be anywhere in this damn house- also, see if you can find any candles or anything-”

“you know, these types of games aren’t fun when you overanalyse and think about it like that-” taehyung flat out ignores you before bending over so he can lean against the kitchen island, “i change my answer. say you were a mr. kim namjoon who thought someone was chasing you- what would you do and where would you hide?” 

you wait for two seconds to see if taehyung will make a move to get up and actually help you 

and.... 

nope 

god

you have to do everything around here

“okay, fine. if i was a namjoon who thought i was in trouble…” you let out a sigh as you spin back around before reaching up to open up the cupboards, “i would probably leave a clue somewhere for my friends to find me…”

a large speck of dust floats past your eyes and you’re about to wave it away when you suddenly remember the dust that you saw earlier at the top of the staircase

…

you follow it with your eyes, watching carefully as it drifts past you and begins lowering to the ground

“like a hansel and gretel situation?” taehyung asks, “with the crumbs of bread and stuff?”

“exactly…” you murmur, watching curiously as the speck of dust never actually floats to the ground but appears to float down the hall

“what would namjoon use in place of bread? probably, like, those caramel candies he’s always sucking on-” taehyung snorts and moves to the side when you shut the cupboards and lean over to keep an eye on the floating dust, “what are you looking at?” he asks, standing up straight to look at what you’re looking at

which is...

nothing? 

“nothing, nothing-” you shake your head, quickly springing into action when you nearly lose sight of it, “here, take the bat-” 

you don’t know why but you feel like you have to follow it

or maybe you’re just crazy and it’s just an innocent speck of dust because this house really IS super old and musty after all 

there’s nothing left to explore in the kitchen so you have to move on to other rooms anyway  

taehyung takes the bat from you and props it up so he’s holding it over his shoulder, “what’s going on?”

you fumble with the little cardboard carton before pulling a matchstick out and quickly striking it against the side of the box, a little ball of flame suddenly coming to life and flickering before your eyes

the corridor is pitch black so you can’t see very far ahead, but it’s better than fumbling around in the dark 

you swallow your nerves before venturing forward, tucking the carton into your pocket for safe-keeping 

“hey, wait- where are you going??” taehyung stammers, quickly trailing behind you as you leave the kitchen

“i just have a feeling…” you murmur, watching the flame carefully and slowing your pace down a little when it trembles a little too violently for your liking 

if this thing blows out halfway through and leaves you in the complete dark.,,. you’re 100% going to piss yourself 

the two of you round the corner and start to walk down what feels like a longer, narrower corridor

your tiny little torch is proving to be very useful right now!

“you know, we’re supposed to be a team.” taehyung hisses, “you can’t just start walking and not tell me where you’re going-”

your sneakers squeak against the floor when you suddenly come to a stop, tae letting out a grunt as he bumps into your back, ““jesus, the architecture of this place literally doesn’t make any sense at all.” 

“what are you talking about?” taehyung asks, glancing over his back towards the safety of the kitchen 

it’s brighter in the kitchen so he can still see a patch of light, but it seems like it’s a million miles away 

“i mean… what is this?” you gesture in front of you 

the corridor splits off into three different paths

the middle one just continues on into the darkness

but the others split off into two different… rooms? for some reason

kind of like the letter ‘y’ with a gap in the middle 

the doors to the rooms have glass panels in the centre and you take a step closer to peer into the left one, and then right one

and from that point onward, things just keep getting weirder and weirder

in the left room, there’s a staircase spiralling down, and in the right room, there’s a staircase spiralling up

you wouldn’t be surprised if the staircases led to more corridors with even more staircases

“i don’t know about this.” taehyung mutters, “i don’t… i mean, i really don’t think anyone would be here… i think we should go back to the kitchen, y/n. i’m, like, a little scared right now-”

“okay, yeah.” you mutter, “my match is about to die, so-”

as soon as you turn around to start heading down the hall, you suddenly feel a little thump from underneath your feet

you jump in surprise and reach out to grab the back of tae’s arm, “did you- did you feel that?”

“did i feel what?”

“the… i swear i felt something. i heard something too- like- like if someone was, like… like if someone smacked their fist against the wall or something-”

“what? well, i would’ve heard it too but i didn’t hear anything…” taehyung mutters uneasily, attempting to start walking again only for you to pull him back

he lets out a sigh before turning to look over at you, “okay, fine. where did the sound come from?”

you swallow thickly as you turn to look over your shoulder, “…the door on the left.”

“...okay, well, there’s no way i’m going in there, so i’m gonna head back to the kitchen-” 

you feel taehyung’s arm slip away from your hand right as your match burns out and you open your eyes as wide as they can possibly go as if doing so will give you night-vision or something 

“taehyung, hold on-” you fumble for the box of matches in your pocket, “just gimme a second to-” 

as soon as you light another match, you’re more than surprised to see that the structure of the corridor has changed because now you’re standing in front of a wall 

you turn around quickly to see that the three paths are still there 

??

what??

where did the-

where did the kitchen go??

where did the corridor go??? 

your hand starts to tremble, the little flame starting to shake as well 

you feel your heart beginning to pound a little harder in your chest and you whimper quietly when you hear another thump

what do you want to do?

> [A] Don’t go into the room! You don’t know what’s down there!

> [B] Go into the room! …Once again, you don’t know what’s down there... And what if it’s one of the others?

Place your vote here.

You have one hour.

Good luck.

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Peter’s Bad Day

It was a very bad day.

It started bad and got worse from there. He accidentally slept in, and woke to find Bucky had already gone to work, and Peter had missed kissing him goodbye and sneaking one of his signature Post-It notes into the man’s lunch. Just a few words he’d scribble down as Bucky would get ready to leave, something sappy but straight from the heart, usually accompanied by a corny drawing of a heart (or more often, several). He liked to tuck them into Bucky’s lunchbox between his sandwich and plum pudding for the man to find halfway through his break.

Having slept in, Peter was dangerously close to running late for his first class of the day. He didn’t have time to shower and could tell right away that he accidentally used way too much deodorant to compensate. The chemical smell made his eyes burn and left him coughing as he ran from the only bathroom in their shoebox apartment. He didn’t have time to run all the way to the subway, so he was forced to call for a cab to get to campus, which was always painfully expensive. Bucky made good money working for Mr. Stark, but still. Peter was frugal, it was one of the reasons their 1-bedroom place was so small.

The cab driver was unnerving and intense, an old, balding white man who made derogatory comments about the women they passed on the street and left Peter feeling uneasy and argumentative. He didn’t feel safe not tipping the man though, so he begrudgingly handed over all the cash in his wallet and got out. As thanks, the cab sped off, its back tires spinning in place in the muddy puddle beside the curb, drenching Peter in filthy water and street debris. He could swore he saw the man laughing in the rear-view mirror as he drove away.

School didn’t give him any breaks. He had somehow managed to leave his laptop (and all his homework) on the night table beside their bed, earning himself late marks on two huge assignments for two separate classes (his puppy dog eyes weren’t enough to save him, not today). He forgot to grab his lunch from the fridge, and after handing all his cash to the crabby cab driver, didn’t have any left to buy a new one at the cafeteria or campus Starbucks, leaving him hungry and irate. He could use the emergency credit card Bucky gave him, but he didn’t want to spend anymore unnecessary money on today.

He had trouble concentrating all day, and walked out of his last class feeling like the whole day had been a complete waste of time, mental energy and money. He was tired, dirty, hungry, frustrated and sad by the time he got home, and all he wanted to do was run himself a hot bath and have a good old fashioned cry, preferably while stuffing his face with a hot, heaping plate of mac and cheese.

But Bucky, his wonderful, incredible, sometimes overbearing other half, took one look at Peter as he came through the door and somehow just knew.

“Aww, sweetheart. Bad day?”

Peter was ashamed that that was all it took to make him burst into tears. Bucky was off the couch and there in an instant, hugging him tightly even though Peter could practically feel how bad he smelled. “Everything went wrong today,” he hiccupped out, like a baby. “N-nothing went good, not a single thing. It just kept piling up. I’m—I’m so tired, Bucky.”

“Oh baby,” Bucky soothed, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his hair. “Let’s fix that, yeah? The day’s not over. It’s not too late.”

Peter sank into his boyfriend’s chest, nodding gratefully, then yelped in surprise when Bucky stooped down and lifted him bridal-style into his arms. “B-Bucky, don’t,” he weakly protested, his face flushing. “I smell like a back alley dumpster, you shouldn’t-”

Bucky bent forward and kissed his hair, as if to shut him up. “That’s why we’re getting you into the bath, doll.”

“But-”

His objections went unheard as he was lowered down onto the cold tile floor of their bathroom then gently stripped of his filthy clothes. Bucky ran the bath, cradling Peter in his arms again as the tub filled, peppering his face in gentle kisses (as gentle as they could be, with that thick beard brushing against his own hairless face, almost immediately scratching it), before lowering him once again, this time into the blissfully warm water.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mumbled, humbled and humiliated that Bucky felt the need to baby him to this extent. It was just a bad day, after all. “It’s okay, Bucky, I can bathe myself.”

“I know you can,” Bucky said. The warm wash cloth he’d soaped up crawled over Peter’s skin, washing the day’s grime away. “But you don’t have to today.”

His cheeks burned, but he knew this was just a way of Bucky saying he loved him. He let the man bathe him and wash his hair, perfectly content and relaxed as the warmth of the water seeped into his muscles. Bucky sat beside the tub as he soaked, delicately caressing Peter’s palms with his metal hand, ordering Thai takeout for dinner on his phone with the other.

Peter was dressed in a clean, baggy T-shirt (Bucky’s, since his were so much bigger and better for sleeping in) and a pair of his most comfortable boxer briefs (his own, because Bucky’s wouldn’t fit). Bucky had just finished towel-drying his hair when the doorbell rang, and kissed Peter softly on the forehead as he stood to collect their dinner.

They curled up on the couch to eat, and Bucky dimmed the lights, put on Peter’s favorite episode of The Mandalorian (season two episode 5, obviously) and cradled Peter almost entirely in his lap, feeding them both off of one massive plate. Again, Peter was initially mortified by their position, but it was so nice to be held, cuddled, and fed like he was the most precious thing in the world, and even after a full day of building machinery, Bucky somehow smelled so good. It didn’t take long until Peter found himself tucked beneath the man’s chin, curled up into a little ball, so relaxed that he’d completely forgotten it was a bad day at all.

“I love you, baby,” Bucky mumbled into his hair. They’d finished eating ages ago, and Bucky had replaced their massive plate of pad thai with a thick, cuddly throw blanket. Peter sighed happily and nuzzled Bucky’s warm throat.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, speaking softly like this moment of total bliss might break apart if he spoke too loud. “Thank you for cheering me up. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Never let you have a bad day if I can help it, sugar. You’re my everything. I just want you to be healthy, safe and okay.”

Peter’s eyes suddenly felt a little damp, even though he didn’t feel like crying at all. In fact, he was smiling, so grateful for the man holding him in his strong arms.

I’m going to marry him someday, he promised himself, and found himself smiling harder.

Tomorrow, the note he would slip into Bucky’s lunchbox was going to say just that.